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“M—mik—” She mumbles my name, and I feel my chest contract again, that bolt of possessive, protective fear lancing through me again. The desire to make sure she’s safe, protected. That what I’ve done tonight doesn’t leave any lasting damage.
Because you need to deliver her in one piece, able to speak. You need her to be able to answer Viktor’s questions as well as yours. Not because you care. She’s still Natalia. Still the woman you hunted.
I reach over, turning the water off as her head lolls to the other side, and she moves faintly in the water. “Feels good,” she mumbles, the words slurred as if she’s drunk, and I hold her upright, gently washing her as she slumps against the back of the tub.
She’s as beautiful as ever, pale and slender and delicate, the water lapping around her damp skin, and I half-expect to be overcome with lust for her at any moment, as I always am. She never fails to make me crave her, hunger for the pleasure she can give me, and I haven’t had the release yet that I so desperately needed earlier. But it all feels as if it’s faded into the distance, as if I can’t think about something so base right now, when she needs me. When she’s fallen into this state, the weakest and most broken I’ve ever seen her, because of me.
The guilt feels strange, uncomfortable—especially when this is what I’ve been chasing for so long, to have this woman helpless and broken, experiencing the helplessness and fear forced on others that I loved…at the hands of her family, if not her directly. I’d fought and sacrificed for this.
It should feel better than it does. It should feel like victory, instead of a possible defeat.
When I can feel her warming up, her body soft and pliable and slightly flushed, I drain the tub and get her out. She’s more awake now, and I feel her shift as I help her to her feet, looking at me through mostly-lidded eyes.
“Sleep—” she mumbles, and I swallow hard, helping her out of the tub.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her, more gently than I’ve ever spoken to her. “You’ll sleep tonight. Just a little longer.”
She slips as I help her step out of the tub, her knees buckling as she collapses into my arms again, and I catch her reflexively. As my arms go around her, I feel her do something that she’s never done before.
She leans into me, as if she trusts me. As if she wants my protection, my help. Her hands curl against my shirt weakly, her body curling against mine as I hold her up, and I feel something so unfamiliar that I have no name for it, no word to describe it.
I’ve never felt it for anyone other than family. I’ve never felt this warm, fierce glow, the need to protect, to keep safe, the thought that I would kill—not just kill, butdestroy—anyone who tried to harm them, not because they’re mine, but because—
No. This is going too far. Stop this.
I scoop her up into my arms, and when she lays her head against my shoulder, I feel as if I’m going to come out of my skin. I want to escape what I’m feeling, the confusion and guilt and complexity of it all, and if I could get out of my own body to avoid it, I would. I try to remember that I’m meant to hate her, to want to hurt her, that I’ve looked forward to breaking her, to the moment when I knew she was dead, the end of her family.
I can’t find it. I tell myself that I’m going to put her into the crate, but as I stop in front of it, and she lets out a small whimper of protest, I find myself turning towards the bed instead.
“So—tired,” she whispers. “Don’t want—to be—alone—”
There’s a hint of fear in her voice, and I have no idea what she means.She can’t mean that she wants me to stay with her.More than likely, she doesn’t want to be alone because she’s afraid ofme.
I waver for a moment before setting her down on the bed, and the low, soft moan of pleasure she makes as she nestles into the pillows should turn me on. It should make me hard, should make me want to roll her onto her back and take what I’ve denied myself all night, but instead I tug the blanket over her, covering her up as I reach up to the cuffs still latched to the headboard.
“I can’t leave you unrestrained,” I tell her, unsure if she’s even retaining anything I’m saying. It feels more like justifying it to myself than anything, which is something I don’t want to look at too closely. “If I do, and you somehow managed to escape—well, that would be bad for us both.”
She makes a small whimper of protest as I click the cuffs around her wrists, not as tightly as before, but enough to keep her restrained, but her eyes stay closed.
“You need water. Something to eat. Don’t sleep until I get back,” I tell her, but there’s none of my usual commanding tone in the words, no real order. If she falls asleep, I’ll find a way to get it down her.
I have to keep her strength up, so she makes it to New York. To Viktor. So this is finished the way it’s meant to be.I tell myself that, over and over as I go downstairs to find water and soup in the kitchen, but even I know that it’s protesting too much. That I’m making excuses for the way I feel, so I don’t have to admit it to myself.
The double-edged sword has turned back on me.
Natalia is very clearly sleeping when I make it back up to the bedroom. I almost feel guilty waking her, but I gently reach for her shoulder, lightly shaking her as I set the tray with the water and soup on the table next to the bed. She comes awake after a moment, her eyelids fluttering as she looks up at me dazedly. I’m not even entirely sure that she’s lucid enough to know who I am.
I should be glad about that. It would mean that tomorrow, she won’t remember that I was kind to her, gentle. She won’t remember that I helped her instead of hurting her. She won’t lose her fear or the progress I’ve made in breaking her down.
It’s not how I feel.
“Sleep—” she mumbles, her eyes starting to close again. “Please—"
“You need water,” I tell her firmly. “Stay awake just a little longer, and then you can sleep as long as you want.”
I tip the glass up against her lips, and at the first touch of the cold water, her eyes open sharply. She leans up as far as she can with her hands cuffed, gulping at the water, and I reach to cup the back of her head, trying to make certain that she doesn’t choke on it.
“Now, a little food,” I tell her when the water is gone, as she slumps back against the pillows. She doesn’t try to fight the cuffs, which tells me that she’s either still too out of it to really know what’s going on, or she’s decided that there’s no point in fighting any longer.
