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I hate him so fucking much.
But I’m too wary for Willow to test his threat out by lunging at him again.
So with that, Oleg chuckles again and slips out the front door, leaving a trail of blood—and bodies—behind.
Along with a gaping vacuum where my daughter should be.
36
CLARA
I’m only out for a short while. Just long enough to stop screaming and reboot.
Bambi groans. She’s still slumped where I dragged her, but she seems like she’s pulling around. Roxy is the next to stir. She tries to haul herself upright, but it’s too much and she lies back down with another low whimper.
I don’t know what went on in here. But I know my two best friends put up one hell of a fight.
That makes my eyes sting with tears.
No. Not right now. Pull yourself together. You’ve got shit to do.
I heave myself off Willow’s bed the same moment Demyen returns. He’s covered in blood, wheezing in a way that makes my heart still.
But he’s alive. And since Oleg is nowhere to be seen behind him, I’m not sure if this means the demon is gone, or just… pacified. For now.
I’m careful not to squeeze him when I pull Demyen into my arms. He crushes me to him anyway and surveils the room with a dark glare.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” he mutters.
So Oleg’s alive. I try not to feel disappointment. Despite everything he’s done to us, I have to remember: that’s still Demyen’s father.
Just like, even after everything Greg Everett has done to me, he’s still mine.
“Dem,” I softly say. I can feel how on edge he is; how untethered he’s about to become. “Babe. Look at me.”
Demyen slowly shifts his furious gaze to mine. Like a light switch flipped, he softens enough to at least not terrify me. “I’ll get her back. I swear, Clara. I will bring her back. And I will fuckingkillhim.”
His jaw feels rough under my fingers, that five o’clock stubble every bit as dark as his aura. I hold him and stroke my thumbs over his cheekbones to hopefully help him calm a bit more.
“I know,” I breathe. “I know you will. But right now, I don’t need your rage; I need your mind. I need you to be the man who gets us through everything.”
All I’ve wanted from the day we met was for him to be the white knight who saved me and my little girl.
Now, though, I need the opposite: I need him to be the bloodthirsty Bratvapakhanwho always wins the war.
Demyen sighs and rests his brow against mine. It’s a rare moment between us, a new kind of thing both for him and forme: we’re both equally as furious and as terrified over what could happen to Willow next.
“I’ve got nothing,” he rasps. He shakes his head and pushes away from the door. I don’t know if he knows where he’s going; he just stands there in the courtyard to survey the damage.
There’s a lot to see. Too much, really. Bullet holes riddle the adobe and marble. Several of the delicate arches of the pool fountain’s design are shattered and littering the bottom of the pool. Around us, several of the men have begun to groan and stir.
Mako is one of them. I truly thought he was dead. He’s not, but he’s in a lot of pain and he ispissed.He manages to roll onto his back, hissing a string of curses to himself, but he waves off another man’s offered hand.
He refuses to look at me. Given his close proximity to Willow’s room, I can understand why.
I hope we’ll have the chance for me to tell him that I understand; I don’t fault him for her kidnapping at all. It’s obvious he put up one hell of a fight—especially when he tries to sit up and blood trickles anew from several wounds I didn’t see before.
Demyen and I spin on our heels when we hear shuffling behind us. Pavel lifts a weary hand, gun still in it, and leans heavily against the wall as he limps toward us.
