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Viktor is yelling, the panic evident in his eyes, but his words don't register. The gravity of my situation is sinking in. The realization that this could be the end chokes me, the weight of it making the poison seem almost secondary. My vision narrows, my surroundings fading to a tunnel of blurred color and distant noise.
I may be down, but I'm not out yet. With the next round looming, I push away the fear and the pain, focusing on the task ahead. I don’t know how much time I have left, or if I’ll even make it through another round. But if this is my last fight, I'll be damned if I don't give it everything I've got.
The sensation in my chest is agonizing, my heart beating ferociously fast. Gasping for air, my gaze darts around, trying toassess the situation, feeling as if a dense fog has descended over the ring. The bell for the next round sounds out.
For a fleeting moment, the world goes dim, and I nearly succumb to the weight pressing down on me. Not yet, though. I have to win. Not just for me, but for everyone who's depending on me. For Samuil.
A deep, desperate breath draws in scant oxygen, and I use it to propel my body forward. I see the wicked gleam in The Wolf’s eyes as he advances, confidence clear in his swagger. But, as my brother has always said, overconfidence is a fighter's worst enemy.
Desperation and resolve drive me, fueling an unexpected surge of energy. My every instinct screams to tell Viktor to have the fight stopped, but I won’t give in. My one and only chance is to strike with everything I have left. My opponent won’t expect it, clearly thinking he has me cornered, beaten, defenseless. He moves in to deliver the final blow, but I'm faster.
Channeling every ounce of strength I have left, I drive my knee upward. It meets its mark perfectly, right between his legs. The impact is solid, and The Wolf’s confident grin morphs instantly into a mask of agony. His scream pierces the din of the crowd, but I don’t stop. I follow through with a fierce, powerful right hook, targeting the side of his head. The force of the blow, combined with his already off-balance stance, sends him careening back. He stumbles, his large form toppling over the ropes.
The sound as he hits the floor outside the ring is a dull thud that resonates louder in my ears than the roaring crowd. Although I've won the fight, victory feels so hollow, each breath a struggle, my own body on the brink of collapsing.
Around me, everything becomes a blur. The ref waves his arms, signaling the end of the match. The Wolf lies motionless outside the ring. The crowd's reactions are a mix of cheers, boos,and gasps. I've taken down the Romanian bruiser. It should feel triumphant, but instead, the poison in my system brings a shadow over the victory.
Barely able to stand, I sway on the spot. My vision narrows, dark spots clouding the periphery. I can see my brother approaching, his voice a distant murmur. My legs buckle beneath me, the cold, hard canvas of the ring rushing up to meet me. The last thing I hear before everything goes black is Viktor's frantic voice calling my name.
My consciousness teeters on the edge, darkness and muffled sounds fading in and out. Voices echo, like whispers carried by the wind, indistinct and far away. A crushing weight in my chest makes each breath an extraordinary effort. Every inch of my body aches, an accumulation of pain that drowns out any coherent thought.
As I drift, fragments of memories filter through—the ring, the crowd, the taste of victory tainted by the overwhelming sensation of something being terribly wrong. My mind's haze is pierced by a singular regret—not being able to see Samuil one last time. Had I only known what was to come, I would have savored our last moments together, told him everything I felt.
A sensation of being lifted, cradled, envelopes me. It's gentle and protective, the antithesis of the violence and danger I'd just faced. There's a familiar scent, one that immediately tugs at my consciousness, a spicy, woodsy musk that's unmistakably Samuil. But it couldn’t be, could it? The logical part of my mind argues that it's just a trick, a wishful thought conjured by my dire circumstances. And yet the feeling of those arms, that scent… it's a balm to my soul, and something deep inside me recognizes it.
Fingers brush my hair back, a soothing motion, as if trying to offer comfort. I attempt to open my eyes, to see if it really is him, but my eyelids feel impossibly heavy. The voices grow louder, more frantic, though the words remain unintelligible. But there's one voice, low and urgent, that stands out from the rest, speaking directly into my ear.
"It's going to be okay, Ana. Just hold on. For me. Please."
Tears sting my eyes. If this is a dream, I never want to wake. The warmth of his embrace anchors me, preventing me from spiraling further into oblivion.
A sudden pinch on my arm pulls a sharp gasp from me. The sensation is jarring yet distinct amidst the haze—a needle.
In that moment, I let myself be carried away by that warmth, the steady heartbeat beneath me acting as a lullaby. A fleeting, final thought crosses my mind that whether in life or in death, I'm glad I'm with him.
I surrender to the comforting embrace of sleep.
Chapter 24
Samuil
The sterile smell of the hospital is suffocating, the bright fluorescent lights casting an unwelcome, harsh glow over everything.
Doctors move in and out, their expressions tight, guarded. They murmur medical jargon, discussions about treatments, and potential outcomes. I don't need to understand their words to know that the grim reality right now is that it's touch and go, and Ana's life hangs in the balance.
A squeeze on my shoulder pulls me from my thoughts. Andrei stands beside me, his face a mask of calm, but I can see the storm brewing in his eyes. "We'll get them, Samuil," he says, voice low. "They'll regret ever crossing us."
Nodding, I look back at the door that separates me from Ana. They've barred me from seeing her, citing her need for total calm but the wait is unbearable. Every ounce of my being yearns to be beside her, to reassure her, to be her pillar.
But she's fighting her own battle right now and I need to prepare for the war that's coming.
"We gather the family," I declare, my voice steel.
Andrei nods, the agreement clear. "They wanted a war," he muses, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "We'll give them one they'll never forget."
I turn to Viktor, standing on the other side of me. I'm instantly met with a fist to the face. There’s a brief sting, but I stand my ground, unmoving. I can't help but let a smirk creep onto my face. “That tickled.”
Viktor doesn't return the smirk, his dark eyes boring into mine. "That was for sleeping with my little sister."
