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I smile.
"What we just did," I murmur, the raw edge in my voice is unmistakable, "I crave more of it."
"What? The quick romp before we get busted in a hospital bed?" she retorts, a teasing smirk on her face.
"No, this...connection. The unity," I clarify, but I’m wading through uncharted emotions here.
"But why?" I find myself admitting the confusion swirling within me.
“Maybe…you love me?” She slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “Why did I even say that? What the hell! I-I mean…” Her face flushes a deep red.
Love?
Is this what love feels like?
“I don’t know what this is, krasotka,” I say, my voice low and rough. Her hand trembles in mine, and I grip it, willing my strength into her. “But I do know that we’re at war now.”
For a moment, she’s silent, her beautiful green eyes wide and filled with something I can’t quite name. Fear, yes, but something more. Something raw and visceral that cuts to the very core.
Finally, she breaks, her voice cracking as she chokes out the words. “Luka, please tell me you think Nilo and Wren are alive.” Her eyes are desperate and pleading.
I pull her close, my arms wrapping around her as I try to shield her from the brutal truth. “I don’t fucking know,” I admit, my voice a ragged whisper. “But I promise you, I’ll find them. I’ll bring them back. No matter what it takes.”
I don’t tell Sophia that I know what Aleks is capable of, that fucking piece of shit. To him, Nilo and Wren are nothing but trash, human garbage he’ll toss aside without a second thought the moment they stop serving his sick needs.
She places her hand on her belly, a gesture so tender that it’s almost as if she’s whispering to the tiny life growing inside her. The thought of our child, still unseen yet already loved, fills me with an emotion I’ve never felt before.
“Glazah ba-yat-sa, a ruki dye-layut,” I murmur, my voice catching as I lay my hand next to hers.
She looks up, her eyes wet but curious. “What does that mean?”
“It means ‘Feel the fear and do it, anyway.’” My grin’s a little shaky as I pull her close. “My father used to say it to me. Now I’m telling it to you and my son.”
“Your son?” She arches an eyebrow, her lips quirking in a playful smile. “I think it’s my daughter.”
“Daughter, son, doesn’t matter. Our child.”
“Our child.” She repeats the words, and her smile grows. It’s a concept we’re both still getting used to, but it feels right.
“Your dad must have been a wise man,” she says, her voice thoughtful.
But he wasn’t wise enough.
My father trusted Aleks, trusted him like a brother, and what did it get him? A bullet in the skull, that’s what. All that talk about loyalty, family, sticking together – it’s all a load of crap. He believed in it, and now he’s six feet under.
Instead, I hear myself saying, “He was.” A pang of loss hits me, but I push it aside. “He knew what it was to face fear. He knew that family mattered, that sticking together, being a pack, that’s what got you through.”
“I wish I’d met him.”
“Me too, krasotka. Me too.”
She reaches up, her fingers gentle on my face. “We’ll get through this, won’t we?”
“We will.” The words are a vow. “We’re a pack now. You, me, our son. We’ll face the fear. We’ll do it, anyway.”
As I say the words, I feel that old, familiar ache, the same foolish trust that doomed my father. I look into Sophia’s eyes, and I think of the love she has for Yulia, the fear of what might happen. I know she betrayed me once, but there’s something there, something real. It gnaws at me, pulling at something deep inside.
And as much as I hate to admit it, I recognize that pull. It’s the same damn thing that got my father killed.
