Chapter 11
eleven
Cressida
The gate creaks like something dying as I push it open.
Rust clings to my fingers, and the scent of wet stone and night-blooming jasmine filters through the air. Moonlight spills over the cemetery in shards of silver, catching on the moss-covered angels and leaning crosses as if they’re whispering secrets through the trees.
“Okay,” I murmur to myself. “This is either the most romantic or most batshit date I’ve ever been on.”
It’s already starting off more interesting than the others we’ve had.
My boots crunch over the gravel path as I step deeper inside.
Cypress trees stand tall like silent sentinels that frame the old burial grounds.
The crypts here aren’t clean-cut or sterile.
They’re ornate, gothic things, carved from black stone and wrapped in ivy.
Everything here feels ancient. It feels forgotten, but it’s beautiful in the way ruins are beautiful.
They’re pieces of poetry the dead left behind.
And, of course, he’s not here yet.
Because I’m learning that my darling fiancé lives to be dramatic.
I roll my eyes and walk farther in, the hem of my dress catching on a crooked root. It’s black lace, layered and sheer in all the right places—a little witchy, a little daring, and bloody perfect for the setting of our third date.
There’s a chill in the air that kisses my bare shoulders. It’s the kind that raises goosebumps and makes you glance over your shoulder even when you know you’re alone.
Except I’m not.
Not really because he’s here now. I feel him before I see him—a slow, deliberate shift in the bond like a ripple of shadow against my spine. It’s heavy and focused as he stalks me through the night.
“Kon,” I call softly, teasing. “If this turns into some ‘stalk the virgin in the cemetery’ kind of game, I should warn you—I bite, and I’m definitely not a virgin.”
His voice slides out of the dark like a caress wrapped in danger. “You think that scares me, Lisichka?”
Little Fox. He keeps calling me that, and I keep pretending I don’t know what it means.
A whisper of movement brushes past me too fast to track. A shadow slips between tombstones, and a breath catches at the back of my neck.
I whirl around, excitement thrumming through my veins. “Not fair if I can’t see you.”
“No one said I play fair.”
All that’s left is the kind of silence that presses against your eardrums and makes your heartbeat feel loud.
I smirk as my pulse races. “You know, I think you’re enjoying this a little too much.”
“Maybe.” His voice comes from somewhere behind me now, closer than before. “But you’re not running yet.”
A thrill shoots through me. The bond flares, reacting to my excitement, but I clamp it down. I don’t need it to feel what’s happening between us.
Because this isn’t about old fated magic.
This is about him and me.
“I thought you wanted a date,” I say, slipping between two mausoleums, dragging my fingers over the damp stone. “Is this how you usually court your women? Hide in graveyards and breathe on their necks?”
A low chuckle rumbles through the air. “Only the ones who like the thrill.”
Goddess, help me, I do.
So, I do what any damsel pretending to be in distress would do and run from the monster stalking me through the dark.
My laughter bubbles out unbidden as I dash across the gravel path, darting past statues with outstretched wings and angels wearing cracked faces.
It’s pure and primal instinct.
And only seconds later, my monster man gives chase.
His footsteps are quieter than mine. They’re more precise, more deliberate in their placement, like a predator does when choosing to pounce.
The space between us shrinks, even as I weave and duck and slip around marble gravestones.
My lungs burn, but not even that stops me from smiling so hard it hurts.
It’s nice to smile after everything.
He lets me get close to the old mausoleum at the far edge of the cemetery before I feel him.
There’s a rush of wind and a growl from behind me before a thick arm wraps around my waist and spins me into his chest. My back slams into cold stone, and Konstantin presses against me. He’s all muscle, heat, and barely leashed restraint. His palm flattens just under my ribs, anchoring me in place.
Not that I’m going anywhere. Hell no. I’d be a bloody fool.
We’re both breathing hard, our chests rising and falling in sync.
The moment crackles, electricity dancing in the air around us.
It should feel like too much. It’s too fast, too dangerous.
But Konstantin looks at me like he’s been starving for me. Like fate done him an honor in choosing me as his bonded.
His mouth crashes into mine, and I gasp into the kiss.
It’s not careful or soft. It’s the kind of kiss that devours.
It’s one that says mine in every drag of his teeth and press of his tongue.
My hands fist into his shirt, and I arch into him like I’ve forgotten how to be afraid.
Like I’m not scared of the bond, or the blood on his hands, or the way my name sounds like a prayer when it tumbles out of his mouth.
His hands roam, rough and reverent at once as they slide up my thighs and over the lace of my dress to grip my hips.
“Tell me to stop,” he growls against my mouth.
And miss having our first shag against the wall of a mausoleum in a long-forgotten cemetery? Fuck no.
“Keep going.”
That’s all it takes.
He lifts my other leg to wrap around him, my breath stuttering as he pins me against the stones. The bond flares again. Not invasive this time, just amplifying everything. I can feel how badly he wants me. Not just in his hands, either, but in his soul.
It’s more than lust.
It’s hunger and possession and worship.
His hand slides beneath my dress, finding skin, and my head tips back as his mouth moves to my throat. “You smell like sin,” he rasps, dragging his teeth along my pulse. “And your skin tastes like fucking heaven.”
I moan as he sucks a bruise into the hollow beneath my jaw, and my fingers claw through his hair, yanking just hard enough to earn a feral sound from his chest. His hips grind against me, and I swear the friction alone could make me come.
“Kon,” I moan, “is this your form of punishment for running?”
He pulls back enough to flash me a feral look. “Running was never the problem, Lisichka.”
He dips his head, his breath ghosting over my jaw, causing my breath to stutter.
“What’s the problem then?” I whisper.
“You made me chase,” he murmurs, voice like smoke and sin. “And now, I don’t want to stop.”
“I don’t want you to,” I reply in a wrecked voice.
Konstantin chuckles darkly, dragging his fingers along the inside of my thigh. “Good. Because this? This is only the beginning.”
His fingers slip beneath my knickers, and I cry out, clutching his shoulders as he slides them over my slick heat.
“So fucking wet,” he mutters like a prayer. “All for me.”
I nod, barely coherent. “Always for you.”
His lips find mine again, swallowing the sound I make when his fingers push inside me. His fingers play with me as if he already knows my body. As if he knows just the way to work me to get me off. His palm drags against my clit with each thrust, and my head falls back against the wall.
“You take my fingers like such a good girl,” he growls, his hooded eyes burning hotly.
The rhythm builds, relentless and perfect. My release hits fast and hard, like lightning in my veins and my whole-body bows toward him as I shatter in his arms.
He holds me through it, petting me gently, not rushing or demanding more.
When I finally come down, gasping, trembling, and completely bloody wrecked, he kisses me slower.
“Say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you liked being chased.”
I laugh, out of breath and shameless. “I loved it.”
He groans, a low, desperate sound that makes my stomach twist deliciously.
His forehead rests against mine, and for a second, the air shifts. The bond pulses between us, quieter this time and not so demanding.
It doesn’t feel like a chain anymore, but still . . .
“I don’t trust it,” I admit quietly, not needing to clarify, knowing he feels the same as I do.
“Neither do I.”
“I don’t trust you, either.”
That makes him smirk. “Smart girl.”
But he doesn’t let go, and he doesn’t pull back. He just stays there, breathing me in and holding me steady as if I’m something rare and reckless and wanted.
“I want to learn you,” he says, voice low and certain.
“Not just through the bond. Not just because fate said we belonged together. I want to learn what makes you laugh. What pisses you off. What you look like when you cry and what makes you happy. I want to hear you scream in pleasure each time you pulse around my cock and watch the blissful look on your face as I feed it to you.”
My face flames, but I don’t look away.
“I want to know all of it. You. Not just the parts you think I want.”
And damn him for that.
Because that’s the most dangerous thing he’s ever said to me.
But it’s bloody scary, so I get us back to something I’m comfortable with.
“Then we’ll get to know each other.” I dig my fingers into his hair and pull his mouth closer. “Now, be a good husband and finally fuck me.”
Konstantin holds me in place with one hand as he drops the other to unbutton his trousers. His dick falls hard and heavy into his palm, and I watch through hooded lids as he strokes his hand along his length.
He doesn’t give me a chance to breathe as he notches it at my entrance. I let out a sharp cry that echoes through the night as he impales me on his thick cock.
“Fucking perfect,” he grunts, pulling out and slamming back in.
He sets a punishing pace, his fingers digging into my hips so hard that there’s definitely going to be bruises tomorrow. Our hips smack together as he fucks me with an unnatural speed.
Tension builds in my body as my release grows closer.
But then a buzzing comes from his pocket, and his hips stutter.