11. Kirill
KIRILL
T here’s nothing more irritating than being stuck.
My annoyance level has been building in the background despite my futile attempts to remain fucking calm.
Ever since we arrived at the old couple’s house yesterday, I’ve been trying, and failing, to reach Viktor. To avoid suspicion, I had to call him from the village’s public phone, thinking maybe he had gotten back to base, but there was no reply.
He and I found out about this village during our initial scouting of the area prior to the mission. I told him that if things went south, this place would be our emergency hideout.
The fact that he hasn’t come here yet is unlike him. Even with the snowstorm.
I have a firm belief that he’s stronger than a boar and would be able to defeat a whole army on his own. But then there’s the pesky reminder that he’s only human.
Not to mention that someone targeted us with the intention of annihilating my men.
No matter which angle I look at the events from, it screams a setup, and I’m ninety percent sure I’ve figured out the reason for it.
That aside, if Viktor were to meet Rulan’s fate—
“Captain.”
I lift my head from the book I’m supposed to be reading but am only seeing a replay of the battlefield on its pages.
Lipovsky—Aleksandra—stares at me from her position on the bed. She’s been uncharacteristically quiet since I grabbed her chin and called her by a pet name a few hours ago.
Her cheeks curiously flushed with a soft pink hue in the span of seconds. A fact that makes me want to repeat the gesture just for the reaction alone.
But I won’t.
For now.
Nicholas, Nadia’s husband and the doctor who saved her life and treated my minor leg injury, came to check on her earlier and said she’s healing properly, but she can’t strain herself.
It’s a miracle that she managed to survive after losing so much blood. The color has been gradually returning to her face, too.
I plant my elbow on the armrest and lean my chin against my fist. “It’s Kirill.”
That unusual blush creeps up her neck and cheeks again. Despite her short brown hair, she looks more feminine than most women.
The strap of her nightgown slips off her uninjured shoulder and settles on her arm. The small motion teases the creamy skin of her naked breasts, which are tipped with dark pink nipples. I know because I saw them when I changed her clothes yesterday.
A sight that’s engraved in my memories in spite of my futile attempts to erase it.
I must stare for longer than socially acceptable, because Aleksandra clears her throat. She appears oblivious to what I was hyperfocused on, though. Either she’s too na?ve or too good at this game.
“It’s hard for me to call you by your first name.” Her voice is softer, but it has that husky undertone that made it easier for her to pretend to be a man.
“Then you need to get used to it. Say it. Kirill. It’s a very simple name.”
“K-Kirill.”
My lips twitch at the stutter, finding it surprisingly adorable on someone who couldn’t be accused of lacking a backbone.
“Say it again but more naturally this time. That didn’t sound like a wife who’s been married to me for two years.”
She purses her lips, obviously uncomfortable with the scenario I came up with, which is probably why I keep referring to her as my wife every chance I get.
Is this shit entertaining? Absolutely.
“Go ahead,” I nudge when she remains silent.
“Kirill,” she says with more force than needed.
“Again. Naturally.”
“Kirill,” she murmurs in a gentle tone that vibrates through my chest, then shoots straight to my dick, and my heart jolts.
Maybe I need to have Nadia and her husband look at it in case I have an internal injury. Or maybe I should stop having a front-row seat to Aleksandra’s side tit.
I flip a page as if I’ve been reading this classical book all along. “Don’t be a flirt.”
“You’re the one who told me to do it more naturally.” She crosses her arms and then winces when she probably triggers the pain in her injury. “Make up your mind.”
“If we were at camp, you’d be punished for that.”
“But we aren’t.”
“Watch it.”
“Pretty sure a husband doesn’t talk to his wife in that tone.”
“I do.”
“You…are you married?”
“I am.”
Her lips part, and she slowly lets her hands fall to either side of her. I can almost taste the dramatic shift of her mood in the air. Interesting.
“To you, remember?” I add in the same casual manner I’ve been speaking with.
I’m almost sure I spot some form of relief, but it vanishes when she starts to get up. “I should probably go help Nadia with something.”
She stumbles in her attempts to stand, and I reach her in a few steps and then support her from behind, one hand on her arm and the other grabbing her wrist.
Aleksandra starts to push me away. “I can stand on my own.”
“You don’t even have the strength to breathe properly.”
“I’m fine.” She attempts to wiggle free of my hold, but I tighten my grip on her.
“Quit being stubborn.”
Her body’s still rigid, but she doesn’t fight anymore. Once she’s calmed down a little, I release her and reach for the velvet robe Nadia placed on the foot of the bed.
I gently pull it over her injured side, and she groans but quickly mutes the sound. I’m starting to realize that she hates showing weakness more than anything. That’s probably why she didn’t want me to help just now.
That’s also why she looked horrified when Nadia told her I carried her all the way here. Or maybe that had to do with how she called me her husband a couple of times.
“Now, put in the other hand.”
She begrudgingly complies. “I can do it on my own.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you insisting on helping?”
I pull up the strap of the nightgown that’s been subtly teasing me for the past twenty minutes.
Goosebumps erupt on her skin, and she goes still. She even stops breathing for a second too long.
A devilish thought sparks my mind. I wonder if she’ll tremble if my hand innocently touches her breast.
I only have a side view of her face, but the more my hand lingers on her skin, the longer she holds her breath.
After a quick thought, I remove my hand.
While it’s fun to toy with her, the way she’s holding her breath may cause complications.
Slowly, her chest rises and falls in a harsh rhythm as she snatches the belt of the robe and ties it around her waist.
“Are you mad about something, Sasha?”
She whirls around and stares at me with that stupefied expression. “Why are you calling me that?”
“Everyone in the unit does. I assume it’s your way of relating to your true name more, yes?”
“I never said you could use it.”
“Never said I couldn’t.”
She narrows her eyes as if I’m next on her shit list, which wouldn’t be a surprise, considering all the whiplash I must’ve been giving her.
Sasha hasn’t been with me long enough to know that my actions turn unpredictable when I’m in a situation that I haven’t anticipated.
“You might want to control your expression. Our hosts are already suspicious of you, and we don’t want them to kick us out in the middle of a storm, now, do we?”
She opens her mouth to say something, but she quickly thinks better of it and clamps it shut.
When she slowly walks to the door, I block her way. She subtly pushes back, but I can see the slight jerk in her shoulders before she schools the movement.
“Now what?” she asks in a careful tone.
“Now, I need you to be natural. No jerking or acting uncomfortable. Remember your favorite married couple and act like them.”
She pauses for a moment, then nods once.
“I mean it, Sasha. If we’re kicked out of here, I might be able to get through the storm on my own, but you won’t survive.”
“Got it. Natural.”
It’s far from a good sign that she even needs to say it out loud, but if there’s anything I trust about her, it’s her strong determination to survive.
Someone else would’ve lost the battle during the time it took me to get here.
She didn’t.
Despite the fever, she held on to life with everything in her.
We leave the room side by side, and although she attempts to seem strong, Sasha walks slowly.
I grab her by the elbow for support, and she starts to wiggle free, but I shake my head.
Her struggle wanes, but she breaks eye contact. Almost as if she’s avoiding me.
Well, well, well.
Once we arrive in the living room, Sasha stops to inspect our surroundings.
The space is small but has character. A vintage green sofa and matching chairs form a circle. A plant with small white flowers sits in the middle of a glass coffee table. There’s also a dark green antique teapot and two cups.
The couple obviously loves green, because their carpets and wallpaper also have green in them. Even the mantle over the fireplace that’s blazing with the wood I chopped for Nicholas yesterday has Russian dolls dressed in green sitting on it.
Upon seeing us, Doctor Nicholas abandons watching a rerun of an old show.
He’s older than Nadia and has a wrinkled face but a surprisingly straight posture for someone his age. He’s not overweight like my father, who wheezes and turns blue after walking a few steps.
“Do you feel better, child?” he asks Sasha.
Her expression softens as she nods. “I do. Once again, thank you so much. I’ll make sure to repay you one day.”
He throws up a dismissive hand. “There’s a saying I believe in. It’s about doing good and forgetting about it.”
“We’re still thankful, Doctor,” I say.
“It’s Nicholas, I tell you. Come, come, sit by the fire.”
“I’m going to see if Nadia needs any help.” Sasha starts to walk, but the woman in question appears in the kitchen doorway.
“Nonsense. I need no help. And what are you doing out of bed?” She fixates Sasha with a stern motherly expression.
“I can move.” Sasha pulls from me and does a small turn. “It’s good to walk around instead of staying in bed all day, right?”
“Not if you strain yourself.”
Sasha completely ignores her and steps toward the kitchen, a small smile painted on her lips.
This girl obviously knows no fear, or maybe it was purged out of her.