Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Anya
The sky had turned a deep shade of gray before it split open, rain pouring down in furious sheets, turning the dirt path beneath my feet into mud.
Lightning forked across the horizon, followed by a peal of thunder so loud I screamed.
I was soaked to the skin by the time I stumbled into the shed—an old, rickety thing at the edge of the woods, with its rusted metal roof and broken planks that groaned against the wind.
My breath came in gasps as I fought the rising panic. I hated storms. Ever since I was trapped in my bedroom as a child during one, they made me feel like the world was unraveling around me. Panic would sweep through me, and I’d have to force myself to breathe.
Seconds after I stumbled into the shed, a figure loomed in the darkness, yanked the door open, and ducked inside, not seeing me.
I flattened myself against the splintered wall. Semyon. My god.
Semyon was right there, in the small space of the shed that didn’t seem big enough to hold both of us.
He hadn’t seen me yet and stood just a few feet away, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and wringing it out with quick, efficient movements, giving me a wide-open view of the hard, bare planes of his chest. My eyes were riveted on his lower abdomen, on the line of barely visible dark hair that sunk low into his waistband.
I swallowed hard.
“Semyon,” I whispered, not wanting him to be caught off guard. His head jerked up at the sound of my voice, his sharp blue eyes locking on mine, wide with surprise for a second, before his expression shifted back to something controlled and unreadable.
The shed was barely big enough for the two of us, and his presence filled it, steady and unshakable, like an anchor. Larger than life.
I tried to stop shaking, wrapping my arms around myself.
The fabric of my dress clung to me. Now that Semyon was here, I became viscerally aware of every sensation.
The cold drops of rain down my spine felt heavy as I tracked them falling between my breasts and trailing between my thighs.
But it wasn’t just the cold that had me trembling now.
“Anya,” he said, his voice low and firm, cutting through the howl of the wind outside the flimsy shed, as if saying my name out loud made my presence here more solid.
I loved the sweet lilt of my name in his rough voice.
I wanted to record it and play it on repeat as I fell asleep at night. “What are you doing in here?”
I glared at him. “The same thing you are, obviously.”
He looked away, shrugging off his coat with practiced ease, his movements, as always, methodical, deliberate. “You’re freezing,” he said bluntly.
I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I lied, but my teeth chattered, betraying me.
“Your lips are blue.” Without another word, his piercing gaze didn’t leave mine as he stepped closer.
My heart leaped, excited panic sweeping through me.
Was he—no. I stood frozen as he draped his coat over my shoulders.
The outside was still damp, but the inside was warm and soft and carried his scent.
The smell of him was sharp, masculine—woodsy and clean.
I was instantly wide awake, my blood heating under my skin.
I clung to his jacket, a lifeline.
“You’re soaked too,” I whispered, looking up at him, admitting too late that I was, indeed, freezing.
His hair, jet black and usually meticulously groomed, was plastered to his forehead, droplets of rain trailing down his sharp jawline.
I realized with startling awareness how I wanted to lick them off.
I was startled by how quickly my thoughts turned sexual, but I was eighteen years old, lonely, and irrevocably in love.
“I’m fine,” he said simply, his tone calm, unbothered. But there was something about the way he stood—his shoulders tense, his eyes scanning the tiny space as if searching for threats. He wasn’t afraid of the storm. In my mind, Semyon wasn’t afraid of anything.
I sank to the floor and pulled his coat tighter around me. “Do you think it’s safe in here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as thunder boomed and lightning lit up the sky. “If lightning hits—”
“We have a better statistical chance of that happening than we do winning the lottery three times in succession.” His voice was quiet, but there was a certainty in it that made me believe him.
Some people poked fun at him for his analytical brain that clung to data and facts, but there was something about it I couldn’t explain that made me swoon.
“Anyway,” he continued, “storms don’t last forever. ”
I clung to that line and made it mine.
Storms don’t last forever.
Your father won’t always be a drunk.
Your brother won’t always be stealing from him.
You won’t always have to fight for food for your younger brother or hold it together so your mother doesn’t cry.
As for Semyon—you won’t always have to be the strong one, the guardian, the big brother.
Please don’t always be the big brother.
The air between us felt charged, heavier than it should have been, as electric as the lightning outside the shed.
His knee brushed mine.
I wondered if it was accidental. But the spark I felt jolted straight through the fabric, and he didn’t move away.
I tried to focus on the storm—the rain pounding against the thin roof, the wind rattling the tree branches outside, the clouds moving like soldiers prepared for battle.
But I couldn’t help it. My eyes were glued to the way Semyon’s chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, visible under his soaked shirt.
The way the fabric clung to his body, outlining the muscles beneath.
When lightning struck again, it illuminated the glorious tattoos inked across his arms and neck.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the storm. He turned his head and locked his gaze on mine. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The space between us seemed to shrink, and I almost forgot about the raging storm outside.
“It’s nothing,” he said softly, his eyes searching mine.
Was he talking about the coat?
I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at him, my breath catching.
Was it my imagination, or was he leaning closer?
No, he was definitely leaning closer. His hand came up, brushing a strand of wet hair away from my face.
His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, but it left a trail of undeniable heat in its wake. My body came alive, electric.
“Semyon,” I whispered, a warning and a plea. I didn’t know what else to say. His eyes dropped to my lips, and when he swallowed, my heart slammed against my ribs. Maybe I wasn’t just his best friend’s little sister anymore.
Maybe I wasn’t the only one nursing unrequited affection—or was it more? Maybe I wasn’t the only one burning inside, aching to be closer, every nerve alive with the possibility of what could happen.
“Anya,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost pained. “Are you alright?”
No. I wasn’t okay.
I’d run into the storm after my father screamed at me because I had the audacity to question how much he drank. And when he threw his cup of coffee halfway across the room, where it shattered against a wall, I left.
But I couldn’t tell Semyon that. I knew I couldn’t. He’d do something drastic and violent. Kill my father, probably. And then my father’s death would be on my hands.
My pulse thundered in my ears as he leaned closer, his breath warm and minty.
The outside world tilted. It could’ve ended, and I wouldn’t care.
But just as his lips were about to touch mine—or so I thought—the shed groaned violently, the wind slamming into its walls.
We both stared at the door as if expecting Eli to find us.
I jumped, and the moment shattered. He pulled back, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable.
My brother would kill him. We both knew that. Bratva or not, Eli would absolutely destroy him. And Semyon would lose the only friend he had.
“We should wait it out,” he said, his voice hoarse, as if nothing had happened.
And in my small, self-deprecating mind, I told myself it wasn’t because of the tension between us. It was me. I was too much. I was always too much. It was me. I was the problem.
As we pile into the car, the silence between us feels suffocating. Stefan sits in the back seat, clutching the paper bag, his eyes darting between me and my… husband.
Predictably, Semyon insisted I sit beside him, and because I didn’t feel like testing my luck, I let him open my door.
Now he sits in the driver’s seat, his jaw locked, tension radiating off him in waves. He hasn’t spoken since we left the shop, but the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel tells me everything. I want to poke him, to push him, to say something to break the silence, but I don’t. Not yet.
“Anya,” Stefan whispers from the back seat.
Semyon’s eyes flick toward the rearview mirror almost imperceptibly before returning to the road. I turn in my seat, leaning toward my brother.
“What is it?” I ask softly, my voice gentler than I feel.
My stomach twists as I look at him, still unsure how I feel about him being here.
He isn’t safe at home but bringing him into this world isn’t much better.
The first day I trusted Ophelia to watch him, she lost him.
Granted, Stefan didn’t make it easy, but still.
“Are we… really staying with him?” Stefan asks, his voice small. “Are you serious? All my stuff’s back at the house…”
I shake my head, too tired to explain the truth. It feels too heavy, too complicated. I glance at Semyon, but he answers for me.
“Yes, you’re staying with me. If you have belongings you need, I’ll send someone to retrieve them.” He shifts his gaze from the road to the rearview mirror, locking eyes with Stefan. “I’m not letting either of you out of my sight.”
Stefan flinches at his tone, and I glare at Semyon. “Might be nice if you tried not to terrify him,” I snap.
Semyon’s cold gaze swings to me. “If I were trying to terrify him, he’d wet his pants.”