14. Erik
ERIK
I jolt awake, my hand instinctively reaching for the empty space beside me. The sheets still hold her warmth, but Katarina is gone. Memories of last night flood back—her soft skin against mine, the way she yielded to my touch, how perfectly she fit in my arms as we drifted off.
I scrub my face with my hands, trying to shake off this.
.. weakness. This isn't me. I don't let anyone get this close.
But from the moment I saw her at that charity gala, something shifted inside me.
She stood there in that black dress, all elegance and fire, working the room like she owned it.
My eyes tracked her all night, drawn to the subtle sway of her hips, the flash of intelligence in her eyes, the way she commanded attention without even trying.
I knew then I was completely fucked.
The smart move would have been to keep my distance, maintain the cold professional facade I've spent years perfecting. Instead, I let her under my skin and past my defenses. Now she's in my bed, in my head, making me question everything I thought I knew.
My fingers curl into the sheets where she had lain. The scent of jasmine and something uniquely her lingers. I breathe it in, hating how much I crave it—how much I crave her.
She was mine from that first moment, whether either of us knew it or not. There's no stopping this inevitable spiral pulling us both deeper. The warrior in me rails against this loss of control, but for the first time in my life, I'm not sure I want to fight it.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My heart slams against my ribs as reality crashes in. She's not supposed to be in this section. The guard quarters are too close to the perimeter, and there are too many blind spots in security. I leap from the bed, yanking on pants and grabbing my gun.
“Viktor!” I bark into my comm. “Status report.”
Static crackles. No response.
Blood pounds in my ears as I storm through the corridors, checking each room. The gym's empty. Kitchen's clear. Fuck. She's not inside.
The morning air hits my bare chest as I burst outside, scanning the tree line. Footprints in the dew-dampened grass lead toward the forest. I follow them, muscles coiled tight, ready for anything.
Except what I find.
There she sits on a fallen log, knees pulled to her chest, watching the sunrise filter through the leaves. Her dark hair tumbles loose down her back, my T-shirt hanging off one shoulder.
If this is an escape attempt, it's the worst I've ever seen.
“You're breaking protocol,” I growl, keeping my distance. She could have a weapon. Could be waiting for extraction. Could be?—
“The sunrise is beautiful here.” Her voice is soft, almost dreamy. “We never see it like this in the city.”
She turns to look at me, green eyes clear and unguarded in the morning light. No calculation. No schemes. Just peace.
“You shouldn't be out here.” The words come out rougher than intended.
“Are you going to punish me?” A slight smile plays at her lips. Not mocking or seductive like before. Something else entirely.
I holster my weapon, wrestling with the urge to go to her. To wrap her in my arms and shield her from everything dark in our world. Including myself.
“Sit with me.” Katarina pats the space beside her on the log. My training screams to maintain distance, but my body moves of its own accord.
I sink down next to her, noticing the goosebumps on her arms. Without thinking, I shrug off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. “You're freezing.”
She burrows into the warmth, pressing against my side. The simple contact sends electricity through my veins. Her head finds the crook of my neck, fitting there like she belongs.
My arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer. The warrior in me protests that this vulnerability is dangerous. But the rest of me... the rest of me just wants to hold her.
The rising sun paints her skin gold, catching in her hair like fire. She sighs, a small content sound that cracks something open in my chest.
The realization hits me so damn hard that what I am feeling toward her isn't merely attraction or obsession. I'm falling for her. Have been falling since the beginning.
My grip tightens instinctively. She responds by nuzzling closer, her breath warm against my neck. The ice I've built around myself for years melts a little more with each exhale.
Her fingers trace idle patterns on my arm, and I fight the urge to tense at the unexpected touch. “My mother loved mornings like this,” Katarina whispers. “Before she got sick, we'd wake up early and watch the sunrise from our garden. She'd make hot chocolate, even in summer.”
The wistful tone in her voice pulls at something deep inside me. I've seen her file—mother died of cancer when she was sixteen, but hearing her speak of it... It's different.
“What was she like?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
Katarina shifts, tucking her legs under her. “Kind, but not weak. She could silence a room with one look. Dad's associates were terrified of her.” A soft laugh escapes her. “She grew roses. Said they reminded her that beautiful things could have thorns.”
My thumb traces circles on her hip. “You're like her.”
“Maybe.” She glances up at me. “What about yours?”
The question catches me off guard. No one asks about my mother anymore. “She died when I was eight.” The words taste bitter. “Nikolai and Dmitri practically raised me and Alexi after that. Alexi was only five.”
The question hits like a punch to the gut. Images flash through my mind—the twisted metal, shattered glass, Dmitri's haunted eyes. My jaw clenches as I force the words out.
“Car crash. Dmitri was with her.” My fingers dig into Katarina's hip, anchoring myself to the present. “He was twelve. They were driving home from his piano recital when a truck ran a red light.”
Katarina's hand finds mine, her touch unexpectedly gentle. I should pull away, maintain distance, but I can't.
“The impact threw him clear, but Mom...” My throat tightens. “She was pinned. Bleeding out. Dmitri crawled back to her, tried to help, but he didn't know what to do. No one came for twenty minutes.”
The memory of finding Dmitri afterward burns fresh—his clothes soaked red, eyes vacant, hands shaking as he kept repeating 'I couldn't save her.' He didn't speak for weeks after.
“He watched her die. Right there on the asphalt.” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. “Sometimes I think that's why he's so controlled now. Like if he has power over everything, nothing bad will happen again.”
Katarina's fingers tighten around mine. She doesn't offer empty sympathies or platitudes. Just sits with me in the weight of it all.
“He was never the same after that. None of us were.” The words spill out before I can stop them. “But Dmitri... he carries it differently. Heavier.”
“Is that why you try to control everything too?”
Her question is like a blade between the ribs. I stare at the sunrise, letting the golden light blur my vision. “I don't know. Maybe.” My fingers flex against her hip. “I barely remember her now. Just... fragments.”
“Like what?” Katarina's voice is soft, careful.
“The smell of her perfume.” I close my eyes, trying to grasp at memories that slip through my fingers like smoke. “She used to sing while she cooked. Russian lullabies. I remember the sound, but not the words.”
Katarina shifts closer, her warmth seeping into my side. “And Alexi?”
“He was so young. Five.” My jaw clenches. “Sometimes I wonder if he remembers her at all. He used to ask about her when he was little, but the memories are probably more from photos than anything real.”
“Does he ever talk about her?”
“No.” I shake my head. “None of us do. Not anymore. Alexi threw himself into computers a few years after she died. Like if he could master technology, he could control that part of reality at least. Create his own world where things made sense.”
The morning air grows heavier with unspoken grief. Twenty years later, and the wound still feels raw when I prod it.
“It's strange,” I hear myself say. “Sometimes I'll hear someone humming, and for a split second...” I trail off, unable to finish.
Katarina's fingers thread through mine. She doesn't push for more, just sits with me in the weight of these half-formed memories, these ghosts that never quite fade.