Chapter 15
Cecilia
Three days pass, and I don’t know what to do with myself. Victoria keeps checking on me, bringing me food and making various suggestions to help me feel better. But there’s no amount of shopping, walking, or riding horses that can take away the enormous weight on my chest.
The harsh air scrapes my throat each morning, a constant reminder of the ocean’s absence, leaving my heart aching with loss. Barely any rays of sunshine spill into this dark room all day long. The frigid temperatures seem to have made a home in my bones, no matter how many layers I wrap myself in.
I hate it here.
Hate that Mikhail left me to my own devices like I was not worth his time anymore.
In that basement, he called for me. Wanted me. Touched me. When I asked him to let me go, he did—instantly, like he was dropping hot embers. A twisted part of me respected it.
Still, I waited to see if he’d come for me here, if he’d enter my room and do the wicked things he alluded to. Deep down, I hoped he would. Because then, hating him—really hating him—would feel as normal as existing.
But he hasn’t come. Instead, he disappeared, completely avoiding me. He doesn’t give a damn I was plucked out of the life I knew and thrown into the unknown.
That bastard.
I stand and stomp my way into the hallway in the middle of the afternoon.
The wing’s housekeeper, Svetlana, pushes a trolley filled with toilet paper, bathroom robes, and other products.
Before she disappears through the door at the end of the corridor, I rush after her, for the first time leaving the confines of my room.
“Excuse me,” I say, realizing how hoarse my voice is. She turns to me with her brows raised, and I clear my throat before I speak again. “I need to talk to Mikhail. Can you please tell me where to find him?”
“V nastoyashcheye vremya on plokho sebya chuvstvuyet.”
I blink, not understanding an iota of what she’s saying. I make a mental note to start learning their language, although I’ve only heard some of the housekeepers insist on using it.
“Mikhail,” I enunciate. “I need to see him.”
She shakes her head then continues walking, as if I’m supposed to suddenly figure out what she means. I trudge after her, frustration licking at my chest as I try to repeat the same words but differently. I don’t know what else to do.
Though, apparently, Svetlana is getting worked up too. The gutting glance she throws me should be enough to make me turn on my heels, but screw it—what is she going to do, take me to Mikhail so he can berate me?
“Listen, I don’t know what you’re saying, but put yourself in my shoes. I was brought here three days ago, and I have no idea where the bastard is!” I say.
She moves faster, forcing me to keep up, until she steps into a room I haven’t seen before. The words die on my tongue as I see a pale figure covered in dark sheets.
Svetlana snaps at me with more words in Russian. A groan splinters the silence, followed by a voice I’d recognize anywhere. “Speak to her that way again, and I’ll make you eat your boiled tongue for breakfast.”
The housekeeper frowns, taking a step back. “I apologize,” she says, her accent sharp. “I thought you did not wish to be disturbed.”
Mikhail. Oh my God…
If he was roughed up by my father’s brutes before, right now, he looks empty, as if his soul is hanging on to his body by a single thread. It shouldn’t hurt, and I shouldn’t care, but I can’t stop the broken, ugly feeling pounding beneath my breastbone.
“W-What have they done to him?”
I approach his bedside with timid steps, taking in the new damage to his neck, arms, and face. Deep stripes, red and swollen, lead me to believe he was whipped, and God knows what they used on him. Chains?
“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” he mutters. His eyes crack open, and I’m hit with the most beautiful green color I’ve ever seen. Bright. Lively. Proof he’s still in there, that he could will his body back to power if he chose.
I don’t think as I bring my hand to his forehead, feeling the burn of fever simmer under his skin while his gaze burns through me. I don’t even know why I’m touching him, or where this instinct came from.
“Has a doctor seen him? How long has he been like this?” I ask Svetlana, dipping into that well of anger again. This isn’t right. Hasn’t he just done his family a big favor through whatever deal he made with my father? Why are they treating him like this?
“Leave,” Mikhail says. A flicker of disappointment sparks through me, but when I remove my hand from his forehead, he catches my wrist. “Not you. You stay. Stay with me.”
My body instantly obeys, and I haul myself up on the sheets, kneeling next to him.
“You’re burning up. You need medicine. A hospital—”
“I’m fine,” he protests, a subtle smile sketching in the corner of his dry lips. “Tell me, how have you been? Found any warmth after all?”
How have I been? The question takes me aback, and suddenly, instead of yelling at him for everything, I feel the need to be the one who comforts him.
Just until he gets better, I tell myself. If he dies, I’m really left with no one around here.
“Not as bad as you, apparently,” I say. “Your room is warm, but I still hate it.”
His eyes flutter closed, the faint smirk on his face never fading. “Good. Hold on to that feeling. It’s better than being numb. Been there.”
“Why did they hurt you? Was it because of me?”
“Mmm. Careful, Lastochka. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’re starting to care.”
I huff out a breath. “Don’t kid yourself. The only reason I’m staying is to repay my debt.”
“Debt?”
“You helped with my panic attack that night. It was a mistake to come to you, but nonetheless, I came. So whatever you think I owe you, I’m settling the balance today.”
A low chuckle. “In that case, you should know there’s only one currency I will accept.”
I get up, fighting the heat creeping into my cheeks, aware of his hooded gaze watching my every movement.
“You’ll take what I goddamn give you, and you’ll thank me for it.”
With that, I exit his room and step into the hallway. I’ll have to go downstairs, likely to the other wing, too, where the people who did this to him—his Pakhan—are said to reside. Unease creeps into my bones, but I keep on walking.
I go past rain-streaked windows, the house quietly humming. The air smells of distant wet earth and polished wood, and once I descend the staircase, I’m met with a view I didn’t really register when I arrived.
The foyer is massive, decorated in the same sumptuous style as Mikhail’s bedroom—my bedroom—with lush chandeliers, mirrors with intricate carvings, and furniture that looks heavy and authentic. Dreary and beautifully melancholic. Nothing like the sun-drenched palazzo I grew up in.
The sound of heels clacking against the floor stops me in my tracks. It’s the old housekeeper who greeted us the night we arrived. She didn’t seem too pleased to see either of us, I remember, and if she’s anything like Svetlana, I’d rather just find my way through this maze without her.
I duck to the right, keeping close to the walls, quickening my pace until, finally, the space opens into another living area, where the shadows of flames stretch across the floor surrounding a fireplace.
A door is kept ajar in the distance, and before I know it, I’m peering through the small crack to see inside.
“Cecilia?” Victoria asks, looking up from the book in her lap. “You came down.”
I straighten, body going taut at having been caught. I hope she doesn’t think I was snooping, though I’m not sure why I care what she thinks of me at all.
“Hi,” I say, pushing the door open and stepping into what seems to be a library.
“How are you? Come, sit with me,” she says.
“Mikhail needs a doctor. You said I could come to you for anything, so—”
She frowns, her feline-like features twisting with concern. “Yes. And I meant it. Is he not well?”
“Please; don’t act like you don’t know what your husband did to him. He’s badly hurt, and he’s burning up. Is this what ‘family’ means to you people?”
Victoria stands, taking a step toward me. Not in an intimidating way, but, rather, determined.
“I don’t know what you’re referring to, but you should know there’s a lot of.
..history between the two of them. Most of it isn’t pleasant.
Still, that doesn’t mean they want to kill each other.
” She looks to the side, as if she’s remembering something, then back at me.
“Let me go talk to my husband and see what happened. I’ll make sure Mikhail gets that doctor. ”
“And if your husband says no?”
She shakes her head. “He won’t. I won’t let him make that mistake.”
Later, I’m sitting on top of the covers next to Mikhail’s patched-up body.
The doctor was indeed called, and Victoria apologized profusely for what happened, even though I know it couldn’t have been her fault.
Her husband never showed up by his side—not that I wanted to meet him anyway—but at least he let the doctor come.
Twisted as they might be, I can tell they care about each other. Perhaps Victoria is right, and their past is too dark not to overshadow the present.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Mikhail murmurs, drawing my gaze to his lush mouth, to the tattoos that stretch across his neck and his beautifully rough exterior. Even now, in the state he’s in, he makes my heart skip a beat.
“I think the words you’re looking for are thank you,” I say. “You were developing an infection. You could’ve died.”
“Had a talk with the devil this morning. Fucker didn’t want me down there. Where else would I have gone?”
I roll my eyes, bringing my knees to my chest, the exhaustion of the past few days finally catching up with me.
Leaning my head against the headboard, I take in a breath and close my eyes for a minute.
Mikhail’s energy coils around me from where he’s lying, even if we aren’t touching.
He’s under the sheets, and I’m not. Neither of us has mentioned anything about this odd proximity, and I’m not going to be the one who does.
Helping him was a transaction, nothing more.
“You should’ve let me die,” he says, his voice groggy, thick with his own exertion. “Because you might refuse to accept it, Lastochka, but that’s the only way you’ll stop being mine.”
My body goes loose and taut at the same time, his words brushing something dangerous—lethal—against my better judgment. I don’t respond, don’t entertain his nonsense. Instead, I keep my eyes closed for a minute longer, telling myself I’m only here to ensure his fever doesn’t spike.
My own scream is the thing that wakes me up.
I thrash and stretch, fighting an impossible force that presses down on my body. My voice scratches my throat raw as the lingering feel of blood flooding my hands overpowers me.
Thick. Gross. Familiar.
I try to bring my arms up, but my wrists are locked in place. When I kick my legs, my thighs crash into something hard as rock.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t—
“Cecilia! Cecilia, wake up!”
My eyes jolt open, chest heaving with loud, ugly breaths as I turn my head from side to side. Eventually, Mikhail’s face appears above me through my clouded vision, green eyes flashing with concern in the dark.
“You’re safe,” he says, his voice too careful, too calm. “You had a nightmare. Breathe.”
I blink, my body immobile under his weight. His eyes shift across my face and then lower to my naked neck. His heartbeat drums against mine, loud and uneven. Or is that mine?
Neither of us utters a single word for what feels like forever. The room is quiet, a testament to the walls that hold their own breath. My mouth goes slack, cheeks flushing with the intense way he watches me, at the way he holds me down.
The nightmare dissipates from my memory like ash from a dying fire, and suddenly, I become aware of the position we’re in, of how safe I feel under this gaze that used to terrify me.
Our mouths are too close, and his scent seeps into my pores like sweet venom—smoke, sage, and something rich. It’s my first time noticing it, and I inhale greedily, going against every fiber of my being that tells me not to.
This feels different, dangerous—not because he could hurt me, but because something in me leans toward him instead of away.
As the realization courses through me, my fists clench, and I thrash with renewed fury until his hold on my wrists lessens.
I push into my limbs to get up, but before he lets go of me completely, his lips move one last time.
“And just like that, you owe me again. Careful, Cecilia, or you’ll be running up quite a debt in no time.”
I scowl, curling my upper lip, before bolting out into the hallway.