Chapter 3 - Alexei
The anomaly should have passed.
That was the first conclusion I reached, and for a long time it remained the only one that made sense.
Human minds were full of glitches, brief deviations, chemical misfires.
Mine was no different in structure, only in content.
If one boy with dark curls and hazel eyes had once managed, by accident or proximity, to disturb the perfect stillness inside me, then the disturbance should have corrected itself.
The mind favored equilibrium. Even broken minds did.
I believed that night was the first time I had ever felt anything real. And because I never saw Marco Bellini again after he ran into the dark, I convinced myself it would also be the only time.
I was wrong.
The spark didn’t fade. It grew roots. It became an obsession I could neither name nor control, and the longer I watched, the more certain I became that Marco Bellini had to belong to me.
The collision in the hallway hadn’t been accidental.
I had stepped into his path because the hunger had become unbearable. I needed to feel him. I needed to confirm what a year of watching from the shadows had already told me.
And I had been right.
I tried to stay away after the rooftop. For an entire year I told myself distance would starve the obsession.
That the crack in the void would eventually seal itself shut again if I never approached.
But it didn’t seal. It widened. Every time I saw him clutch that notebook to his chest, every time I watched him map new routes to avoid the places I lingered, every time I caught the way his small frame tensed when he sensed eyes on him, the hunger burned hotter.
Marco didn’t remember me from Italy. I realized that the moment our eyes met on the rooftop a year ago and again yesterday in the hallway.
To him I was only the monster who stood over a body with blood on his hands.
That realization should have made the obsession easier to kill.
It didn’t. It made it worse. Because even without the memory, he had still cracked me open twice.
I no longer cared to understand why this one boy had done what nothing else ever had. I only knew I would own every terrified breath Marco took until there was nothing left of him that didn’t carry my mark.
I wanted to burn his light and inflict him with my darkness until he shone only for me. My own personal light.
The combat facility was one of the few places at Bloodburn where masks could slip without consequence. The big syndicates had pushed hard for a proper combat program years ago, arguing it would give heirs a controlled outlet for the violence that ran in their blood.
Better to let them break bones on mats than in boardrooms or back alleys where questions might be asked.
The result was this state-of-the-art complex, equipped with every weapon and training tool money could buy.
Here you could box, spar, or beat someone to a pulp and no one would bat an eye.
It was sanctioned catharsis, and it kept the families’ heirs from creating real incidents that could draw outside attention.
Dimitri was already waiting when I stepped into the ring.
My cousin. Heir to the Morozov empire stood a few inches shorter than me, built lean and fast like a blade given human form, black hair slicked back with sweat, blue eyes gleaming with that familiar vicious light.
Dimitri moved like liquid shadow when he wanted to, vicious and precise, but he carried a superiority complex that ran bone-deep.
He viewed most of the world as something beneath his boots, meant to be stepped on or broken for sport.
We circled once. The bell rang.
I exploded forward.
My first combination landed clean, left hook sinking deep into his body, right cross snapping his head back.
Dimitri was fast. He slipped the next punch and countered with a sharp jab that grazed my jaw, but speed alone had never been enough against me.
I drove him back with power, a low kick sweeping his lead leg.
He recovered beautifully, rolling with the impact, but I was already inside his guard. Uppercut to the chin. Heavy body shot that folded him slightly. Another hook that made his knees buckle for a split second.
I grabbed him in a clinch, drove my knee up into his midsection, then shoved him off balance with a final push that sent him crashing to the mat. I followed him down immediately, gloves pinning his shoulders as I loomed over him.
Ilya’s delighted laugh cut through the air from outside the ropes.
Our best friend was shorter than both of us, with a face that could look almost angelic if you ignored the devil living behind it.
Blond curls, sharp cheekbones, a smile that could charm or cut depending on his mood.
He leaned against the ropes, clapping like a proud little minion who lived to watch us destroy things.
“Fucking beautiful, Lex! Put him in the dirt again!”
Dimitri groaned beneath me and tapped my arm in surrender. I rolled off, offering him a hand up. He took it, grinning through the split lip I had given him earlier in the round.
“One day I will get you,” he said, rolling his shoulder.
“One day,” I replied. We both knew it was a lie. Dimitri was vicious and skilled, but I didn’t fight with emotions. He, however, did, and that was his weakness.
We cleaned up in the locker room afterward.
Dimitri was already plotting something flashy involving the idiot who had insulted Ilya in the hallway the other day.
I listened without comment. Public displays were beneath me.
If I decided someone needed to die, I preferred solitude, the way I had handled Matt Langford on the rooftop a year ago, under stars that had witnessed everything and judged nothing.
Dimitri preferred spectacle. It was one of the many ways we differed.
We headed upstairs toward the cafeteria together.
That was when I spotted trouble.
Dimitri’s entire posture shifted the moment we entered. I followed his gaze to a kid standing near the entrance, tray in hand, laughing with a couple of lesser friends. I recognized him immediately. This was the one Dimitri had decided needed a lesson. The one who had insulted Ilya.
And Dimitri was already moving.
He grabbed the kid by the throat and slammed him back against the wall beside the entrance.
The kid’s eyes bulged, hands clawing at Dimitri’s wrist as my cousin squeezed, lifting him slightly off his toes for maximum humiliation.
The cafeteria went silent. The smart ones looked away, the stupid ones watched with morbid fascination.
This was Bloodburn. Violence was currency.
Most students knew better than to interfere when one of the Void Kings decided to collect.
Then Dimitri stopped.
His head turned, gaze locking onto someone across the room. I followed it and arched an eyebrow.
Rei Kurosaki.
How did I know his name? Because this was the annoying thing that was always orbiting Marco like a loyal little satellite.
Hanging around my little star. Smiling at him.
Touching him. I had seen the way he kissed the top of Marco’s head sometimes, gentle, affectionate, everything I was not.
The sight had ignited something possessive and ugly in me the first time I witnessed it from the shadows.
I already despised Rei for existing so close to Marco.
I might have been planning his death too.
The only reason I hadn’t yet was because I noticed Marco was actually smiling around him, not the fake smiles he usually gave to people, but real ones.
And I had found out I liked them on his face.
He looked cute when he smiled like that.
My mission was to make him smile at me next.
And then, maybe, I could get rid of that Japanese boy after I replaced his spot.
Which I would.
Dimitri hated being glared at. He hated defiance even more. His superiority complex ran deep. And right now, Rei was staring him down with open disgust.
Dimitri released the kid, who crumpled to the floor gasping. He turned fully toward Rei. I followed a half-step behind, my focus already narrowing to the small figure at the table behind him.
Marco.
He looked utterly terrified.
“Rei, please… drop it. Let’s just go. Please, it isn’t worth it…
” He tugged harder at Rei’s hand, body pressed close to his friend’s side as if trying to disappear into him.
The sight made something vicious twist in my chest. Marco shouldn’t be pressing against anyone but me.
He shouldn’t be seeking safety in anyone’s shadow but mine.
I hated it. The possessiveness rose so hard I had to lock my jaw to keep the mask from cracking.
Marco’s gaze flicked up accidentally and met mine.
Rei was already on his feet, stepping forward to confront Dimitri.
Marco’s chest started rising and falling too fast, hyperventilating.
I watched the terror bloom across his face like a flower I had personally cultivated.
It was exquisite. The same terror that had filled his eyes on the rooftop a year ago, only now it was more personal, because I had touched him yesterday.
Because he knew, on some level, that I was no longer content to watch from the shadows.
The next thing I knew, Rei grabbed Marco more firmly and pulled him away. They ran.
I turned my head slowly and saw Dimitri doubled over slightly, one large hand pressed firmly over his groin.
The kid had actually kicked him in the balls.
Hard enough that my cousin was still recovering, breathing through clenched teeth.
I hadn’t noticed at all. My entire focus had been consumed by Marco.
The rest of the world had blurred into irrelevance the moment those hazel eyes met mine.
Ilya was losing it nearby. Bent over at the waist, hands on his knees, he laughed his ass off as he pointed dramatically at Dimitri while wiping tears from his eyes. “Dima! Oh my god, your dick still attached? Should we call a medic or are you gonna need a little ice pack for the royal jewels?”
Dimitri was muttering curses in Russian under his breath. His face was flushed, pride more wounded than anything else. I said nothing. I rarely did. I only spoke when it was necessary, and right now it wasn’t.
My mind was already elsewhere, on the way Marco’s small frame had pressed against Rei’s, on the terror in his eyes that I had put there, on the promise I had made to myself a year ago and renewed yesterday when his pulse jumped under my thumb.
By the time night rolled around, Ilya had done what Ilya always did.
He texted half the senior class and told them his parents were in Monaco again.
The party was in full swing at his family’s estate on the edge of the academy grounds.
I found a wall near the back of the main room, claimed it, and stayed there.
Ilya was in his element, laughing too loud at nothing, already three drinks deep and orbiting the crowd like a chaotic sun. Dimitri was posted up by the island counter nursing a beer. He looked mad, and Ilya decided it was time to piss Dimitri off even more.
He climbed onto the big glass coffee table in the center of the room and raised his glass high.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and whatever the fuck the rest of you are,” he called out over the music. “Tonight we celebrate a historic moment in Bloodburn history. Our beloved Dimitri Morozov got his royal fucking balls punted into the stratosphere!”
Laughter exploded across the room. Someone threw a balled-up napkin that bounced off Ilya’s chest. Ilya grinned wider, feeding off the chaos the way he always did.
Dimitri was sprawled in a leather chair near the table, one leg kicked out, drink in hand. His split lip from our sparring earlier had started to swell. He didn’t even look up at first. “Get off the table before I put you through it, Ilya.”
“Too late, big guy! The people deserve the truth!” Ilya pointed dramatically at him. “Look at him! Still standing funny. You walking like you got a stick up your ass or is that just the swelling? Be honest, on a scale of one to ‘I might never fuck again,’ how bad are we talking?”
Dimitri flipped him off with both hands. “Keep running your mouth and I will demonstrate exactly how functional my dick still is. On your face.”
“Ooooh, threats!” Ilya clutched his chest like he was touched, playing it up for the crowd.
Dimitri muttered something vicious in Russian and drained the rest of his beer in one go.
A blonde in a silver dress had been watching him from the stairs the whole time.
She caught his eye, bit her lip, and tilted her head toward the second floor.
Dimitri didn’t even say goodbye. He set the bottle down, grabbed her by the wrist, and disappeared up the stairs without looking back.
Typical. Dimitri handled his frustrations with bodies and violence.
I handled mine with patience and planning.
Ilya watched them go and snorted. “There he goes. Off to prove his manhood. Hope she is gentle with the patient.”
He grabbed two fresh glasses from the bar and wandered over to where I was still holding up the wall. The music was louder here. Bass vibrated in my ribs like a second heartbeat I didn’t want. Ilya handed me one of the glasses without asking.
“You look bored,” he said, leaning against the wall beside me. His voice was slightly slurred.
I took the glass but I didn’t answer.
I was fucking bored. My only source of entertainment was probably curled up in his bed right now. I wondered if he was still feeling my thumb on his pulse. I hoped he was. I hoped the sensation lingered like a brand he couldn’t scrub away.
Ilya kept talking, something about the fight earlier and how I had looked like I was somewhere else entirely during the clinch.
I let the words wash over me. He didn’t expect real answers.
That was the beauty of the mask I had perfected since I was a kid.
People filled the silence with their own assumptions and never looked deeper.
My mind was spiraling.
The ribbon in my pocket felt warm against my ribs.
I had tried to stay away for a year.
It wasn’t working.
And I was done pretending it ever would.
Marco Bellini was mine.
He just didn’t know it yet.
But he would.
Soon.