Chapter 21 – Ilya
I jumped forward, my palm clapping against Isabella’s mouth to silence the scream. Her hot breath pushed against the calloused skin, and I sucked in a sharp inhale at the sensation. The iron rod that was my erection dug into the small of her back as I looped an arm around her middle, tugging her close.
“None of that, Isabella,” I rasped. “Can’t have the royal guard come and discover the honor of their princess has been compromised.”
Isabella seethed, blowing an angry exhale from her nose.
I’d come to make sure she was alright, only to find her still awake and naked. It took every drop of discipline not to launch across the room and erase the images of another man from her mind.
Imagine my surprise when it was my name she croaked in the height of release….
That made it absolutely necessary I reveal my presence to her.
Isabella garbled something. I lowered my palm but remained ready to cut off another scream.
“You can’t be here,” she hissed.
“And yet, here I am.”
She glared at the ceiling, shaking her head. “You’re going to ruin everything.”
The bitterness in her tone had me roughly spinning her around. I caged her against the vanity, towering over her. “Your wedding to the little prince?”
Her lips pressed tight in a thin line.
“Let me tell you something, Isabella. That wedding isn’t happening,” I growled.
“It has to!” There was a flash of something in her eyes, but with the limited visibility, I couldn’t make out the emotion.
“Has to?” I pressed, leaning into her.
She tipped her head back, never once breaking my stare. “It’s for the good of the famiglia that I marry Alon—”
My hand shot out, grasping her chin in an unforgiving hold.
“Don’t say his name,” I warned. “Don’t even think about him.”
A whimper escaped her lips. Fuck me. She was such a pretty little thing, my siren, helpless and at my mercy.
But…was she really helpless? Or was that me underestimating her again?
“He’s nothing to you. You’re mine. No one can save you from that fate.” And then, my lips crashed into hers. There was nothing gentle about the kiss.
I was the thief in the night, and I was taking the prize.
Two small hands gripped my shoulders. Isabella pulled me closer. Pulled, not pushed! Her mouth tasted as hungry as mine, her lips as eager. I might not have asked, but this little siren was guilty of taking exactly what she wanted as well.
A shudder ran through her body. That dainty little tongue that I could have sworn was forked, flicked against my mouth. Heaven help me, I opened for her.
Isabella slid both hands into my hair. Her fingers pulled at the strands, as she cupped the back of my head. She bent me to her will, angling me how she wanted.
I stepped into her, molding our bodies together. My hands splayed over her back—her very naked back. Her slight frame bent into mine, so tiny and… bony? But she moaned against my lips, sending a frenzy of need to consume every other thought.
The hot feel of her skin sent a rush of awareness through my body. She was naked, and I was seconds away from lifting her onto the bathroom vanity and taking what was mine.
But she wasn’t. Not yet.
I broke the kiss and took several steps backward. My legs shook. Trembled! Me! It was worse than the aftershock post-fight. The adrenaline coursing through me was hot and threatened to make my knees give out.
Isabella scrubbed her hands through her hair, staring at me with an unreadable expression on her face. It was as if she too didn’t know what to make of that kiss. She dropped her hands to her sides. A moment later, a blush darkened her cheeks. There might only be a faint yellow glow from the small bulb in the light socket, but it was enough to see the beautiful flush.
Without a word, Isabella stormed into the other room.
I let her go.
Breathing hard, I struggled to regain control of my body. I moved back to the sink, turned on the faucet, and cupped my hand under the cool water. Three long gulps and splashing the liquid across my face did little to cool the internal blaze. I reached for a clean washcloth from the basket beside the sink. A twinge of pain shot through my upper arm.
Scowling at the reflection in the mirror, I noticed a dark spot forming on my black shirt.
Well, shit.
The little siren had her hands on my shoulders, and I hadn’t realized she squeezed low enough to open the wound. But apparently, she did.
I couldn’t leave a trail of blood from her window. It was unlikely a gardener would see, but I wasn’t taking the chance. Stretching my neck from side to side, the vertebrae popped in a series of small explosions. The release that spread over my muscles was instant. My whole body could use such a one.
Making short work of unbuttoning my shirt, I pulled it off and rinsed out the bloody patch. As I wrung the water out, a soft gasp sounded at the door.
“What happened?” Isabella breathed.
I cut a look at her through the mirror. She stood, wrapped in a sage green robe, and gaped at me. Her eyes roved over my form.
A rush of self-consciousness flickered through me. There was untold damage, the evidence of a life lived hard. Ink could only disguise the worst of it. “I’ll put it back on in a second. No need for you to gaze upon the mangy mutt.”
Her gaze snapped to mine. “I was talking about the hole you’re leaking out of,” she said testily.
It would have been nice to believe her, but the rest of my body was a fucking mess. There was no way to say it more nicely.
“Just let me tie this up, and then I’ll be out of your hair.” Because I don’t trust myself to stay any longer.
Isabella huffed loudly and blew into the room. She dropped beside me, nudged her shoulder against my calf, and barked, “Move.”
The urge to haul her over my knee was strong. But I pressed my lips tight and inched to the side.
Isabella drew out a box from under her sink. It looked like a handyman’s toolbox, and sure enough, when she slid the lid back, that was exactly what it was. Inside, however, was an array of medical supplies. Isabella riffled through the contents, taking out several packets of gauze, some self-adhesive wrap, and a suture kit.
“Sit,” she commanded, pointing to the toilet.
I crossed my arms.
Drops of sticky warmth fell on my torso.
“Ilya,” she hissed. “Sit down, so you don’t bleed all over my rug.”
I flicked a glance and saw that there were several dark spots on the plush cream carpet under my feet. “No.”
“No?” she repeated.
My voice turned rough, the Old World accent becoming more pronounced. “I don’t capitulate to demands.”
“Demands. Demands?” She raised her hands. “I’ll give a freaking demand.”
Her tiny fingers jabbed into my chest. The slight poke was nothing short of cute.
I grinned. “Just say please, rusalka.”
A look of pure outrage consumed her features. That delicious mouth opened in a perfect O. Fire danced in her eyes. And her body went rigid with wrath.
To force her hand, I reached for the washcloth and prepared to rip it.
“Alright!” she hissed. “ Pleeaasee sit down.”
“Now that’s more like it.” My grin only widened as I took a seat. Jaw working back and forth, Isabella stepped into me, beginning her examination of the wound. At this height, we were almost at eye level.
“What happened?” she asked again.
“A bullet nicked me.”
She nodded once. “It’s going to need stitches.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” She moved to turn on the light.
“No lights.”
Her hands fisted as she slowly turned back to me. “How in the hell am I supposed to stitch in the dark?”
Each word came out tight and strangled.
I leaned back against the water tank, which shifted under my weight. “Point a flashlight on the wound if you must but don’t turn on that overhead light.”
“Of all the—” She stormed into the bedroom and returned moments later with several candles. “Do you even have a good reason for that ridiculous request?”
Yes. “Get to work, princess. Time’s a wastin.”
“Do you have somewhere to be?” she sniped, dashing antiseptic on the wound.
I murmured in assent, as the stinging liquid cleansed the wound. Isabella worked in silence, gloving up and doing a damn fine job of stitching the skin back together. Standing so close, the soothing scent of her body oil wrapped around me. Even though it was more serene than the luxurious, fruity scent she wore, it would haunt my sleep later. She was so warm, so soft. And small! Saints, I was a veritable giant compared to her. A hulking monster from the old tales grandmas told their children.
Not that I had one of those to tell me such stories. My limited experience with older maternal figures came from a dear old lady who’d become the uncontested matriarch of our bratva. She told the most fascinating stories to the grandbaby—and anyone else who happened to be sitting around to hear.
I was the giant from a faraway land, lumbering and bumbling into the palace to steal the fair maiden.
Part of me hated that I couldn’t be gentler, softer, for my rusalka’s sake.
As she finished the last suture, I couldn’t keep my mouth closed any longer. “Where did you learn to do this?”
Isabella worried the corner of her lip for a moment, before moving back to look at her work. “I’ll admit, you’re the first human I’ve practiced on.”
Surprise flickered through my chest. I jerked slightly, tipping my head to study her face. It hadn’t crossed my mind that she would sew up the other men in the mafia, but now that the thought was there, the desire to crush any male in her radius to keep them from receiving care at her hand was suddenly imperative.
“Explain,” I clipped out, planting my hands on her waist so she wouldn’t move away. Something about her didn’t feel right. Pushing aside the distraction of her body, I began a careful, explorative touch.
Isabella sighed. “It was made very clear from a young age that there was no escaping this life. I was born a mafia princess —as you so lovingly call it.”
I ignored the sneer in her tone. Hips, ribs, even her thighs weren’t as lush as I remembered.
She’s lost weight. A lot.
Anger sparked, hot and fiery in my chest. Why was she so thin? Girls did that for weddings, but she’d looked incredible in her gown. Furthermore, she ate every treat I brought; she’d gobbled food tonight like she hadn’t eaten in ages. I ground my molars, wondering what the hell was going on and how I should handle the situation.
This had to do with the maniac they had training her at the gym, of that I had no doubt. The torture sessions I’d promptly put an end to after witnessing the abusive treatment.
“So I wanted to be useful,” she added. “Other families don’t do it this way, but there were always wounded soldiers coming to our house. Father wanted our men to be treated by us. He was their leader, their don, after all. He wouldn’t ship them to an offsite location, where if they passed, they were alone in an unfamiliar place. Mama would help the nurse and doctor, offering comfort and assistance. Since I was forced to learn to sew, I figured it could translate into being more useful than just soothing fevered brows and offering words of comfort to the dying.”
My brain processed her words. There was more to that than she was telling me. I could sense it. But I also guessed that if I poked, if I tried to pry it free, she would slam the door to that insight.
So I waited for her to say more.
She didn’t.
After squirting ointment over the stitches, Isabella placed a thick chunk of gauze on me, held it in place, and then began wrapping the self-adhesive tape around it. Each brush of her against my body sent a zap of electricity through me.
I fisted my hands on my knees to keep from touching her anymore. I wasn’t going to ask about the weight she’d lost. It was yet another thing about her situation that wasn’t adding up. If I asked, she probably wouldn’t tell me.
“You need to leave now.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Please, Ilya. Please go before someone catches you. There are extra patrols guarding the estate tonight.”
It was the middle of the night and while the guards were vigilant outside, I was well practiced in sneaking around places with much tighter security than this.
“Well, since you said please,” I murmured and pushed to my feet.
Isabella pursed her lips and began putting the medical kit away.
What are you doing, you idiot? She just helped you! The voice in my head sounded a lot like my adoptive brother. Conscience Dimitri was right. Social protocol dictated that I show gratitude for what she’d done for me. Even if it wasn’t necessary, since I would have mended the wound once I returned to the space I was renting.
“Um, thank you,” I muttered, my body awkwardly stiffening as I tried to do the right thing. “Thank you for helping me, and uh…sorry about your rug.”
Isabella shot me a side look. A smile played on her lips, but she was trying to fight it. “You’re welcome.”
“I’ll buy you a new rug,” I quickly offered.
She waved her hand. “No need. I’ll put some hydrogen peroxide on it and in fifteen minutes I should be able to dab it out of there.”
I needed to leave—or I would never go.
Clenching my jaw tight, I denied myself any final physical contact. I snatched my shirt and stalked from the bathroom. A rush of sweet floral blooms blew by me as Isabella darted into her bedroom and began blowing out the candles.
“I can’t have the guards seeing the flicker when you pull back the shades,” she muttered.
The space fell into almost complete darkness, but I saw her move close. More accurately, I sensed her. “Don’t get shot again tonight,” she breathed. “I won’t be able to stitch a hole in your skull.”
With that, she pushed up the window. “Out you go.”
I couldn’t help it. I caught her hand and pressed a kiss on the back of her knuckles. “I mean it. Thank you, Isabella.”
Her soft inhale sent a rush of heat straight to my dick. This woman was intoxicating! Everything about her called to me.
“It’s Izzy,” she whispered. “Isabella was my mother and grandmother.”
Izzy…. I liked that.
With a final squeeze of her delicate fingers that had so gracefully sewn me back together, I slipped into the night. Her head peeking through the opening prevented me from shutting the window and screen. That molten chocolate gaze followed me until I disappeared into the thick foliage of the back garden, and even then, I felt her watching from her window. Soon, I wouldn’t have to leave her when dawn came. Soon, I would no longer hate sunrises.