Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
ALYONA
The nightmare always starts the same. My parents are fighting, their voices angry. Sharp. They think they’re whispering, but I can still hear them with my ear pressed to the door. I catch snippets. Words like, “needs to know,” and “it’ll only get harder.”
The words swirl and echo in my brain like a bad song. Who are they talking about? They hardly ever fight, but when they do, like now, it’s scary. Mama’s crying and Papa’s voice is all wrong. It doesn’t sound like him—the Papa who gives me sweets and calls me zaychik, his little bunny.
Something crashes and breaks, and I jump back from the door. Mama’s voice gets louder now, like she’s really scared, and then something else breaks. It’s too much—the yelling, the crying, the smashing stuff. I can’t stand here a moment longer.
I run to my favorite place, the tree house. Crammed with dolls, books, and my silly cartoon drawings, this is where the world makes sense. The loud voices fade away, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the smell of worn-in wood.
My breathing eases and my body calms down. It feels safe in this place, and I get lost in my book, forgetting about the chaos I just escaped. Everything is better until the first rumble of the storm.
Lightning flashes in the sky, followed by the loud crash of thunder. The tree sways violently in the wind, and I know I shouldn’t have stayed, but it’s too late for me to leave now. Worst of all, nobody knows where I am. I could die out here. Alone.
I hide against the wall, but the rain sneaks in anyway. It’s so icy cold, it glues my clothes to my skin. But what’s scarier is the lightning. It flashes, wild and bright, followed by the intense boom of thunder.
I squeeze my dolls tight, curl into a tiny ball and rock, trying to imagine myself somewhere else. Somewhere warm, and safe, where the wind and the rain and the lightning can’t reach me.
It feels like I’m here forever.
It’s Yulian who finally comes for me. When he scoops me up, I’m barely awake. I manage to peek at him. His eyes look scared, too, and he’s crying. His shouts for help mix with the thunder as I bury myself into his chest.
BOOM!
Jolting awake, I hastily swipe the sleep from my eyes as a cold tremor works through me.
Heavy rain lashes against the windows so loud it drowns out the frightened whimper that slips from my lips.
I pull a pillow over my head, hoping to hide from the storm raging outside that’s reflecting the one of that memory.
The nightmare is a memory triggered every time the sky rages and the wind howls and lightning streaks the sky.
Like now.
I hate this; I wish I wasn’t like this. While I no longer seek refuge in closets like I did as a child, a wild storm like this still has the power to knock the wind from my lungs.
My skin is cold and clammy, my eyes squeezed shut, nausea twisting my belly as I sink inwards, retreating to the place where nothing or no one can reach me.
Just as I’m slipping away, strong arms draw me tight against a warm familiar body.
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world—my face burrows into his chest, the thud of his heart humming in my ear.
One of his hands skims over my hair and down my back, soothing me. A barrier against the chaos in my head.
“Breathe, Alyona. Just breathe. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
I suck in air through my nostrils, counting to four silently, holding the breath for another four-count before letting it escape, and then repeating. It’s a technique called box breathing, a trick my therapist taught me to combat the panic.
“Good girl,” Leo murmurs. “Keep on going.”
It takes three more rounds before the tremors subside, before my heart stops thudding wildly, and I find the strength to peel my eyes open. When I do, Leo’s worried gaze meets mine. His forehead creases, lips pressed in a thin line as he studies me closely.
“You’re okay, I’ve got you.” His breath fans across my lips while his calloused hand draws soothing circles on the bare skin of my lower back. My terror fades with every sweep of his palm.
“You remember,” I whisper, a statement not a question.
“‘Course I remember. I remember everything about you.” His eyes ghost over my face with a look so tender I feel like I might shatter from the inside out.
“I stopped having them for a while,” I admit. “I was seeing a therapist in Paris that helped me work through my panic attacks. But once in a while, when it’s storming out, the memories come back full force.”
Leo goes silent for a long moment. I can’t read his expression so I’m not sure what’s going through his mind. “You never talked about what happened that night,” he murmurs. “When you were a girl.”
That night has always been difficult to discuss, but somehow, in the tranquility of the stateroom, with rain still pattering against the window, the words just spill out.
“I was seven or eight, and my parents were fighting. Yelling, throwing things. It wasn’t like them at all, I was so scared.
My tree house was the only place I could think of to run to. ”
He’s quiet, contemplating my words, his hand idly caressing my back. “Why were they fighting?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, “but it was my father who was angry, my mother was … upset. He was mad at her for some reason. I never told my parents I ran to the tree house because of them. Some things are better left unsaid.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize I could be talking about Leo and me as well.
But if he sees it that way, he doesn’t say anything.
He just continues rubbing those delicious circles on my bare skin. “Anyhow. It was a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t make those memories any less powerful.”
“Maybe not.” I sigh and slide my palms up his solid chest. This is definitely breaching the no-touching rule I established, but right now I can’t find it in me to care, because his body pressed to mine is the only thing grounding me.
“I just want to forget it all right now. I don’t want to think about anything. ”
He chuckles, a sound that is low and rich. "That’s funny, I haven't managed to forget a single thing about you."
“Oh,” I say, licking my lips. “What exactly is it that you remember?”
His hand dips lower, settling just above my ass crack, and oh wow, a shiver races up my spine.
“How you take your coffee, your brand of toothpaste, how much you love to listen to live music.” He pauses, his lips dipping to my ear.
“How you like to be fucked rough the first round and sweet the second.”
His words set my pulse on fire. His scent, his power, his proximity—they eclipse everything else.
The storm is a distant rumble in the background, barely noticeable compared to the excitement thrumming beneath my skin.
The flutter of excitement in my core. Our lips are half an inch away from each other.
I could lick him without moving a muscle.
Would that be so bad?
Yes, yes it would. God, Alyona, get a fucking grip.
I attempt to wiggle out of his grasp, towards my own side of the bed, but he doesn’t let me. Keeping me caged into his powerful frame, his voice is husky in my ear. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I just … I think this may be a bad idea.”
Of course it is. If I knew what was good for me, I’d push his hand away, demand he stop touching me, order him to get the hell out of this bed, just like I should have stopped that kiss earlier in Lipari.
But I don’t.
Instead, I plaster my body against his, because it’s too hard to resist this pull any longer.
He huffs out a laugh, a dimple forming on his left cheek. Why does he have to be so damn handsome? And shirtless. Heat emanates from his broad, half-naked torso like a furnace.
“Let me make you feel good. Let me help you feel something other than fear.” The storm has died, but his fingers continue making those small hypnotic circles just below the waistband of my sleep shorts. “Do you want me to go?”
He responds to my silence by gently weaving his hand through my hair, nudging my head back so I’m looking into his eyes. Moisture floods between my legs. Yes, please go. “No.” Why aren’t my words cooperating with me?
He chokes out a curse. “Do you want me to touch you?”
I exhale a ragged breath as he gently runs the back of his hand down over my burning skin. “I … I don’t know.”
“If I dip my hand between your legs, will I find you wet for me?” Without waiting for a response, he glides his hands down the length of my thighs and then palms my ass to pull me on top of him. Even through his shorts, I can feel his cock hard as steel, like a pole between us.
“Holy shit, Leo.” My words spill out, hoarse and desperate, his big body spread out beneath me. Pleasure trickles down my spine as his cock swells against my core. All the tension and fear still coiled in my body could be relieved by one intense orgasm that I know first-hand he can provide.
But it’s not a wise choice.
“I don’t want to fuck you, I … I still hate you,” I say, desperate to put him off any way I can. Those words aren’t really true anymore, though.
“You don’t have to fuck me,” he says, his gaze molten. “You can hate fuck my face. Grind on my tongue. Soak me in your cum. I promise it’ll be just the distraction you need.”
Uh, yeah it might. I used to love riding Leo’s face. Almost as much as I enjoyed choking on his cock. “Did you come here because you knew I would be weak and vulnerable? Ripe for the picking?”
My words are the knife in the chest I intended them to be. He pulls away as quickly as if I burned him with fire. “Is that what you think? Because if you believe that’s who I am, even for one second, I’ll leave.”
As a vor, he may have blood on his hands having done unspeakable things, but deep inside, I know who he is at his core. The real Leo.
“No,” I answer honestly, my voice ragged.
“Then what are you waiting for?” He swats my ass. “Hop on.”