27. Cora
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
cora
The smell of warm pizza drifted through the air, the tangy scent of olives and spiced sausage making my mouth water. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until Maxim set the box down in front of me, its grease-stained surface a familiar comfort.
“Donna’s?” I asked, my voice still rough from earlier.
He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Lev picked it up.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, tearing off a slice. It was still too hot, the cheese stretching in long strings, but I didn’t care. I needed the normalcy, the small joy of eating my favorite food.
Maxim sat beside me on the couch, closer than usual. Clyde perched on the armrest, its tiny body leaning toward him as if it knew he didn’t want it there.
“Eat your food,” he grumbled when he caught me watching him.
I hid a smile behind my slice, taking another bite. He’d been hovering all day, fussing in ways I hadn’t expected. When I’d tried to get up earlier, insisting I didn’t need to be coddled, he’d silenced me with a look so stern it had rooted me to the spot.
Now, he glanced at Clyde and frowned. Its unrelenting gaze seemed to wear him down, and with a deep sigh, he reached out a hand.
“Be nice,” I teased, unable to resist.
His fingers awkwardly brushed Clyde’s head like he was touching something alien. Clyde responded with a soft purr, leaning into his touch.
“This thing is going to get spoiled,” he muttered, pulling his hand back as if burned.
“Maybe,” I smirked, leaning back against the cushions. “But he’s cute, isn’t he?”
He didn’t answer, but his silence was answer enough.
Later, we ended up sprawled on the couch together, Warm Bodies streaming on the TV. It was one I loved—corny and over-the-top—and Maxim complained the entire time.
“This is ridiculous,” he said as a horde of zombies stumbled after the heroes.
“It’s supposed to be,” I replied, stifling a laugh.
He grumbled something in Russian under his breath but didn’t move. His arm was around my shoulders, his warmth chasing away the last of the chill from earlier. At some point, I fell asleep, my head resting against his chest, lulled by the steady rhythm of his breathing.
When I woke, it was to the sound of Lev muttering angrily near the door. Maxim was slipping on his coat, his expression grim.
“You don’t need me here for this,” Lev said, folding his arms.
“Yes, I do.” Maxim’s tone was final.
Lev cursed in Russian, his voice rising. “You’re being an idiot. This is not how we handle?—”
“Enough.” Maxim’s sharp command cut him off.“This is where I want you. Your most important duty.”
Lev nodded soberly. “Yes, pakhan.”
I sat up, wincing as the movement pulled at my stitches. “Are you leaving?” I asked, my voice soft but steady.
Maxim turned to me, his expression softening just slightly. “I need to speak with Conall. Lev will stay with you.”
Lev groaned audibly, throwing his hands in the air. “Babysitting duty.”
“You’ll survive,” Maxim said dryly before stepping closer to me. He crouched, his dark eyes locking with mine. “Rest, Cora. I won’t be gone long.”
I nodded, unease coiling in my stomach. “Be careful.”
His lips quirked in a faint smile, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me. But he only brushed his fingers against my cheek before straightening and walking out the door.
Lev cursed again as it closed behind him. “Your husband is leaving me out of the fun stuff.”
“Sounds like you’ll get to be a couch potato with me and Clyde,” I murmured, leaning back against the cushions.
I must have fallen asleep again because the next thing I knew, the faint sound of running water pulled me from sleep. Groggy, I pushed myself up and wandered toward the mudroom, drawn by the low hum of activity.
The sight that greeted me stopped me in my tracks. Maxim stood in the dim light, stripped down to his boxer briefs. His clothes—a dark shirt and jeans—were stuffed into what looked like a small incinerator built into the wall.
The flames flared briefly, then died down as the lid closed with a soft hiss.
“What…?” I began, but my voice trailed off as he turned, his gaze meeting mine.
His expression was unreadable, his face shadowed with exhaustion. “Go back to bed, Cora.”
I didn’t move, my eyes flicking to the blood smeared faintly across his hands, his arms. My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to speak. “Are you okay?”
His shoulders sagged slightly, and for a moment, he looked so tired it made my chest ache. “Yes.”
Without another word, he stepped into the adjoining bathroom, the sound of the shower turning on soon after.
I stood there for a long moment, my heart pounding as I stared at the closed door. Whatever had happened tonight, it was bad.
I had done as Max asked. I returned to the master bedroom and slid into the king-sized bed with Clyde, but I stayed turned on my side, watching the hallway, waiting and hoping he’d come to bed.
The sheets smelled like him, a mix of cedar and something faintly spicy, and it was a small comfort as I lay there, the kitten curled up against the headboard. Clyde’s tiny purring was steady, a metronome against the storm of thoughts swirling in my head.
I kept my eyes on the hallway, listening for any sign of Maxim coming upstairs. The house was too quiet, the kind of stillness that amplified every creak and whisper of the wind outside. The events of the day replayed in my mind like a broken record: the knife, the blood, the fear in my chest as I realized how close I’d come to losing everything.
And yet, through it all, Maxim had been there. Unyielding. Steady.
When I finally heard the soft tread of his footsteps, my breath caught. I didn’t move, didn’t call out, just stayed still, watching the doorway like it held the answers to the questions I was too afraid to ask.
The door opened slowly, the light from the hallway spilling in to cast his silhouette in sharp relief. He paused when he saw me awake, his dark eyes meeting mine.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he said softly, his voice rough with exhaustion.
“I couldn’t,” I admitted.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the moon through the curtains, and I could see the tension in his frame as he crossed the room.
Maxim sat on the edge of the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. I reached out, my hand brushing his arm. “Are you okay?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on some distant point. Then he turned to me, his expression softer than I expected. “I’m fine.”
It was a lie. I could see it in the way his shoulders were too stiff, the way his hands flexed as if they still itched for violence.
“Max…” I hesitated, unsure how to ask what I wanted to know. “What happened tonight?”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might brush me off. Instead, he reached for my hand, threading his fingers through mine.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” he said quietly.
“That’s not an answer.”
He sighed, the sound heavy with things left unsaid. “Cora,” he began, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “I’ll tell you what you need to know when the time is right. But tonight, all that matters is that you’re safe.”
I wanted to argue, to push for more, but the turmoil in his eyes stopped me. Whatever he’d done, whatever weight he was carrying, it was for me. For us.
So, instead, I nodded, shifting closer to him. “Come to bed.”
He hesitated, but when I tugged gently on his arm, he relented, lying down beside me.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to come to bed.”
I curled into him, my head resting against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, a rhythm that slowly eased the tightness in my chest.
“Why?”
“Because all I want is to touch you.”
“I want you to,” I whispered, unsure if he could hear me.
His arm tightened around me, his lips brushing the top of my head. “You’re playing with fire, zayka.”