Chapter 15 Weight of Blood #2
“Then drown.” His hands moved to my shoulders. Gripping hard. “Drown and I will pull you back up. But you cannot keep going like this. Cannot keep pretending you are whole when you are shattered. Cannot keep smiling when you want to burn the world down.”
“I don't know how to stop.” The admission tore out of me. “I don't know how to be anything other than this. The golden prince. The vigilante. The boy who's strong enough to handle anything. If I'm not that, then what am I?”
“You are human.” His voice gentled. “You are man who lost someone he loved. Who has been trying to be brave for so long he forgot that bravery is not the same as never breaking. That strength is not the same as never feeling.”
My vision blurred. “I'm so tired, Viktor. I'm so tired of being strong. Of pretending. Of hunting ghosts while everyone expects me to smile and wave and act like I'm fine.”
“I know.” His arms came around me. Pulled me against his chest. “I know you are tired. I know you are breaking. And it is okay. You are allowed to break. You are allowed to not be fine.”
“I have to keep going. I have to find out—”
“You will. But not like this. Not by destroying yourself piece by piece until there is nothing left.” He held me tighter. “You can hunt your answers and still be human. Can seek justice and still allow yourself to feel. Can be strong and still admit when you need help.”
Something in me shattered. The control I'd been holding for years. The mask I wore even when no one was watching.
I broke.
My hands fisted in his shirt. My breath came in gasps that burned my throat. And for the first time since that night, since I'd found my mother's broken body in the wreckage, I let myself feel it.
All of it.
The grief. The rage. The bone-deep exhaustion of carrying this weight alone.
Viktor held me through it. Didn't tell me to stop. Didn't tell me to be strong. Just held me while I fell apart in his arms.
“I miss her,” I choked out. “I miss her so much and I don't know how to keep living without her. Don't know how to be the person she wanted me to be when she's not here to see it.”
“I know.” His hand moved to my hair. Gentle. Soothing. “I know you miss her. And it is okay to miss her. Okay to wish she was still here. Okay to be angry that she is not.”
“I should have protected her. Should have been there. Should have—”
“You were child. It was not your job to protect her. It was not your fault she died.” His voice was fierce. Absolute. “Do you hear me? It was not your fault.”
The words broke something else. Something I'd been holding since that night. The guilt. The belief that somehow, if I'd been different, better, stronger, I could have saved her.
“This is revenge, not justice,” Viktor said quietly.
“I don't care what you call it. I need it. It's the only thing keeping me moving forward.”
“Even if it destroys you?”
“Even then.”
More silence. His breath was warm against my lips. His hands were steady despite everything.
“You cannot do this alone,” he said finally.
“I've been doing it alone for years.”
“Not anymore.” His eyes opened. Met mine. And I saw the decision there before he said it. “If you are going to do this. If you are going to keep hunting. Then I come with you.”
“Viktor—”
“No. Listen to me. You say you will not stop. Fine. I cannot make you stop. But I will not stand by and watch you throw yourself at death over and over while I do nothing.” His grip on my face tightened.
“So I come with you. I watch your back. I keep you alive while you hunt your answers. And I remind you that you are allowed to be human. That you do not have to carry this alone anymore.”
“That's not your job.”
“My job is to protect you. From external threats. From yourself. From whatever is trying to kill you. This counts.”
“It's too dangerous. If anyone finds out—”
“Then we make sure no one finds out.” His jaw set. Stubborn. “This is not negotiable, Sebastian. Either I come with you, or I tell your father everything and he locks you in palace tower until you are forty.”
“You wouldn't.”
“Try me.”
We stared at each other. Testing. Pushing. Neither willing to back down.
“This is insane,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You could lose your job. Your reputation. Everything.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
His hands slid from my face into my hair.
Fingers threading through it. Gentle. Possessive.
“Because I cannot watch you die. Because thought of losing you makes me want to burn the world down. Because somewhere between workshop and training hall and watching you fight like you were born to it, I stopped being able to pretend I do not care.”
“Viktor—”
He kissed me.
Not gentle. Not soft. Hard and desperate and tasting like rain and blood and everything we'd been holding back for weeks. His mouth was demanding against mine, claiming, and I opened for him without thinking. Without hesitation.
The taste of him—iron and salt and something that belonged only to Viktor—lit up every nerve, every ruined corner I thought I’d buried beneath titles and duty.
His teeth found my lower lip, a drag that bordered on pain, then soothed it with the slip of his tongue.
No space left for anything but hunger. His breath shuddered against my cheek as our mouths crashed, parted, met again.
My hands fisted in the lapels of his jacket, dragging him in until there was no room for doubt, no way to hide the want.
A tremor ran through him, hips pressing to mine with ruthless intent.
The heat between us built with every grinding kiss, every filthy sound wrenched from my throat.
His palm found the back of my neck, thumb skimming the pulse that thudded wild beneath my skin.
The world shrank to that touch, the demand and promise tangled in his grip.
My lips parted for him, greedy for every taste, every ragged inhale he fed me.
Viktor’s hand slid down, thumb catching my jaw, angling me for a deeper kiss.
He devoured every protest I might have made, tongue pushing into my mouth until I was swallowing him whole, until I forgot my own name.
My pulse jackhammered against his chest, both of us hard, trapped by fabric and need, friction turning savage as I arched up into him.
His thigh slotted between mine, rough wool pressing hard between my legs.
I rocked against him, shameless and shaking.
His other hand bracketed my hip, fingers digging in, forcing me to feel the bruises from the fight and the new ones he was making.
Every drag of his mouth down my throat left a mark, invisible but searing.
My hands slid up beneath his jacket, searching for skin, for proof that this wasn’t a fever dream or another night of longing gone unsatisfied.
The line of his back, the flex of muscle as he pinned me to the wall, all of it became a lifeline.
“Tell me to stop,” he growled, voice scraped raw against my ear. “Say it and I’ll walk away.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” My own voice sounded unrecognizable—hoarse, desperate, pleading and furious all at once. “Take what you want.”
His mouth crashed against mine again, a clash of teeth, spit, broken oaths.
The sharp edge of his stubble burned my chin as he kissed me hard enough to leave me gasping.
Viktor’s hands mapped my body through layers, pressing me harder into stone and shadow, making me feel every inch of him, every heartbeat out of control.
I dragged my mouth from his, breath coming ragged. “You want this?” My forehead pressed to his, sweat mingling with the remnants of rain. “All this time, watching me fall apart. This what you wanted?”
His answer was a hand at my throat, not tight enough to hurt, just enough to own me. “I want you begging,” he whispered, eyes wild and dark. “I want to hear you break for me.”
The words detonated in my chest. I ground up against his thigh, cock aching for friction. “You want me desperate? You want me ruined?” I could barely speak, lost in the hunger radiating off him. “You want to see what happens when you finally stop pretending?”
Viktor’s mouth was everywhere—my jaw, my ear, the corner of my mouth, biting, licking, nipping hard enough to bruise. My shirt collar was askew, buttons strained, his teeth worrying the skin where neck met shoulder. “Keep talking,” he ordered, voice unsteady. “Tell me what you want.”
My head fell back against the wall. I could barely think, just feel. “Want your mouth. Want your hands. Want you to remind me what it means to be alive.”
He slid a hand down, cupping me through my slacks, palm rough and possessive. “Like this?” he whispered, squeezing just enough to steal my breath. My hips jerked, helpless, into his grip. “Or do you want me on my knees for you, prince?”
I choked on a moan, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “Want you everywhere,” I managed, voice shaking. “Want you to ruin me. Want to taste you, feel you, forget everything except your hands on me.”
Viktor’s thumb pressed into the hollow below my jaw, tilting my head. “You want my mouth?” he taunted, brushing lips over mine, not kissing, just hovering. “You want to see what I do when nobody’s watching? When you’re mine?”
I tried to catch his mouth, but he pulled back, denying me, breath hot against my cheek. My body arched for him, straining for contact. He grinned, feral and mean, then captured my mouth again, biting down hard. His tongue fucked into my mouth, filthy and possessive, leaving me dizzy.
He broke away just enough to let his hand trace down my chest, fingers skating over my racing heart, nails scraping lines that burned through the thin fabric.
His palm found my waistband, paused there, thumb slipping beneath the hem, teasing, never quite giving in.
I writhed against him, teeth gritted, cursing under my breath.
“Please,” I finally gasped, pride forgotten. “Please, Viktor.”