Chapter Twenty - Lukyan #2
I kiss her everywhere; her mouth, her throat, her breasts, the hollow between her hips.
She wraps her arms around me, pulling me closer, begging for more.
I give it to her, over and over, until she breaks beneath me, coming hard, her body clenching around my cock, her cries muffled against my shoulder.
I follow, thrusting deep, spilling inside her with a groan, the world narrowing to the heat and grip of her, the way her body claims me as surely as I claim her.
We lie tangled together in the aftermath, breathless and spent, the room soft and quiet around us. She rests her head against my chest, her hair falling over my skin, her body warm and pliant in my arms.
I let myself simply hold her, no fear, no restraint, just the quiet certainty that she is mine, and I am hers. I press a kiss to her hair, breathing her in, and know that nothing outside this room matters.
Not tonight. Not with her in my arms.
The afterglow is soft and tangled, the room heavy with the scent of sweat and sex and the faintest drift of Clara’s perfume. The sheets are twisted, cooling against my skin, her body warm and loose against my chest.
I could lose myself in the rhythm of her breathing, the rise and fall of her shoulder beneath my hand, but some old wound inside me aches with the need to confess—just this once, just to her.
She lifts her head, propping herself on her elbow, her hair a wild halo around her face. In the low lamplight, her eyes are unguarded, waiting, wanting more than just touch.
“What is it?” she asks, her voice hushed, as if she’s afraid of breaking the fragile spell between us.
I hesitate. There are things I have never spoken aloud, not to my men, not to Nikolai, not even in the silence of my own thoughts.
She waits, hand spread over my heart, and I find myself giving her what I’ve never given anyone.
“There was someone,” I say, words slow, each one pulled from deep inside. “Before all this. Before I became… what I am now.”
She says nothing, just strokes her thumb across my skin in a silent invitation to go on.
“We were young. I thought I could keep her safe, keep the world at bay. I believed that, because I loved her, nothing could touch us. Then came an ambush—Ivan’s men.
We were supposed to be meeting a friend.
It was a trap. I was shot. She…” My throat tightens, the old agony raw and undiminished by time. “She was killed. In front of me.”
I force the rest out, jaw clenched. “I held her while she bled out. I tried to stop the bleeding, but it was everywhere. She died with my name on her lips, and I swore I would never let myself care again. Not like that. Not ever.”
Clara’s fingers tighten over my heart. She doesn’t cry, doesn’t whisper useless comforts. She just listens, her presence steady and unwavering. There is no pity in her gaze, only understanding, and something softer that wounds and heals in equal measure.
“I killed every man who had a hand in it,” I continue, voice low, barely more than a growl. “Vengeance didn’t bring her back. It just… hollowed me out. Made me colder. Every woman since—everybody since—was just… business. Distraction. Until you.”
She leans forward, pressing her lips to the scar on my shoulder, her hair brushing my chest. “I’m not her, Lukyan.”
“I know,” I say, my hand rising to cup her cheek. “You’re not. With you… I can feel again. It terrifies me.”
Her breath catches. “I’m not afraid of you. Not anymore.”
A silence settles, deep and clean, like rain after fire. I wrap my arms around her, drawing her close, letting the heat and shape of her body soothe some ancient hurt I’ve carried too long. She lays her head over my heart, her palm splayed against my skin, as if she could anchor me to the world.
Something shifts in the hush between us. I feel it in the steadiness of her breathing, the weight of her trust as she lets her eyes flutter shut. There is no demand here, no negotiation. Only the quiet fact of her presence.
I watch her, stroking my fingers through her hair, unable to look away.
The old armor I wear—violence, ruthlessness, calculation—cracks and falls away in the soft press of her body.
I feel exposed, stripped bare, dangerously human.
The room feels smaller, safer, as if nothing outside its walls could harm us.
I know better. I know what love costs a man in my world.
Still, with Clara’s head resting over my heart, the fear and longing twine together so tight it almost hurts. She senses the change in me—her eyes flicker open, searching my face in the shadows.
“Why did you tell me that?” she whispers, voice raw with sleep and something more. “Why now?”
I hesitate. Words are foreign things on my tongue, but I owe her the truth. “Because I’ve never wanted to hide anything from you, not really. If something happened to me, I’d want you to know why I am the way I am.”
She brushes her fingertips across my chest, tracing the old scars, her brow furrowed in thought. “I thought I understood. The violence. The walls. It’s more than that, isn’t it?”
I nod, letting the silence answer for a moment. “Losing her… it changed me. I stopped caring. Or I tried to. I thought it would keep me alive. Then you came here, and I started to feel again. It’s—” I break off, breath shuddering. “It’s dangerous, Clara.”
She props herself up, her hair spilling over my skin. “For who? For you, or for me?”
I reach up, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Both of us. Anyone who matters to me is a target. You saw that last week.”
Her hand covers mine, gentle but insistent. “I’m not afraid of them. Not if you’re with me.”
The admission cracks something open inside me. “You should be. You should run from me. I could be your ruin.”
She shakes her head, gaze steady. “Maybe. But maybe you could be my beginning too. You’re not the only one who’s lost something, Lukyan.”
We lie there, her head tucked beneath my chin, the space between us finally filled with truth. My arms tighten around her. The weight of the past eases, just enough for me to breathe.
“We’ll face it together,” she whispers. “Whatever comes.”
I tighten my hold on her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re braver than you think,” I murmur, feeling her smile against my chest. She sighs, letting her body settle into mine, tension ebbing from her limbs.
“Maybe,” she says softly, “but I’m terrified too. Of what I feel for you, and of what this could cost us.”
I can’t answer right away. I don’t have promises I can keep—not in this world, not with these enemies circling closer each day. I want to give her something real, something true.
“I can’t promise safety,” I tell her. “I’ll fight for you. As long as I breathe.”
She looks up at me, eyes bright with something fierce and uncertain. “That’s all I ask for.”
The city is waking outside the window, but for a moment there’s only us, quiet, tangled together, suspended in this rare, fragile peace. I smooth her hair, memorizing the weight of her against me, the sound of her breath, the way her heart matches mine.
Whatever happens next, I know I’m lost. I know I’m hers.