Chapter 32
ACHILLES
“You know, I do have to ask.”
My father’s voice briefly pulls my gaze from staring at Yelena through the double French doors of the library as she strolls through the gardens of the estate with my mom.
She always looks like she’s exploring. Trying to uncover an undiscovered secret, or puzzling out a riddle that’s never been solved.
She’s inquisitive, always.
I love that about her.
That, and so many other things.
“Achilles.”
I’ve gone back to staring at Yelena. This time, I actually manage to tear my eyes away and turn to Dad.
“Hmm?”
He grins, chuckling quietly. “Oh, you’ve got it bad.”
My brows knit. “What?”
He sighs. “You’re far too smart to play dumb, pal.” He nods his chin past me, through the French doors. “You playing it cool all through dinner would have worked better if that wasn’t the first girl you’ve ever spoken to me about, never mind brought to have dinner at Ya-ya's and meet the family.”
I smirk. “So I was playing it cool?”
He rolls his eyes. “Barely. And again, I do have to ask.”
My brows arch. “About?”
“What are your intentions with her?”
I sigh. “Dad—”
“I’m not asking for me. I’m asking because her father isn’t going to ask benignly over a drink. Or unarmed,” he growls, his tone dark. “Nero’s a—”
“Psychopath, I know.”
He lifts his shoulders. “Like it or not, families are part of the deal when you pick someone, Achilles.”
Part of me wants to push back on the “picking” comment. But he’s right.
I have “picked” her.
Chosen her.
Decided upon her.
Yelena isn’t a “fascination”. She’s not my current obsession.
She’s my forever obsession. My most fascinating fascination, one that I’ll never tire of. Not even Nero's infamous penchant for violence is going to change that.
I clear my throat. “Any advice for me?”
Dad chuckles. “Why, because your mother came with her own Nero?”
I’ve heard the story a hundred times: Mom’s piece of shit dad was dead before she and Dad ever met, but that doesn’t mean Dad had it easy.
He had her psychotic and highly protective uncle, my great-uncle Cillian, to deal with.
Not to mention my uncle Castle, who might not be a psychopath, but is a former Army Ranger, and was protective as fuck of Mom when Dad came snooping around.
My dad sighs and shakes his head. “I do, actually. Be bold. If she’s what you want and you know that, don’t pussyfoot around. Own it.” I follow his gaze to where Yelena is talking with Mom.
“That’s how I was with your mother, and I’ve worn my feelings for her every single day since.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “When it comes to matters of the heart, be unafraid and un-fucking-repentant.”
“This place is…” She whistles under her breath as she gazes out over the twinkling lights of Central Park spread out forty stories below. “Magical. I can’t believe you grew up with this. Your mom told me you were here pretty much all the time.”
I shrug, surveying the grounds of Ya-ya’s estate. “Wouldn’t you do the same?”
She laughs. “I’m going to. Your mom and Ya-ya have already said I can come over whenever I want, with or without you. They were pretty clear about that or.”
I smirk. “Now I feel like I’m being used.”
She grins, her face half in shadow. “Little taste of your own medicine?”
“Oh, but I think you enjoy the ways I use you, little prey.”
She gasps quietly as I move against her, lacing my fingers around her waist and pulling her small frame to my body. She tilts her head back to look up at me.
“I do,” she says, her brow furrowing a little. “And I think that scares me.”
“Why?”
Her lip retreats between her teeth. “It still feels…” She shrugs and drops her gaze. “I don’t know—”
“Yes, you do.”
Yelena trembles deliciously when I touch her chin, lifting her gaze to mine.
“It feels…wrong,” she breathes. “To…you know…like those things.”
“Things like the way I fuck you?”
Her face blooms with heat and she nods, still chewing on her lip.
“The way I chase you and hunt you? The way you come when there’s a lethal edge of a blade pressed to your throat?”
She gulps heavily. “Yeah,” she whispers.
“Wrong because it makes you feel bad?”
She shakes her head. “No. None of it makes me feel bad.”
“Why not?”
She starts to look away.
“Look at me, baby,” I murmur, capturing her chin and twisting her gaze back to mine.
She shivers as her eyes lock with mine. “Because you make me feel safe,” she murmurs. “As intense as it gets, I know you won’t hurt me or push me further than I can go.” She blinks into my gaze. “Because I trust you.”
Suddenly, she starts to cry.
My brow knits as I lean down and cup her face.
“Yelena—”
“I need to tell you something,” she blurts.
Then, she opens her soul and tells me all her darkness.
She tells me about Kyle, and what that motherfucker did to her.
Every. Black. Poisonous. Detail.
She’s still crying as she twists away from me, turning to point across the street at the building her father and Angelo Santoro purchased, telling me how after what happened, she went to its roof and thought about jumping.
How she wanted to end it all because the weight and the shame and the anger she felt after that fucker hurt her was overwhelming, to the point of not being able to take it anymore.
I grab her and I hold her tight, letting her scream all her rage and fury into my chest. The irrational feelings of shame that defy logic. The feelings of worthlessness, and the jarring realization of how close she got to ending everything to get away from it.
Through it all, I just hold her. I wrap my arms around her and hold her as close to me as I can, like I’m trying to absorb her into my fucking skin, hoping that might take away the ache.
I tell her I’m here. That I’m not going anywhere. That I’m not scared or put off, or any other bullshit. That I’m so fucking sorry for getting it so fucking wrong with what I thought her history with that piece of shit was.
But I don’t give her sympathy or pity.
Because I know this girl well enough by now to know that’s not what she needs. She doesn’t need my fucking pity. She doesn’t need me to be outraged.
She needs me to be her fucking rock.
So I tell her how powerful she is and that it was that strength which attracted me to her in the first place, even if I don’t fully tell her what I mean by that.
I hold her until her tears go dry and her clinging to me turns to her grabbing me, and I can feel that strength I’m giving her as I hold her in my arms.
It’s late by the time I finally walk back into Ya-ya’s house cradling an exhausted, nearly asleep Yelena in my arms, far too late for me to have any interest in driving back to Knightsblood. Instead, I take her to one of the dozen guest rooms.
“Wait…” Her hand darts out, grabbing the front of my shirt as I start to pull away from tucking her in.
“I’m not going anywhere, little prey,” I growl as I peel off my clothes and slide into bed next to her. “I'm staying right here.”
She snuggles so close to me it's as if she’s trying to burrow into my skin. I hold her in my arms until I feel her breathing deepen and become regular, her chest rising and falling against my ribs as her fingers press into my skin.
Once she’s asleep, I dim my phone before I tap on the group chat with the rest of the guys.
Me
I’m putting this as clearly as I can: Kyle Santoro is a fucking dead man.
Lochlan
Heard. You still in the city? I can be at his front door in town in 5.
Drago
Race you there. You want knives, bullets, or something messier.
Ronan
Fuck yes. Whatever it is, I’m in.
Me
No one make any moves. He's fucking mine. Just wanted you all to know that he’s a corpse.
I turn to brush my lips over the top of Yelena’s sleeping head.
She doesn’t need my pity or sympathy.
But she’s going to get the full weight of my vengeance coming down like a sledgehammer on that motherfucker’s head.