Chapter 19
The tasteof copper fills my mouth, the sting of her bite turning into a throb with a heartbeat of its own.
Nikoletta grins up at me. With a curl of her sexy pointed tongue, she sucks my blood from where it stains her pretty white teeth.
I march her back by my fierce grip on her hair, until I pin her against the wall. Dragging my thumb over the broken flesh inside my bottom lip, I come away with a thick swath of blood. “Try to suck me clean all you want, little girl; there’s more where that came from.”
Pinning her thigh between mine, immobilizing the weapon strapped there, I settle my thumb on the subtle dip bisecting her plump bottom lip.
She gasps, her hot breath fanning over my skin, making my cock jump against her. What would it be like to have that hot little mouth of hers wrapped around me? Her heated, rapid breaths skimming over my tight skin. Those sharp teeth dragging along the veins of my cock, tempted to bite into me until she draws blood.
Pain is all I know.
Biting me?
That is just a flicker of foreplay.
I skim down her lip, tugging it before letting it snap back. Eyes locked on the fire in hers, I anoint her with my blood. First, along the divot under her mouth. Then over the curve of her chin. Finally, streaking crimson along the underside of her jaw to the column of her throat.
“Spill my blood and I’ll just paint you in it so you don’t forget who you belong to.” I dip my mouth to the hollow at the base of her throat and lick, slowly working my way along the trail I left, every swipe of my tongue bathing my blood from her velvety skin.
When I reach her bottom lip, I stop and study her. Daring her with my eyes to lick the last vestiges of me from her flesh. Locked in a silent standoff, I search for a flicker of the woman who wanted me just over a year ago. The one who begged me, refusing to take no for an answer.
“You can’t find her, can you?” she asks with a quiet confidence she’d found in our time apart.
This proud little seductress crawls straight into my head and taps into my greatest weakness, taunting me with it.
“Pcholka…”
“That stupid, gullible little girl you’re looking for—she’s dead.”
“She was never stupid or gullible,” I murmur, my eyes roaming every last inch of her face and stopping at where my blood had begun to dry on her lip. “But she is dead… because I killed her.”
As much as this woman before me slays me in every possible way, I grievefor the piece of her forever lost—destroyed when I surrendered to this hunger pulsing between us.
I gave her father and brother a way to devastate her. What I did, no different than had I put a loaded gun in Vlad’s hand with my blessing to end her entirely.
Her increasingly glassy eyes slide away, telling me despite what I ruined, she hasn’t gone completely cold to the world around her. That is something.
For tonight, it will have to be enough.
Relaxing my hold on her hair, I cup her face, my thumbs lazily gliding back and forth over her cheeks. When her tears threaten to spill over, I press a kiss to her forehead, breathe her in one last time, and leave the room before I can see them fall.
Because if I witness them, she’ll just hate me for that too.
I find Grigori at the island in the kitchen, a highball glass of whiskey tipped to his lips and another beside him.
Taking a seat, I wrapped my fingers around the glass, and he pounces.
“She’s dangerous for you,” he says quietly, his inquisitive gaze flicking to me.
I knock back two solid gulps and relish the burn searing down my throat and warming my belly. “Protecting her has always been dangerous.”
He grunts and turns back to his drink, his silent judgment hanging between us.
“Whatever it is, just fucking say it.”
He drums his fingers on the granite, every cascade of his fingertips grating on my nerves. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“So what did you mean?” I slam my glass down, sending the liquor sloshing over the rim and down my hand. “Now’s your chance, Grigori. For the next minute, I’m not your boss. You have exactly sixty seconds to say whatever the fuck it is you’re desperate to say. You go a second over, I’ll cut your fucking tongue out right here and make you watch as I grind it down my garbage disposal.”
He tilts his head, his eyebrow shooting up, completely unaffected by my threat. “You love her.”
“Of course I love her, she’s my goddaughter. You just lost three seconds stating the obvious.”
“Nice try,” he says with a mocking laugh he’d never dare aim at me had I not given him this chance to lay it all out in the open.
“You stopped loving her as just a goddaughter in that crypt. I didn’t need to see it to know what happened. You fucked her, and you still want her. But she just as soon put that knife she carries in you than let you get close. The question is why.”
He slides off the stool and downs the rest of his drink. “She’s not the girl she was. You saw what she did to that guy. She’s a killer. Maybe more of a killer than any of us. So now you have her, but to what end? She’ll kill you, or Nikolaj will find out and he’ll kill you, but not before this new war costs lives.”
Without another word, he sets his glass in the sink and heads for the door.
Nailed it in one. Fuck.
The minute he slips out, I hang my head in my hands, drag my fingers through my hair, and turn my gaze to the hallway leading to her.
Don’t do it. Don’t you fucking do it.
I refill the glass, this time to the rim, planning to get stinking drunk so I don’t cave to my instincts to go in that room. Instead, I head for the sofa. The cushion yields under my weight and I lean back with a sigh.
Exhausted but too keyed up to sleep, I flick the small peg tucked under the upholstery along the arm. The secret compartment I had custom built into the side slides open, revealing a Glock, three spare fully-loaded magazines, and Nikoletta’s diary.
I definitely have my work cut out for me if Faith will be here for any length of time with her babies. They look to be only a few months old, but soon they’ll be crawling, then they’ll be into everything. Which means I have about twenty hidden guns in this place that need to be secured to protect them.
Head swimming with my impending to-do list, I reach for the soft bound journal, but stop just inches away. My ears prick, listening for the sound of water running or the soft muffled sound of feet padding across the floor, any movement, but only a dead silence greets me in return. The chances of Nikoletta coming out here where she knows she”ll have to face me are slim to none. Sheer stubbornness alone will keep her sweet ass in that room. So, I take advantage of the last bit of privacy I may have for a long damn time.
Settling back, I turn the lamp up a notch and run my fingers over the cool, supple leather, holding myself back. When I finally open the pages, her will would tease the air. A form of torture I seem to crave.
Whiskey clutched in my hands like a safety blanket, I hold the journal on my thigh and fan the pages. A sick satisfaction fills me every time that rich, bloodred ink flashes by. I’ve been so focused on reading the entries about me that I haven’t noticed the pages with pink hearts until they streak past.
Setting my drink aside, I flip page after page, backtracking, curious what got my Pcholka drawing hearts with such flair.
When I finally find it, my gaze locks on three words that have me going rigid with a swift flood of jealousy.
My first kiss…
I have no right to be jealous. None. I never thought of her like this at the time. I never would have. But fuck if my heart doesn’t despise the three-decade divide between us that means some rites of passage holding a place in her heart will not include me.
With my better judgment off somewhere cavorting with the liquor I’ve consumed, I start reading.
Hey, it’s me again…
Do you know how hard it is to have your first kiss when you”re the most guarded teen on the planet? Yeah, well, let me tell you… it means that you have several near misses and then finally, FINALLY, you get the opportunity, but… with your brother’s best friend of all people.
Okay, let’s be real… everyone would freak if they knew. He’s like eight years older than me.
Try ten, you little shit.
Although, if they knew who I’d been crushing on all this time, they”d welcome Logan with open arms.
So, ummm, can we talk about this guy for a minute? Because wow!
Logan Rhodes is the definition of Mister All-American. Gorgeous. Smart. Athletic, and, well, powerful. He’s a member of the secret society Nikolaj joined in college and that alone earned him a good dose of respect, a healthy amount of fear, and a mountain of opportunities beyond what he already had.
But he’s not an asshole about it. He’s quietly observant and understated. Loyal and protective.
Being in this family, constantly imprisoned, you’d think I’d avoid powerful guys, but there’s just something about him. He does everything with confidence, but he’s not so affected by that power. He’s all easy humor and encouragement that makes you feel like you can do anything too.
This was his first time coming to a family event, just to come across me fending off Callum Heath’s wandering hands and his way too eager mouth. I never should have gone to the gardens with him, but for a minute I thought I could just go, get my first kiss out of the way, and move on.
Plus, it was my sweet 16 and Vlad was off on some trip to who knows where. Probably schmoozing on some yacht. I was riding the high of not having to fend Vlad off at every turn. And with how fucked up Vlad is, was it any surprise that I’d miss the signs of Callum being a boner on legs?
He seemed nice enough, good-looking, but the farther we got into the garden, the more he sipped from the flask he’d stolen from his dad, and by the time we made it to the fountain, he’d turned into a raging jackass.
Callum is a goddamned dead man walking. And where the fuck was I when all this was going down? Her sixteenth birthday had been kind of a shit show full of distractions. But also, Vlad wasn’t there, so maybe I was too lax.
Logan stepped in, all affable, with that unassuming smile of his, but the look in his eyes… lethal. It was a quick flash, but holy shit! #Drool
I’m not proud that it’s that look that does it for me, but here we are.
Anyway, with Callum taken care of… meaning leaving with a broken arm, Logan sat me down for a talk, but not in a condescending way.
“What are you up to, Nik?”
I loved how he called me that. Like I could hang with them. I wasn’t just some helpless Bratva princess daddy would be peddling off to expand his power.
“The way it’s going, I’m not going to have my first kiss until my wedding and I just can’t live with that.”
He studied me for several silent minutes. Finally, he sighed and for a second I thought he was going to dismiss me, but then he stood, took my hand, and said, “Your brother would kill me for this… and rightfully so.”
Not. Just. Her. Fucking. Brother.
It’s all burned in my brain from that point on and I cannot stop playing it over and over. I’m not going to sleep tonight. I’m just going to keep hitting the rewind button.
He tugged me to my feet and with his index finger to the underside of my chin, he pushed my mouth closed.
“First rule, find your chill. Don’t look so amazed that someone is going to kiss you. You’re beautiful and smart. It’s not a stretch.”
“No one has dared yet.”
“Yeah, well, kissing you is dangerous. But if the choice is me or another Callum, it’s going to be me.” He took my arms and dipped his head, looking me in the eye. “You’ve been playing with boys. Boys grope. Men, a real man worthy of you, won’t. He doesn’t need to. He can make you feel with nothing more than his hands on your face. If he can’t make you feel by touching you from the neck up, he sucks, and when you’re ready and you go there, the sex will be an even bigger letdown. Anything less isn’t worth your time. Remember that.”
This smooth fucker. But he wasn’t wrong and I really resent the fuck out of that.
When he cupped my jaw, tipped my head up, and grinned down at me, I had no fear, no hesitation, no worry that I’d suck at it and he’d laugh. Because with just that look on his face, he assured me that it didn’t matter what lack of skill I brought to the kiss, he’d control it and it would be amazing.
I could not hate this journal entry more.
He tasted like summertime and lemon. My mouth just naturally opened under his. I wasn’t sure that’s what I was supposed to do, but it felt right. If the way he stepped into me was any indication, it was.
I loved the feel of his fingers flexing on my jaw, like he had to fight the urge to take it farther. I felt powerful and finally in control of my fate.
When his warm tongue slid along mine, I almost fell over. Lightheaded, my skin tight and hot, I grabbed ahold of his belt loops and steadied myself.
The minute I found my balance, though, I walked my fingertips right up his sides, over his ribs, and slid them around his back.
His muscles went rigid under my hands, his kiss deepened, and his dick… welp, let’s just say it was noteworthy. The minute I felt it, he pulled back.
“Remember what I said Nik,” he said before running his thumb along the skin meeting my bottom lip and coming away with a smear of lipstick. “Anything less is not good enough. Don’t be afraid to go after what you want and don’t settle for less than you deserve. Ever.”
I snatch my glass of whiskey, sending it splashing over my hand, and medicate myself with a massive gulp.
So why, if Logan was all the amazing things, did I go home and touch myself with Konstantin in my head, and when I came, his name on my lips???
I swallow hard. My heart hammers behind my ribs. Every rough breath strains my tight chest. The wave of grief from being a voyeur, peering into another time and place, threatens to consume.
Knowing her first kiss was just as shaped by her love and desire for me, means it belongs to me too, even if I wasn’t the first to breach her soft, full mouth.
God, I hate that he tasted her. He had no intentions of pursuing anything with her. This was just a means to an end. A way of making sure her first kiss didn”t come from some selfish, clumsy kid who didn’t care about or love her the way she deserved. But did he think about their kiss every time he happened to see her since? Will he continue to think about it when he sees her in the future?
What the hell am I even thinking? Of course he will. How the hell do you look at her and not think about the way she tastes and how she moves under you? How do you forget the sounds that bubble up from deep in her throat when sensation drowns her?
You don’t. I’ve tried. God, how I’ve tried.
Those doubt-filled nights my soul agonized over the idea of never finding her, despair carved me apart, stealing a piece at a time, until I didn’t think I’d survive another day.
And when the sun came up, and air still filled my lungs, I buried the all-consuming anguish in wild carnage.
From the day she ran, I’d begun forming a strong association between the warm, fresh blood I spilled far and wide searching for her, and her.
Now I see the connection for what it was… foreshadowing.
I toss back the rest of the liquor and head for her. She has to be asleep by now and I have to make sure she is okay.
I have to assure myself she is mine. Just mine.
And the possessive, bloodthirsty monster in me has to know if my blood still remains on her lip or if she scrubbed me free.
I’ll peek in, see her with my own eyes, and I’ll go.
The handle moves freely. Not locking the door behind me has to be a good sign. If she really wanted to keep me out, she would have. Mustering up every bit of patience I have left, I turn the handle agonizingly slow, the sounds of the latch slipping free, barely a whisper of a sound.
Leaning in the doorway, my hand on the handle, I study her. The lamp next to the bed burns, the soft glow caressing her face. As my eyes adjust, I make out the tracks of dried tears streaking down her cheeks.
And there on her mouth, my blood still stains her bottom lip.
Pcholka, Pcholka, Pcholka, what are you trying to tell me by leaving my mark on you?
With all of her ferociousness at rest, her face softens the way it does just before her smile lights up a room—before her charming laugh draws people to her.
Much in the way I pictured her looking at Rhodes right before he stole her first kiss.
I silently cross the floor to the side of the bed where she is lying with her back to me. She stirrs, burrowing her face in my comforter with a soft sigh.
Seeing her nestled in my bed, where she belongs, rouses something raw and possessive inside me. How much blood will she spill of mine if she finds out? Just the thought of her slicing me open ignites a strange fascination in me. A craving for her brand of pain that has my cock hardening even more, aching as it strains against my zipper.
Rhodes may have had her first kiss, but he’ll never be able to handle this Nikoletta.
But pain is all I know, and if she wants to slice me to ribbons, I’ll let her.
My knuckles throb under the force of my clenched fists as I fight my overwhelming urge to reach for her. I itch to rub the silky strands of her hair between my fingers. But if I start there, I won’t stop. I’ll pin her wrists over her head, tear away the scrap of warm, damp cotton covering her tight pussy, and take. Take until she screams uncontrollably, and I won’t stop until I reduce her to whimpers and sobbing my name.
Grigori’s ominous warning echoes through my head, and still I don’t leave. Instead, I retreat to the cushioned chair in the corner, tucked away in the shadows. I watch her sleep like the fucking creep I’ve slowly morphed into more and more with every time I exiled myself to the crypt. My laser focus fixes on the steady rise and fall of her shoulders with each peaceful breath until my breathing pattern matches hers. Ears prickling, my sense of hearing heightens, homing in on every delicate sound she makes. Her breathing, sighs, the occasional soft mumble.
Every version of Nikoletta lives here, between her in the flesh and every rendition of her in my memories. All facets of her converge. The girl I’ve protected from birth. The teenager from her journals. The woman I found enticing men on that fucking pole. The woman I took on the altar. The killer she’s become.
I drag my hand down my face. What the fuck am I doing in here watching her? Jesus. Every time I think I can’t get lower, I rise to the occasion. Dropping my hand in my lap, my palm cups my cock and before I can tell myself to stop, I stroke myself long and hard over my zipper.
Fuck.
I’ve already hurt her. All but destroyed this girl she’d been. I refuse to be this. To do this to her. Disrespect her by getting off like some fucking freak in the corner when I’m supposed to be keeping her safe.
That means keeping her safe from this new, warped side of me.
Before I can change my mind, I cling to the man I’d been, her protector before it had all turned to shit. Without another glance in her direction, I leave the room as silently as I crept in.