Chapter 25
Kira
Ipull back slightly, my eyes searching his face. The fear is still there—we both know the danger we're in. But something else shines through now. Hope. Determination. Love.
"Show me," I whisper. "Show me this matters. That we matter."
His answer is in his eyes before his lips find mine again. This kiss is different from all the others. No desperation. No anger. No ghosts of the past haunting us.
Just us. Finally, purely us.
He stands, pulling me with him, his hands gentle as they frame my face. "I need you," he murmurs against my mouth. "Not to forget. Not to escape. Just because you're you."
My heart clenches. This is what I've wanted since he came back from the dead—for him to want me for the right reasons. Not revenge. Not rage. Just love.
I reach for the hem of his shirt, careful of his bandaged shoulder. He helps me ease it over his head, revealing the patchwork of injuries covering his torso. The healing gunshot wounds. The bruises fading from purple to yellow. The scars from Georgia that will never fully disappear.
Each of those scars are a testament to his will to live. His strength.
"You're beautiful," I tell him.
He laughs, the sound rough but genuine. "I'm a mess."
"You're mine." I press my lips to his shoulder, just above the bandage. "Every scar. Every wound. Every broken piece. Mine."
His hands move to my clothes, undressing me slowly. When I'm bare before him, his eyes travel over my body.
"You're not showing yet," he says softly, his palm settling over my stomach.
"Not for a few more weeks probably." I cover his hand with mine. "But they're in there. Growing. Our baby."
"Our baby." He says it like a prayer. Like a promise.
He leads me to the bed, and we sink onto it together. The mattress is thin, the sheets rough, but none of that matters. All that matters is the man beside me, his body warm against mine.
His kisses are slow. Thorough. He takes his time exploring my mouth, my throat, the curve of my shoulder. There's no rush, no frantic need to possess. Just tenderness.
This is the man I fell in love with when I was just a girl.
He’s come back to me. The violence and anger are gone.
My Maksim is back.
I arch into him as his lips find my breast, his tongue circling my nipple. They're more sensitive than usual. The sensation sends heat pooling low in my belly.
"Maksim," I breathe.
"I know." His hand trails down my side, over my hip, between my thighs. "Let me take care of you."
His fingers find me wet and ready. He strokes slowly, building pleasure in gradual waves instead of the usual storm. I rock against his hand, my breathing quickening.
But when I reach for him, try to return the attention, he catches my wrist.
"Tonight is about you," he says. "Let me worship you. I owe you so much. An apology. I’m an asshole. I’ve treated you so badly. You should have killed me for doing what I did."
I smile up at him. “Maksim, if I didn’t like it, I would have killed you.”
He flashes a cocky grin. “It was good.”
I laugh softly, the sound turning into a gasp as his fingers press deeper, finding that spot inside me that makes my vision blur. "It was very good."
"And it's going to be even better now." He lowers his head, trailing kisses down my stomach. His lips pause over where our child grows, so gentle it makes my throat tight. "Both of you are precious to me."
The tenderness in his voice undoes something in my chest. This is what I've been missing—not just the physical connection, but this emotional intimacy. Being cherished instead of conquered. It’s the intimacy that has my heart racing and my body quivering.
"Easy," he murmurs against my skin. "We have all night."
But my body doesn't want to go slow. It's been starving for this kind of love for too long. Every nerve ending is hypersensitive, pleasure building faster than I can control.
His fingers work magic on my clit while his teeth and tongue attack my nipples. The dual sensation is overwhelming. I grip the sheets, my thighs trembling around his head.
"Maksim," I groan.
“I’ve got you.”
The orgasm crashes over me, stealing my breath and my sanity. I cry out his name, my back arching as waves of pleasure roll through me. He doesn't stop, drawing it out until I'm shaking and oversensitive.
He stares down at me with wonderment and hunger in his eyes. I love this man. Not a simple love. I love him with every cell in my body. I will love him forever. I will find him in my next life and the one after. He’s mine.
"I could do that all night," he says, crawling up my body to capture my mouth in a deep kiss.
He settles between my thighs, his weight supported on his good arm. I feel him hard against my entrance, and suddenly I need him inside me with an urgency that borders on desperation.
"Please," I breathe. "Maksim, I need you
When he enters me, it's so slow I feel every inch. The stretch. The fullness. The perfect fit of our bodies.
I gasp, my hands moving to grab his firm ass with my nails digging into his flesh. He stills, giving me time to adjust, his forehead pressed to mine.
"Okay?" he whispers.
"Perfect." I lift my hips slightly.
The pace is unhurried. Each thrust is deliberate and measured. It’s designed to draw out the pleasure rather than race toward release. His good hand tangles with mine, fingers interlacing as he makes love to me.
Because that's what this is. Not sex. Not fucking. Making love.
The distinction brings tears to my eyes. After everything we’ve been through, we've found our way back to this. To tenderness. To trust.
"I love you," I whisper against his lips. "I love you so much."
"I love you too." He kisses me deeply as he moves inside me. "Always. Even when I pretended I didn't. Always."
The pleasure builds slowly, a tide rising instead of crashing. I feel it in every nerve ending, every cell. His body moving with mine. Our hearts beating in sync. The life we created together nestled safely between us.
When my orgasm hits, it's gentle. A wave of warmth spreading through me rather than the usual explosion. I cry out softly, my body tightening around him.
He follows seconds later, his own release shuddering through him as he buries his face in my neck. I feel him pulse inside me. I hold him close; my legs wrapped around his hips.
We stay like that. Connected. Complete. One heart. One soul.
Finally, he shifts, careful not to crush me as he settles beside me on the narrow bed. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against his chest.
"Thank you," he murmurs into my hair.
"For what?"
"For not giving up on us. For loving me even when I didn't deserve it. For carrying our child." His hand moves to my stomach again, protective and possessive. "For everything."
I turn in his arms to face him. He looks vulnerable in a way I've never seen before. Even when he was at death’s door, he looked like he was ready to storm into Valhalla. But this version of him is the boy I fell in love with so long ago.
"We're going to make it through this," I tell him. "All of us. You, me, Anya, the baby. We're going to survive, and we're going to have the life we should have had."
"Promise?"
"Promise." I seal it with a kiss.
We lie together, simply enjoying being in this moment with one another.
"What do you think it'll be?" he asks suddenly. "Boy or girl?"
The question makes me smile. Such a normal thing to wonder about. Such a stark contrast to the danger surrounding us.
"I don't know. Does it matter?"
"No." His hand stills on my stomach. "As long as they're healthy. As long as they're safe."
"They will be. We'll make sure of it."
"Tell me what you want," he says. "For the baby. For us. For after."
I consider the question. What do I want?
"Peace," I say finally. "I want to wake up without wondering if today is the day Roman finds us. I want to go to sleep knowing our child is safe. I want normal things—nursery furniture and baby names and midnight feedings."
"What else?"
"I want to see you hold our baby for the first time. Want to watch you be a father without the weight of this world on your shoulders." I trace the line of his jaw. "I want us to have boring days where the biggest problem is what to make for dinner."
"Boring sounds perfect." He kisses my forehead. “When Roman is dead and we're safe. I'm going to marry you properly."
My throat tightens. "You're proposing?"
"I'm stating a fact." His thumb brushes my cheek. "You're mine, Kira. You've always been mine. And when this nightmare ends, I'm making it official."
"What if I say no?"
"You won't." The confidence in his voice makes me smile despite myself.
"Arrogant."
"Certain." He pulls me closer. "Because you love me as much as I love you. We've already survived hell, and we're not letting anything keep us apart again."
He's right. Of course he's right.
"Then yes," I whisper. "When this is over. When we're safe. Yes, I'll marry you."
"I'm going to give you everything," he promises.
"I just want you." I kiss him softly. "The rest is just details."
We drift in comfortable silence. I feel safe for the first time in a very, very long time even though I know the wolves are circling.
"Kira?" His voice is drowsy now.
"Hmm?"
"If something happens to me—"
"Don't." I press my fingers to his lips. "Don't finish that sentence."
"I have to." He moves my hand gently. "If something happens, I need you to promise me you'll run. Take Anya and the baby and disappear. Don't try to fight. Don't try to avenge me. Just survive. If Semyon survives, trust him."
"Maksim—"
"Promise me." His eyes are fierce now. "Our child needs a mother. I need to know that if I die, you'll live. That something good comes from all this."
The tears I've been holding back finally spill over. "I can't promise that."
"You have to."
"No." I shake my head. "I can't live in a world without you. I tried it for six years, and I barely survived. I'm not doing it again."
"You have to. For the baby."
"For the baby, I need their father alive." I grip his face in my hands. "So you don't get to die. You don't get to sacrifice yourself. We survive together or not at all."
"That's not—"
"I mean it." My voice is fierce. "You want me to promise something? I promise I'll fight. I promise I'll protect our child with everything I have. But I won't promise to give up on you. Ever."
"Stubborn woman," he murmurs.
"Stubborn man."
"We're going to survive this," he says, and it sounds like he's trying to convince himself as much as me.