Chapter 14 Mine to Protect
Chapter fourteen
Mine to Protect
Mikhail
She's wearing white.
Not a wedding dress—we don't have time for that—but a simple white blouse she bought yesterday at a local store, paired with dark jeans.
Still, watching Mariana check herself in the mirror of the courthouse bathroom, adjusting the collar to hide the bite mark I left on her neck, she's the most beautiful bride I've ever seen.
My bride. And, in a couple of minutes, my wife.
"Stop staring," she says without turning around. "It's creepy."
"It's appreciative."
"It's possessive."
"That too."
She turns to face me, and the morning light from the small window catches her face perfectly. Those amber eyes that first captivated me two years ago now carry our shared secrets—so many memories and moments together created in such a short time, and now also a child of both..
Mine.
The word pulses through me with every heartbeat. It should disturb me, this complete dissolution of the boundaries I've maintained for fifteen years. Ghost couldn't afford to share his family, or have a wife and get married, much less bring a child into the world.
But I'm not just Ghost anymore. And I never will be again..
"The judge is ready," Alexei says, appearing in the doorway. His expression gives nothing away, but I know him well enough to see the amusement. "Nervous?"
"Why would I be nervous about marrying a federal agent while we're both wanted for treason?"
"Former federal agent," Mariana corrects. "Currently unemployed pregnant fugitive."
"Unemployed pregnant fugitive wife," I correct. "In exactly twenty minutes."
"Fifteen," Alexei says. "Judge Morrison has a full docket. We're squeezing this in as a favor."
Judge Morrison—sixty years old, deeply in debt from his son's medical bills, and extremely grateful for the anonymous donation that saved his house last year. Alexei's "favor" is more accurately described as collecting on an investment.
The judge's chambers smell like cigarettes he's not supposed to smoke and the kind of desperation that clings to men who've made too many compromises. His hands shake slightly as he reviews our paperwork—all legitimate, despite our circumstances.
"Everything appears to be in order," Morrison says, glancing nervously between us. He knows who I am, what I am, and that terrifies him.
Good.
"Shall we begin?" Morrison asks.
I take Mariana's hand. Her palm is damp—she's nervous. My little wolf who faced down armed mercenaries without flinching is nervous about marrying me.
The ceremony is brief, clinical. ‘Do you take this woman, do you take this man.’ I barely hear the words over my own thoughts.
"The rings?" Morrison asks.
I pull out the simple gold bands Alexei procured this morning. Nothing fancy—we'll do better when our names are cleaned. But when I slide the ring onto her finger, when metal meets skin and she becomes legally mine, something primal and satisfied settles in my chest.
"By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
I'm kissing her before he finishes speaking. Not gentle, not appropriate for a courthouse wedding—a claiming kiss that makes Morrison step back and Alexei clear his throat.
"Save it for the honeymoon," Alexei mutters.
I pull back but keep her close. "Mrs. Kozlov."
"Ms. Castillo-Kozlov."
"Stubborn."
"Always."
Six hours later, we're back in my house. Mariana's curled on the couch with her laptop, still wearing the white blouse from our wedding, though she's shed her shoes. She looks like she belongs here. Like she's always belonged here.
"Stop staring," she says without looking up.
"I can do it all I want now, you're my wife."
"For six hours."
"Six hours and seventeen minutes."
She glances up, fighting a smile. "You're counting?"
"Every second."
Her phone buzzes. When she reads the message, her face goes pale.
"What is it?"
She hands me the phone with shaking fingers.
Interesting day, Agent Castillo. Or should I say Mrs. Kozlov? You have 48 hours to turn yourself in, or I release everything. Your mother's immigration status is first. - Harrison
The rage that floods through me is ice-cold and absolute. Harrison just threatened my mother-in-law. My family.
He's dead.
No—Not yet. We need him alive, talking. But after that, he’s done. Every instinct in me screams to eliminate the threat.
"How did he know?" Mariana asks. "We were careful—"
"Courthouse records. Morrison probably filed the paperwork immediately, and Harrison has alerts on our names." I'm already dialing Boris. "I need protection on Mariana's mother. Now."
"Mikhail—"
"Non-negotiable." I turn back to the phone. "Two men minimum. Former Spetsnaz if possible. Discreet but thorough."
"You can't put Russian soldiers on my mother!"
"I can and I will." I pocket the phone. "No one threatens our family."
"Our family," she repeats softly. Then her expression hardens. "We have forty-eight hours. We need a plan."
"We have to make Harrison confess," she says, pacing now. "On tape. Undeniable."
"He's too smart for that."
"He's arrogant. Arrogant men make mistakes when they think they've won."
"You want to use yourself as bait."
She stops pacing. "I want to use his assumptions against him. He thinks I'm weak, emotional, that I've been corrupted by you."
"Haven't you been?" I can't help the smirk.
"That's beside the point." She shoots me a look. "He thinks I'm just another federal agent who got in over her head. He has no idea what I'm capable of."
"And if he finds out about the pregnancy?"
"He won't. There's no way for him to know unless we tell him."
"Mariana—"
"No. Don't you dare start the overprotective husband routine now. We're partners or we're nothing."
"We're married. We're definitely something more than that."
"That still doesn't give you the right to sideline me!"
"Carrying my child does!"
The words explode out of me, too loud in the space. She steps back, and I see her hand move unconsciously to her stomach.
"Your child," she says quietly. "Your wife. Your family. What about me and what I want?"
"You want to put yourself in danger!"
"I want to solve this! I want us free, our baby safe, our lives back!"
"And if something happens to you? If Harrison—"
"Then you trust me to handle it! Trust me the way I trusted you when you asked me!"
"That didn't put you out of danger, and at that time neither of us had as much to lose as we do now.!"
She moves closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo, see the pulse jumping in her throat. "That's why we have to do this together. You know I'm right. Two are better than one. You have to let me do my part, or this marriage is already over."
The threat hits like ice water. "You don't mean that."
"Try me. Lock me up, treat me like property, and see how fast I disappear once this is over."
"I'd find you."
"And that still won't do you any good."
We're inches apart now, both breathing hard. The tension between us is electric—anger and fear and want all tangled together.
"I can't lose you," I admit, the words scraping raw from my throat. "I've lost everyone I've ever—I can't lose you too."
Her expression softens slightly. She understands. Of course she does. My brilliant, intuitive wife sees straight through to the fear that drives every controlling impulse. "I know. But you have to trust me."
"I trust you. I just—"
"Not this time." She cups my face in her hands. "We, our family, will be fine."
"You can't promise that."
"I can promise to fight for it. With you, not despite you."
The last of my resistance crumbles. I pull her against me, pressing her back against the kitchen island.
"You drive me insane," I growl against her neck.
"Good." Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting. "Someone needs to."
I lift her onto the counter, stepping between her thighs. "Is this how you want to solve our arguments? Sex on the kitchen counter?"
"Would you prefer the bedroom?"
"I'd prefer you stop risking your life."
"And I'd prefer you stop treating me like glass." She bites my lower lip, hard. "I'm not fragile, Mikhail. Stop acting like I'll break."
Something snaps in me. I grab her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. "You want me to stop being gentle?"
"I want you to stop being afraid."
"I'm terrified," I admit against her skin. "Terrified of losing you. Terrified of failing you like I failed Anya."
"You didn't fail—"
"I did. And if I fail you, if I fail our baby—"
She silences me with a kiss that's all teeth and desperation. "You won't. We won't let you."
I carry her to the bedroom, her legs wrapped around my waist, her mouth hot against my neck. When I set her on the bed, she immediately starts unbuttoning the white blouse—her wedding blouse.
"Wait." I catch her hands. "Let me."
I take my time with each button, revealing skin inch by inch. She's wearing a simple white bra underneath, nothing fancy, but on her it looks like lingerie designed to destroy me.
"You're going slow on purpose," she accuses.
"I'm memorizing my wife on our wedding day."
"We already had sex this morning."
"That was before you were Mrs. Kozlov." I push the blouse off her shoulders, letting it pool around her waist. "This is different."
"How?"
"Now you're legally mine."
She reaches for my belt. "And you're legally mine."
"Always was."
"Arrogant, aren’t we?."
I trace the bite mark on her neck, still purple from two nights ago. "This needs refreshing."
"Mikhail—"
I bite down on the same spot, harder this time, and she cries out—not in pain but in something darker, needier. Her nails rake down my back through my shirt.
"Take it off," she demands.
I pull my shirt over my head, and her hands immediately go to my scars, tracing them with reverence that makes my chest tight.
"Mine," she says quietly. "All of this. All of you."
"Yours," I agree.
What follows is not gentle. It's possession and claiming and the desperate need to merge into one being.
She matches me touch for touch, mark for mark.
When I pin her wrists above her head, she wraps her legs around me and takes control from below.
When she rides me, I grip her hips hard enough to bruise, guiding her movements until we're both lost in the rhythm.
"Tell me you're mine," I demand, so close to the edge I can barely think.
"Make me."
I flip us over, driving deep, and she gasps my name like a prayer.
"Say it."
"Yours," she pants. "Always yours. Only yours."
"My wife. My woman."
"Yes. Yes. Mikhail—"
She shatters around me, and I follow her over, my vision whiting out as I claim her in the most primal way possible.
After, we lie tangled and breathless, sweat cooling on our skin. Her head is on my chest, and I can feel her heartbeat gradually slowing to match mine.
"Feel better?" she asks.
"Barely."
"Liar. You feel completely better. Possessive alpha wolves always do after they've marked their territory."
"You like it when I mark you."
"That's beside the point." She traces lazy patterns on my chest. "We still need a plan."
"I know."
"And you need to let me take the lead on this."
"I know that too."
"Really?"
I turn to look at her. "You're the FBI agent. You know Harrison, how he thinks, what will make him slip. I'm just the muscle."
Mariana smiles and her eyes reflect the gratitude she feels at hearing the words she was waiting for from my mouth.
But before any of us can say anything, my phone buzzes. Mila.
"Put her on speaker," Mariana says.
"Uncle Misha! I have it! Evidence of Harrison's whole financial network—twelve million dollars, thirty-nine victims, and get this—We knew about his private trafficking ring, but I found evidence that he's been using FBI resources to run it."
"Send it all to my encrypted server."
"Already done. Also, Mariana? Your mom's safe. Boris's men are in position, and I've got her building's security cameras under my control."
"Thank you, Mila."
"Family takes care of family. Speaking of which, how's my future cousin doing? Any morning sickness yet?"
"It's still too early, Mila."
"So? These things can start early! Are you taking prenatal vitamins? Eating enough? Uncle Misha better be taking good care of you both."
"He's hovering like a mother hen," Mariana says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
"Good! Now, have you thought about names? Russian names are very distinguished—"
"Goodbye, Mila."
"Wait! Don't hang up! We need to discuss the baby shower—"
I hang up. Two seconds later, my phone explodes with texts.
Mariana laughs, the sound filling all the empty spaces in my chest.
"She's going to be an interesting cousin for this baby."
"The best kind."
I pull her closer. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"
"Are you?"
"No. But I'll do it anyway. I trust you.
Because you're right—you're the only one who can get him to confess.
And because..." I pause, the words difficult but necessary.
"We started this together, we stayed together, and we should finish it together.
It terrifies me, but I know you're capable.
And I also know what I'm capable of to protect you, you and my child. "
"That might be the sexiest thing you've ever said."
"More than when I tell you you're mine?"
"It's a close second."
She kisses me, soft and sweet this time. "We're going to win, Mikhail. We're going to beat Harrison, clear our names, and give our baby a normal life."
"Normal?"
"Okay, maybe that’s a big word for us. But free. Safe."
"That's all I want."
In forty-one hours, we face Harrison. We risk everything on a plan that requires her to be bait and me to let her.
But right now, in this bed, with my ring on her finger and our child in her womb, I allow myself to feel for as little while that we're invincible.