CHAPTER TEN #2
I don’t just love him; I love him more than I ever imagined.
A soul shattering ache in my heart, he’s my soulmate, the love of my life .
.. he always has been, ever since we were children.
He was my protector; the sweet little boy who made me giggle through tears and pain.
I feared falling in love. I feared all men were like my stepdad—The Man who abused us both; like Nikolai, like the rest of the pigs, but Dima is different.
He’s killed for me and I know he’d hunt anyone to the end of the Earth and then burn their entire world to the ground if it meant it kept me safe.
Pain has always carved our path. The trauma we share will never leave us, we’re not just bonded we’re broken, but we’re beautifully broken and each one of our jagged edges slots together like a violent jigsaw cut with an old chainsaw.
He’s the missing puzzle piece in my life. The hollow space in my soul feels less heavy when I’m with him and the crushing weight of it all is easier to bear when I’m in his arms.
I love him, and I know I can’t live without him. I don’t know how I survived for seven years without this man in my life, but I know trying to survive without him again would be impossible.
Even with all the madness, because he’s broken the way I’m broken.
Because his scars mirror mine. Because when I look at him, I don’t see a monster who has taken lives—I see the man who’d saved me more times than I can count.
He’d even left me to save me from himself.
I wish he knew that I was always safer in his arms than I ever was or could be without him.
I should fear him. God knows I’d seen the darkest parts of his soul.
I’d witnessed him kill ... and I’d pretended to sleep while listening to him singing as he disposed of the bodies but each time it was for me—to keep me safe from harm—to protect me from the real monsters in this life, and I know he’d do the same in the next life and every single life after that.
And as I see the light fading from his eyes, the truth is undeniable, I would tear down the foundations of this world brick by brick to keep him alive, the same way he already has for me.
I know this won’t be the only time we’ll bleed together—one day I know we’ll have no choice but to become predators and burn the world down all over again.
“Dima,” I whisper, gripping him tighter. “You don’t get to die. Not until we’re old and in our nineties.”
The thought sends a chill down my spine.
His eyes lock on mine, wild and desperate, and I say words that I’ve never meant more in my life. I say them with pure truth and adoration. I say them from the bottom of my heart.
“I love you. I love you more than anything.”
And even if it destroys me, I know it’s true.
“I love you, too, Sparrow.” Even through shallow breaths he makes sure he tells me.
And that’s how I know this is love.
The truck comes to a slow stop as we reach the farmhouse. Dima’s grandpa’s friend stops behind us shortly after. He’s soon by the truck and helping Dima’s grandpa to lift Dima from the backseat, and I climb out. We walk together and the two of them carry Dima.
The snow crunches beneath our boots as we reach the farmhouse, lights flickering dimly inside. My body shivers from the cold and my muscles scream from surviving, but I don’t care about myself. All I care about is Dmitry.
“Can you get the door please, Natalia?” Dima’s grandpa asks, his voice calm, soft and always in control.
I push open the door with unsteady and sticky hands. The warmth of the farmhouse soothes my delicate skin. It smells of wood, smoke and old leather. It’s so calm in contrast to the chaos we’ve left behind.
Grandpa and his friend place Dima down on the sofa.
“Thanks Miroslav, my brother,” Dima’s grandpa says to his friend.
“Anytime. I hope he recovers soon. Keep in touch, Lev,” he replies as he makes his way out of the farmhouse.
I kneel beside Dima and he slumps against me. His head rests on my shoulder. The sucking of the wound still visible through his shirt. Every breath he takes is ragged, shallow, and I feel the panic clawing at my chest.
I collapse onto the floor before righting myself again and taking hold of Dima’s face in my hands.
“I love you, Dima,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes. “You’re okay, I’m okay, we’ll get through this life together.” I repeat words he’s said to me a hundred times.
“Always ... together,” he rasps.
Grandpa moves faster than I can. He pulls a medical kit from a cabinet and stands beside us. His hands are steady, practiced, almost clinical as he examines the knife wound in Dima’s side.
“He’s stable but he’s lost blood. We need to keep him warm and keep him conscious.
Natalia, you’ll have to help. You’re going to need to stay strong.
He’s not out of danger yet,” he says and rolls back his sleeves with expert care, exposing skin that’s seen decades of working to save his animals on the farm.
He takes the supplies from the kit and sets them out like a ritual—clear tubing, needles, sterile bandages, and latex gloves. Using a packet of saline, he tears it open and cleans the wound then stitches it up with gentle precision.
“He’s lucky to have you,” I say in awe and squeeze Dima’s hand.
“He’s lucky to have us both. Wrap his wound.” Dima’s grandpa hands me a sterile bandage. “You might want to look away,” he says, but I stay focused on his actions.
I wrap Dmitry’s wound the best I can and then watch as his grandpa inhales a slow breath before the needle in his hand touches his skin. He slides it into the vein on his inner arm with a cough but refuses to acknowledge the sharp scratch.
Using tape, he secures the line and checks it twice. His jaw is tight; his eyes are fixed on the vein in the center of Dima’s inner arm.
“Hold his arm and apply a little pressure.” He instructs me.
My stomach churns and I do as he asks. He inserts the other needle into Dmitry’s vein.
The connection is made.
Taking a bandage, he wraps it around his upper arm and pulls it as tight as he can using his teeth. It creates enough pressure to get blood leaving his body and replenishing Dima’s.
“The blood test ... the one that ....” Dima gasps. “Revealed Ruslan wasn’t my father—it was worth it ... for this moment.” He sucks in a sharp breath and offers a smile through gritted teeth.
“Try not to talk, son. You share my blood. You are my blood,” Dima’s grandpa says and raises his own arm a little more. The blood leaves his arm quicker and floods into Dima’s.
Biting back a sob and fumbling with the blankets to keep him warm, I reassure him. “I’ve got you, Dima. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”
Dmitry groans, his hand weakly brushing mine. “Nat ... it ... hurts.”
“I know,” I whisper, pressing a cool hand to his forehead. “I know, Dima. You’re safe with me. You’re strong, you hear me? You’re a warrior. You’re my king.”
He winces. “You’re my princess.” He coughs. “My Little Sparrow.”
Staring into his soul it pains me to see him suffering like this. I’ve never seen him so weak before. Rage and fear twist inside me for my sweet Dima. He’s in pain and I can’t make it go away.
The situation is heavy on my heart. I know Pawel lost his life because of me.
We may have helped to free the innocent girls in the warehouse but even that doesn’t offer me any comfort.
I know they’ll be terrified. Most of them won’t have anywhere to run to and nowhere to hide.
Most of them will end up back in the same awful situation.
I try to push the thoughts from my mind because right now, right here, I only have one priority, Dmitry.
I smooth his hair back, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’re going to make it,” I murmur. “I won’t let you leave me. I can’t. I won’t.”
He tries to smile, but it’s weak, almost a grimace. “You’re ... always mine.”
“Always,” I say, gripping his hand tighter. “You’re mine, Dmitry Rushlakov. Always.”
Grandpa stands and observes. His actions are saving Dima’s life. His eyes keep flicking between us both.
The exhaustion is almost overwhelming and even with the heat in the room I’m still trembling. I struggle to force myself to stay calm, but I know I have to, Dima needs me.
The farmhouse is silent except for the crackle of the fire.
I sit still beside Dmitry and hold his cheek in my hand.
The entire time I murmur promises of love.
Helping his grandpa to keep him tethered to life, to me, to us, to our future.
Because I know he’s a fighter and I know our future will be survival, struggle, but we’ll overcome it all.
We’ll find our place in the world, and it’ll be beautiful.
As the snow falls outside, I vow nothing, no one will ever take him from me again. Not even death.
“I’ll take care of him,” I say to Dima’s grandpa.
I know it’s all my fault—my hands are stained with blood.
I can smell it on myself, smell it in the room, smell it on Dima, on his grandpa. I taste it in the air between the three of us. His blood. His brother’s blood. My mother’s blood.
He lets out a heavy sigh, his chest heaves, eyes widening like a wounded animal that doesn’t know whether to bite or collapse.
“Dima,” I whisper and place my hand over the bandage covering his injury.
“You’re going to be okay. You need to rest.” My hand works its way up his side, and my palm brushes his chest. He grabs my wrist and presses my hand hard against his racing heart.
“My heart will always beat for you, Natalia Petrova,” he says lovingly.
Hope graces his face with a soft smile; he closes his eyes and allows himself to drift off into much needed peace.