22. Raphael
RAPHAEL
I woke to her scent, warm and sweet, and for a long moment I did not move.
She was still here. Still in my arms. Still wearing the collar she had put on herself, the silver chain warm against her throat where my hand rested. Her breathing was slow and even, her body soft and trusting against mine.
Ours. My wolf’s voice was quiet for once. Not demanding. Satisfied. Finally ours.
The word settled into my chest like a key turning in a lock.
After months of fighting the urge to claim her, the relief of finally giving in was almost unbearable.
The hollow hunger that had lived in my chest since that first night was finally, finally filled.
Not the raw want I was used to, not the desperate need, not the howling demand that had driven me since the moment I first caught her scent in that lobby. This was quieter. Deeper. True.
I loved her.
Man and wolf, we loved her. Finally, both sides of me wanted the same thing. We wanted to protect her, to keep her, to make her happy, to earn the gift she had given me when she fastened that collar around her own throat.
The ring was forced on me. This is my choice.
I pressed my face into her hair and breathed deep. Her scent filled my lungs, and I let myself imagine a future I had never believed I deserved. Mornings like this one, with her body tangled with mine and the collar at her throat, the ring on her finger. Both meaning the same thing now.
She stirred, stretching against me, and her awareness returned. The bond between us hummed, not yet complete, but growing stronger every day. Her contentment, her peace, hummed through the nascent bond.
“You’re staring,” she murmured without opening her eyes.
“You’re beautiful.”
She laughed, soft and sleepy. “I’m a mess.”
“My mess.” I pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. My wolf purred at the contact. “My wife. My mate.”
She turned in my arms, her eyes finding mine. The morning light caught the collar at her throat, and my heart cracked open at the sight of it.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
That I love you. That I would burn the world to keep you safe. That I am terrified of how much I need you.
“That we should discuss a honeymoon,” I said instead. “Somewhere warm. Somewhere I can keep you in bed for a week.”
Her smile was everything. “I have a hotel to run.”
“Michael can handle it.”
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Lena groaned. “Ignore it.”
I wanted to. But I was Vor, and the world did not stop because I had found happiness. I reached for the phone, scanning the message from Petrov.
My blood went cold.
“What is it?” Lena asked, reading my face.
“Nothing for you to worry about.” I kissed her forehead, already calculating. “I need to handle something. Stay here. Rest.”
“Raphael.”
“It’s business.” I slid out of bed, reaching for my clothes. “I’ll be back soon.”
She watched me dress, her eyes sharp despite the early hour. She knew I was keeping secrets. But she did not push. She trusted me to handle it.
That trust made what I was about to do easier.
I drove to the hotel with my hands tight on the wheel and murder in my heart.
Petrov’s message had been brief: Caught him. Basement. Waiting for your orders.
Joe.
The pathetic ex-boyfriend who could not accept that she had chosen someone else. I had been tracking his escalation for weeks. First it was the angry confrontation at the hotel, the one where he had stormed in demanding to know why she married me instead of him.
Then my men started reporting sightings. They saw Joe lingering near the hotel entrance, loitering without purpose. They spotted him parked across the street, watching the lobby for hours at a time. They caught him attempting to access restricted floors with a stolen keycard.
Two weeks ago, he had cornered one of Lena’s housekeeping staff in the parking garage, demanding to know her schedule. The woman had been terrified. I had considered killing him then, but Lena did not know about any of it, and I had not wanted to upset her with news of her deranged ex.
Last week, he had broken into her office after hours. Security footage showed him going through her desk, photographing documents, pocketing a scarf she had left draped over her chair. He had pressed it to his face and inhaled.
That was when I gave Petrov the order. The next time Joe set foot on hotel property, hold him for me.
My men had spotted him at the gala last night. Now Petrov had him in the basement.
Kill him. My wolf snarled. He threatened our mate. End him.
The basement security office smelled like fear when I arrived. Petrov stood by the door, his face expressionless, and two of my men flanked a chair where Joe sat bound and bleeding.
He had put up a fight. That would make this easier.
“You found him where?” I asked, not looking at him yet. Making him wait.
“Service corridor near the kitchen.” Petrov handed me a tablet. “He had these.”
I scrolled through the photos. Lena at the gala. Lena in her office. Lena on the terrace, my hand at her waist. Each image was a violation. Each one made my wolf’s rage burn hotter.
“There’s more.” Petrov’s voice was grim. “Notes. Schedules. He knew when she would be alone, where she would be vulnerable. And these.” He pulled out a bag of items. “Access codes written on hotel stationery. Someone gave him inside information.”
I finally looked at Joe. He was sweating, his eyes wild, a bruise already forming on his jaw.
“I can explain,” he said, his voice cracking. “Someone at the hotel told me she was in danger. They said you were the threat, that I had to protect her.”
“Someone.” I stepped closer. “Who?”
“I never saw their face. Just texts from a blocked number. They said they worked at the hotel, said they were worried about her, sent me the codes.”
My wolf was howling now, but some small part of my mind registered the words. Someone at the hotel. Someone with access. But Joe was here, in front of me, with evidence of his obsession spread across the table.
“You put your hands on what’s mine,” I said quietly.
“I was trying to help her.” His voice rose, desperate. “I loved her first. Before you. I would never hurt her.”
“And yet here you are.” I picked up one of the photos. Lena smiling, unaware she was being watched. “Stalking her. Following her. Taking pictures because you cannot accept that she chose someone else.”
“She was supposed to choose me.” His face twisted with bitter resentment. “We were together for years. I waited for her. I was patient. And then she marries you? Some Russian criminal who probably threatened her into it?”
My fist connected with his face before I consciously decided to move. The impact was satisfying, bone against bone, his blood on my knuckles.
“Bring him,” I told my men. “The warehouse.”
My men dragged Joe to the SUV while I followed, my wolf pacing beneath my skin. The drive took twenty minutes. Long enough for Joe to realize what was happening. Long enough for his fear-scent to fill the car until I could taste it on my tongue.
The warehouse was one of our disposal sites, soundproofed and equipped for exactly this kind of work. The kind of place where problems disappeared.
My men chained Joe to a support beam and stepped back to wait for my orders.
I removed my jacket and rolled up my sleeves, taking my time, letting his terror build.
“Please,” he said. “Please, you don’t understand. She’s in danger. Someone is working against her. I was trying to warn her.”
“You were stalking her.” I circled him slowly, watching his eyes track my movement. “You broke into restricted areas. You took photos of her in private moments. You left notes. You followed her.”
“Because it was the only way to protect her.” His voice broke on a sob.
Joe had been obsessed with Lena since before I met her, and when she married me, that obsession had curdled into madness.
My control was slipping. My mate had been threatened, stalked, violated by this pathetic excuse for a man, and he expected mercy?
“That’s my job,” I said. “Protecting her. Not yours.”
The first blow broke two of his ribs. I knew because I felt them crack beneath my fist.
Joe screamed. The sound echoed through the warehouse, muffled by the soundproofing, heard by no one who mattered.
I did not stop.
I had been Bratva since I was eighteen years old. I had beaten men before. Killed them. Disposed of bodies in ways that ensured they were never found. But this was different. This was personal.
My wolf surged forward, and I let him. My eyes burned as they shifted to amber. My claws extended, tearing through Joe’s shirt, leaving bloody gouges across his chest.
He was babbling now, words tumbling over each other in a desperate stream. He offered apologies I did not want, excuses I did not believe, promises to disappear and never come back and forget Lena existed.
Too late.
“You touched what was mine,” I said, my voice barely human. “You watched her. Followed her. Thought you had any right to be near her.”
“I loved her.” He was crying, blood and tears mixing on his ruined face. “I loved her.”
“No.” I grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “You wanted to own her. There’s a difference.”
His throat tore open under my claws.
The spray of blood was hot against my face. I watched the light leave his eyes, felt the wolf’s savage satisfaction as the threat to our mate went still and silent.
It was done.
I stood over the body for a long moment, letting my heart rate slow. The rage was fading now, replaced by cold satisfaction. Relief flooded through me, and triumph, and the absolute certainty that I had protected her, eliminated the danger, kept her safe.
She’s safe. My wolf purred. Our mate is safe.
My men would handle the disposal. That was what they were for. I washed my hands in the industrial sink, as Joe’s blood swirled down the drain. My reflection in the metal surface showed amber eyes slowly fading back to gray.