Chapter 8
Alina
The next morning, my head feels so heavy that I can’t even lift it off the floor.
My eyes open halfway, stinging from the sunlight pouring into the room. My throat burns as I force a swallow, a quiet groan sounding from me. I feel like roadkill.
My vision clears and steadies, a familiar figure coming into view.
Gavriil stands at the foot of his bed in front of a full-length mirror. He fixes his belt as the sunshine bathes his bare torso in golden light.
I breathe in deeply as I watch him, my eyes lingering on his massive chest and defined abdomen. He’s so broad I wonder if he can even fully see himself from shoulder to shoulder in the mirror.
Staring at him, I imagine a variety of ways I would like to hurt him.
Claw his eyes out.
Slice his throat open.
Rip his callous heart from his chest.
Too bad I can barely hold my eyes open, much less hold a weapon if I had one in my hand.
Still, my anger at him fills me up, giving me a reason to keep living, even if I don’t deserve to. I can’t waste away until I make him pay for hurting Archer and Dom.
Gavriil turns toward me as he smooths his hands down over the front of his black trousers, and I catch sight of the two ruby necklaces hanging around his neck before noticing the two scars on his abdomen. Lines that are a few inches long angled in different directions. Knife wounds.
I’m sure there are plenty of people who want to cut him up. Me included.
Yet, I can’t rip my eyes away from him as he leans over to grab a black button-down shirt off the bed, his muscles shifting and flexing with every movement.
He’s the type to step back and let his men do all his dirty work for him, but is he any good in a fight or is his physique just for show?
None of my questions even matter, but still, they flood my mind.
“You could be in my warm bed right now instead of in that cage if you actually behaved and ate something.”
My heart lurches painfully into my throat at the sound of his voice. I meet his eyes as he peers over the bed at me, my cheek still pressing against the cold floor. He’s so determined to get me in his bed. Doesn’t he know that I would rather die?
“Trust me, you’d enjoy the bed more than the cold floor,” Gavriil reiterates as he drapes his shirt over his shoulder, leaving his upper body bare.
He looks so big and tough now, but I clearly remember what happened last night when he was asleep. He was scared or at least stressed out by whatever he was dreaming about, and he was vulnerable.
This whole cocky attitude is an act that he can’t put on when he’s unconscious.
Yet, it still affects me in a way that I struggle to fight against. I don’t want to have even an ounce of empathy for him.
Gavriil sighs. “Still quiet? You had no issue mouthing off to me in the past, especially in defense of my brother.”
Just the thought of Dominik strikes me like lightning, pain echoing in my chest. I hope that he and his men are doing okay. They’re so close but feel so far away.
Gavriil walks over to the dresser, picking up a tray with a plate of eggs, toast, and various fruit. And is that…cinnamon coffee with a hint of vanilla? Damn him. How did he know? “Your coffee is probably cold by now, but you were still sleeping.”
He didn’t want to wake me? That’s…unexpected. I don’t trust any acts of kindness, though.
Ruthless people like Gavriil always have ulterior motives up their sleeves.
I slowly lift my face off the ground. The world tilts for a second as my head spins. Nausea rushes through me, bile shooting up my throat. It takes every ounce of strength in me to swallow it down and not vomit on the floor.
I don’t even know what I would throw up. There’s nothing in my stomach.
An unsteady breath leaves me as I crawl toward the nearest bar, my trembling fingers wrapping around it to use as support so that I can pull myself off the floor. I bite back a groan as I get to my feet, my muscles aching in protest.
Gavriil opens the cage door and steps inside, holding the tray with the cup of coffee to me. “Stop acting like a stubborn child, Alina. You were never going to save your foolish brother. He doesn’t deserve your grief.”
A flare of bitterness fills me as I peer at him. Oh, is my grieving annoying him? Is my misery inconvenient for him, the man who had my brother killed?
I clench my teeth as I let my arms hang at my sides, not even bothering to clutch my flimsy towel over my nakedness. He made me put myself on display for him yesterday, so what’s the point? He’s already seen everything.
The bastard was so desperate to see me naked that he manipulated me into showering for his sole entertainment. I refuse to cower in front of him ever again. He doesn’t scare me. There’s nothing he can do to hurt me worse than he already has.
Deep down, a part of me still feels like I deserve whatever punishment he dishes out.
Gavriil’s eyes narrow a degree. A crack in the stony expression he usually wears. “Alina.”
The way his accented voice drops makes my heart rate kick up, its pounding echoing in my ears. I don’t reply, though, and I don’t take his offerings. He can choke on his food for all I care.
Even if the food looks really good, and the coffee smells divine.
If I broke down and ate plain scrambled eggs and buttered toast, it would probably taste like the best thing that I’ve ever put in my mouth. Even taking a sip of cinnamon coffee would make me cry in relief, but I don’t budge an inch.
Gavriil lets out what can only be described as an irritated huff.
My eyes widen as I watch him drop the tray on the cage floor with a loud clatter that makes me startle.
He then turns and strides out of the cage before kicking the door shut with his foot, making it clang loudly.
Gavriil then buttons up his shirt, his jaw tight. He returns to the cage to lock the door, as if he suddenly remembered he forgot to do so when his temper flared. He doesn’t even meet my gaze.
Is he giving me the silent treatment now? Like that would bother me.
Fuck him.
After he tucks the key back into his pants pocket, he leaves the room without a word, the door slamming shut behind him hard enough to rattle the paintings and canvas of me on the wall.
My jaw nearly drops.
Holy shit.
I’ve never seen him like that before. He’s always so calm that it’s eerie, but he just lost his cool. He was mad, and he didn’t bother hiding it for once.
So, what’s changed? Is he really that upset that I won’t take care of myself? Am I being too difficult for him to torment me?
A deep ache hits me in my stomach, making me wince as I wrap my arms around myself. My legs weaken, and I find myself back on the floor within seconds, the room spinning around me.
When everything begins to grow darker, I distantly wonder if I’ll ever wake up from this nightmare. Or if I even want to.