Chapter 18
Elena
Isabella's little moan came through way too clear, like a needle straight into my heart, leaving me nowhere to run.
I didn't have to look to know what they were doing.
I stood outside the hospital with my test results still clenched in my hand. The paper kept fluttering in the night wind, and under the streetlight the words at the top, "Pregnancy: Positive," looked viciously bright.
An hour ago, I'd thought it was the hardest secret I'd ever have to say out loud. Now it felt like some cruel, badly timed joke.
I folded the report and shoved it to the very bottom of my bag.
On the ride back to the manor, I didn't cry. I stared at the lights sliding past the car window and tried to imagine a future that didn't have Kiryan in it.
When the car stopped in front of the manor, Olga was still in the living room. The second she saw me come in, she hurried over.
"How'd it go? What'd the tests say?"
"Just an upset stomach."
The lie slipped out, and my hand moved on its own to press down on my bag. The report sat against my palm through the leather, like a small, scorching coal.
"What did the doctor say?"
"Told me to rest."
Olga didn't push. She got up and went to the kitchen, then came back a few minutes later with hot soup and bread, setting it down in front of me.
"Eat something. This won't mess with your stomach."
I picked up the spoon and forced down a few bites. There was a little life inside me. I couldn't afford to be stubborn and skip food. What surprised me was how calm my body stayed. The little one behaved. I got through half a bowl of soup and half a piece of bread without my stomach turning once.
After dinner, I stayed in the living room, watching the clock make its rounds. I couldn't make myself go back to the bedroom. That bed still held the trace of the last few nights, the way we'd slept tangled together like it meant something.
After Olga and Pera cleaned up, they saw me still sitting there, and Olga's face hardened.
"Stop waiting."
"I wasn't waiting for him."
"Go upstairs and sleep, sweetheart." Olga let out a tired sigh. "If you sit here all night, you'll just wear yourself down. Don't wreck your body over him."
I didn't move. My thoughts were a wreck.
I wanted to tell Kiryan I was pregnant. I also wanted to ask him what the hell happened with Isabella. Some stupid part of me still wanted to believe it was one of Isabella's tricks.
Olga didn't try to talk me into it again. She sat down beside me and stayed there, keeping me company in the quiet.
At ten, I finally heard a car roll into the front drive.
I stood up like my body had been waiting even if my mouth refused to admit it. Olga glanced at me, then walked toward the hallway, leaving the living room to us.
The front door opened.
Kiryan walked in with the chill of the night clinging to him. He'd changed shirts. A dark coat hung over his arm, and irritation sat heavy between his brows.
"You're back," I said.
He didn't smell like perfume. Just faint disinfectant and that clean cedar scent that was always him.
I shouldn't have felt relief over something that small, but my heart, dead a minute ago, started beating again anyway.
He stopped in front of me. Then, before I could even react, he slid a hand around the back of my neck and kissed me. Hard. Fast. Like he'd been starving. He didn't give me room to breathe. His familiar taste filled my mouth, and my waist went weak almost instantly.
I should've shoved him back and demanded answers about Isabella. Instead, I clutched his shirt and kissed him deeper, trading breath and heat like I had no pride left. I hated how easily I folded. I hated that the second I got a little warmth from him, my body bowed to it.
When he finally pulled away, I stood there in his arms, sucking air.
"I hate you," I said, staring at his strong jaw, the faint marks and scars that made him look like trouble in human form.
Kiryan's eyes darkened.
The next second, he lifted me up.
I yelped, and my legs locked around his waist on instinct. He caught my ass like he'd known exactly how I'd react.
He carried me upstairs without a wobble in his step. He kicked the bedroom door shut with his foot. He set me on the edge of the bed, and the moment my hips met the mattress, he bent down and kissed me again.
He kissed like he was trying to erase every thought in my head. His hands moved with a kind of frantic certainty, sliding over my shoulders, down my arms, back up again like he couldn't decide where he needed to touch first.
Then he did decide.
He went for my clothes like they were in his way, like they'd offended him. Buttons popped under his fingers. Fabric shifted and fell. His breath hitched, and when he looked at me, it was raw. Hunger. Possession. Like he'd walked into a room full of options and still only saw one.
Me.
It stunned me, that look. After what I'd heard. After what I'd seen.
He dragged my mouth to his again and muttered against my lips, "Mine."
The word landed heavy, almost violent.
My chest tightened. My heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted out. I should've laughed in his face. I should've told him he didn't get to say that, not after Isabella, not after the hospital, not after the way my life had become a mess with his name stamped on it.
Instead, I shivered.
He guided me back onto the bed, his body covering mine, and I moved carefully, almost without thinking, one hand hovering near my stomach as if I could shield the secret there with nothing but my palm.
He caught it.
Not the reason. Just the movement.
His gaze flicked down, then back up. "What's that?" His voice went sharper for a beat.
I blinked, thrown. "What?"
He let out a low chuckle, then pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "You look like you're worried I'm going to tear you apart."
I forced a breath to steady my voice. "I just... didn't feel great earlier."
His expression shifted, the edge easing off. The hands that had been impatient a second ago slowed down. He settled his weight more carefully, like he'd suddenly remembered I wasn't built out of steel.
"Tell me if it hurts," he said.
That gentleness hit harder than his roughness ever did.
He kissed me again, slower this time, and it wasn't just hunger anymore. It was want, deep and ugly and honest, the kind that didn't care about pride. His mouth traveled along my throat, and I bit back a sound, fingers curling into the sheets.
"You were shaking downstairs," he murmured, his breath warming my skin. "Sitting there like you were waiting for a firing squad."
"I wasn't waiting," I lied again, because apparently lying was the only thing I'd been good at lately.
He gave a quiet, dark chuckle. "Yeah. Sure."
His hand slid down my side, then back up, holding me like he needed the proof that I was here. Every touch lit me up too fast, too bright. My body reacted like it had been wired wrong overnight, like every nerve sat too close to the surface.
He noticed that too.
"God," he muttered, voice going rough. "Look at you. You always got like this for me?"
I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him he didn't get to sound pleased. But my breath broke, and my hips betrayed me, and his eyes narrowed like he'd caught me in a lie.
"That's it," he said, praise slipping into his tone like poison wrapped in honey. "That's my girl. Take it. Let me have you."
The words should've made me angry.
Instead they made my head go light.
He kept talking, low and dirty and intimate, the kind of talk that made it feel like the room had shrunk down to nothing but his voice and my heartbeat.
"Pretty," he murmured when I arched without meaning to. "So damn pretty when you can't hold still."
I pressed my lips together, trying to keep quiet, trying to keep control, because control was the one thing I still wanted to believe I owned.
It didn't last.
The pleasure built too quickly, rolling in waves that made my vision blur at the edges. I gasped his name like it was a prayer and a curse at the same time.
Kiryan lifted his head, eyes locked on my face, watching every little crack in my composure like he collected them.
"Yeah," he said, voice thick with satisfaction. "There you are. That's the Elena I couldn't get out of my head."
My throat tightened. "Don't—"
"Don't what?" He kissed me again, stealing the rest of my protest. "Don't say your own name like it tastes good in my mouth?"
My breath broke. A soft, helpless sound escaped me.
He grinned against my skin like he'd won something. "That's what I thought."
I clutched his shoulders, careful with my stomach, careful with the secret, but everything else in me was falling apart. The release hit, sharp and overwhelming, and I couldn't stop it. I shook under him, nails digging in, trying to hold on to anything that felt real.
"Easy," he murmured, pressing his forehead to mine for a second. "I've got you."
The tenderness made my eyes sting.
He kissed my eyelids, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. "Good," he whispered. "So good. You're perfect."
I let out a broken laugh that sounded like it might've been a sob. "Stop saying things like that."
"Why?" His gaze held mine, steady and unapologetic. "You think I don't mean it?"
I couldn't answer.
He kept going, coaxing and relentless, and the sensitivity only got worse, like my body had no defenses left. Another wave built, and another, each one stealing a little more of me, until I was clinging to him, trembling, breathless, wrecked.
Kiryan's hand slid up to my jaw, tilting my face toward his. "Look at me," he demanded, but his voice stayed soft.
I forced my eyes open.
His pupils were blown wide, his expression torn between control and something feral. "You do that," he said, voice low. "You always do that to me."
My lips parted.
He kissed me hard again, and when he spoke, his words came out rough, almost helpless. "I can't stop. I tried. I can't." He swallowed, like admitting it cost him. "I got addicted, Elena. To you. To this. To the way you look at me like you hate me and still want me."
My heart stuttered.