Chapter 25
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Maksim
When we get back to the mansion, Ivan himself is waiting at the top of the stairs, a shadow lurking in the dim light.
"I hear Ilya made an…interesting acquisition tonight."
Of course he already knows. That's his real power—not brute force but the vipers he keeps coiled in his pockets, whispering secrets, killing on command. Destroy one nest, another springs up.
"Yes, an interesting choice for him," I reply, my hand tightening instinctively on Julia's. Her gaze drops to the floor, away from Ivan’s penetrating stare. Never look him in the eyes. I know he could suck the soul right out of you with just a glance.
"Keep an eye on him," Ivan rasps, the order laced with suspicion. "I don't like the timing, coinciding with these recent attacks. We still can't catch the bastards hitting our transports." He turns, dissolving into a wracking cough as he retreats toward his room.
A flicker of bitterness twists inside me. What if fate is cruel enough to take him before I get my revenge? No. If I have to bargain with Death itself to keep him alive for me, I will.
The moment the door clicks shut behind us in our room, some of the crushing weight lifts from my shoulders. But I know tonight was Julia's first real glimpse into the conditions these children endure under Ivan, the raw horror of it. And it gets so much worse than what she saw.
"I can't imagine…standing on that stage," she whispers, her voice barely audible, raw with remembered terror.
"Having no power. Being just a piece for someone's collection.
Taken only to be hurt. Tortured. Raped." Her voice cracks. "I don’t know what I would have done if they’d put me through that. "
The image flashes, Julia in one of those cages, leering eyes crawling over her, and crimson heat floods my vision.
"Never."
The next second, she's slammed against the wall, the breath knocked out of her as my hand clamps possessively around her thigh, hiking the dress up. Goosebumps erupt under my touch, and just like that the chaos, the violence storming inside my head, vanishes, replaced only by her.
Her skin is warm satin beneath my rough fingers. I'm lost in her scent, something sweet like honey and wild like summer storms. The whole damned house could collapse around us right now, and I’d die a happy man, breathing her in.
Her hand fists in my hair, pulling my head down, and my control snaps.
My teeth sink into the soft skin of her neck, a bite sharp enough to leave a mark.
Good . Let the whole world see she's mine.
Let them know no one else can touch her.
I know with chilling certainty that if anyone ever tried to take her from me, I wouldn't stop until I'd ground every bone in their body to dust beneath my boot.
Her flawless skin is a stark contrast to my hands, too rough, too scarred, stained with blood that never truly washes away.
It's always there, a phantom residue. Any second now, the universe will realize its colossal mistake, snatching her back from my path.
Someone like her, so fiercely good, too good, could never truly choose me, not over freedom, not over safety.
"Hey," she murmurs, her hands framing my face, forcing my gaze to meet hers.
For a long moment, she just searches my eyes.
How can she see anything worthwhile in this darkness?
How can she not see the wreckage I am? How can she look with such raw devotion at a man who lost his soul so many times in this godforsaken house, he didn't think he had one left until she walked back toward him, leaving freedom behind?
"Come back to me, Max," she whispers, and the naked vulnerability in her voice rips me from the shadows, where I constantly question if I'm poison for her.
"How can you not see the scars he left on me?" The question is barbed, aimed as much at myself as her.
Her fingertips gently brush a stray lock of hair from my eyes, a soft smile touching her lips.
"Because I love them," she answers simply, her voice fierce.
"Every scar. Every wound. Every forbidden touch left on your skin.
They're mine now. And I'll make them fade, just like you chase away my nightmares simply by being beside me. "
Air rushes from my lungs. There are no lies between us, not about this. If my touch repulsed her, I'd know. But she leans into me, heat radiating from her body, hungry and wanting.
My hand slides higher up her thigh, fingers brushing against something delicate, unexpected.
Not normal underwear. Lace. Barely there.
And for a sickening moment, I realize she stood in that room full of monsters, wearing this.
A reckless, dangerous invitation. White-hot anger mixes with fierce desire, and I want to punish her for being so careless, so tempting.
Sensing my hesitation, she swallows hard. "You don't like it?"
Fear flickers in her eyes, the fear of rejection. This is new territory for her too, this raw intimacy. The sudden wave of emotion, the realization that she did this for me, wanting to surprise me, extinguishes the anger, and all I want is for her to see herself through my eyes.
"I like you, Julia," I murmur, my voice thick, pressing closer. "Whatever you wear." My fingers push the flimsy lace aside, finding the slick heat of her skin beneath.
A violent tremor runs through her body, and I think, just maybe, I'm not entirely cursed if I get to feel this. Every nerve ending in her body seems attuned to mine. I bite back a groan as my erection aches painfully against my pants.
What the hell is happening to me? For years, I survived without a thought of intimacy. For years, the mere idea of being touched like that turned my stomach.
Until her . Until she started tangling her leg with mine in her sleep. Until I woke countless times to her warm breath ghosting against my neck. Until, unconsciously, my body started seeking hers in the dark.
My body understands. She is the antidote. It was my mind that refused to accept I could ever deserve her. All that beauty, wildness, and fierce kindness wrapped up in five feet seven inches of pure temptation, with a mouth I ache to explore slowly, when time isn’t a luxury we can’t afford.
"I swear, Max, if you stop now, I will stab you," she grits out, her breath hitching.
A rough laugh escapes me as I nip her earlobe. Doesn't she understand? I’d drive the blade into my own flesh before I would stop touching her now.
"I want to discover everything you like," I whisper against her skin, my fingers finally slipping inside her, slow and deep. "How you like it… How much you like it…"
I can tell she wants to respond, but I don't give her time. My hand moves to the strap of her dress, easing it down her shoulder. My lips find the constellation of freckles that have haunted me, begging for my attention, and a soft sigh of pleasure escapes her.
When the ache in my pants becomes unbearable, I press my erection against her, seeking a sliver of friction, just enough to regain focus. But the second our bodies connect, I know I can't resist the urge to bury myself inside her.
Two years I’ve endured sleeping next to this woman, and it seems my bill for abstinence has finally come due. After what we did in the shower, I wanted to lift her in my arms again, repeat the entire damn episode.
"Julia," I rasp, "tell me to stop if this is too fast." Please , I silently beg. Don't make me stop. Even though I don't deserve you.
"No chance," she says, her voice husky. "Take me to bed, Max."
I don't need to be told twice. I lower her gently to the mattress, as if she were made of porcelain. Because in a way, she is fragile, precious. Untamed. And in this moment, her hair spread across the silk sheets, a smudge of lipstick at the corner of her mouth, the elegant curve of her bare shoulders, she’s never been more breathtaking.
Her hands reach for the buttons of my pants, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she pushes them down.
I’ve seen that lip bite a thousand times on women at the casino, and it always struck me as cheap.
But on Julia, it's pure, unadulterated sensuality, a silent invitation that makes me shudder as she slides my boxers down.
I fix my mind on this, on her, on her delicate touch, on the way my heart slams against my ribs, to keep the darkness at bay. To fight back the black hole that always threatens to swallow my sanity after each auction. Because I know what it’s like to be helpless. To have no voice.
"Touch me, Julia," I rasp. My voice comes out strangled, mirroring the desperation swirling inside me. I need her to do exactly what she promised, to erase every unwanted mark on my body, every insult, every violation.
She flips me onto my back, a playful glint in her eyes. And then, she begins, doing exactly what I asked. Her fingertips trace slow, deliberate circles across my arms, my abdomen, my thighs, raising goosebumps in their wake.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, her lips graze the skin at the base of my neck then drift lower.
When the tip of her tongue flicks across my stomach, I close my eyes, fisting my hands in her hair.
Not hard enough to cause pain, just enough to feel the velvety strands slip through my rough fingers.
Again, the awareness of our stark contrast hits me like a physical blow.
When her mouth dips too low, too close to that darkness, a surge of reason slams through me. “No,” I say, my voice tight. “Not that.” It’s something I associate wholly with him . That act would taint everything we're building here.
She studies my face, but before the pity can creep into her eyes, I roll her over, pinning her beneath me.
Straddling her legs, I keep her locked in my gaze.
Hesitation flickers in my mind. What if she regrets not leaving when she had the chance?
What man doesn't want a woman like her offering to. ..?