Chapter 15 – Raelyn
I wake up in Konstantin’s bed with my head pounding and my chest hollowed out like something vital has been carved from it.
For a moment, there’s nothing. Just the weight of exhaustion and the faint hum of the house around me.
Then it hits.
He’s dead.
The words slam into my sternum like a blunt weapon. Confirmed. Spoken aloud. Delivered with quiet certainty by a man who looked me in the eye and told me to let go.
I press my palms hard against my eyes, like I can push the truth back where it came from. Like pressure might fix what’s broken. My throat tightens instantly, breath stuttering as grief surges up again—hot, sharp, merciless.
My father is dead.
No more wondering where he is.
No more chasing shadows.
No more believing I’ll hear his voice again, calm and steady, telling me he’s fine, telling me he’ll explain everything when he gets back.
There is no back.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but my father’s face appears anyway—his tired smile, the crease between his brows when he was thinking too hard, the way he used to say my name like it grounded him.
“You’ll always be safe,” he used to say. “No matter what.”
A bitter laugh tears out of me, broken and ugly.
Safe.
I feel him before I see him.
The weight of the room shifts, like something solid has settled into place.
I open my eyes and find Konstantin sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees, hands loosely clasped.
He isn’t touching me. He isn’t speaking.
He’s just watching—with that unnerving stillness, like a man guarding something fragile and volatile at the same time.
“I need air,” I say hoarsely.
His jaw tightens for half a second. Then he nods.
“Okay.”
No argument. No command. Just that single word, measured and careful, like he’s afraid the wrong tone might shatter me.
He helps me up without rushing, draping a coat over my shoulders even though I don’t ask for it. His fingers linger at my collarbone for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, grounding—or maybe steadying himself. I don’t comment on it.
The balcony doors slide open with a muted sound.
Cold air rushes in, sharp and clean, stinging my lungs as I step outside. I grip the railing immediately, knuckles whitening, breathing deep until the ache in my chest dulls just a little.
Security is everywhere.
Guards line the perimeter in disciplined silence, spaced with military precision.
No idle movement. No chatter. At the far corner, Dimitri stands apart from the rest, rifle cradled easily in his arms, gaze sweeping the grounds below with ruthless patience.
He looks less like a guard and more like a warning.
I swallow.
So, this is what safe looks like now.
Konstantin positions himself slightly behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him at my back, far enough that I still have space. His presence is a wall—solid, unyielding, impossible to ignore.
I stare out over the darkened grounds, lights cutting through mist and shadow. Somewhere beyond those walls, my father took his last breath. Somewhere beyond them, the truth is buried under layers of lies and men who think secrets belong to them.
My voice comes out small. “He used to bring me here when I couldn’t sleep. Not this balcony—anywhere there was sky. He’d say it reminded him how small problems really were.”
Konstantin doesn’t interrupt.
“I believed him,” I continue. “I believed if he said I was safe, then I was.”
The railing creaks softly under my grip.
Behind me, his voice is low. Controlled. “You were.”
I shake my head. “Then why does it feel like everything he promised died with him?”
Silence stretches. Wind tugs at my hair, snapping it against my cheek. Below us, Dimitri shifts his stance, scanning again.
Konstantin steps closer.
Not enough to trap me. Just enough that I can feel his breath near my ear.
“Because the world changed,” he says. “And because men like your father carry storms with them. When they fall…the storm doesn’t.”
I turn slightly, enough to look at him. His expression is carved from restraint, but his eyes burn with something fierce and terrible.
“I won’t lie to you, Raelyn,” he adds. “Safe doesn’t mean untouched. It means guarded. It means watched. It means people willing to stand between you and the dark.”
I look back at the guards. At the guns. At the walls.
At him.
My chest tightens again—not just with grief, but with the terrifying realization that safety now has a cost. And that cost has a name.
Konstantin Rusnak.
I press my forehead against the cool railing, trying to steady the trembling in my hands. “I don’t know who I am without it,” I admit, voice raw, almost swallowed by the night. “All those years…chasing leads, following shadows, hoping he was alive…and now I’m nothing.”
His hand lands on my back, slow, deliberate, grounding. Heat seeps through the layers of my sweater, settling somewhere in the center of me. He doesn’t speak at first—just lets me tremble into the quiet.
Then, low and soft, almost hesitant: “You have the right to fall apart, Raelyn. Grief isn’t weakness. You’re allowed to break.”
The words wrap around me, fragile but unyielding. My chest aches in a way that feels almost new. Tears slide freely now, unbidden, and I let them.
I turn, driven by some impulse I can’t name, and collapse into him, letting my sobs wrack my chest against his.
His hands are steady, iron-strong on my back, yet there’s softness in the way he holds me, like he’s trying to contain not just me but all the chaos inside me.
His jaw tightens, and I feel it—her pain somehow burning through him as if it’s his own.
When my crying quiets, his thumbs brush against my cheeks, wiping away the traces of tears. Foreheads press together. My pulse hammers, loud enough that I think he must feel it too.
I don’t know who leans first. Who decides. But then our lips meet. Not a careful, innocent brush from long ago. Not tentative. This is raw. Desperate. Grief and obsession crashing together in a kiss that tastes like everything we’ve lost—and everything we refuse to let go.
My hands clutch his shirt, nails digging in, and I feel him answer in kind—unyielding, claiming, tethering. Every second stretches, heavy with need, with fury, with something that is entirely ours, and entirely dangerous.
He breaks the kiss just an inch, his breath ghosting over my lips, hot and uneven. “No. Not tonight,” he rasps, his voice thick with a dark, inner conflict. “Not while you’re hurting.”
I shake my head against him, my fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. “The hurting is why I need you. Make me forget everything else.”
His eyes, fiery and turbulent, search mine for a long, heavy beat.
Then, he lets out a low, defeated growl and captures my mouth again, deeper this time, sweeping me up into the whirlwind of him.
The grief is still there, but under his touch, it starts to transform into something else—something that feels less like breaking and more like being forged.
He lifts me into his arms, carrying me back inside as if I weigh nothing at all. He lays me on the bed with a staggering reverence, his fingers brushing the stray hairs from my face before he leans down to kiss the corners of my eyes, catching the tears that still cling to my lashes.
I don’t let him pull away. I reach up and kiss him back fiercely, my movements fueled by a desperate need for closeness—a need for the distraction of his touch. I need to feel wanted, to feel anchored, especially now when the rest of the world feels like it’s abandoned me to the dark.
The kiss deepens, spiraling into something hungrier as my need finally overcomes my hesitation.
I feel the moment Konstantin’s iron-clad control begins to fray.
His hands move over me, a tactile language of worship and possession woven together.
He isn’t just touching me; he’s marking me, claiming the space where the grief used to live.
“I have you,” he rumbles against my ear, his voice a low, grounding vibration that shivers down my spine. “Do you hear me, Raelyn? I have you, and I’ll always have you. No one gets to touch you. No one gets to take from you again.”
He punctuates the promise with a bite to the curve of my shoulder, a sharp sting that grounds me in the present.
I arch into him, my heart finally finding a steady rhythm against his, realizing that while the world outside might be falling apart, here, in the circle of his arms, I am the only thing that matters.
He pulls back just enough to reach for the hem of my shirt again, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that makes the air feel thick.
He lifts the fabric slowly, his lips following the path of the cotton as it rises, kissing the skin of my stomach, then my ribs, and finally the soft hollow between my breasts.
When the shirt is gone, he doesn’t stop.
His hands trail over my shoulders and down my arms, his touch so light it’s almost agonizing.
He moves to the waistband of my sweatpants, his fingers hooking into the soft fabric with a deliberate, steady pull.
He slides them down my legs, his palms grazing the outsides of my thighs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
As the clothes fall to the floor, he lingers over my nakedness, his gaze traveling over me like he’s memorizing a map. He leans back in, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of my hip, his hands sliding around to the small of my back to pull me flush against him.
“You’re breathtaking,” he whispers against my skin, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrates through my entire body.
He continues to trail his hands over the curves of my waist and the flare of my hips, his touch reverent yet hungry.
He sucks a nipple into his mouth, savoring it for a heartbeat before releasing it. Then he kisses down my body, his strong legs parting my thighs with ease.
His tongue finds my most sensitive spot, latching onto it, sending shivers through me with every flick. He sucks and teases my clit, his tongue sending sparks of fire through me. I gasp, whimper, and writhe under him, helpless to resist.
While he continues to tease my center with his hot tongue and lips, his hands roam upward, catching one nipple between his fingers, rolling it expertly between thumb and forefinger, drawing moans from deep within me.
I’m coming undone, my hand tangling in the back of his hair, holding him tight between my thighs as he pushes me closer to the edge.
His hands roam over my breasts, and every touch sends shivers through me. Gosh…this is too much.
He pushes his tongue inside me, and at the same time, his fingers pinch my nipple. I shatter, screaming loudly, every nerve on fire as pleasure rips through me.
Just when I think he’ll take things further, Konstantin stretches onto the bed and gathers me into his arms. I cling to him, my naked body folding against his like I belong nowhere else. My voice trembles, barely more than a whisper. “I feel…empty. Lost.”
His hand finds my hair, brushing it back gently, his lips pressing against the crown of my head. “You are not lost,” he murmurs, low and certain. “Not while I am here.”
I curl closer, fingers digging into his shirt, holding on like he’s the only solid thing left in my world. The exhaustion hits me in waves, grief spilling over, but his presence keeps the panic at bay.
I drift into sleep against him, the weight of his body anchoring me. When morning comes, I know he hasn’t moved, hasn’t slept either. But for the first time in hours, maybe days, I feel…serenity.
And dangerously tethered.