Chapter 9
Artem
The moment I see her lying in my bed, I stop in my tracks, my hand on the doorknob, letting the hallway light outline her curves.
Her waist is covered by one corner of the sheet, one leg bent outside it, long and smooth.
And her silky hair, spread across my pillow, reaches all the way to the place where I’m supposed to rest my head.
I still wonder why she dyed it.
The voices, the demons, the fury, all fall silent. All I feel is a hungry desire to lie down beside
her, wrap my arms around her, pull her back against my chest, and bury my nose in that soft hair. The image alone gives me a sense of calm unlike anything I have felt in all my thirty years.
I don’t know whether she is asleep, since her back is turned to me, but from the way her body seems tense, I assume she is awake.
I move forward, and when I close the door behind me, the room sinks back into half-darkness, its shapes visible only because of the moonlight slipping through the sheer curtain.
She didn’t close the drapes, so the light doesn’t bother her. Normally, I would draw them shut, because I like losing myself in darkness, but tonight I think I will leave them as they are so I can watch her while she sleeps.
I move slowly into the dressing room to get rid of the clothes that smell like tobacco after spending the past few hours in a poorly ventilated room. But while I was there, I got the latest updates from my men in the field about the Irish trying to take our territory.
Then, just as quietly, I step into the bathroom for another shower, one meant to wash away all the ugly moments of this day.
When I return to the room, with my hair still damp and a pair of pajama pants on, she is in the same position she was fifteen minutes ago. And when I stretch out in bed without touching her, I am sure she is not asleep.
She is breathing too quickly for someone lost in sleep, and her body is too rigid.
I smile.
I like that she is afraid of me.
But I also remember that because of her, I laughed today. My god, I do not do that, but when I let my towel drop in the dressing room and she did not know how to turn away fast enough with her cheeks on fire, I found it terribly amusing.
No one has done that in many years.
Not with a gesture of pure innocence from a woman trying with all her power to prove me that she is independent and cold, untouched by anything.
Lying on my back, my palms resting on my abdomen, I turn my head toward her, savoring the pleasant sensation of her soft hair brushing my cheek.
I breathe in the elegant scent of this creature and exhale slowly, but heavily.
Then I whisper. “Good night, Ekaterina.”
My words seem to lift a weight from her soul, because she sighs, and her body visibly relaxes.
“Good night, Pakhan.”
I don’t know whether she is being ironic or genuinely trying to be respectful, but right now, I have no desire to go to war with her again.
In the silence of the night, in this bed where we are so physically close yet so far apart as people, I feel the need to bring her closer, at least in the only way I am allowed to, without touching her.
“You can call me Artem.”
“Why not Voron?”
I’ll be damned if I don’t smile again when I realize she feels like talking at this hour.
“Voron is for those in the Bratva. Or enemies. You are... something else.”
For a few moments, she says nothing. Then she breaks the silence with the question I expected the moment I made that statement.
“What?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She exhales sharply, probably disappointed by my vague answer.
“And you can call me Katya.”
“I like Ekaterina better.”
“Then why did you call me dusha moya?”
I frown slightly, thinking both of an answer that will not be misunderstood and of the reason I called her my soul. Such an intimate endearment, yet a powerful one, whispered by the dark part of me that longed for her light.
And still does.
“Go to sleep, Ekaterina. It’s late,” I tell her in a tone that makes her understand the conversation is over.
Then I turn my back on her and try to fall asleep.
“Keep your hands to yourself.”
I almost laugh, amused by her desire to have the last word.
“I will if you will.”
I manage to rest only after some time, once I realize the woman beside me has been conquered by sleep.
I am not the kind of man who has trouble sleeping, the way I hear others do, haunted at night by the ghosts of those they have killed. That only means they dislike what they do. For me, Death calms me down, and that is why I always sleep very well, accompanied by the melodic screams of my victims.
But tonight, my dreams come scented with jasmine, on a beach in Greece, where the water is the color of her eyes and carries the delicate silhouette of the woman beside me.
Far from my usual kind of dreams, but neither I nor my body complain.
I do not need an alarm to wake up every day at six.
But when I open my eyes, I am surprised to see it is past seven thirty... and her lips are only a few inches from my face.
This woman is a delicate princess by day, but at night she turns into an… octopus.
I rise onto one elbow to admire the strange position in which she is sprawled diagonally, taking over more of the bed than any normal human should be able to.
I cannot help reacting with a gesture so ordinary for others, but far too foreign to me. I barely stop the laugh that wants to explode out of me when I see her head on my pillow.
Mine.
Her hair scattered everywhere, one hand thrown above her head, the other very close to my cock, which is growing harder at the sight of the princess stripped of all armor and immaculate masks.
In fact, she seems more beautiful to me like this than she does in her elegant clothes or with her hair styled as if for a photo shoot.
She is perfect, and I do not stop smiling until my gaze drops along her sprawled body and I slowly realize just how tempting she would be if I were allowed to touch her.
Her breasts are barely covered by the T-shirt that has ridden up her stomach, exposing quite a bit of it, and the sheet no longer touches even an inch of the fine skin now caressed by the growing morning light.
Her legs are slightly parted, and my imagination carries my fingers along her thigh, beneath the shorts, to the warm center only a madman would not want to taste.
Fuck it.
Now I am firmly convinced that my idea of forcing her to stay in my bed was a terrible one. Extremely terrible.
Which is strange, because my decisions are always flawless.
Did I underestimate the effect she has on me?
How could I have done that, when I know very well everything that crossed my mind from the first moment I saw her?
I think that if I strangled her right now, I would rid myself of the foreign feeling that comes over me when I look at her, starting with the desire to smile at the smallest thing she does.
I am not like this, and smiles caused by a woman can become weaknesses.
A Pakhan cannot have weaknesses. Least of all ones born from a princess he is not even allowed to touch.
Pathetic.
I didn’t think I was this weak in the presence of a woman, but that only makes me more determined to prove myself I can resist her. That she is merely an attractive woman, and I am stronger than the voices in my head.
The ones asking me to break my word and make mine the woman who has stirred me since months ago, when she showed me a beautiful throat wrapped in a strand of pearls.
I get out of bed in one motion, as if her presence burns me.
I head straight to the bathroom, where I splash a great deal of cold water on my face and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I can resist the voices, but not a woman?
Absolutely not.
I resort to an almost equally cold shower to cool the body she has awakened too much.
Unfortunately, when I return to the room, I am still carrying an erection, smaller, it is true, but one that shows signs of returning to its substantial form just from the sight of her sleeping peacefully.
Releasing a silent sigh, I go in the dressing room and change into a black suit, with a shirt and vest in the same shade.
I look at the long row of suits, where I think there are more than thirty sets, and realize it is time to order a few more. A man in my line of work destroys a suit every time he fills it with blood, and sometimes I do that twice a day.
Ekaterina is still deeply asleep when I return beside the bed, drawn in by the sight of her peaceful expression, when she mumbles something.
A sleeping princess sprawled across the entire bed and mumbling in her sleep. She probably snores sometimes too.
Adorable.
I shake my head and cover her exposed skin with one corner of the sheet, then leave the bedroom before I give in once more to the one madness that truly owns me: the need to touch her.
The house is quiet.
I am certain Sasha is still asleep, because he stayed at a club last night, but I already know where to find Yar.
When I open the door to the gym, I find him on a bench, pressing a bar loaded with weights that far exceed even his own body weight. At first, he does not hear me, his headphones over his ears, but he senses me.
“At this hour? And you’re skipping?” he says, looking me up and down when he sees me in a suit instead of workout clothes.
Every morning, we train together, but today I feel the need to put some distance between myself and my own house, a detox from the delicate perfume of the woman left in my bed.
Of course, I do not tell him that.
“I have to leave early. I’ll catch up tomorrow.”
He sets the weights down and gets to his feet, coming to stand in front of me.
“Where do you have to go?”
I don’t miss his suspicious tone.
“Business, Yaroslav.” My reply is sharp and I turn to leave, but his words stop me in place.
“You’re leaving because of her?”
My body tenses, but I know denial will not work with him. In fact, it would not work with either of them, because I cannot lie to my brothers.
I don’t want to.
“I saw you at dinner last night, and even yesterday. The way you carved that man up. You had another episode, didn’t you? And instead of doing something to her, you chose to pour your demons into someone else.”
I turn to face him but I say nothing.
“How bad is it?”
Again, I don’t answer, but I arch an eyebrow, letting the implication hang between us.
I feel him growing restless and worried at the same time.
“Then why the fuck did you make her sleep in your bed? What if you had woken up during the night and strangled her just because you couldn’t control yourself?”
“I didn’t,” I say quietly. “In fact, I slept far too long, as you can see, without touching her with a finger.”
“You didn’t touch her at all?”
I don’t know if he wants a simple confirmation or if he genuinely cannot believe me.
I shake my head.
“Not at all.”
“I don’t like this,” he says curtly, and I frown.
“If I do something to her, it’s bad. If I don’t touch her, that’s bad too. Fuck it. I don’t understand you anymore.”
“It’s bad because you’ve been unpredictable since she arrived in this house. And it’s only been one day.”
“That is exactly why I am trying to prove to myself that I can resist. I don’t want to lock myself in a cell just to keep my distance from her. I want to get used to her presence and learn to manage the impulse.”
“And what does the impulse say?”
I clench my teeth.
“Everything.”
His body tenses.
“I’m calling Father and telling him she isn’t safe in this house. And that you aren’t alright with her nearby either.”
I take a step towards him.
“Don’t you fucking dare, Yar,” I say in a hard, threatening tone. “If I am not capable of handling one woman, then how could I be a Pakhan capable of ruling an entire city?”
“This isn’t about Bratva, Artem. This is about our father, who knows very well what effect those voices, or whatever the fuck they are, have on you,” he hisses, growing angrier.
“Just like we do. Except he is the only one who can remove her from your path before you do something you will regret even more.”
“You don’t understand, Yar,” I say, my voice heavy with pain.
But it is pleasant pain, like the memory that makes me speak.
“From the moment I walked into the bedroom and saw her in my bed, even the voices went quiet. As if they did not want to wake her, even though I knew she was awake.”
His eyes lock on mine, and after a few moments, he runs his hands nervously through his sweat-damp hair.
“That is even worse!” he exclaims, desperate.
“Why do you say that?”
“For the same reason you are running from your own house first thing in the morning. Because you know that would make the situation even more complicated.”
“That was my thought too, but the alternative was killing her,” this time, my voice is calm and flat. “I told you, I am still trying to control myself.”
“And what if you can’t?” he says, his hands now on his hips like a scolding mother. “You know very well it would be better to kill her with your own hand than touch her as a woman. Don’t you fucking dare want to keep her, because that will kill us all.”
He throws the last sentence at me through his teeth while stabbing me twice in the chest with his index finger.
What would happen if I confirmed that the voice has been demanding that since Christmas, and now they are growling at him because he guessed the intention my demons have been whispering in my head since yesterday?
But ignoring every thought coming from my dark side, I answer him with the confidence that defines me.
“I know. I would never put you and Sasha in danger, especially not because of one of my weaknesses. I have everything under control.”
“I hope so, brother.”
Then he becomes a little calmer. “But I want you to promise me something.”
“What?”
“That you come to me when it becomes too hard to bear alone.”
I nod, and I see him waiting to hear the words from my mouth.
“I promise.”
“Good.”
I turn to leave again, but when I reach the door, he stops me agan.
“By the way. Does she know the real reason for this marriage?”
I tense.
“From what I understand, no.”
“So she really is marrying for love.”
And just like that, a handful of words stir my voices awake and send a shiver crawling up the back of my neck.
“So it seems,” I answer before slamming the door behind me.