Chapter 12 #3
A cold shiver slips down my back, reminding me of the frigid reality of the situation we are in.
Not even half an hour has passed since I assured Yaroslav the wedding would happen, and here I am, seducing the bride.
I find the strength inside myself to stop everything, especially the impulse to carry her into the bedroom and savor her soft body. But I can’t do it gently or carefully. I tear myself away, like a bandage I know will hurt.
Because now, after I have tasted her, I don’t know if I can live without having this again.
But I have to. Otherwise, my brothers’ lives will be put in danger.
Maybe hers too.
I take a step back, almost unsteady on my feet, because my body still wants her and tries to return to where it left.
Her taste still lingers on my lips as my gaze rises from her swollen mouth to those eyes watching me in confusion.
Her trembling fingers lift toward the throat reddened by my blood, hers, and by the pressure of my fingers.
“You make me lose control,” I whisper the pathetic excuse, one I have never felt the need to offer anyone.
Until now.
Until this woman, who is destroying me without even realizing what she is doing.
The moment I see our blood staining her throat and the marks that will become more visible, a strange feeling, almost painful, makes my heart beat harder when I realize I’ve hurt her.
What the fuck is this?
I bring my bloody palm to my chest and touch the place from which my heart is sending these foreign emotions.
I assume it is because of her, because there is no way my brain is this broken.
“You got your shirt dirty,” she says quietly, making me look into her eyes again.
She is sad.
Even now, she is not frightened, but the pain written across her face only makes my own pain sharper.
“I’m sorry for what I did to you,” I say, looking again at her throat. “I’ll let you wash. I’ll shower in your room.”
I move to leave, but I hear her speak softly, probably because of her injured throat.
“Are you coming back, or are you staying there?”
I turn halfway toward her.
In less than a minute, I have offered her an apology, asked for forgiveness, and now... am I going to ask permission?
I’ve never done that.
“Would you want me to come back?”
For the first time, hope is almost tangible in my voice.
No matter how fiercely the voices have made me give in at certain moments, they have never fought me as viciously as they did today. And I managed to win and not hurt Katya more than I could repair.
So yes, she remains the only one who gives me that inner peace I would stay in forever.
“It’s your room. It’s normal for you to sleep here. If someone should leave, it should be me.”
“You don’t understand, do you?” I say bitterly, a crease between my brows. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“But one day I’ll have to. Tomorrow, I move back to my room.”
I tense.
“I know,” I say a little too sharply, irritated that my three days have already passed and I no longer want to force her to do anything she doesn’t want.
But my voice softens immediately.
“We still have tonight.”
She nods slowly.
“Then wait a little while I clean up, and then you can shower.”
I take off my jacket and begin undoing the buttons of my vest and shirt.
“What are you doing?” Her voice sounds as if she is scolding me, but her eyes tell another story.
“Getting ready to shower so I don’t waste time,” I explain as simply as I can.
“Ok! Ok!”
She wets a small towel and, glancing quickly in the mirror, begins wiping away the traces of blood. My body tenses when I see the small grimaces she makes whenever she touches patches of skin that will surely be purple by tomorrow.
Fuck my voices and the madness I almost failed to stop in time.
Not even an entire lifetime would have been enough for me to forgive myself for my weakness in that moment, and I don’t know how long she will need to forgive me.
When her skin is clean and she looks carefully in the mirror, I come up behind her to have a better view. My stomach tightens, and that strange pressure in my chest grows stronger.
“I...”
I stop.
I don’t know what to say, but I take Katya by
the shoulders and turn her to face me immediately, studying the marks that are far more visible than I expected.
Fuck.
I don’t want her to suffer.
She should never suffer, especially not because of me.
“I’m sorry, Katya...” I whisper, my voice strangled.
Her gaze lifts immediately.
“That is the first time you’ve called me that.”
I know it too, but this is not the moment to discuss my desire to use an endearment for her.
I take a cream from the cabinet, one Polina got me for similar wounds, though I have never used it. With a little cream on the tip of my index finger, I carefully apply it over the reddened skin, then around the small cut.
“Does it hurt?” My voice is low.
“Only if I press harded.”
“If I touch you like this, does it hurt?” “No.”
After I finish with the cream, I bend and kiss her skin as gently as I am capable of.
My inner agony becomes torture.
“I’m sorry, dusha moya...”
I want to give her little space, but she cups my face in her palms and stops me.
“Why do you call me that?”
There is torment in her voice, pain, but also a warm note, almost affectionate.
Every night, she has asked me this, and every time I avoided the answer.
But now, it seems I am following the advice I received this evening, and I am accepting my reality.
“Because that is what I feel.”
“But you called me like that from the first day we met.”
I gently wrap my fingers around her wrists and kiss her palms before taking a step back.
“Not from the first day.”
It takes her only a few seconds to realize what I mean, and she doesn’t even seem to notice when I continue undressing.
“The Christmas party,” she whispers.
I wink in confirmation.
“But we didn’t even speak. That doesn’t count as seeing each other.”
I lean toward her and breathe the words over her lips.
“Believe me, Katya. I saw you.”