Chapter 13
ARIA
We sit in the same living room where just hours ago, I took my vows. My hand shakes holding the shot glass. When Mikhail pressed it into my palm and ordered me to drink, I drank. I didn’t see any reason to push back, not now. Not when I wanted something to soothe my nerves.
Not when he’s told me explicitly what his expectations for obedience are. What’s he going to do if he drugs me again? We’re…married.
Doesn’t mean he couldn’t take advantage or get creative, but…
Maybe I’m more na?ve than I thought.
My dress is torn and my temple throbs. I’m trying to forget the sight of blood mixed with brains on concrete, but it’s not easy.
I could probably use more than a stiff drink.
“Mr. Romanov.” One of his staff stands nearby, likely waiting on the next instruction.
“Out,” he snaps in a tone so harsh I flinch. “Everyone’s dismissed for the night. Exit through the back door immediately.”
He’s…dismissed his staff for the night.
Interesting. They leave quickly with hushed voices, doors opening and shutting behind them.
He’s in worse shape than I am, but it doesn’t stop him from walking to the downstairs bathroom and retrieving a first aid kit.
I sip the vodka he promised me we’d celebrate with. God, this stuff is liquid fire. I let it hit my lips as he curses in Russian, filtering through the first aid kit until he comes up with a bottle of saline and some white gauze.
“Head back.”
I tilt my head back and grit my teeth. This will hurt.
I brace for the sting of pain, but it doesn’t hurt as badly as I anticipate. “Vodka’s an excellent anesthetic,” he murmurs as he dabs the gauze on my cut.
“Good to know.”
I’m sitting in an overstuffed leather chair, my arms barely reaching the armrests, my feet lightly gracing the floor. Mikhail kneels in front of me, glaring at the cut on my head as if it personally offends him.
“So,” I say. “Want to tell me what happened? Who were they?” I ask. He doesn’t answer at first, but after a quiet moment he blows out a breath.
“We have many enemies. My father’s cousin is our greatest. Fyodor Volkov’s notorious for having no use for modern conveniences like mobile phones.
I sent him on a wild goose chase with decoys which delayed him, but he found us out.
Since the men that were to report to him that we were already married are being buried as we speak, I’m guessing he didn’t get that memo. He sent his henchmen to fuck us up.”
I’m filled with sudden pride.
“And we fucked them up.”
A smile plays on his lips. “You were fucking brilliant, Aria.”
I feel my jaw drop in surprise, but I don’t speak. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll ruin this moment.
Praise from Mikhail Romanov? Be still my heart.
“It was nothing,” I say with a modest shrug even as my chest swells with pride.
“It wasn’t nothing.” His scowl makes me look away as I battle conflicting emotions. “I wouldn’t have been able to do what you did. It came so swiftly and naturally.”
I swallow and nod, surprisingly emotional about his praise. I’m not sure how that makes me feel.
It seems simpler…safer…if only I could continue to hate him.
“Well,” I tell him. “I’m good at what I do. You could’ve benefitted from my skills as a hacker probably way more than you’ll benefit from my skills as a wife.”
The bold, predatory look he gives me makes me draw in a breath and I wish I had somewhere to hide. I’m practically sweltering under the heat of his gaze.
“Maybe you should reserve your judgment on that,” he says in a low drawl I feel way, way, low in my belly.
My jaw drops. Did he just…go there? I set him up for that, though, and walked right into it.
I’m not good in bed. I have no idea what I’m doing, and we barely know each other. If he thinks — no.
“Maybe.” I swallow as he continues to doctor me with surprising patience.
Our voices echo in this enormous room. I haven’t been here long, but it’s already a little unnerving, not hearing any sounds other than the two of us in this enormous estate.
He presses damp gauze to my forehead and finally nods, as if satisfied.
“Now it’s your turn,” I tell him, rising and pointing to the seat.
“I’m fine.”
I snort. “You’re fine compared to who? I’m no doctor but I think it’s probably best you prevent…I dunno, infection or something by cleaning these wounds. And maybe we should…get some clean clothes.”
“Fine,” he finally agrees. “But we won’t be needing clothes.”
Je-SUS. Ack.
My injuries were superficial and his likely are, too, but I need him to take these clothes off.
“Does this sort of thing happen a lot?” I ask, as I turn my back to him so he doesn’t see the way my hand trembles when I put saline on the gauze.
“Yeah.”
So this is the world I’m in for. “Do you have a family medic or someone you trust?”
“Not yet. We will. Polina’s studying nursing.”
Interesting.
Armed with what I need, I turn to face him. “Alright, sir. Off with the shirt, please.”
The heat of his gaze skates across my skin. There’s stubble along his jaw that wasn’t there this morning. I have the sudden, compelling need to reach out and stroke it. I want to feel the rough prickle against my fingers.
“We only took vows a few hours ago. Already, you’re undressing me?” he says as he reaches for the buttons on his shirt.
I have to pretend the sight of his skin bared to me doesn’t make my belly dip. “Of course I’m undressing you. If I’m going to perform my wifely duty, you’ll have to perform your husbandly duty.”
I can’t believe I just said that. Why did I just say that? The sudden vision of me naked, flat on my back on his bed makes my cheeks heat— wait, there’s no way this man’s vanilla and favors missionary sex. My cheeks burn even hotter.
The sound of his chuckle hardens my nipples. Oh God, I haven’t heard him laugh before. A part of me wondered if he even knew how. His laugh is deep, dark, and wicked, as golden as his skin.
“My husbandly duty is teaching you your place, woman. Keeping you in line. Making sure you learn there are consequences for disobedience.”
“That’s old-fashioned and chauvinistic, you Neanderthal.”
“Your point?”
As he talks, I help him out of his shredded shirt, trying to steady the trembling of my hands fruitlessly. It doesn’t help that I’m met with the vision of his temptingly naked skin.
“We’ve gone over that,” I say with a haughty toss of my head.
Small talk helps distract me from the fact that he’s getting naked in front of me.
I stare at his flawless arm, the sculpted biceps and sturdy forearms with visible veins beneath his tanned skin. His rugged hand rests casually on his knee, fingers strong and fingertips calloused.
When he shrugs out of his second sleeve, his ragged shirt falls, a tiny shred still tucked into his pants, but his back on full display. I stifle a gasp.
“Wow.” A stunning image stares back at me, taking up his entire back.
Unlike his arms, this is the only tattoo on his back, somehow making the bold lines of his muscles look more intimidating.
I stare at the distinct features — bold orange and black with accents of amber.
Indomitable eyes, powerful muscles, vertical stripes meant for camouflage.
The background of snowy mountains and a full moon accentuate the brightness of the focal point.
“It’s a…tiger,” I say, as I walk around him, intentionally keeping my eyes averted from the tapered waist and little dimple in the small of his back.
“It’s a Siberian tiger. My father called me the Siberian tiger when I was kid,” he says. I sometimes forget he has a Russian accent, but it comes back in full force when he talks of his family. “It was my first tattoo.”
I gape. “First? Your first tattoo takes up your entire back.”
“It does.”
I swallow and pretend this doesn’t awe me. With a gentle tug, I take off the remains of his shirt and toss it. I stand awkwardly in front of him, pretending I don’t want to stare at him. I remind myself why we’re here.
I have to take care of his injuries.
He only has a handful of cuts, though, so it’s quick work.
I dab antiseptic on a cotton round and make quick work of cleaning him up. “This will sting,” I warn, when I get to a particularly angry looking scratch on his left shoulder. He doesn’t respond.
I note a few tats I’m not familiar with and suspect they have something to do with him being Bratva — stars on each shoulder, barbed wire on his neck, a spiderweb on his elbow.
I note the crosses on his fingers as well and wonder what that’s all about.
He’s not what I’d call a particularly religious or spiritual sort.
When his back and arms are cleaned up, I stand in front of him, and do what I’ve longed to do — reach my fingers to his chin and tip his head to the side.
He’d almost seem vulnerable sitting here in front of me like this, if not for his sheer unbridled strength. His presence alone fills the entire room, even when he’s silent. When I stand directly in front of him, I’m completely dwarfed by his shadow.
“Mm. Little bruise on your cheek but no cuts. I’d bet the other guy looks much worse.”
It’s a stupid attempt at a joke, but he doesn’t smile. My heart sinks. I’m trying to make the most of this situation but he —
His hands span my waist, effectively anchoring me in place as his eyes bore into mine.
“They were fools for coming after you. If any of Volkov’s men step foot near you again, I’ll beat them with my bare hands until they beg for mercy. Then I’ll bind them and make them spend their last minutes on earth watching me fuck you. Then kill them so no man has a memory of you but me.”
A shiver makes its way from the base of my neck down the length of my spine. “I’ll make an example of any of his men who even thinks of breathing the same air you do.”
“I know,” I say honestly, because I do know.
Siberian tiger indeed.
The largest cats in the world, the adult male can weigh up to six hundred pounds. Powerful predators, they’re nimble and quiet with an exceptional sense of sight and hearing.