Chapter 36
Peighton
The world comes back to me in slow, disjointed pieces.
The hum of the refrigerator, the faint ticking of a wall clock, the scent of flour, sweat, something metallic in the air. My pulse still trips against my ribs, trying to catch up with what just happened.
We’re on the table now, not the counter.
Somehow we made it across the room without noticing.
My back sticks to the hard surface. Gustav is above me, breath uneven, chest slick with sweat.
His body still presses into mine, the slow aftershocks of release softening both of us.
His forehead rests against my shoulder like he needs the contact to stay anchored.
Our skin is streaked in white flour.
And blood.
His hand is locked around a knife, knuckles tight, the blade glinting inches from my hip.
I don’t panic. Not this time.
Carefully, I wrap my fingers around his wrist and lift the knife from his grasp.
He lets go instantly. The change in his expression is startling as he lifts and takes in the sight of crimson painted on my body.
The man who just took me apart like I was made for him now looks like he is bracing to be condemned.
His nostrils flare as he searches my face.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, voice low and rough, “Fuck, did I cut you?”
There is something close to dread in his eyes. It catches me off guard.
I sit up slowly and show him my palm. The cut is shallow, a thin slash of red across my skin. He looks at it like it is the worst thing he’s ever done. I shake my head.
“You didn’t hurt me,” I say gently. “You cut your palm too. Don’t you remember? You pressed our hands together.” I run my thumb along the blood on his palm, the cut deeper than mine. “You made me say my wedding vows.”
He blinks slowly. Confusion softens into disbelief.
“I did not hurt you,” he repeats.
“No,” I murmur. “It was... intense. But I’m fine.”
For a moment he just looks at me. Really looks. As if he is trying to reconcile the version of himself he sees with the version reflected in my eyes.
He exhales, long and shaky, relief washing the hard edge from his posture.
I sit up and hold out his shirt, which he takes.
As he buttons it, I can’t stop staring. His shoulders cut sharp lines beneath the fabric, each muscle shifting with controlled precision. There is a moment where the light catches on the dark stubble along his cheekbones.
It is unfair how devastating he looks, the kind of man sculpted for sin, not marriage. Even with blood and flour smeared on his forearm and the Xs at his temples, he’s breathtaking in a way that makes my stomach tighten. Being with him like this makes the entire world feel too small to contain him.
But he’s scaring me, and I know the vow-thing was dangerous. Especially as I study his cut before wrapping it with a rag. He went too deep. Strange that through his madness, he was able to spare me.
We clean the kitchen together. He wipes the table, his movements still sharp with leftover adrenaline but less frantic. There is swagger in his shoulders again, the predator’s confidence returning now that he knows I’m safe. But something is different. A change. A looseness.
He’s not twitching. Not pacing. Not spiraling.
He looks... better.
“I am not unwell,” he says abruptly, as if testing the words. “I’m... better.”
I nod, because he seems to relaxing steadily before my eyes. His energy hums around me instead of crackling. It is still dark, still powerful, still dangerous, but quieter.
“I want to stay at St. Andrews a while longer,” I say. “Like you originally wanted.”
He doesn’t like that. I see his jaw flex.
“No. I want to take you home.”
“I know. But this is helping me learn, and... helping you too. I’m learning your country’s ways. About bratvas. How to protect myself. Don’t you feel some change in me?”
He doesn’t answer. He looks away instead, then back at me.
I step closer. “I want us to stay connected, though. I want to be close to you. So I think you should microchip yourself. I’ll do it again as well. So we can track each other.”
I never thought I’d say that, but based on how quickly he can slip into darkness, I need to know where he’s at so I can help him.
A soft laugh escapes him. “Only dogs are microchipped.”
I roll my eyes. “I know those are my words, but now, I see the usefulness of it. This way, we can find each other no matter what. What if I’m kidnapped?”
He studies me for a long moment, liking my rationale.
To him, this means submission. To me, it means connection. He sees the former. He understands it.
He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “I will think about it, though I prefer only you doing it.”
I grin, because it isn’t a no.
That alone makes me absurdly happy. For the first time, I feel like I am not just his political pawn but something more. A partner, a leader beside him, someone who can protect him even from himself. With the Council circling him like sharks, he needs me as much as I need him.
The morning comes blurry and warm. Gustav walks me to my first class.
Students turn to stare as we walk down the corridor.
Rumors still swirl about of tumultuous marriage. I’m sure they’re surprised he’s back.
Gustav does nothing to blend in, either.
He takes up space the way storms do. Tall, broad, and carved in lines that demand attention.
His dark coat moves with his strides, framing the hard cut of his torso.
When he stops in front of my classroom, the overhead lights catch the pale angles of his face and the cold silver of his eyes.
It hits me how unreal he looks. Not like a mob boss or a man at all.
More like the villain in a forbidden legend, the one maidens were warned never to look at.
And here he is, mine.
His hand rests lightly at the small of my back. I want to cling to him, hang on him like a schoolgirl, kiss him the way I feel like kissing him. But I hold off, more cautious around him.
When we reach the door, I squeeze his hand subtly. Then I rise on my toes and kiss his lips soft and quick.
His eyes darken instantly. The change is visible. I see the shadows slip into his expression, the chaotic rush of his mind trying to return.
Okay, he doesn’t like quick affection right now.
As the door begins to swing shut, I catch one last glimpse of him.
He stands there still, shoulders squared, gaze fixed solely on me with a hunger that is equal parts devotion and sex.
It’s impossible not to feel desired when a man like Gustav Sokolov stares at me like that.
Impossible not to ache for him. Impossible not to fear the storm waiting behind those gray eyes.
The door closes with a click of finality.
I pray that when it opens again, he will still be there.
Keira bumps into me before heading to the front of the class. She subtly squeezes my arm. Her voice drops, hurried.
“Be ready. Council wants Gustav’s last breath.” Then she starts the class like nothing happened.
But I am barely taking a step when a tall man in a dark coat blocks my path. His badge gleams faintly.
“Mrs. Sokolova. I’m Rupert Norton. I’m with the Council. I need a one-on-one with you.”
My stomach drops.