Page 148

“Wow. The insults keep piling⁠—”

He kissed me then, soft and warm and apologetic.

A mistake.

A terrible, wonderful mistake.

He might have just kissed me to shut me up, but as soon as our lips met, heat unfurled under my skin, slow as melted honey. My breath caught, and I curled my fingers against the cuff. His mouth moved over mine with a gentleness I wasn’t built to handle, a kind of reverence that cracked me open in places the fists and boots last night never reached.

My pulse kicked hard. A quiet, helpless noise slipped out of me, half groan, half curse, and all need.

When he pulled back, barely an inch, my lips chased his. “Stas,” I rasped, swallowing around the ache that kiss had ignited. “You cannot deny me sex and then kiss me like that. That’s emotional terrorism.”

He rolled his eyes, but the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Before I could demand a second kiss, a knock landed on the door. Stas straightened instinctively, shoulders broadening like he was ready to fight whoever dared interrupt us.

Zasha stepped inside.

He looked like shit. Bruised jaw, split lip, gauze taped to his temple. His shirt was wrinkled and hanging off one shoulder like he’d forgotten how clothes worked.

My scowl came automatically. “How the hell are you allowed to walk around while I’m handcuffed to a bed? Someone’s playing favoritism.”

“My injuries are superficial,” he said, dismissive, leaning on the doorframe like he might fall over. “You took most of the hits.” His eyes swept over me. “You obviously haven’t looked in a mirror lately.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. “Very comforting.”

Stas brushed a thumb across my cheekbone as if checking for damage one last time. “I’ll give you two a moment.”

He left, closing the door behind him.

Zasha walked closer and sank into the chair. He exhaled shakily. “Yuriy… I don’t even know how to start.”

“Start by resting. You’re swaying like somebody’s drunk grandmother.”

He snorted a weak laugh. “Thank you for coming after me. Again. After everything… after how I acted when I found out about you and Stanislav…”

I waved my cuffed wrist. “Water under the bridge. The very bloody, very traumatic bridge.”

His voice softened. “I was wrong. About you. About him. I just… didn’t understand. And I was scared for Yelena. But tonight—” His throat tightened. “You saved my life.”

Emotion pricked somewhere in my chest. I tried to disguise it with sarcasm. “Yeah, well. I’m a hero. Spread the word.”

He didn’t smile this time.

He reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and rested his hand near mine on the bed. “Yelena and I decided something. Once we’re cleared to travel… we’re going back to Chicago.”

I stared, shock rippling through me. “Are you sure? Why?”

“Our daughter deserves the same protection we had growing up,” he said softly. “The truth is that running away didn’t change who we are. We’ll always be a Zhukovsky and an Orlov. Our daughter—and whatever children we have—will always be a mixture of both our blood, and as long as that’s out there, we’ll always be a threat to someone. The Orlovs watched me as I grew up. Zhukovskys watched over Yelena. But our daughter will have both families behind her in Chicago. There’s nowhere safer.”

He took a breath. “And… maybe when both families see how well we blend, how strong we are together… maybe they’ll learn to welcome the idea of you and Stanislav.”

I barked a humorless laugh. “Nice thought. Truly. But Stas and I? We’re different. It won’t be accepted easily—maybe ever.”

“And you’re okay with that?” he asked quietly.

I met his eyes. “Yeah. I am. I’d rather have him in the shadows than not at all, but give it some more thought. There’s no rush. If your decision is based on the lack of protection here, Stas and I can work something out. Besides, with your family here, we’ll have an excuse to get away from Chicago as often as we can and be together.”

The door opened softly.