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Chapter Twenty-Five
Kat
What the hell is happening? What the hell is he doing? What is he thinking?
But, even without him saying a word, I know—he’s going to sacrifice himself to settle this vendetta. He’s going to make it look like Konstantin has won fair and square, killed him before his men, before me, before his son’s own eyes. Aleks is sacrificing himself.
For me.
He loves me. How horrible is it, though, to realize that so close to the end?We could have had everything, if only this was a little different. If only the timing had been different.If only I had taken the risk, all those years ago; but I won’t blame myself. I did what I thought was right for Adam, and maybe it was. Aleks and I never got the timing right.
Now we never will.
Konstantin steps forward. He’s shirtless now, like Aleks, and the two of them look like animals in the sluggish fog and the glare of the headlights. Both are battered, their ribs bruised. Both have bandages where they’ve been shot. Both are bloodstained, wild-eyed, before either has even thrown a punch.
I know Aleks could win this fight. I also know he is not going to. I look at Adam. His dark eyes are trained on Aleks—does he understand? Did he understand, when Konstantin called Aleks his father? My son is bright, his gaze keen. But he is still just a child, so young. And whether he understands truly, his face has a bright curiosity in it when he looks at Aleks; maybe he doesn’t know the man about to die is his father, but he knows they are alike. One of the same kind. Maybe he knows it in his bones, like an animal, like an instinct.
I managed to save you from so much,I think to my son, my chin wobbling. But I won’t cry now.But I can’t save you from this.He’s mere feet from me, but I can’t go to him, I can’t touch him. I can’t hold a hand over his eyes, or whisper in his ear,Look away.He’s held in place by one of Konstantin’s men. He will watch this, I’m helpless to stop that.
I’m helpless to stop any of this. And it is hell, more than anything else has been since Konstantin appeared like a phantom in my life.
“Come, let us end this,” says Konstantin. His face is pure murder, more so than I’ve ever seen it. He paces slowly into the clearing, so he and Aleks are face to face, nothing but a stretch of a few feet left between them. “For my brother.”
Aleks only inclines his head. He looks lean, muscular. Dangerous as a predator. And with a hungry look to him I’m not sure I’ve ever clocked before—but why, if he only intends to lose this fight?Does some part of him want to win it?
Does some part of him want to survive?
My heart begins to drum, awoken with a new hope. I think of the way that he kissed me, back in the cabin safehouse; and how quickly he forgave me for concealing the truth about Adam for so long. And just now, he said,I love you.And I knew he did, but there was something about it this time that felt so vivid and real; for the first time, I felt like his wife. Not just in name. But as his partner, his ally. Trusted, with more than his heart but his life, and his son, and his legacy. But if he lives, we get all of those things, together. The three of us.
A real family.
Fight, Aleks,I think desperately. I stand with my shoulder to Yuri’s, and watch the two men slowly pace around one another, like wolves circling a carcass. Their gazes are locked. Aleks’s dark eyes and Konstantin’s light ones; the two of them like bastard brothers in this endless blood feud.Fight, Aleks. Win.
“You must truly think you are my better,” says Konstantin, and his eyes flash. Though he smiles, there is no happiness or humor in his face. “You killed my brother. You will never know the torment of that.”
Aleks’s eyes narrow. “Your brother was like us, or close to it. He knew what he was doing. He didn’t have his own back that night, and you didn’t, either.”
Rage flashes cold into Konstantin’s face. And he lunges. His arm is cocked, but when he swings Aleks ducks the blow easily, and the one that follows, a lot faster than I expect. I lean forward on my toes, heart lurching into my throat. I expect Aleks to pull his punch—this is all about getting Konstantin to kill him, isn’t it, to absolve us all of that blood debt?—but he doesn’t. The first blow knocks Konstantin back on his heels.
Aleks’ face is fierce, but there’s a war waging behind his eyes. When Konstantin swings again, this time, flesh connects with flesh. But instead of falling back as Konstantin had, Aleks leans in. And suddenly, the two are locked: arms locked with arms, heads slammed together, both with knees bent. They’re straining toward one another, grappling with all of their strength. In the milky fog, in the half-dark of the night, it’s almost difficult to tell them apart: two bodies, muscles rippling, each with their wounds and bruises. It’s only the hair and the eyes that divide them, light and dark.
Konstantin slips the hold, his forehead smacking hard against Aleks’s nose. Aleks grunts, and beside me, Yuri takes a reflexive step forward. I don’t know what instinct kicks in, but I throw my arm up, barring his chest and keeping him back, though I don’t think he’ll actually try to step in.
Konstantin brings his knee up between them, hitting Aleks in the ribs. I can’t tell how much is true and how much is playacting, but the blow bends Aleks double. He takes in aragged breath and Konstantin steps back, kicking out, bringing his boot up hard and clipping Aleks across the jaw.
It’s my turn to step forward, and Yuri’s turn to catch me. He pulls me back without so much as looking at me. But I can barely breathe. My heart is beating so fast it feels like wings against my ribs, trapped there. I look at my son, across the clearing. His face is drawn and it’s clear he’s afraid, but he stands up straight, and watches the fight without blinking.
A curse, spat in Russian. When I look back sharply, Konstantin is clutching his nose, blood pouring fast and brackish between his fingers. He kicks again, this time getting Aleks in the ribs, then launches forward, throwing his arms around Aleks’s waist.
The two men go down hard, sending up a strange whorl of fog. They’re grunting, both breathing hard, and in the bizarre stillness and silence of the night, the sound of flesh on flesh, of blow after blow, of bodies crashing into the bare earth, is so animal it makes my own hackles raise.
Then—Aleks. He makes a sound, a horrible sound that paralyzes me. It’s half a gasp, half an exclamation, and when Konstantin comes up, it’s with something small and bright glinting in his hand. Aleks tries to stand and stumbles, then falls hard to his knees.
The fog around them is clearing, peeling away in pale ghostly snags. Men are standing on their toes, arching their necks, vying for a better look, and so am I.What the hell? What just happened?
Aleks is still on his knees, and I realize he’s holding his side, both hands clasped hard against his ribs. His breathing is ragged. When he looks up at Konstantin, there is genuine surprise in his face.
He says something in Russian, his voice rough and ragged. Yuri grips the rifle tighter to his chest in response, his jaw locking tight and his eyes going wild.
