Feliks wasn’t like that at first. He used to laugh with me. To bring back candy for Maksim and me after a long mission out of the house.
But he followed Anatoli everywhere and watched everything he did. He was the middle son, and to him, that meant struggling not to fade into the background. Father’s gaze was always on Anatoli, sometimes on Maksim, but it was rarely ever on him.
The older he got, the more Feliks copied him. The kindness faded. The laughter stopped. He started hitting when Anatoli hit. He learned to sneer, to threaten. To use fear the way our father did.
I used to think he was pretending. That one day he’d stop. He’d look at me and remember who he was.
But he never did. Every ounce of goodness was crushed out of him until nothing was left.
He just wanted our father’s approval. He craved Anatoli’s respect. And so he became exactly what they wanted him to be.
I take a long breath and look at Petyr. He’s watching me, waiting for my reaction. His eyes are full of guilt, but there’s nothing for me to give him except the truth.
“I’m glad you protected yourself,” I say quietly. “Felya… I wish he’d made better choices, too. But he grew up to be cruel, just like Anatoli.” I swallow hard. “They were dangerous. And they both wanted to please my father more than they wanted to be human.”
Petyr doesn’t speak. He just nods, eyes dark, jaw set.
I can’t even summon the proper emotions. My family, its ghosts—I’ve left it all in the past. They were already dead to me.
All I can do is pray they find peace wherever they are now.
“Thank you for telling me.” I touch his cheek. His stubble tickles my fingertips. “It means more than you know.”
Petyr looks at me like he’s searching for something. Forgiveness, maybe, or comfort.
I don’t know what he finds. Both, most likely. Because he doesn’t need to ask—I already forgive him. I wanted him to be safe more than I wanted Feliks to live, and I know it’s selfish, but I’m glad things went this way. If it was a choice between the brother I once knew and the man I love, I would choose Petyr every time.
When he leans in, I meet him halfway. His lips brush mine softly, careful and hesitant. The kiss is light. Almost cautious.
He pulls back, his voice low. “You should rest.”
I shake my head. “So should you.” My eyes drop to his shoulder. “Does it really not hurt?”
He exhales through his nose, half a laugh, half a sigh. “I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not really comforting,” I say. The corner of my mouth twitches. “You should work on your bedside manner.”
His mouth curves just enough to count as a smile. “You offering to take over?”
“Maybe,” I tease softly. “But you’d have to let me boss you around.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Not sure I’d survive that.”
“Pretty sure you would.” I reach up and touch his jaw. There’s a trace of blood on his cheekbone. Misha’s, possibly, or perhaps Feliks’s. “You’ve survived worse, remember?”
His hand covers mine. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But I don’t want you worrying over me.”
“Too late,” I say. “You scared me half to death. I almost thought I was gonna have to paint a whole nursery by myself.”
He shakes his head. Finally, a smile breaks through. “I’d never let that happen.”
“Right. You’d have left it in your will. One last order for Luka to grumble through.”
“I’m not leaving a will.” His hand squeezes mine. “Because I’m not leaving you. Period.”
The next kiss is deeper, slower. He meets me halfway, his breath warm against my lips. The tension in his shoulders eases as his mouth moves with mine, and for the first time in hours, I feel warmth instead of fear.
He tastes like gunpowder, but I don’t care. I reach for him and help him peel away the clothes that cling to his skin. My palms trace the heat of his body, the rough lines of muscle.
