Blyad. I am jealous.
“Come what now?”
“Just answer the fucking question. I know you heard me.”
“And if I was?” she challenges.
Of course she does. It wouldn’t be Stella if she didn’t give me grief.
“Then all I’d need is a name,” I say simply.
“Why? So you can scare him off?” She laughs right in my frustrated face.
So I can kill him, I think to myself.
Even though I don’t say those words out loud, my expression apparently says it all.
“I’m no man’s possession, Kill. If we’re going to get along, it would be in your best interest to remember that.”
“I don’t share,milaya. It would be in your best interest to rememberthat.”
“Jesus Christ. Stop going all caveman on me. It’s not attractive.” She rolls her eyes. “Besides, there is no other guy. And who even says ‘lover’ anymore? Ew.” I feel her pulse under my fingers, her heartbeat never accelerating, indicating she’s being truthful for once. “Not that it is any of your business, where I spend my time or with who,” she points a menacing finger at me before continuing, “But if you must know, me and my siblings are having brunch tomorrow before we have to go to their school and help decorate it for the Christmas party they have every year during winter break,” she explains. “So no need to go all alpha on me. Unless you’re jealous of my brothers and sister, too.”
Am I jealous? Yes.
Will I ever admit that? Absolutely fucking not.
She’s already made it very clear that possessiveness is a turn-off for her. And I intend to do only things that turn her on. Even if that means going against my true nature.
I loosen my grip on her wrists and plant my hand on the wall beside her head, leaning in until our faces are at eye-level again.
“Then Monday,” I murmur. “I’ll come to you.”
Her eyes search mine, deep and unguarded for a heartbeat.
“If you can find me,” she whispers, back to her teasing self.
Stella then rises onto her toes and presses a slow, seductive kiss on the corner of my mouth. It takes every ounce of discipline not to grab her face and kiss her like I need to.
Tonight, we’ve played enough. When Monday comes, I intend to play for real. When I find her—notif,as she suggested—I’m taking her back to my place and ending my misery once and for all. But for now, I’ll just have to content myself with the remaining seconds I still have just watching her go.
Feeling my eyes on her, Stella doesn’t hurry, doesn’t look back, just glides down the dim hallway with that impossible confidence of hers. Hips swaying, hair brushing her spine, leaving a trail of black cherry perfume that hits like a drug. Every step she takes feels like something tugging harder at my chest. I wait until she’s almost at the end of the hall before pushing off the wall and following her at a slow, measured pace. I just need to keep her in my sights for a few seconds longer.
Stella disappears around the corner, back toward the thump of bass and strobing lights. I trail behind her, letting the anticipation crawl under my skin. I want to watch her until the exact moment she slips into the crowd. I want to see who she talks to, who she ignores, and who she looks at. I want to be the last thing she thinks about when she goes home tonight.
I’m almost at the hallway’s end—almost close enough to slip into the flow of bodies after her—when something slams into my shoulder.
“BROTHERRRR!”
Kostya’s voice hits me like a mallet to the skull. Before I can sidestep him, he throws his entire drunk weight onto me, looping an arm around my neck and nearly knocking us both over.
“Kiiiilll!” he slurs in my ear. “Ihiclost my friends. Wait? Or they lost me? I don’t know. I can’thicremember!”
I grit my teeth. “Get off me.”
Kostya clings harder, laughing like a lunatic. “Nooo, no, no. Don’t be mad. I love you, bro. I love youuu. Even when you’re all grumpy and shit. You’re my favoriiiiiittte. Shhh, don’t tell Misha.”
I try to shove him off, but he’s deadweight. Warm vodka-soaked deadweight. By the time I peel him off to look toward the crowd, Stella is gone. No flash of red. No streak of her wild hair. No curve of her slender neck. Nothing. She’s already swallowed by the bodies, by the lights, by the fucking music pounding through the floor.
