“You’re acting like a brat.”
“Better than being a coward.”
Kirill’s mouth hardens into a narrow line. “Maybe it’s time you went to bed. You look like you need the rest.”
“Fuck you,” I snap, turning toward the main doors of the mansion and stepping into the cold.
Only the moment I’m outside do I remember that Russian winters are nothing like Chicago’s. The wind alone feels as if it could freeze a person solid.
“Such a troublesome little thing,” Kirill sighs in my ear as he wraps me in a large coat, the smoky clover scent of him chasing away my anger in seconds. “Come. A walk will do us both some good.”
Kirill takes my hand and leads me away from the house, my eyes drifting to the many guards stationed around the perimeter, each armed with an AK-47.
I’m surprised someone as sweet and gentle as Elena would be happy living in a place like this. But then again, her mind has probably been occupied with other matters to even care.
“How long has your sister-in-law been sick?”
Kirill releases a deep exhale, swinging his arm around me to keep the cold from swallowing me whole.
“The first time she was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma was about five years ago. It was touch-and-go for a while, but she beat it in the long run. She’s been in remission ever since, but…”
“But?”
“It came back last summer. And by the looks of it, it’s even more aggressive than before. Since the cancer is in her blood and this is her second time, her treatment options are limited. But her doctors are hopeful that once she recovers from her third round of chemo, they’ll be able to move forward with a stem cell transplant. After that, depending on how Elena responds, she may need one final consolidation treatment,” he explains, his voice softening under the weight of his sister-in-law’s cancer battle.
“She’s actually going to the doctor in the morning to see how her blood work looks and whether she’s strong enough for the transplant process. That’s why she looks frail and gets tired soeasily. This last round of chemo was a bitch,” he adds with a crestfallen look in his eyes. “I wish you could’ve met her when she was healthy. If you thought dinner was something, you should see Elena at her best. She would never have let Sasha walk away from the table like that, that’s for sure.”
“I wish I could have seen her like that, too. Maybe I’ll get to one day.”
“Maybe,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair away from my face that the wind tried to steal. “She really liked you.”
“I liked her too. She reminded me a bit of my sister, Annamaria.”
Kirill smiles, as if he understood me completely. “Let me guess, your sister is the moral compass of the family, too?”
My chest warms at how perfectly he gets it. “That’s our Anna, all right. From the crib, she always seemed to know the difference between right and wrong, yet she never judges us when we toe the line in between. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say an unkind word to anyone. You’d swear she isn’t even related to us, being as sweet as she is.”
“You’re pretty sweet too, when you want to be.”
“Me? Sweet?” I laugh because the idea is absolutely ridiculous.
Still, the moment Kirill’s eyes drop to my lips, his thumb brushing along the bottom seam, my laughter dissolves in my throat.
“I remember you being very sweet… in all the right places,” he murmurs, licking his lips, his eyes darkening with hunger.
My core clenches as his Adam’s apple bobs, lust swimming in those black, shadowed eyes. When he realizes his penetrating stare has left me tongue-tied, he steps back, grabs my hand, and continues our walk as if nothing happened. My nerves are too frazzled to take in the scenery, the cold doing nothing to cool me down.
One look. One goddamn look, and I’m a puddle of need. And since Kirill hasn’t said another word, I know his mind is just as conflicted. Even after we circle the estate, my skin still feels like it might ignite if he so much as brushes against me.
“Can I walk you back to your room?” he asks once we cross the threshold of the house.
I nod, because there’s a vulnerable edge in his voice that makes me feel just as exposed.
We walk up the stairs slowly, our knuckles grazing with every step, stoking that simmering tension until it feels too big for either of us to contain. When Kirill stops me at my door, we just stare at each other—deep, hungry, helpless—until the moment snaps.
I fling myself into his arms at the same time he catches me, his mouth crushing against mine. The kiss turns desperate and all-consuming, so wild and frantic that instead of reaching for the doorknob, he kicks the door open and shuts it behind us with a hard shove of his heel. We’re all lips and breath and urgency, pressed close as he backs me against the wall, his body caging mine with a kind of reverence and need that steals the ground out from under me.
“Kill,” I breathe between kisses.
