Groaning into my pillow I turn the other way. It can’t be morning already, I’ve barely slept.
There’s a low chuckle. “Open your eyes. I know you’re awake.” The spicy pine scent is Alexi, here to drag me out of a decent night’s sleep. Again.
“I don’t want to be awake,” I moan, “I’ve never been so comfortable. Five more minutes.”
The lamp on the bedside table clicks on and I stifle a yelp as Alexi looms over me. The little island of light surrounds us, blocking out the darkness of the room, enclosing the two of us on this wonderful bed.
“There you are.” His voice is deeper and a little raspy as he puts his hand on my forehead. “How do you feel?”
“M’okay.” His cool hand feels nice on my forehead and my eyes droop closed. “Ow!”
He pinched me! My waist, in fact, and I wiggle away from his fingers. “Now you’re awake,” he rumbles. “Tell me your name.”
“Really? Isn’t this the…” I rub my forehead, trying to remember. “Isn’t this the third time you’ve woken me up?”
He’s sitting next to me on the bed, close enough that his hip is touching mine, bracing his hand on the headboard as he leans over me, examining my bruises.
“Yes.”
“Lucya Andreevna Dubrovina,” I sigh.
“What month is it?”
“November. November 11th, I think.”
“Khoroshaya devochka,good girl,” he purrs, and I feel it down to my toes. “Drink some water and I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
I dutifully take a sip and pluck at the label on the expensive water bottle. This brand is ten dollars a bottle, which is ridiculous. Inessa always laughs at me for being such a penny-pincher, but someone has to budget for the two of us and it’s not going to be her, even if she’s two years older than me.
Alexi’s wearing a pair of thin sleep pants that are hanging low on his waist. His alarmingly sculpted abdomen and the trail of dark hair disappearing into his pants are almost pornographic.Follow us, baby. You’re going to enjoy the trip.
His chest and arms are an explosion of tattoos, beautiful, violent, disturbing imagery. A stylized Archangel Michael covers his left pectoral, his wings and sword soaring up to Alexi’s neck. He has stars on both shoulders and a series of skulls, each darker and more terrifying than the one before, and a black asp windsthrough their eye sockets. When he turns to put the bottle back on the table, I see a huge wolf on his back - I think it’s from the Turgenev crest - and when my gaze falls to his arm, my heart sinks.
When I’d stumbled in on him after he’d killed that man as some kind of sick entertainment at his father’s party, he had maybe twenty scars carved into his forearm. Now the little slashes marking another life he’s ended marches up his arm, his bicep, and onto his shoulder. I want to touch them, it feels like they should hurt, a cruel reminder of doing his Bratva’s dirty work. But I remember how he reacted that night when I’d seen them, and I can’t risk him getting angry at me again. Not now, when we’re together in this room. Now that he’s paying attention to me.
He arches his back and yawns, and I watch the sculpted muscles on his back flex and roll under the colorful tattoos.
“Are you finished eye-fucking me?” There’s a slight smile playing along his full lips, before he realizes what he’s said and he tries to pull away, clearly fighting with himself. I take his hand. I can sense he’s not comfortable, but he allows it.
“I wasn’t- I was not eye-that,” I say, “There’s a lot of new ink since I saw you last. The skulls, I mean. Your Archangel Michael looks like he’s flying when you move. I’ve never seen such a beautiful tattoo.”
Looking closer, I realize the ocean of brightly colored art is covering a multitude of scars. Some look like cigarette burns, a couple of puckered scars that I know are from gunshot wounds. The most heartbreaking discovery is a long thin scar that rips through his archangel tattoo. It ends just a breath away from his carotid artery.
Alexi glances down indifferently. “Getting ink is relaxing. Do you have any tattoos?”
“Oh, no.” I shake my head firmly. “I hate needles. Hate them. You would have to tie me down.”
His dark brow lifts, “Well, if you’re into that, I’m happy to accommodate you.”
“You know that’s not what I meant!” I’m a bright pink shade and rapidly heading toward beet red.
“No?” He’s looming over me again, and it’s a bit threatening, a little scary and all kinds of hot. “You don’t like being tied down, helpless?”
My mouth opens and closes again, like a goldfish. Alexi is chilly. Humorless. Who isthisman? Does the ice-cold Angel of the Death turn into a fiery incubus when the sun sets?
Something flashes through his chilly blue eyes and he leans forward, just a hair's breadth from my lips. “You don’t like giving up control, knowing your man will take care of you?” His breath is minty and washes over my skin, leaving goosebumps.
I’ve dreamt all my life of this moment, when Alexi would finally look at me and see someone sexy. Someone desirable.
