I start to laugh.
It starts as a smile, sharp at the edges. Then a chuckle. Then genuine laughter that I can't quite contain, born from relief and vindication and the absurdity of this entire situation.
My father's face turns red. Fury twisting his features into something ugly.
He raises his hand.
Another hand catches his wrist mid-swing. Twists until I hear bones crack like kindling.
Zakhar.
Zakhar is here. Silent, fast, utterly lethal. His grip on my father's hand is brutal and efficient. Arthur cries out, tries to pull away, but Zakhar doesn't release him.
"Unless you want more bones broken," Zakhar says, voice low and calm as winter, "and by my count you still have about two hundred extra, you'll leave immediately." He leans closer, and his next words are a promise wrapped in menace. "And you'll never contact Victoria again. She's ours now."
My father staggers back when Zakhar finally releases him, cradling his injured hand against his chest. Fear and fury war across his face, but fear wins decisively.
He turns and hobbles away on his crutches, muttering curses under his breath that fade into nothing.
Zakhar turns to me. His green eyes scan my face, my arms, assessing damage with practiced efficiency.
"You okay?"
I should be alarmed. Should be terrified by the casual violence, by the proprietary claim in Zakhar's words.She's ours now.Like I'm property. Like I belong to them.
But alarm isn't what I feel.
I feel safe.
Safer than I've felt in years. Maybe ever.
Protected. Claimed. Defended.
And that's the real danger.
7
ALEXEI
Dawn tries to push through the curtains in my room, turning everything gray-gold and soft. I'm sprawled across my bed, still half-dressed from last night, mind replaying the wedding like a film I can't stop watching.
Victoria in that dress.
Fuck.
I've seen beautiful women before. Slept with plenty. But seeing her in ivory silk and lace catching light like water, dark hair falling over bare shoulders… that was different. That rearranged something in my chest I didn't know could move.
Lust hit immediate and undeniable. Hard enough to hurt. But underneath the want was pride, fierce and unexpected. Like I'd been given something precious to protect, and I was terrified of dropping it.
She trusted me.
Let me lead her down that aisle when she could have walked alone.
But she took my arm anyway.
People don't trust me. Not really. They see the grin, the chaos, the way I move through the world like I'm daring it to hit back. They think I'm unhinged. Unstable. A weapon Maksim and Zakhar point at problems when diplomacy fails.
Maybe they're right.
