Chapter Sixteen - Lukyan
Sleep doesn’t come easily. Every time I close my eyes, I feel her trembling beneath me, hear her whisper my name with that mix of defiance and need that undoes me completely.
The guilt is a slow, steady ache—not for having taken her, but because I don’t regret a single moment. I replay every sound, every touch, every broken plea, and want it all over again.
My men have started to whisper, though they keep it behind closed doors. The marriage, the way I’ve closed ranks, the sudden, absolute focus on Clara above all else. They think I’ve lost my mind. They say she’s a weakness I can’t afford, that I’ve gone soft, that the man who would burn a city to ashes for a threat is now leashed by a woman who stares him down.
Maybe they’re right.
After hours of tossing in the tangle of sheets, her warmth pressed to my back, I slip out of bed. I move quietly, careful not to wake her, pausing in the doorway to watch her sleep. She’s sprawled on her side, hair fanned across the pillow, mouth soft in the low light. For a moment I want to climb back in, drag her against me, and let the world burn.
Instead, I force myself down the hall to my office. The mansion is hushed, shadows stretching long across the old floors. I find Nikolai at my desk, phone in hand, reports stacked in front of him.
He doesn’t look up when I enter, just says, “Couldn’t sleep?”
I pour myself a drink and sit across from him, stretching my aching hand. “What are the men saying?”
He hesitates, then shrugs. “That you’re distracted. That you’re softening. Some say you’d rather die for her than do what’s necessary.”
“Would I?” I take a long swallow, letting the vodka burn a path down my throat. “Do you believe that?”
Nikolai’s eyes meet mine, steady, as if he’s weighing every word. “You’ve changed. Everyone sees it. I don’t know if it’s good or bad.”
I lean forward, voice low. “She’s not a weakness.”
He snorts. “You say that, but she’s the only thing you protect above yourself. You never used to care what they thought. Now, you hesitate.”
I feel a flash of irritation, but it fades quickly. “She’s not like the others, Nik. She looks me in the eye.”
Nikolai studies me, then sits back, folding his arms. “You really care for her.”
I set the glass down, fingers tapping the rim. “I don’t know what I feel. Want. Need. All I know is, the world’s smaller now, drawn around her.”
He shakes his head. “You’re reckless, but maybe that’s what you need.”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “I’ve seen blood, betrayal, fear. None of it made me hesitate. But her…”
“She’s your equal,” Nikolai says quietly. “Even if you don’t want to admit it.”
I look away, jaw tightening. “She makes me feel human. That’s dangerous.”
Nikolai stands, gathering the reports. “You’ve survived worse. Just remember who you are, Lukyan. Don’t lose yourself.”
He leaves, and the silence returns. I finish the drink and stare at the city lights beyond the window, thinking of Clara, her voice, the heat in her eyes. I want her under my control, but the truth is, I just want her.
The memory of her flushed skin, her breathless pleas, roots itself deep, twisting something in me I can’t name.
***
At breakfast, she’s already seated when I enter the dining room. The morning sun paints her hair gold. She’s in one of the dresses the housekeeper picked out, simple but beautiful. She doesn’t look at me as I sit down, but I can feel the wall she’s built between us—a shield and a challenge all at once.
Nikolai sits across from her, and the tension is thick enough to taste. The staff move quietly, careful not to break the brittle peace.
I want to speak, to offer comfort, but she beats me to it. When I reach for the coffee, she glares at me, chin lifted, eyes hard and dark with everything she refuses to say aloud.
She’s angry, but she’s here. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t bow her head. She meets my gaze and holds it, the silent challenge daring me to look away first. No one else does that. Not my men, not my enemies. Only Clara.
A strange heat moves through me—respect and desire, hunger and admiration. She should hate me. Maybe she does.
