I nod, trying to regain some stability.
“I’m going to help you.”
Chapter 32
Aurelia
My mind races as Adrian’s hands fall from my face and he cocks his head. Before I can even form a coherent question—before I can tell him that any help he might offer would be useless—he steps into my space, closing the distance between us. His hand presses against my chest, fingers cold against the heat of my skin, his breath fanning across my ear. It’s quick, commanding, invasive.
“Struggle. Try to get me off you.”
I throw my body forward, knocking into him, and then back, twisting and jerking away from his touch, which has now begun to roam over me.
Was I dumb for believing he had some type of honour not to touch a girl strapped to a couple of posts? He said he wanted to help me, so what is this? Is he testing me? Is this all some game only he knows the rules to? I need to gauge him, measure his patience, his strength, his reaction.
The warmth of his tongue consumes my neck, and my body stiffens. This isn’t exactly helping, but I feel a thread of control in the reality that crashes down.
This isn’t a game I can win with brute force.
His grip tightens slightly, pressing me against him in a way that makes every nerve in my body scream. I hate the way mychest rises beneath his hand, the way heat pools in my stomach. I hate the fear, the adrenaline, the unwanted, undeniable craving that flashes in response to his proximity. I loathe him for making me feel this way. And I despise myself for noticing.
It’s Elijah’s fault, if he had just given in to me, maybe I wouldn’t feel the underlying feelings that come with a warm touch.
His mouth trails up my neck, a slow, forceful press of lips and teeth that makes my stomach twist with revulsion and something else I refuse to name. I try to shift, to wrench free from his hold, but before I can even release a scream from the back of my throat, everything erupts into chaos.
Adrian is ripped from my front. I barely see the motion, my eyes wide, my breath caught in my chest. He’s lifted by the nape of his neck like a rag doll, thrown across the room. The sound of his body hitting the floor is sickening—a wet, crackling thud followed by the brief intake of my own breath. Blood splatters the cement, Nikolai hitting him over and over, his skin splitting where their bodies connect, hard enough to fracture bone, and the sight stops me mid-motion. My hands clawing at the restraints.
“Ladno, ladno, rasslab’sya, Nikolai, ya ne tronu yeyo, poka ona sama ne poprosit,” Adrian manages to croak through blood-soaked teeth, his voice trembling but defiant.
“Ty ne tronesh’ yeyo. Tochka,” Nikolai snaps, his tone unyielding. Every syllable is precise, controlled, and final.
I blink, staring, trying to comprehend. The sheer power, the ruthless precision, the utter lack of hesitation—it’s terrifying. He wipes the blood from his knuckles on his sleek black pants, not even acknowledging the carnage at his feet. Then he turns his gaze toward me. And suddenly it’s just us.
My stomach churns. My chest rises and falls too quickly. My mind is a storm of terror, adrenaline, and a strange, horrid pull.One wrong move, one flinch too obvious, and I could be his next victim.
I swallow hard, trying to force my panic down. This is Nikolai Orlov. This is the man responsible for everything I’ve feared since Enzo mentioned his name. And right now, I am utterly, terrifyingly at his mercy.
My breath hitches as the bloody monster stares me down. The air between us thickens, heavy with menace, and I don’t say a word as he walks over. His movements are almost surgical as he begins undoing the straps on my wrists and the restraints on my ankles.
I allow myself to drop to the cold cement floor, my toes curling at the harsh bite of the room against my skin.
I contemplate running, just for a fraction of a second, but the reality is obvious—there’s no escape. Not now. Not here. Not when I haven’t regained the feeling in my limbs. My survival depends on patience and holding my ground. So I stay. And I force myself to meet his gaze, peering up at him like a deer begging for her life. I remain unflinching even though every instinct screams at me to look away.
And then, in a whisper that surprises me with its vulnerability, “Thank you.”
The words feel alien on my tongue, admitting weakness in front of a predator. I don’t even know why I say them. I think I’m thankful. Right? I mean, regardless of the beating he just gave Adrian, he let me out of the torture device they had me strapped to.
He smirks immediately, the curl of his lips is savage.
“Careful, malyshka,” he says, his voice carrying a weight that sends a shiver through me.
He turns as if leaving is a natural conclusion, but some reflex kicks in before he’s even taken a step. My hand shoots out, gripping the back of his suit.
He turns back into my touch, allowing my hand to move to his wrist. My fingers demanding just enough attention to stop him.
His red-rimmed eyes flick down at my hand, then back up to mine. There’s something there—a hesitation I didn’t expect, a pause in the storm of his control.
Yes, I know I’m not supposed to reach for the enemy. I know the rules. But watching what happened to Adrian—seeing the blood, hearing Nikolai’s words—tells me something I already suspected: there’s a line Nikolai won’t cross. And maybe—just maybe—I’ve found it.
