Chapter 45
Aurelia
“You can’t be serious.” I tug at the hoodie and sweatpants Nikolai handed me, trying to make sense of the ridiculous outfit. The fabric swallows me completely—sleeves falling past my fingertips, sweatpants bunching around my ankles.
“Deadly,” he clips.
I glance down at myself, trying not to laugh at the absurdity. “I can’t even walk in this.”
“Lovely. Then you won’t be able to walk around with my men trying to seduce them.” He smirks with clear satisfaction.
I force a laugh, biting back the urge to argue. “I don’t have to show off my body to seduce your easy men. Plus, I still don’t have any underwear, so that helps.”
His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to let me feel the weight of his scrutiny. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t. Because I can’t keep killing people for you.”
The silence stretches as Nikolai steps close, his presence pressing against me.
He doesn’t speak, just lets his gaze take in every line of the oversized hoodie, the way I shrink into it. Then, wordlessly, he reaches for me.
His hand brushes along my arm with a controlled gentleness that makes my chest tighten.
He doesn’t linger for comfort. Instead, he guides me towards the door of his room, stopping with a hand on the black knob.
“Do you love him?”
“What?” He won’t even turn to me, but his voice is much softer, one he hasn’t used with me yet.
“Are you in love with Elijah?” he repeats.
A laugh escapes my lips. “Oh my god.”
He turns to face me now, one hand still on my arm that’s covered in fabric and the other on the door, glaring at me, unimpressed by my laughter.
“Are you jealous?” I question.
“Yes,” his response is immediate, and I close my mouth at the intensity of it.
I can’t find the courage to come up with a response, so after holding my gaze, he pulls open the door and walks me down the stairs, deliberate steps, each one echoing down the corridor.
The air between us is taut—dangerous, electrified, intimate. I stay close, aware of the heat radiating off him without ever touching him directly.
When we reach the lower level, he remains silent, unlocking the gate with meticulous precision, the metal clinking in the near-silence.
I stumble slightly as he releases me, and my eyes immediately find Adrian.
He’s slumped near the corner, bent over, barely holding himself upright. His face is swollen, streaked with bruises and blood, his hands trembling as he props himself on the floor. My stomach twists at the sight, sympathy and horror clawing at me. I rush forward instinctively.
“He… he’s been… pushing too far,” I mutter under my breath, barely audible. My hands twitch, wanting to help.
Nikolai’s shadow falls over us, but his expression is unreadable. He watches me, watching Adrian, the tension in the room palpable. Then, quietly, he steps closer to me.
His hand brushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture feels almost tender, a stark contrast to the violence surrounding us.
“Yego zhizn’ ne imeyet znacheniya, no ya pozabochus’ o tvoyey,” he says softly, the words carrying heavier in Russian.
I freeze at the sound of it, my chest tightening in a way I can’t hide.
“Come,” he whispers.
