That just started a fucking war, and I will burn her empire to the ground before I let her touch a single hair on Lily’s head.
My life was once sworn to Tatiana. But Lily has always come before any oath. Protecting her is my only purpose in this world.
I will die for her. And if I do, I’m taking that fucking bitch down with me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lily
Song - wet dreams, Cloudy June
Drago got home yesterday in the late afternoon after being somewhere mysterious. After he grabbed my dad for a chat, I went upstairs for the evening and promptly passed out. But I still took the crystals he charged for me to bed.
And now after so many hours of sleep, I still feel like I haven’t slept properly. The vodka is already kicking my ass.
After jumping in the shower and making myself look somewhat presentable on the outside, I head straight downstairs to the coffee. The only thing I need to get me through this day. Dad can drink a hell of a lot more than I can, but at least I didn’t throw up. I pause at the doorway, watching Drago and my father locked in a heated debate at the dining table, their voices low, like knives scraping bone. The air feels too thick, too charged, and suddenly all I want is out. The hangover isn’t helping me.
Maybe I can just sneak away. Go to work, and pretend that none of this is happening.
I take one careful step, but Drago’s blue eyes snap to mine instantly like he felt it before he saw it.
My fingers tighten around my purse, clutching it to my body as if it might shield me from the intensity rolling off him. His gaze flicks down, then back up, then one eyebrow arches.
“And where do you think you’re going?” he asks, already rising from his chair.
My pulse stutters.
I glance at my dad, silently begging for backup, but I get nothing.
“Work?” I say, the word lifting at the end like I’m asking permission instead of stating a fact.
Drago nods once. He reaches for his suit jacket, sliding it on with calm precision. No rush. No anger. Just control.
He doesn’t say another word.
Instead, he picks up the gun from the table, checks it out of habit, and holsters it smoothly at his side. The click feels loud in the quiet room.
Then he steps into my space.
Too close.
He stops directly in front of me, towering, his voice dropping as he leans in just enough that only I can hear him.
“Don’t try to sneak out on me, Lily. It won’t work,” he whispers. “I’m programmed to hunt.”
My breath catches. My eyes go wide before I can stop them.
And then, like he didn’t just flip my entire nervous system upside down, he chuckles softly.
Like this is amusing. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. And worse… Like he’s daring me to try again.
I try to dodge past him, but he’s right behind me, one hand resting at the small of my back as we leave the house. It isn’tguiding or pushing, just present. A reminder that he’s there. That he always will be.
And that doesn’t scare me.
The drive is silent, neither awkward nor comfortable. I stare out of the window, pretending I’m not hyperaware of everything he does, the way his hands flex around the steering wheel, the way his jaw tightens when another car gets too close, like the world itself is a threat and I’m the only thing in it worth shielding.
When we pull up outside the gallery, relief and dread collide in my chest. Work is supposed to mean normal. Work is supposed to mean distance.
