I waketo the sound of birds.
For a moment, it doesn't register. My body longs for the familiar: the hush of bulletproof glass, the mechanical breath of a city that never sleeps, the faint hum of generators at work.
Instead, sunlight filters through pine needles, accompanied by a bright, delicate chorus outside the window—small birds singing as if they've never known money or blood.
The cabin smells of wood warmed by yesterday's storm—sap, smoke, and damp earth. Clean.
Maksim lies asleep beside me.
He's turned on his side, his face toward mine on the pillow. I can see the individual lashes resting against his cheek. He looks different like this—unguarded, the sharp angles of his face softened by slumber. If I didn't know what he is, what he's done, what he's endured to survive, I might mistake him for just a man who finally got a full night's rest.
His hand rests on my hip.
Not loose. Not accidental. It carries weight. Even as he shifts in his sleep, his fingers adjust, ensuring I haven't disappeared. Possessive. As if his body made a decision in the dark last night and hasn't reconsidered it in the light of day.
I remain still.
My skin is too aware of him—everywhere he touched, everywhere he kissed. The memory lingers under my ribs like a second heartbeat.
Last night was unlike any experience I've had before.
I've never indulged in romance. It was always transactional—clean, contained, a way to satisfy an urge without letting someone into my life long enough to cause pain.
What happened with Maksim felt unmanageable.
It was a structural collapse. One crack, then the whole wall collapsing in a rush of heat and breath. He didn't ask for permission with words. He asked with his body—tension, hesitation, the way he watched me as if he expected me to flinch.
And I didn't.
I gave him everything because holding back felt like a betrayal.
I remember him above me, heavy and certain. I remember the look in his eyes when he realized I wasn't going to assert my dominance. I remember the sound of my own voice sayingpleaseas if I had never uttered it before.
Please.
More.
Don't stop.
Words drawn from a place I've kept locked since childhood.
He called me his. He said he wouldn't let me go. And the frightening part was how quickly my mind accepted it. How easily the idea settled into place.
Maksim shifts.
His eyelids flutter open. For a moment, his gaze is blank—pure wake-up reflex, the look of a man trained to awaken ready to kill.
Then he finds me.
Something softens in his expression. The corner of his mouth barely moves, but his eyes change. They don't go flat; they land on me as if I'm real.
"Good morning," I say. My voice sounds strange—softer than it has any right to be.
"Morning." His voice is low and rough. He tightens his grip on my hip, pulling me slightly closer. "How long have you been awake?"
"Not long. The birds woke me."
He listens for a moment, cataloguing the sounds, then that almost-smile appears again.
