His sudden departure hit her like a freezing blast of air. It took her a moment before she was able to release a deep breath, sit up, and fix her dress.
What in God’s name was that? I mean… It was amazing… What happened? He can’t possibly mean what he said. He couldn’t. Right? I’m still a Romanov. He wouldn’t care if I was dead.
She looked around the room, noticing the dishes from dinner had fallen off the table, standing in disarray at the foot of the bed.
Anastasia finally stood and walked around to the desolate scene. She muttered under her breath as she began to clean it up, wiping up remnants of their food and cursing when she saw some of the dishes had cracked.
The poor innkeeper will lose wages trying to replace these.
Even though she had been using her magic all day, something about Mikhail’s sudden departure had left her feeling raw. They had been at each other’s throats for weeks, but it didn’t change the ache in her chest and the emptiness she felt when he’d left so abruptly.
The idea of using her magic to fix the dishes made her feel nauseous. The idea of the innkeeper scraping by to replace them hurt more.
So she bent down and picked up one of the plates, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. To her surprise, her magic flooded her hands, a cloud of gold dust erupting all around her. The magic responded openly and willingly to her, the plate lifting into the air and beginning to spin. It drifted back down gently, all of its cracks having mended themselves.
Anastasia let herself smile, her chest warming slightly at the idea of being able to help, but the heat banked itself almost immediately.
With a wave of her hand, she repaired the rest of the dishes and made up the table. It was hardly nightfall, but the day’s effort — and an unexpected orgasm— had left her tired. She looked once more at the door as if she could summon Mikhail to walk right back through it and climbed into bed.
???
Mikhail had no plan when he stepped into the cold street. It had taken everything in him to leave that room, no part of him wanting to.
Forget the fact that the taste of that woman nearly made him finish in his pants like an adolescent… just being near her was starting to cloud his senses. The more he saw her growing confidence in her abilities, the more it drove him mad.
Everyone in her life, particularly the men, was afraid of her. He was drawn to her power like a moth to a flame. Not to use it, harness it, or keep it, but to fan it. He wanted to stoke the fires of her magic and watch as everything burned down around them.
Every time they got close to each other, one of them backed out at the last second. They were dancing around one another's insecurities, waiting for the other to strike. It was maddening foreplay that forced them both to the edge and threatened to break them in half if they couldn't get over their pride.
Mikhail walked the streets for hours. There was nowhere that he needed to go. He had no family left and, after fifteen years away, didn't remember any of his friends. He simply put his hands in his pockets and headed off in a random direction.
It wasn't until it was well past dark that he figured he could return to the boarding house, hoping he’d wasted enough time for Anastasia to have fallen asleep.
The innkeeper gave him a small smile when he returned but didn't make any mention of the disruption he was sure their argument had caused. He took the steps to double-time to get to their room —
The room. Not our room. Justtheroom.
He couldn't fight it — he wanted to see Anastasia.
Mikhail was almost halfway up the stairs when he heard an ear-piercing scream coming straight from the room. He caught himself as he started to trip and sprinted up the remaining steps. He wasn't prepared for what he saw when he pushed the door open.
Anastasia was tangled in the middle of the bed, her legs caught in the sheets as though in restraints. He could hear her sobs, a wretched sound, cutting off her screams, making Mikhail feel sick.
She rolled over on her back, her face contorting in some phantom remembered pain. He stood immobile in the door, frozen by the idea that she wouldn't want him anywhere near her, even as the impossible urge to pull her close and take her from her nightmares built in his chest. He didn't want to know what in her life could haunt Anastasia so terribly.
Then she made a soft noise, a subtler one. It was a pathetic, mewling sound, barely above a whimper. It was so much worse than when she screamed. It was a surrender, and it broke him.
Mikhail threw caution to the wind and rushed towards the bed, asking for forgiveness under his breath. He climbed into it with her, kneeling by her side, gently removing her from the tangled web of sheets.
"Anastasia," he coaxed gently as his hands slipped onto her shoulders lightly while straddling her, taking care to keep his body weight off of her. She let out another strangled sound, and it felt like a punch to his gut.
Mikhail leaned down, brushing the sweaty hair off of her forehead and cradling her jaw in his hands.
"Anya, Anya," he tried again, his voice a little louder but keeping its soothing tone. "Anya. Wake up."
Anastasia's eyes flung open, a loud gasp escaping her as she sucked in air, her whole body jerking. She let out a frail cry as she looked around, her vision unfocused and blurry with tears.
Mikhail moved off of her and sat next to her on the bed, giving her some space even though no part of him wanted to.
