Page 84 of Claimed By the Pakhan

“For your sake,” says the nurse, her eyes gravitating to my baby bump, “I hope so.”

I flash her a smile, leaving the room. “Thanks.”

“And by the way,” she says, turning around, a huge grin on her face. “You have a fabulous taste in men.”

“You can say that again.” I open the door, returning to Emil in the waiting room who is the center of the attention, just by being his damn self.

He changed clothes before we came to the ER.

The blood only added to the sex appeal, and I can’t afford to feel any type of way about him right now after the speech he made at the docks.

I should be honored when he begged me to kill him. As it turns out, he’s just as messed up in the head as I am.

Emil’s eyes dart across my face, registering my lip and the other major cuts on my face.

“Eight stitches,” I confirm, saving him the energy of counting.

He sighs deeply, lifting off the chair, guiding me out through reception.

We clamber back into the car. I secure my seatbelt, catching Emil staring into the abyss, hand resting on the steering wheel. He works his throat, swallowing thickly.

My heart hurts more than the stitches. Emil stays true to his word. If he says he’s going to leave, he will.

But hope isn’t lost yet. The boathouse will give us some breathing space away from the city, from the chaos of today, to rekindle our unspeakable connection. He’ll be contradicting himself in no time.

“Wow,” I say, breaking the silence as the lake materializes up ahead, glistening through the trees.

The clouds have shifted slightly, sunlight slipping from the gaps. A few beams jut down from the dark sky, creating mythical shades of silver as darkness mixes with the light.

The lake is still, water rolling to the rocky shore. Emil keeps his hand fixated on the steering wheel, guiding the vehicle around the lake until the property comes into view—a converted boathouse built from rock, almost floating on the water.

Emil parks up outside, killing the engine. He pops open the door and grabs mine. Always a fucking gentleman.

The air is still, chirping birds stopping the atmosphere from falling silent. Water sloshes to shore, rippling as it breaks.

I watch Emil slide the key into the lock, wishing I was being penetrated like that right now as he jams the old key, twisting in several directions before unlocking.

Floor-to-ceiling windows lend a perfect view of the lake, bringing lots of light inside. I trail my fingertips over the brick wall, noting the fireplace, the outdoor decking area; the portraits framed to the wall, similar to the ones I browsed in the museum.

Emil sheds his suit jacket, tossing it over the couch. The top few buttons are undone, revealing the start of his chest. Muscles and tattoos always find ways to poke through his shirt, giving me a tease.

“I should shower.”

“Yeah,” he says, wandering around the property, testing the locks on all windows and doors.

I fold my arms over my chest, waiting for him to look up. “Want to shower together?”

He works his throat again, releasing a heavy breath as he turns and meets my gaze. “Fia,” he starts, harder to break than the gray clouds surrounding us. “I need you to accept what I said earlier.”

I hitch my arms higher up my chest, turning my nose up at his comment. “No can do.”

“You stabbed Luka for nearly killing the twins. Him and I are quite similar.”

I wait for him to loosen up, to walk toward me and lace our hands, squeezing me tight, telling me he loves me, but he remains at the other side of the room.

“You look like a roman philosopher. Drop the stoicism. We both know there’s more to you than cold glares and a monotone voice.”

“You want to protect the twins more than anything right?” says Emil. “To give them the childhood you wishedyouhad when you were young?”