Page 116 of Nemesis

Her hand reaches for mine in the soil, and dirt grinds beneath the grounding touch. “You are allowed to make a different choice, sweetheart. And though we are very different, it doesn’t make me love you any less.”

I stiffen at that foreign word. “But you don’t know me. I’ve done things⁠—”

“It does not matter. You are my family, and you are treasured.”

She goes back to unfurling roots, and I’m left staring into the growing vines, processing that impossible sentiment. A gust of wind picks up, rocking the trees back and forth until leaves start floating down around us.

Without thinking, I lunge forward on my knees, wrapping my arms around my aunt’s small frame. Her own arms tighten around me with shocking strength.

“They’re so lucky to have a mom like you,” I whisper into her hair.

Neither of us feels the need to speak another word. She holds me for long minutes in the dwindling light, allowing me to break apart in her arms like we’re something more than strangers tied by circumstance.

She’s in the garden.

I don’t think she’s ever set foot in the garden, let alone spoken to her aunt one-on-one. The longer I watch the pair work from the second-floor window, the more I want to storm down the steps, out the back door, and wrap my arms around her until she forgives me.

I can’t stop seeing her flushed face and shiny eyes in my mind. I did that. I printed her deepest insecurity and hid it beneath our bed. I made her feel like everything we have together was always meant to be temporary. And I can’t stand to see her hurting any longer.

Marta would have loved her.

I’m not sure where the thought comes from, or why I’m so certain of its validity. This is all Uncle. He has a way of burrowing into minds, if only to keep his memory alive. He brought up Marta for a reason—a reminder of what happens to the people I allow into my heart.

Living provides others with so much ammunition.

It took seven hours to dig that particular grave. I don’t think I’d survive digging another of the same nature. And if it was Octavia’s beautiful face lying in that pit, I’d climb in beside her without a second thought and lock the casket shut.

I can’t watch her from afar any longer. Coming to my decision, I turn in the direction of the staircase…

“Vasiliy.”

I stop.

Not once, in the entire time I’ve known him, has Sasha Siderov called me by my first name.

He stands in the doorway of his office with a tense look. “We have a problem.”

His head disappears. Something about his tone has me spiraling into fear. My long strides consume the distance. Is this about our fight? Is he about to kill me for causing those streams of hurt on her cheeks? If that were the case, I might actually hold still below his barrel, but something in my head whispers that this is something else.

He seems rattled, not vengeful.

Pakhans don’t get rattled easily.

Soundlessly, I slip through the door and drop into the chair before his desk. He lowers into his own with a tense sigh.

“Well?” I urge. “Is this about my fight with Octavia? Because I⁠—”

“No.” His eyes pinch closed. “No, son. It’s not about that.”

I don’t like this.

I don’t move a single muscle as I watch him grip the arms of his chair.

“Your uncle has gotten restless. He called me, issuing an ultimatum.”

Terror licks at my nerves. Uncle doesn’t issue ultimatums. He launches threats. And I’ve never, not once, seen him back down from a fight.

Sasha’s hands fiddle in his lap with uncertainty I’ve never seen him exhibit. “He placed a bounty on her head.” Another sigh. “Either you return to his side, or she won’t live to see another day.”