Page 116 of Deviant Need

My knees buckle slightly, and she steadies me. I nod because I don’t have the strength to argue anymore. She guides me toward the nurses’ station, and I let her.

Chapter 27

Mikhail

He made it through the night. The doctors aren’t sure what it will look like if he wakes up though, if his brain will be okay after all the blood loss. The machines are still around him beeping steadily, monitoring every breath and heartbeat. I crawled into his bed earlier and lay down next to him, careful not to touch any of the cables or the IV lines or anything important.

My hand moves slowly up and touches his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin, the proof that he’s still here and alive, still with me for now.

The door opens and pulls me out of my thoughts. Our mother comes in holding two cups of coffee, moving quietly across the room.

She sits down slowly in the chair beside the bed and places one of the coffees on the bedside table, then looks over at me and sips from her cup. Her blue eyes fill with uncertainty, and she opens her mouth, closes it, then tries again.

She clears her throat. “You two have always been unnaturally close, inseparable in ways that worried me. But I kept telling myself you wouldn’t. That it was impossible you’d go that far.”

She knows… I open my mouth to speak, but she holds up her hand, stopping me.

“Mikhail, please tell me this isn’t what I think it is. He’s not the guy you said you’re with.”

“It’s exactly what it is.”

“You two can’t be together.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. I won’t be hearing it, so don’t go there,” I snap at her.

“It’s not that, Mikhail,” she says, looking exhausted. “Your father is gone. I don’t have to pretend anymore that I agree with everything he believed. I don’t care that you’re with a man. But he’s your brother.”

My brows pull together. “He’s not related to me by blood.”

“Blood doesn’t define family. You know that better than anyone,” she says and then rubs her forehead. “You grew up together. You protected each other. You share a life, a history. The family sees him as your brother.”

“We didn’t grow up like normal brothers.”

“Maybe not. But that doesn’t change how everyone else will see this.” She pauses. “I’m not your father. I’m not going to forbid you or threaten you. But I am your mother, and I’m worried.”

Sitting up, I hiss as the wounds pull and point my finger at her.

“Listen to me. If you keep this up, I will cut you out of my life just like that.”

“Mikhail—”

“Stop it,” I shout. “My father crushed me for years. Told me what I could be, who I could love, how I had to live. I’m not going to be told what to do anymore. I’m an adult, and if you say one more word against this, you will never hear from us again. Do you understand me? I love him. He’s the love of my life.”

Her blue eyes lock onto mine for a second, then she looks down at the floor.

“He’s my son, same as all of you. Blood or not, he’s mine.”

“I know,” I say and lean forward, ignoring the pain shooting through my side and my arms. “You have two choices here. You can accept this and keep us in your life, or you can fight it and lose both of us. There’s no middle ground.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, her gaze still fixed on the floor. When she finally looks up, she nods. Sighing in relief, I lay back down and wipe the sweat off my forehead.

“I followed you to your tree once, when you were both young,” she says, holding my gaze. “That tree in the woods where you always ran off to. I got curious one afternoon and followed you there. I hid in the trees and watched as you dug out that little box from the hollow and sat there sharing cookies you’d stolen from the kitchen. You were maybe nine and ten at the time. I stayed there watching for a long time, watching the way you laughed together, the way you looked at each other.”

She pauses for a moment and lets out a breath, her hand tightening around the paper cup until it crinkles slightly.

“Daniil never spoke to anyone. All his words belonged only to you. I remember standing there in those trees and crying while I watched you both, but not from worry. From happiness. I thought maybe he would never speak again after what happened to him when he was young. But he did. For you.”

She pauses, placing the paper cup on the bedside table before rubbing her temple with shaking fingers. “Your fathe⁠—”