Page 21 of Claimed and Bred By the Bratva

Then I turn and walk away, leaving him standing there with his ruined hands and bitter words, surrounded by a crowd that's already forgotten him in favor of the next piece of campusdrama. But I don't forget the feeling of claiming Dimitri publicly. Of choosing him in front of everyone, consequences be damned.

The realization hits me like lightning: I love him.

Not just want him, not just need him, not just accept what we have.

I. Love. Him.

***

I'm barely through the front door when Dimitri appears, moving with that deadly grace that means someone is about to die. "He's a dead man." The words are ground glass and barely controlled violence. "That fucking piece of shit had the balls to approach you on campus? I should have killed him when I had the chance." His bronze-flecked eyes are wild with protective fury, and I can see the moment he makes the decision to hunt Josh down and finish what he started.

"Dimitri, stop." I step into his space, placing my hands on his chest. "It's handled."

"Handled?" He grips my shoulders with quaking hands. "Angel, that little bastard could have hurt you. Could have—"

"But he didn't." I reach up to cup his face, forcing him to look at me instead of planning Josh's murder. "I handled it."

Some of the rage fades from his eyes, replaced by something vulnerable and desperate. "The guards told me what happened. What you said. But I need..." He swallows hard, and I've never seen him look so uncertain. "I need to hear it from you. Your words, not theirs."

"What do you need to hear?"

His hands frame my face with infinite gentleness, despite the violence still humming through his body. "Tell me you meant it. When you called me yours. When you said you weren't going anywhere."

The raw need in his voice breaks something open in my chest. This man—this powerful, dangerous, feared man—needs my words like oxygen.

"I meant every word," I tell him, pouring everything I feel into my voice. "You're mine, Dimitri. My monster, my obsession, my everything. And I love you. All of you. Especially the parts that should scare me."

The sound he makes is half growl, half plea. "Say it again."

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you, Dimitri Ismailov. I love your darkness and your light and everything in between. I love how you protect me, how you possess me, how you look at me like I'm your entire world."

That's when he erupts, his emotional walls crumbling as he crushes his mouth to mine in a kiss that tastes like desperation, relief, and pure joy.

"I love you, too," he breathes against my lips. "Damn, Amani, I love you so fucking much it terrifies me. You're my heart, my soul, my reason for breathing."

Then he's lifting me, spinning me around the foyer like we're in some romantic movie, both of us laughing and crying and drunk on finally saying the words we've been dancing around for weeks. But the spinning motion makes my stomach lurch, and I have to grip his shoulders as nausea washes over me. "Put me down," I gasp. "I think I'm going to be sick."

He sets me down immediately, concern replacing joy. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Did that little shit—"

"No, it's not that." I press a hand to my stomach, trying to steady myself. "I just feel... off. Nauseous. It's probably nothing."

But even as I say it, a different kind of realization creeps in. When was my last period? I've been so caught up in Dimitri's world, so consumed by our intensity, that I haven't been paying attention to my body's rhythms. Oh boy, I knew it could happen.But didn't really think… Holy shit, if people think he's crazy now…

Dimitri goes very still beside me, and when I look up, his eyes are locked on my face with predatory focus. "How long?" he asks, whipping the words out.

"How long what?"

"How long since your last period?"

The blunt question makes me flush, but I think back. Six weeks? Seven? "I... I'm not sure. I haven't been keeping track."

Something fierce and primitive flashes across his features. "We need to know. Now."

"Dimitri, I don't have a test—"

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