Page 6 of Chased & Bred by the BRATVA
“I don’t even know your name,” she says softly, her voice raw from moaning, from gasping, from running for her life before I caught her. From whatever happened to put her in these woods to begin with.
I pull back just enough to see her face. She’s flushed and wild and fucking beautiful. A streak of dirt cuts across her cheek. Her lips are kiss-swollen. Her eyes are blown wide with the aftermath of what I just gave her.
“I’m Rachel,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.
I let the name settle on my tongue. It suits her. Not too delicate. Not too clean. Something about it feels like home.
“Nikolai.”
She blinks. Something shifts in her gaze. Recognition, maybe. The name means something to her, even if she doesn’t know why yet.
“Nikolai what?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.
I smirk, slow and lazy. “That’s enough for now.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I don’t let her. I press my thumb to her lower lip and slide it across the softness there. Her eyes flutter. She doesn’t pull away.
“You ran,” I say quietly. “You didn’t have to.”
“You told me to.”
“I didn’t think you’d listen.”
Her laugh is hoarse, unexpected. “I guess I’m full of surprises.”
“Hmm,” I murmur, curling a hand around the back of her neck. “You’re exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”
That silences her.
I pull out slowly, savoring the way her body clings to me, like even her muscles don’t want to let go. Her legs fall open. I rise to my feet and lift her with me. She wraps around me withoutprotest, her arms around my neck, head resting against my shoulder.
She doesn’t ask where I’m taking her.
She doesn’t need to.
I carry her through the trees, past the gates, up the long path toward the estate. The house looms ahead, lit in warm pools of amber and gold. No alarms. No questions. Everyone here knows better than to question who I bring home.
Inside, I take her straight to my room. No hesitation. No detour.
She’s still quiet, eyes heavy. But as I set her down in the bedroom, I catch the faintest flicker of tension in her shoulders.
“Are you going to keep me here?” she asks.
I rise slowly. Look her in the eye.
“Yes.”
Her breath catches.
“Don’t be afraid of it,” I say softly. “You’ll understand soon enough.”
She’s looking at me like she doesn’t know whether to be scared or grateful.
I don’t want her to choose yet.
“Come,” I murmur, reaching for her hand. “You need to wash off the night.”
She follows me without a word, barefoot and silent. Her hand is small in mine, soft despite the scratches on her palms and the faint tremble still running through her limbs.
