Page 25 of BRATVA'S Avenging Bride
His jaw tightens. "The week doesn't matter anymore. Not after tonight."
"Why?"
"Because tonight you chose me. Not out of fear or desperation or because you had no other option." He leans forward, elbows on the table. "You chose me because you wanted to. And that changes everything."
My pulse kicks up. "I still don't trust easily."
"I know."
"I'll still test every door. Every window."
"I know that too."
"And if I decide to leave—"
"Then I'll let you go." The words sound like they cost him something. "I won't keep you against your will, Katherine. But I will spend every moment until then proving that staying is the better choice. For both of us."
I feel the urge to argue. To remind him that people don't change, that men like him always show their true colors eventually.
But looking at him now, this dangerous, powerful man who just promised me freedom even as he's asking me to stay…I can't find the words.
I'm so tired of running. Especially from the one thing that actually feels like home.
"One condition," I say.
"Name it."
"I want to see Mira and Lena. I need to know they're okay."
He nods immediately, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I'll arrange it. Tomorrow, if you want."
Relief floods through me. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me for doing what's right,zhar-ptitsa." He reaches across the table, palm up. An offering. "Thank me when I've earned it."
I look at his hand. At the wound where I cut him days ago. At the promise written in the steady way he waits for me to decide.
Then I place my hand in his.
Matvey
I watch her hand settle into mine, her fingers curling softly around my palm. Something inside me shifts, like a lock turning in a door I didn't know was closed. The kitchen light casts a warm glow over us, turning her damp hair into strands of dark silk that frame her face.
She's beautiful in this quiet moment, vulnerable yet strong, and I feel the weight of my obsession deepen. I want to show her everything, to wrap her in the safety I've built from years of control and power, to prove that in my world, she can be cherished on every level. Not just protected from the outside threats, but held, cared for, understood in ways she's never known.
I stand slowly, pulling her up with me, and lead her down the hallway to my bedroom. The space feels different now, less like a fortress and more like a sanctuary I've prepared just for her. The bed is wide and inviting, the sheets fresh and soft, and I dim the lights to a gentle amber hue that dances across the walls.
She follows without resistance, her trust fragile but growing, and I cherish that more than any territory I've ever claimed. I turn to her, cupping her face in my hands, and kiss her forehead first, then her eyelids, her cheeks, mapping her with tenderness.
"Let me take care of you," I murmur against her skin, my voice low and steady. "Every part of you, Katherine. You've fought so long; now let me show you what it feels like to be worshipped."
She nods, her breath hitching slightly, and I guide her to sit on the edge of the bed. I kneel before her, my hands sliding down to her feet, removing her shoes with careful motions, massaging her arches lightly to ease the tension I know lingers from days of uncertainty.
Her eyes widen a little, surprise flickering there, but she doesn't pull away. I rise to kiss her lips again, slow and deep, pouring my obsession into every brush of my tongue, every shared breath. My fingers work the buttons of her blouse, peeling it away gently, revealing her skin inch by inch. I trail kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, savoring the way she shivers under my touch. This isn't about rush or conquest; it's about worship. About showing her that in my arms, she can let go completely.
I ease her back onto the pillows, my body hovering over hers without pressing down, giving her space to feel safe. My hands trail over her curves, relishing the softness of her breasts, the dip of her waist. I move lower, kissing a path down her stomach, feeling her muscles tense and then relax under my lips. I hook my fingers into the waistband of her pants and underwear, sliding them off with gentle reverence. She lifts her hips to help, her gaze locked on mine.
There's a question in her eyes, a hint of uncertainty, and I pause, meeting her look with all the honesty I can muster.
