Page 61 of Blood Oath Christmas
"It's complicated."
"It's dangerous," she snaps. "These men, they're not like normal people. They live by different rules, and those rules don't include happily ever after for naive girls who think they can change them."
"Konstantin isn't like that," I protest, surprised by how quickly I jump to his defense. "He's protecting me. He saved my life."
"And what does he want in return?" Her voice is sharp, cutting. "Men like that don't do anything out of the goodness of their hearts, Ivy. There's always a price."
I think about the way Konstantin looks at me, the gentleness in his touch, the way he holds me like I'm something precious. "You don't know him."
"I know his world," she says firmly. "I lived in it for fifteen years, and it nearly destroyed me. The violence, the constant fear, the way they treat women like property…" She shudders. "I won't watch it destroy you too."
"It's not like that with us."
"Isn't it?" She leans forward, her eyes intense. "Tell me, Ivy, do you have any say in where you live? Where you go? Who you see? Or does he make those decisions for you?"
Her words hit uncomfortably close to home, and I feel my defenses rising. "He's keeping me safe."
"He's keeping you controlled." She stands again, beginning to pace. "That's how it starts. They convince you it's for your own good, that they know what's best for you. And before you know it, you're trapped."
"I'm not trapped," I insist, but the words sound hollow even to my own ears.
She sighs and shakes her head. "When I was seventeen, before I met your father, I was involved with someone from that world. Someone who promised me the moon and stars, who made me feel like I was the most important thing in his life."
I stare at her, shocked. She's never mentioned this before.
"I got pregnant," she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. "And everything changed. Suddenly, I wasn't his girlfriend anymore. I was the vessel carrying his child. I had nosay in anything—where I lived, what I ate, who I could see. And when I tried to leave…" She touches her throat unconsciously, and I see the faint scar there that I'd always assumed was from some childhood accident.
"What happened?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know.
"I lost the baby," she says simply. "And he lost interest in me. But not before making it very clear what would happen if I ever tried to cross him again."
The room is spinning, and I feel like I might be sick. "Mom…"
"That's why I was so relieved when your father died," she says, and the words are like a slap. "I know that sounds terrible, but I was finally free. Finally safe. And I thought you were too."
She stands, moving toward me with something that might be genuine concern. "Ivy, please. I know we haven't had the best relationship, and I know I haven't been the mother you deserved. But I'm begging you—get out now, while you still can. Don't make the same mistakes I did."
I back toward the door, my mind reeling. "I have to go."
"Ivy, wait?—”
But I'm already moving, grabbing my purse and heading for the entryway. I need air, I need space, I need to think.
"Be very careful," she calls after me, and there's something in her voice I've never heard before—genuine fear, genuine love. "Don't get pregnant, Ivy. Because if you do, they'll own you. And once they own you, there's no escape."
32
KONSTANTIN
The winter air bites at my face as Viktor and I step out of the car, our breath forming small clouds in the frigid December evening. The streetlights cast long shadows across Trisha's modest neighborhood, and I can see the warm glow emanating from the windows of her house. My jaw clenches as I spot the figure lurking near the front door.
"Boss," Viktor murmurs beside me, his hand already moving toward his jacket. "You want me to?—"
"No." My voice is barely above a whisper, but the authority in it stops him immediately. "We handle this quietly."
We move like shadows across the lawn, our footsteps muffled by the thin layer of snow. The man at the door is so focused on whatever he's doing that he doesn't hear us approaching. As we get closer, I can see him raising his arm toward the door, and every protective instinct I have roars to life. No one threatens what's mine.
In one fluid motion, I surge forward and slam the intruder against the front door with enough force to rattle the entire frame. The man yelps in surprise, a high-pitched sound that cuts through the quiet night. The door, apparently not as sturdyas it looks, gives way under the impact with a sharp crack of splintering wood.
