Page 94 of Blood Oath Christmas
When she fractures in my arms, calling my name like a prayer, I follow her over the edge, burying my face in her neck and breathing in her scent. For a moment, the world narrows to just this. The weight of her in my arms, the sound of our mingled breathing, the feeling of absolute rightness.
Afterward, I pull her close, her head on my chest, my hand resting protectively over our baby. The late afternoon light is fading, casting long shadows across our bedroom.
"The past is buried with Vadim and Maksim," I murmur into her hair. "Now there's only the future we're building together."
She presses a kiss over my heart. "Our future," she agrees softly.
And for the first time in twenty-two years, I truly believe in tomorrow.
53
EPILOGUE
IVY
The plane's engine hums beneath us as I adjust my parachute straps one final time, my heart racing with anticipation rather than fear. Two years ago, I never could have imagined I'd be sitting here, fifteen thousand feet above the ground, holding hands with my husband as we prepare to jump into the vast blue sky together.
Konstantin's fingers intertwine with mine, his callused thumb tracing gentle circles across my knuckles. Even now, after all this time, his touch sends electricity shooting through my veins. I glance over at him, taking in the rare relaxed expression on his face. Gone is the commandingPakhanwho strikes fear into the hearts of his enemies. Here, strapped into his parachute gear with his dark hair tousled by the wind from the open plane door, he looks almost boyish.
"Ready,moya lyubov?" he asks, his green eyes sparkling with excitement. The Russian endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, and I feel that familiar flutter in my stomach that he still manages to provoke.
"More than ready," I breathe, squeezing his hand. "I can't believe it's been almost three years since my last jump."
His expression grows tender, and he brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my wedding ring. "I know how much you missed it. I should have arranged this sooner."
I shake my head, smiling. "You've given me so much more than I ever dreamed possible."
And it's true. Our life together has been nothing like what I expected when I first learned about the Bratva. Yes, there's danger—there always will be with Konstantin's position—but his swift and ruthless justice to those who've crossed him has created a protective bubble around our family. No one dares to threaten what belongs to Konstantin Mikhailov.
My thoughts drift to our daughter, Konstance—Konnie, as we call her—who's spending Christmas morning with her grandfather Andrei and Viktor back at the house. She’s already showing signs of her father's commanding personality, though she has my blonde hair and his striking green eyes. Konstantin is an incredible father, patient and gentle with her in ways that would shock his enemies. Just last night, I watched him sitting on the floor of our living room, carefully helping Konnie stack the wooden blocks Viktor had carved for her, his massive hands so careful and tender with our tiny daughter.
Viktor is family to us and the uncle figure Konnie deserves. His latest creation, a beautiful mobile of carved woodland animals that hangs above her crib, is a masterpiece. Each animal is perfectly detailed, from the wise owl to the playful fox, all suspended on delicate strings that catch the light streaming through her nursery window. He's already started a collection for her, wooden animals that will become family heirlooms passed down through generations.
"What are you thinking about?" Konstantin asks, noticing my distant expression.
"Konnie. And how perfect this all is." I gesture between us, then toward the open door where the instructor is giving us finalsignals. "Two years ago, I was so focused on just surviving each day, and now…"
"Now you're living," he finishes, understanding immediately. His free hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing across my skin. "We both are."
He's right. In just four months, I'll graduate with my teaching degree—something that seemed impossible when I was working double shifts at Otrava and taking classes online whenever I could find time. Now, thanks to Konstantin's generous donation, I'll be running my own private school. Mikhailov Academy will open next fall, and I'll have complete control over the curriculum and teaching methods. It's a dream I never dared to voice, but somehow, Konstantin saw it in me before I even recognized it myself.
The school will be small and intimate, focusing on individualized learning and creativity. I've already hired three other teachers who share my vision, and we're planning innovative programs that blend traditional academics with arts and practical life skills. Konstantin jokes that I'm more excited about the school than he was about expanding his territory, and he's probably right.
"Five minutes!" the instructor shouts over the wind.
My pulse quickens, but it's pure exhilaration. Konstantin stands and helps me to my feet, his hands steady on my waist as we move toward the door. The ground spreads out below us like a patchwork quilt, and I can see the landing field in the distance.
"I have something to tell you," Konstantin says, his voice low and intimate despite the noise around us. He pulls me closer, his body warm and solid against mine.
"What?" I ask, having to lean in to hear him.
"I've been skydiving for years. Since I was twenty-five."
I pull back to stare at him in surprise. "What? But you acted like this was new for you!"
His dimple appears as he grins, that rare, genuine smile that transforms his entire face. "I wanted to experience it fresh, through your eyes. Everything is better when I see your joy."
My heart melts completely. Even after two years of marriage, he still finds ways to surprise me, to show me depths of his love I didn't know existed.
