Page 23 of BRATVA'S Poisoner Bride
The word settles between us, powerful as any oath signed in blood.
She finishes her coffee with a final shaky sip and sets the mug down with a soft click. Her decision made.
Then she reaches for my hand.
It’s small against mine. Warm. Steady.
I curl my fingers around hers and lead her toward the stairs, and toward the life that begins the moment she packs her last memory of being afraid.
Elizabeth
I pad across the room, gathering the clothes that litter the floor from last night and throwing them into the hamper. I enjoy wearing his shirt too much, but he needs something to wear and he wasn’t planning to stay overnight. I reluctantly take it off, and hand it to him, when he sees I was completely naked beneath it, his eyes darken.
“I’ll remember this for later,” he says with a flick of his eyebrow.
He’s the first man I’ve ever let close enough to touch me without wanting to shrink away and disappear, and his promise oflateronly excites me.
The suitcase waits beneath the bed. I drag it out and open it with a quiet breath, the metal clasp clicking like a gun chamber being readied. Inside are the remnants of a life that feels like it’s dissolving by the second. My favourite dress from when my mother was alive, a scarf that belonged to her that my dad missed throwing out. My grandmother’s necklace, tucked snugly inside a worn velvet box. Just a simple gold cross on a thin chain.
I start folding things I never thought I’d have a reason to take with me. My hands move on instinct, neat and efficient. Pack only what matters. Leave behind everything that never loved you.
I’m halfway through zipping the case when I feel him watching me.
I turn.
Diomid stands in the doorway, his shirt still open, framing the tattoos inked across his chest like a map of violence and loyalty. His hair is mussed, but his eyes are sharp. He looks like something that crawled out of my darkest fantasies and decided to stay.
“I’m nearly done,” I say, pulling a sweater over my head before tying my hair back in an elastic.
Something like satisfaction flickers in his gaze.
He steps closer, slow enough that I feel each step like a tether pulling tight between us. “Good,” he says. “I don’t want you spending another moment in this house. Not alone.”
I close the suitcase.
When I look up again, he’s right in front of me. His fingers slide under my chin, lifting my face so I have to meet his eyes.
“You said this is what your mother would have wanted,” he reminds me softly.
My throat tightens. “She would have wanted me to be happy. Safe. Loved.”
“And you are safe with me,” he says with a certainty I could never argue with. Like it’s a law of nature and I would be foolish to try and bend it.
I should feel trapped by those words. Another man. Another claim. Another future decided on my behalf.
But the strange and terrifying thing is… I don’t. When he looks at me, I don’t feel like property. I feel like a loaded weapon. Like he sees the steel in my spine, the venom in my veins, the fire that Piotr tried to crush out of me.
“You’re nothing like your uncle,” I whisper.
His jaw flexes. “No. I would never raise a hand to what’s mine. I’d burn the world before I let it touch you.”
A shiver ghosts down my spine. I reach for the suitcase handle. His hand covers mine before I can lift it. He presses a kiss to my palm, slow and deliberate, claiming something I didn’t realize I was offering.
“Let me take you home now,” he says.
Home.
I glance around the space that hasn’t felt like home since the moment my mothers life was torn from it and know that whatever comes next has to be better than this.
