40. Before the Storm

Chapter forty

Before the Storm

Han

I was aware of my wife even before I fully awoke the next morning. She was warm and soft, pressed against my body. I opened my eyes to see her strange, familiar face on the pillow next to mine, illuminated by the gray pre-dawn light.

She stirred, blinking sleepily.

I pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. "Good morning, dorogusha."

"Hm." Then her eyes flew open, and she sat bolt upright. "The battle!"

"It's still early," I said, wrapping my arms around her from behind. "We have a little while."

She glanced at the light creeping into our tent. "Where will you be?"

"I'm going with the tsar."

"With the tsar?" She stiffened, turning to look at me. "Into the city?" Fear filled her eyes.

I'd give anything to erase that fear. I stroked her cheek. "It's no more dangerous than being in the battle."

"You're taking a dozen men into the palace to confront Miroslav directly," she snapped. "How is that less dangerous than the battle?"

"I didn't say ‘less dangerous,' I said ‘no more dangerous.'" I sighed. "I don't want to fight with you today, Mila." I didn't want to fight with her ever again. We'd done enough of that before she left. Now all I wanted was to keep her safe. "It's dangerous, yes, but it has to be done."

"But why you?"

"The tsar asked me to. He wants the Survivor of Barbezht with him when he takes the throne."

"I thought you weren't the only survivor," she said, resting her head against my chest.

I raised a brow, looking down at her. "You'd prefer Yakov go?"

"I don't want either of you to go. I just don't understand why it has to be you. Why you're the Survivor of Barbezht."

"I don't know." Somehow, in the few small battles I'd fought, my popularity had grown. My name—or at least my unofficial title—was spoken across the country, and while most of the rumors about me were entirely false, the tsar wanted to exploit my popularity among the unSanctioned. Your loyalty lends legitimacy to my claim, Han. The people see something of themselves in you. They'll support who you support.

It discomfited me, taking on the mantle of Survivor of Barbezht, but the tsar insisted. I sighed. "I won't be alone, Milochka. The tsar asked me to go, but we'll have a dozen of our best soldiers and a dozen shadow-melding Drakra."

"Just be careful." She took a deep, shaky breath. "We should get ready." She reached for the clean clothes someone had delivered to the tent overnight.

We? "Ready for what?"

"The battle. Isn't the tsar expecting you?" She stripped off her old sarafan and replaced it with a new one as I tried to ignore the twitch of my cock. Now wasn't the time or place to be lusting after my wife.

"Expecting me, yes, but you're staying here." I wasn't risking her. She was going to be safe if I had to tie her to the tent pole to keep her here.

"Don't be ridiculous." She tied a belt around her waist. "I'm not trying to come with you. There's plenty for me to do. I'm not sitting in the tent the whole time you're gone."

"It's not safe. I need to keep you safe." Here, in my tent in the center of camp, she'd be protected from any stray cannonballs or rogue soldiers. On the edge of the battlefield, tending to the wounded or transporting the dead, anything could happen. I'd almost lost her twice now. I wasn't losing her again.

***

Mila

I could see by the stubborn set of his chin that he wasn't going to give in on this. Han rarely made demands—at least the Han I'd married rarely did—but he'd changed in the past few months. I didn't know if I could convince him to let me go.

But I did know that I could distract him. I cupped his face with my hands. "I'm not in any danger, Han."

Before he could answer, I kissed him. He responded immediately, pulling me against his body. His tongue slid along my bottom lip, and his cock pressed against my stomach. A jolt of desire went straight to my center, followed by a hot flash of guilt.

Why did that feel so wrong? He was my husband, by the Blood. I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and straddled him.

He moaned, grinding against me. "I want you, Mila. I need you."

I needed him—needed this—too. I tugged my skirts upward, trying to remove some of the fabric between us. Han, thankfully, wore only his long shirt. He pulled it up, then grab me by the hips and slid inside me.

I wasn't ready; his entry stung, but he slid his hand between us, massaging my bud.

"You're so tight," he groaned, burying himself deeper as I grew wet. Not deep enough. Not hard enough.

What was I doing? I'd moved on, fallen in love with another man. I shouldn't be making love to Han like nothing had changed. Shame choked me. I swallowed it down and met him thrust for thrust.

Before long, his movements quickened, his breath coming in pants. I kept my frantic pace, driving him higher. When he stiffened, I smashed my lips to his, less a kiss and more a claiming, our teeth clashing together. I tasted blood—his or mine, I didn't know.

He pulled back first, looking at me through heavy-lidded eyes. "I missed you, Milochka."

I looked away. I was despicable. He'd been risking his life, fighting a war, and I'd given up on him. I'd left him for dead and turned to someone else for comfort, for love. I didn't deserve his affection.

A voice came from outside the tent. "You better not be naked, Han. I'm coming in."

Han pulled the covers over us as Yakov burst into the tent, still talking.

"Ready for today?" He took in the scene before him and froze. His eyes widened, and he turned red, clenching his fist.

I couldn't help the grin spreading across my face. Yakov was here. He seemed to have grown, adding a couple inches to his height. His freckles were somewhat faded—though it was hard to tell with the angry scarlet splotches on his cheeks.

Han scrambled to a sitting position and reached for his pants. "It's not what it looks like."

"It better fucking not be." He glared between us. "Because it looks to me like you just bedded some whore while your wife's off risking her life."

That was just like him, to defend my marital integrity. My grin widened, and I stood, brushing the wrinkles from my sarafan. "Grateful as I am for your concern, Yasha, I don't appreciate being called ‘some whore.'"

His face went from red to white in an instant. "Mila?"

"In the flesh. Well, not my flesh, but still." I stepped toward him, arms open.

"Prophet's balls!" He grabbed me and swung me around. "Han said you'd been changed, but I didn't think… I didn't expect to see you here."

"You're not the only one." I jerked my chin toward Han. "I think he just about collapsed."

Yakov smirked. "He seems to have recovered well. You must have…revived him."

"I think that's enough." Han grabbed his arm as I laughed. "Get out of my tent, durachok."

Much as I would like to leave you two to ‘reviving' each other,"—he waggled his eyebrows at us—"the tsar's waiting for you."

"Shit." Han shoved his feet into his boots and grabbed his new iron hand. "Mila, stay here. Yakov, don't let her leave this tent." He fixed us both with a stern look. "Stay safe."

I had no intention of placing myself in danger, but I also had no intention of waiting here in the tent for him to return. "You, too," I said.

He pressed a quick kiss to my lips. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Once he was gone, I turned to Yakov. "Obviously I'm not staying here all day. What are we doing?"

He twisted his face in a grimace and glanced after Han. "I was on my way to the med tent."

"Med tent?" I reached for the headscarf that had been delivered with the rest of my clothes.

"The Blood Bastard asked me to help out." He tucked his hand into his pocket and shrugged. "Might as well be useful, since I can't fight."

Yakov Aleksandrovich was working for a Blood Bastard. I never would have believed it. From the reddening tips of his ears, I could tell there was more to the story, but now wasn't the time.

"Could you use extra hands? I'll go out of my mind if I don't have something to do during the battle."

"Never enough hands." He waved his arm, and I laughed. "Come on, we'll find you some work."