Chapter 13 - Rodion

I storm up to my bedroom with my mood darkening every step I take. I have to get away from her. I need distance between us. Even just her scent is pushing me past my limits at this point.

She makes it so fucking hard to stop myself from taking her.

But I can’t deal with the aftermath of that disaster. She already made it clear she doesn’t want to sleep with me, and I don’t want to be with someone who isn’t interested. I told her she would have to come begging me for it if she wants that from me. Until she does, until she makes it so fucking clear—I can’t give in to her teasing.

Until I know she really means it—all I am going to assume is that she is acting on impulse and will most likely regret it the moment it’s over.

But fuck—it’s difficult and I’m struggling more the longer I am around her.

I take the stairs two at a time and walk straight into my private bathroom.

Staring at my face in the mirror, I sigh. She did a really good job cleaning me up. The blood is wiped away, I have ointment on the open wounds and the largest cut has been taped up—mostly. If I had stayed a little longer she would have had time to put the last piece or two of tape on. I’m sure I have some in my bathroom here somewhere. I’ll do it before bed.

But I saw what I looked like in the car mirror. It doesn’t look even half as bad now. She took care of me well.

I flick the shower on. I can still smell the sweaty tang of the fight cage on my body. I need to scrub it off. It feels wrong now.

Then I’ll go to bed and sleep off this agitation.

I can face whatever I need to face tomorrow. I’m sure she isn’t going to let this go and has a lot more to say about it. She was fucking feisty when I got home tonight. She’s pissed as all hell that I locked her up in the house.

I promised her freedom but within my own control. She has to understand that I am her husband and what I say goes.

Hot water beats down against my body. I stand beneath the steady, pressurized downpour for a long time, letting the heat of it soak into my skin and deep into my muscles. It feels good. It’s pushing away the tension from the fight in the cage— and from the fight against doing what I really wanted to do to Anya just now.

After a long while, my body belongs to me again, almost. I’m not in pain anymore—but I still sense that undercurrent of desire pulsing through me and pulling my thoughts towards Anya.

Muttering in annoyance, I turn the shower off, dry myself and slip into a pair of sweatpants.

Climbing into bed, I try again to push her out of my mind.

I can’t do this every single night.

I can’t go to bed obsessing over her and what I can’t have.

It’s driving me crazy.

Tossing and turning, the blankets start knotting around my legs. I kick them free and adjust them for the tenth time, getting comfortable again.

But then I start all over. Rolling left, rolling right. Trying to lie on my back, then my stomach. I can’t fucking sleep.

My mind is in absolute turmoil over her.

This is almost too much for me to bear.

It’s getting later and later and I’m still struggling, tossing and turning.

A soft knock at the door comes as a much-needed distraction. It must be one of the guards coming to report something—but when I prop myself up to see who it is—I am shocked to find Anya walking towards my bed.

She must still be angry and trying to pick another fight. At this point I might even find a fight a welcome distraction.

I sigh, closing my tired eyes for a moment, then prepare myself for whatever she has to say.

To my surprise, though, she sits on the edge of my bed with her legs pulled up to her chest and starts asking me questions. Not about what I expect her to be asking.

“I was just wondering about this fight club thing. You said your brother fights often. Is it some kind of sport?”

The question catches me off guard. I blink a few times, waiting for my brain to decide if I heard her right.

“Uh—yeah—I guess you could say it’s a type of sport. It’s just a bunch of guys letting off some steam.”

“But you’ve never fought in there until tonight?”

“No, I tried to be the more controlled one. I’ve thought about it a few times. I guess tonight I was just in the right mood.”

“Does Renat do well in the fights?”

She shifts a little further onto the bed. I push myself up to lean against the headboard.

“He does really well. He’s good at it. We hardly ever see him losing,” I chuckle. “If you ask Rad or Rigor they will both tell you he’s never lost, but I’ve seen him go down a few times.”

She giggles.

“Most people go to gym—or something like that—to let off steam.” She looks amused.

“I guess, it is a bit extreme. But we need it. In the line of work we do it’s a good way to vent off the frustration that builds up so quickly—and it keeps you sharp—focused and alert. It keeps your wits strong.”

She moves even closer to me, also resting against the headboard and wiggling her legs beneath the blankets. She turns to face me, her eyes are glowing and curious. She looks absolutely beautiful.

“Does your whole family go to the fights together?”

“No, the four oldest go. I guess it’s our thing—we didn’t want to get the others involved. Somehow we’ve all had this unspoken pact—like a decision to protect the younger siblings from the violence of our world. We wanted them to grow up not thinking about that kind of stuff. Not as exposed to it. But since we got here, things have been changing.”

“What do you mean? How did they change?”

I shift onto my side, fully facing her.

“Well, Raisa has always been an angel. She’s never caused problems. She has the softest heart. But the other three—Ruslana, Ruvim and Roman—since we got to this city, they’ve been exploring the darker side of things—getting into trouble and causing me quite a bit of stress. I don’t know what it is with them. It’s like they’re rebelling against being kept back from it the whole time. It’s difficult because now I feel like it’s my fault. Like I shouldn’t have protected them so much.” I shrug.

“Really? Ruslana?” she asks, shocked. “She seems so innocent.”

I roll my eyes. “She’s caused a lot of trouble for me. I’ve had to fight off some very persistent men who were honestly no good for her. It’s not even about making choices for her about who she gets to date—it’s more serious than that. It’s like she is intentionally picking the most selfish, arrogant assholes and pretending that she’s in love with them when I know it will just end up being a one-night stand that she will definitely regret. Or even something worse. I don’t want to think about it—I just want her to realize it’s not healthy for her.”

“Mm. This town is full of assholes like that. She really should be more careful. She will end up regretting it,” she agrees.

We talk for over an hour with absolutely no animosity between us. It’s really pleasant to chat with her like this and be able to laugh and relax.

When it starts getting really late, she smiles and says, “I better go to bed and get some sleep.”

“Why don’t you just sleep in my bed tonight?” I ask quickly, not wanting her to leave. This is the most comfortable we have felt together since she moved in and I’m not ready to let her go.

“Um. Ok.” She blushes lightly and the smile on her face is radiant.

She moves and snuggles beneath the blankets.

I try to resist doing it, but I can’t. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her closer to me, spooning her back against my chest. I don’t want to ruin the moment between us by making it into something else. I just want to hold her.

I start chuckling as a thought teases into my mind.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, tensing in my arms.

“Well, didn’t I tell you that you would be crawling back into my bed? I’m always right in the end,” I say, jokingly. For a brief moment, I worry that she is going to take it the wrong way and that I shouldn’t have said it at all. But she starts to giggle, and her body shakes with laughter against mine.

“Asshole,” she mutters, getting comfortable again.

I can tell when she falls asleep because her breathing changes. It becomes lighter and slower. Her entire body is relaxed in my arms.

I’m struggling again—but it’s different than it was earlier. I am not angry or moody. Now it’s just her.

Having her this close to me with the smell of jasmine on my pillow,

it’s making it nearly impossible to fall asleep. If I thought the frustration I felt before was bad, this is ten times worse.

But I wouldn’t change it for the world.

I keep smiling in the dark, running my hand softly over her sleeping body.

She feels so incredible. Her skin is so soft, her body so warm against me. It’s as though she was made to fit up against my chest, woven into my soul and wrapped in my arms.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I have to sleep at some point. I can’t just lie here all night focused on her.

Yet, all night, I drift on the edges of sleep, hyperaware of her in my bed. She taunts my dreams and the scent of jasmine never leaves my mind, even subconsciously. I love it. I want this every night.