Chapter 41

—no air in my lungs, only this endless—

A brush of your finger over my—

—agony sweet and painf—

Your thighs thrusting between—

—pulse inside me, lover mi—

—“Fragments of a Torn-up Letter” by Adina Mercant, poet (b. 1832, d. 1901)

(Original multimedia piece sold to an anonymous private collector for ten million dollars at auction in 2047. Currently on loan to the British Museum.)

“I’M NOT A doll to be arranged as you wish.” The anger of a warrior queen in her voice. “Neither am I a child to have my decisions made for me. I know exactly who I am. And I know exactly what I want.”

Yakov’s entire body went rigid with need. There was no better aphrodisiac than a woman who wouldn’t take his shit, and who’d go toe-to-toe with him. That didn’t mean he was about to lie down and let her walk all over him.

“You might not be a child,” he said. “But you are in an alien environment, smashing headlong into alien sensations. You telling me you have the capacity to process what’s happening?”

One of her hands shifted to curve slightly around the column of his throat, an action not many would dare take with a bear of Yakov’s dominance, her breath shallow and fast.

O Bozhe, was it arousing.

“No,” she said. “But according to Wild Woman magazine, skin privileges of this intimacy can drive even changelings and humans crazy.”

It was his turn to go mute for a moment. She was right. He’d all but lost his mind when he first experienced intimate skin privileges. And he wasn’t exactly in total control right now if he was fantasizing about fucking her on the dance floor. “How far do you want to go?” It came out a bearish rumble, the human side of him giving way to the primal need within.

“I don’t know.” No hesitation in her words. “But I want to find out.”

Yakov knew that he should stop things right now. But he didn’t. It was too late. It had been too late when she walked out of the exit gate at the airport. Shifting his hold to around her waist, he said, “Then let’s go play, moya pchelka.”

Since they hadn’t left anything at the table, he didn’t bother to go back to it. Taking out his phone instead, he shot Pavel a quick message so his brother wouldn’t hang around waiting for him when he and Arwen wanted to take off: Leaving with Theo.

His phone buzzed with a message just as they left the frenetic energy of the main dance floor: Be careful, bro. I like her, but she’s not Arwen.

Yakov knew that all too well. Theo was very much not an empath; she was a dangerous woman with an anger inside her that was so deep as to be deadly—and she was the woman he’d been dreaming of all his life.

THEO felt like a runaway bullet train, picking up speed with each step she took. Every single thing she’d ever been taught told her to pull back, stop.

She ignored it all. She’d listened for so long and all it had gotten her was blood on her hands and loneliness in her bones.

Nothing good has ever come out of following the rules.

How unexpected that it was her brother, the epitome of the perfect Psy, who’d said those words to her. But of course, that was exactly it—Pax wasn’t perfect. Not only because of the syndrome that was devastating his strong, beautiful mind, but because of her. He’d never ever let go of her, had protected her in every way he could . . . and in so doing, he’d nurtured an emotional bond that had been verboten under Silence.

What would he say if he knew the extent of the rules she was breaking tonight?

It didn’t matter. This was her decision, and as maddened and out of control as it was, she owned it nonetheless.

The cold of the night air hit her as they exited the club after picking up her clothing at the coat check.

Yakov carried the bag, his free hand wrapped around hers. The heat of him was a shocking contrast to the bite of the air.

With the chill of the night came sudden clarity and the clawing swipe of guilt.

Yet . . . she’d warned Yakov, hadn’t she? Shown him her full hand but for a single broken card. No doubt he’d guessed that Theo Marshall still had her secrets. He was too smart not to have done so—and he was making this decision regardless of the murkiness that surrounded her.

“It’s not far to the car.” Breaking their handclasp, Yakov shifted his hand to her hip.

Theo moved close, telling herself it was only sensible since he was big and warm and she was in a ridiculously short dress. His heat was a welcome burn against her, his scent a roughness against her senses. She’d never met anyone like Yakov—and she said that having met his literal twin.

Pavel might look identical to Yakov, but he wasn’t Yakov.

Only this man, only this bear, was the one she wanted, the one she craved.

“Here you go.” Having reached their heavy-duty vehicle, he unlocked it, then opened the passenger door and threw her bag over the seats into the back—only to pick her up with two hands on her hips to put her into the passenger seat.

Amber eyes hot and turbulent lingered on her lips, lips that felt swollen and sensitive. “Yasha.” A breathy word.

“No,” he growled. “Not here.”

But then he put one hand on the naked skin of her thigh and pressed a kiss to her throat. Shoving away even as her entire body ignited, he shut the passenger door.

Three seconds later he was in his seat and pulling away from the curb, the lights of Moscow streaming on either side of their vehicle. It wasn’t a long drive to the StoneWater apartment, but time crawled, Theo’s skin pulsing where he’d touched her—and freezing cold where he hadn’t. Yet it felt paradoxically too fast at the same time.

Dawn would come far too soon, and with it, perhaps the truth of her evil.

Again, she turned away from the reality that hovered above her, the sword waiting to fall and skewer her to the earth. The guilt wouldn’t leave her alone, but it was no proof against the need within, a need that had grown for countless years. For contact, for care, for someone other than her brother to see Theo, scars and all.

The scars on her back were suddenly stiff and ragged. It was luck that they were located just low enough that they’d been hidden by even this dress.

Would the twisted ridges of them scare Yakov?

He was a wild being, a creature at home with imperfection.

Perhaps . . . just perhaps, he’d look at her without disgust. At least the marks were on her back. If he was disgusted, she wouldn’t see the first flush of his reaction. They could pretend he’d simply changed his mind.

Because Theo wasn’t stopping this runaway train until he did.

She was barely aware of them reaching the apartment building, conscious only of Yakov’s hand on hers as he led her into the elevator. He looked around, as if searching for someone, though it was clear they were alone.

The elevator doors opened.

But when she turned toward him after they were inside with the doors shut, he growled. “Not in the elevator.” His chest heaved. “We’re doing this right.”

Theo bit down hard on her lower lip, her free hand a tight fist.

The doors seemed to open in slow motion. Striding out with her hand in his, Yakov unlocked the apartment door. She walked in first, turned the instant she heard him shut the door behind himself.

His hands on her hips, his big body shoving her against the wall. Claws pricked her hips. “I’m not in control, Theo.” A rumble of sound, his eyes no longer in any way human. “I could hurt you and fuck if I’ll ever do that.”

Theo, her skin so hot it burned, flattened both hands against the wall lest she try to rip off his clothing. “I can protect myself.” All at once, the pen that had been sitting on a small table close to the door was hovering in front of his eye, point forward.

Theo could do other things with her small power, but this one tended to make the most dramatic impact. And she wanted impact, wanted this bear to stop trying to protect her, wanted him to take her with the ferocity of the creature that lived under his skin.

Grabbing the pen out of the air, Yakov threw it aside without breaking eye contact. He shifted his hand instead, to grip the side of her neck. She felt claws. Should’ve been afraid.

But her body clenched, the place between her thighs gushing with dampness.

“How far?” A harsh question, the roughness of it making her nipples ache.

The runaway train barreled on. “As far as you want.”