by Amarie Avant
I kneel, clicking my tongue at the servants' attempts to beautify my every movement. I’d offered them a chance at a break, to enjoy food and drink earlier, but they have yet to leave my side. I look into the dead man’s eyes. Though I’m an excellent marksman blind, so as not to see the lives I’ve claimed, claiming the life of the soulless doesn’t haunt me. My bloodied fingertips brush over his lids, closing them.
“I am the . . .”
Mikhail, Simeon’s classically handsome cousin, catches my eye. “Just,” he mouths as I grit the rest of my statement.
“The Just Tsarina. Do not mistake my cordial demeanor! If your beliefs or questions are not in allegiance with the Tsar’s, guard them. Make no mistake. What you’ve witnessed,” I cock my head toward the corpse, “was mercy. I’m the lesser of two evils, and yet, discord will not be tolerated—ever.”
With my head tilted, I glare at Mikhail as a servant wipes the blood from my hands with a steaming terry cloth towel. A coal-gray suit drapes over Mikhail’s muscles. The crinkles in his eyes deepen more as his mouth lifts at either side. “May I have this dance?”
“I . . .” I glance over at the now nonexistent line.
“Seems you’ve made your point. All the men, captivated by your exquisiteness, fear you now. Bravo.” Mikhail tips back a crystal snifter. Amber liquid rushes down his throat. Some sort of residue, like crushed pills, is left at the bottom of the glass. He hands it to a servant then holds out a hand, clearing his throat.
What a mudak. Mikhail's appearance, and insistence on a dance, ruins said point. If I deny any Resnov a dance, I appear either weak in my bond as their Tsarina or . . . worse. And yet this is taboo for so many reasons. Faint redness stains my palm as I hold it out.
“When will you be traveling back to Los Angeles?” I ask in a monotone, his fingers gliding through mine.
“We arrived hours ago,” he whispers. Vodka-peppered breath sparks across my skin. “I’m still not convinced of your comfort here.”
I peer at his Adam’s apple, imagining myself issuing it a few sharp pricks, enough to stop this madness. I want to make him feel something other than jaded over his brother’s death. I keep telling myself the brilliant doctor descended to the underworld due to a lack of coping skills. We see lots of death here. While he grew up in Los Angeles, he was accustomed to rainbows and glitter.
“Not every day a woman becomes Tsarina, Mikhail. I’ll need time to acclimate myself here. Nevertheless, stop questioning my capabilities. You’re well aware of who belongs to me and whom I belong to.” I lift the back of my hands to display my tattoos: Sim+Mine.
“Ink isn’t permanent.” He retakes my hand, his thumb gliding like silk over the branding on my knuckles. “Back to what I know. I initiated plans to return to my life when we were in LA, Anastasiya. I had my mind made up. It included sixteen-hour days in the ER.”
“Sounds fulfilling,” I mutter, though my eyes glower.
“It once was.” Mikhail spins me around, only to pull me even closer. “Then, Luka arrived. The entire time we were in Italy and LA, the two of you have been at odds. Now, he’s your brat again?”
“Mikhail, he’s your blood cousin. My good friend. You tell me if it’s not acceptable for me to call him brat.”
Sapphire gems gleam, but the smile in his eyes ends there. “The other day when we chatted outside, I pegged you wrong. I assumed you ran away from a monster—the old, fight-or-flight syndrome.”
“I’m madly in love with said monster.” I bat my lashes with a grin.
His eyes warm with sincerity. “For that, I’m sorry. But I still have this hunch. You were afraid to return to Russia.”
“Yet here we are.” I nudge my chin to the old, dead fuck being carted out. “Doesn’t look like fear to me.”
Mikhail’s thumb draws toward my jaw. I drop the sarcasm. “Simeon is watching us. Enjoy the blood flowing through your veins.”
“Yes, he’s watching everyone.” A tipsy, lazy chuckle floats out as Mikhail pins me again. “You have a sprinkle of blood on your jaw, Anastasiya. Anyhow, the beast’s consenting to let other men touch you, even for a few choice minutes, was all part of a calculated plot.”
“Ha! What were you drinking?”
“Really good shit, Nastiya. But we’re talking conspiracies.”
“Okay, what?”
“Not sure yet. Fuck, maybe this?” Mikhail cocks his head toward maids mopping blood from the marble floors. “Simeon satiates his jealousy by watching men with you. Then he leaves you to eradicate the ones who cross the line, case in point.”
“Again, you’ve underestimated me, Good Doctor. I slit the mudak’s throat because he deserved it. Felt good too.” Because it’s the closest I’ll ever get to killing Oleg.
His head drops. He grips my biceps and groans. “Nastiya, you don’t want to murder anyone. I know you don’t.”
His hands trail down my biceps and forearms, landing at my hands. “You told me to look up years ago and . . .”
Kirill stands next to us, muscular body stiffened, he clicks his tongue.
“I know you don’t dance.” I wink, disentangling my fingers from his cousin’s. The second I begin to spin around, my servants step forward to move my train. I start to shoo them.
“Please go enjoy yourselves for a little while—” A yelp lurches from my throat as I bump into Simeon’s massive chest. I dare not look back. Of course, Kirill hadn’t made his presence known to welcome me as Tsarina formally. More byki start past Simeon and walk behind me, leading me to believe they’re all here for Mikhail.
The idiot doctor and the rest of us have been here less than five hours. I assumed he had a few more brain cells left than to cross Simeon. Part of me hopes he’ll scurry his ass back to Los Angeles before he has a permanent resting place.
In an instant, Mikhail is a million miles away from my thoughts as I stare up. A genuine smile settles over my lips. The joy I feel dusts my skin in a pixie glow. It’s as if I hadn’t taken a life, not ever, though I know Simeon is elated for that very reason. With a death by my hand, his sex drive soars to new heights.
The man I love crushes me against him. Arousal exudes from his hard body. His eyes roll back, intoxicated, as he grips my ass. “You look so fuckable when murdering, moya milaya,” he groans into my forehead. “You cannot be hungry now, nyet?”
I laugh a little, burrowing my face into his neck. Thousands of eyes are still peering at us. “Hmmm, I might already be full of champagne. But unless you’re sneaking me away for black cherry pistachio ice cream, I’m eating, Simeon.”
“Move,” he growls. The charming mask descends as he glares over my shoulder. Finally, the two servants dedicated to my appearance flee.
Simeon leans into me, his eyes never leaving mine, and he takes my hand. His lips feather across my knuckles and the sensitive patch inside of my wrists. Tender warmth spreads from my abdomen and blossoms throughout my body.
I catch the gasp attempting to exit my mouth when Simeon scoops me into his arms. Feathers fall and diamonds crash, dashing along the floor.
“Sim,” I seethe. “That was intentional.”
His massive hand shields the side of my cleavage where the feathers that hardly supported me before have all fallen.
“You may all enter the dining room for dinner,” Simeon calls out. He strokes my cheek and then presses his lips to mine. Our kiss is long and deep. An animalistic hum vibrates low in his throat. I lean into Simeon’s body, captivated by his aura. His lust is rising, fast.
Against the haven of his muscular frame, I let the heat and freedom of the night crash over me in a blissful wave. My dark fairytale has come to life.
Chapter 2
Simeon
Politicians, judges, and members of my family danced with my irreplaceable jewel and survived, well, most. Not to say I haven’t claimed more lives in a single night. This evening was a test for my Anastasiya and me.
For me, I had to still the blood lust in me
, cease the jealousy, and focus on the crowd. I needed to confirm that all who were present tonight were indeed loyal to the Bratva.
For Anastasiya, well, she passed. She had no fear in marking that pizda’s life. Whatever he’d said had to have been immoral, and she responded accordingly. I need for her not to second guess her decisions due to the moral compass growing in her soul. It means I’ll have less training for my little Tsarina.
Her honey eyes flit around as I carry her through the palace. Her vibrant, golden skin flushes at my touch. How was I to know the fluff and strings holding her up were as delicate as the small of her backside?
“If someone sees half of my breast, Simeon,” she warns.
I place her down in an abandoned corridor. The sound of music, laughter, and chatter is so close. Thick lips set in a line, she crosses her arms over her chest.
“Then what?” I pluck at a feather. More plumes and diamonds cascade to the ground. I place a hand along the wall over her shoulder, leaning down, taunting my gorgeous prey. “What will you do?”
“I . . . will . . .” She nips at my bottom lip. “Fight you.”
My fingers play along the strap of feathers at her shoulder. Not even a yank is necessary for the string beneath to snap. More tickling feathers fall from her, unwrapping her like a present.
“Fuck.” I breathe deep.
“Fuck what?” she moans, glancing along the empty corridor.
“Me,” I order, snatching her chin and bringing her gaze back to mine. Out of all the romance stories Anastasiya begged me to read to her, I cannot piece together anything more worthy than the sight before me. I clasp her breast, paw at it, let her nipple pierce at the inside of my palm.
“Simeon Resnov, how are you speechless?” she murmurs, her brain in overdrive. “I threatened you. Please shut me the fuck up. The good way.”
My hand clasps her throat. “You mean, the good way as in I choke you out and screw your pussy? Or the good-good way where my cock assaults your mouth?” I press my lips to hers. “And you choke on my cock, then choke a little more on my cum.”
A mesmerizing haze floats around us.
Her head falls back against the marble wall. She moans. “Can you do both? Please do both, Simeon. Fuck me deep, spill your cum in me, on me, all . . . All over me, Sim, please.”
My hands go to her jeweled crown. I fist them, bringing her down to her knees. When I crowned her earlier, I had never been more aroused—harder than these millions of dollars in diamonds. I couldn’t defile Asya by fucking her mouth to an audience, but I can now.
Anastasiya’s fingers fly to my belt. I take on a wide-legged stance. She has my cock out, her breath warming over it in seconds.
“Nyet,” I groan. “Just the crown of me, moya milaya.”
Her mouth widens as much as possible, enveloping the bulbous head. My legs plant wider.
“That’s good. Suck me like you’re hungry, baby. Just the crown. Then bring me to your tonsils, Anastasiya. All tongue, nyet fucking teeth.”
Her lips are soft, plush, and siphoning me deeper into her mouth. Anastasiya follows every caveat.
Her tongue skims the long length of my shaft, flitting as she goes.
My cockhead is in her tight wetness. The back of her throat is comparable to her pussy. I bang my cock against her, punching at her tonsils. My dick assaults her mouth, plundering faster, harder, deeper. Each onslaught to her tonsils wedges my cock into the tightest, heavenly grip.
Asya groans, sending tiny thrills and vibrations along my rigidness. The beast in me takes over. I corrupt her plush lips, sending cum down her throat, across her cheeks.
My blessing—her little fuck face.
Anastasiya lets the cum mask her face. Her fingers trail through the glob of cum along her cheeks. She scoops it into her mouth like her favorite ice cream.
“Simeon,” she mews as I pull her up to her feet. “I’m so happy, so happy we found our way back to each other.”
“Good. Good, because I would’ve found you from here to the end of the fucking earth, girl. Now clean your crown, it’s a little dirty.”
It’s almost three in the morning when we return to the festival. Anastasiya is now wearing another custom-made dress for her coronation, a long-sleeve, floor-length champagne satin dress. The crowd has taken to the gardens behind the palace. I slide my arms into a fur coat as the two servants who’ve followed Anastasiya around provide her with one. I take it from them, and they make their retreat into the shadows like earlier.
“Please eat something,” Anastasiya calls after them. “You scare everyone.” She blinks meaningfully at me, then sips at her champagne.
“Let me get you warm.” I remove the champagne from her lips. A little spills, and I lick the trail descending her jawline then assist her into her jacket.
“Wait.” I place my chin in the crook of her shoulder while holding her from behind.
A loud explosive shoots off in the distance.
“Simeon!” Anastasiya gasps. Fireworks dance through the sky, glittering in her eyes. I press a few strands of hair away from her gorgeous face and can’t stop myself from kissing her again.
“I plan to marry you one day soon.”
She gulps, voice trembling. “Are you asking—”
“Nyet. When I do, you will say, dah. None of this English bullshit.”
“Oh? I don’t have a choice.” She glares up at me through the thickest of eyelashes. Her attempt at anger only makes her more beautiful.
“Not a chance in hell.”
I never thought I’d be anywhere near this happy after she disappeared. Clutching her hair, I delight in her mouth, holding her so tight she groans against my lips. Now she’s returned, I’ll never let her go.
“Asya, I rushed this evening, placing the crown on your head, but I’m learning to slow down.” I clasp her cheeks as fireworks continue to blast around us.
“Don’t slow down, Sim. Marry me tonight.” She lowers her gaze. “You were planning on it after your release from the Black Dolphin—”
“Asya,” I groan.
“Because you planned to be gone from me so long that flowers wouldn’t suffice.”
“You’re so crazy, moya milaya.” I cup her cheeks and press her lips to mine. “Before you disappeared, I spent all the time I had in prison determining how I’d propose.”
Urgency flashes across her face. Or was it something else? My eyebrows pull together. Darkness descends, drowning out her face. Then with the burst of another firework, more bright lights shine above.
“What is it, Asya? Talk to me.” I shake her shoulders. Then my hands fall into fists at my side. For the past few days, I’ve warned myself not to try and bully the truth from her. But this time, when sharp white fireworks spear the sky, Anastasiya eyes me with a baffled grin on her face. Maybe I’m reading too much into nothing?
The next afternoon, my cousin, Mikhail, is sprawled on a bed in one of the lavish guest rooms in my palace. Chunks of vomit are in his blondish-silver hair and face. Aside from the discarded tie on the floor, he’s slept in his suit. I sit down on the chair a byki pulled out for me.
“Look at this pizda, can’t hold his vodka.” I shake my head, then nudge my chin.
A byki gives Mikhail’s bristled jaw a few slaps. He grouses awake.
“I assumed you slept through natural disasters because you invested hours upon hours in the ER, Kazen.” I glance at a bottle of pills next to a silver flask. “But sleep may cost you your life one day.”
Mikhail groans, coming to a seated position. “Simeon, I have a massive headache. Can you pause with threatening my life? Or follow through.”
Kirill blinks at me a few times. Out of all my family, he and I are the most alike. We either simmer in dark contemplation, or we pounce.
In one motion, I’m out of my chair. I grip the lapels of Mikhail’s crummy suit and snatch him up to me. “You’re my blood, Kazen. Give me a good reason why I should put you down, dah?”
He struggles. My curled fingers tighten his collar, constricting much of his breathing.
“Don’t test the devil, Mikhail.” I push at him, and he falls onto the bed then pops back up.
“Malich is one of my top favorite uncles, so you have choices. Keep those eyes in your head or test my authority. Fight me and die. Would you like that, big Kazen?”
“Simeon, wha-what are you talking about?” He runs a hand over his face.
My eyelid twitches. So, he’s playing oblivious.
“I’ve awoken to a hostile environment. Sim, I don’t understand.”
On the edge of the bed, Kirill sits next to Mikhail and loops an arm around his neck. He gives our older cousin a few pops. Mikhail tosses his elbow to Kirill’s rib. The two start off the bed and begin to wrestle when I order them to stop.
“Nyet,” I growl at both my older cousins. “If Mikhail wants to test me, I don’t require any help. You’re my older kazen, and I beat your fucking ass when we were kids, play fighting. But we are no longer young. Mikhail, you’re blessed and loved still. Keep the little space you have in my heart.” I knock at my chest. “The instant I contemplate your feelings for Asya for too long, not Malich or any of the Seven will stop me. I will snatch your heart out of your motherfucking chest. Do you understand, blood of my blood?”
Mikhail’s groggy gaze widens a little. He stands up, stretches, then pads across the floor to pull back the satin drapes. “I’m still trying to understand the hostility, Simeon.”
I smile, flicking my wrist. All the men in the room head toward the door. Kirill is the last one to leave.
I resume my seat.
There’s this rule.
You don’t fucking sit, not in the presence of your enemy, especially when they’re standing. But I have all the confidence in the world I will own Mikhail’s death—if we cross that bridge. With a gesture, my older cousin claims the seat at the edge of the bed.
“I’ve never coveted anything belonging to you, Mikhail.” I smile at him. I never expected to have to educate a family member in that regard. Well, aside from Anatoly. He was the single parasite in our dynasty, and he was cut down by none other than me. “Asya is a stunning woman. It shocks me even to have to mention it. You’re taking certain liberties; those liberties will be the death of you.”