by Amarie Avant
But now, I’m launching myself at Sofiya. My legs fly in the air as Simeon grabs me. My fingers push against his chest, his face. Blood swallows me whole, propelling me to the day my innocent baby was aborted from my body.
I come to in a pile of slush. Simeon rubs my face, compelling me in a soothing voice. “Calm, calm, moya milaya. You’re my beautiful Tsarina. You’re so strong. This has to be done.”
From my side peripheral, Kirill has a hand on Sofiya. More byki are torn between touching the mother of the Tsar. They implore her to stay.
“This must be done. I demand answers,” he whispers, his lips brushing across my earlobe. “You’re worthy of answers. Then our Angel can continue to Rest In Peace.”
“How dare you, Kirill!” Sofiya scoffs, slapping at his abrasive touch.
“With all due respect, Aunt Sofiya. My brat died. The young lady he called sestra until his last breath perished because others had a hand in these two people’s lives. I have a second kazen, a little baby that I was not given a chance to hold in my arms, to play catch with or pretend tea. Forgive me later. Choice is yours.”
Sofiya blinks then stutters, “How dare you mention Luka? Kirill, you’re a monster. You and that suka influenced moy syn.”
“Okay, I’m a little filthy. But don’t you dare tell me not to mention my brat.” He removes his ponytail holder.
“Kirill,” Simeon grits, seemingly back in action after comforting me. When Kirill removes his ponytail, it’s a sure sign reality is fading. His cousin steps back a little.
Simeon helps me up. “Talk, Mother, or walk!”
“I could never walk so far in the snow. It was a warm day when Anastasiya—” She bites her tongue.
“When the woman I called Mother attempted to kill me?” I screech.
“I was attempting to sell you, not have you murdered!” She rolls her eyes, doing a one-two step. “My toes are frostbitten!”
“Mother.” Simeon’s hands ball into fists.
“What will you do, moy syn? You’ve got a hell of a lot more to aspire to become your father. Punches won’t work.”
“I would never.” He starts backward. “Kirill, I take it you’ll follow your aunt as she starts walking. Come, Anastasiya, let’s go. If she falls on the way to her destination, wait awhile. I’ll have her pronounced dead before anyone comes to her assistance.”
“But Anastasiya didn’t die!” Sofiya stomps her feet, only to have a heel glide across the slick snow again.
He salutes his mother. “Ma, you’ll get your ruby red casket and blood-red roses. Though, I’ll never know what color or flower my Angel preferred.”
I squeeze Simeon’s hand tighter and stall. “I-I.”
“Dah?” He stops walking.
“This was the part that always stopped me from telling you, Sim. One day you’ll regret . . .”
The Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde I know him for is resurrected. Although, when Simeon’s obsidian orbs dart from my face to his mother, I see his dilemma. He’s torn.
Torn between us.
Torn between vindication for our sweet Angel.
“I’ll talk!” Sofiya reels on her heels, arms around herself. “You’re my beautiful baby, Simeon. If you lost a child—”
“We did!” My throat scorches from the shout.
“If you lost a baby,” she addresses him only, “then I beg your forgiveness. Right here, right beneath the heavens.”
She spins around, looking up. The sky opens up. Instead of a lightning bolt, soft snow crystals fall. Sofiya clutches a cross at her neck. “Resnovs are blessed, moy syn. Other factions have more death. Kirill, I will miss Luka forever, my nephew. But—”
“Why?” A voice that sounds uncannily like mine inquires. The volume of my tone sends birds in flight around us. Overwhelmed and overtaken by her flair for dramatics, I shout, “Why, Mother, please?”
Sofiya blinks. “I love you, Anastasiya.”
And when I think she’s about to play off my vulnerability, Sofiya ceases from her deflection and continues. “I love you but . . .”
The contingency rings loud. Love me without restriction, I demand. Fucking love me. I stare at the woman who was to replace my parents. I’m not so callous to believe that it doesn’t take the same essence flowing through one’s veins to have unconditional love. Simeon is my drug for anxiety, fears, any negativity. But a mother’s or a father’s love would’ve created a different woman in me.
Sofiya could’ve been that for me. The reason why I flourished and prospered. The reason why I could have been a little less crazy. Shrugging, I repeat myself, “Why?”
Condemnation billows from her mouth in a deep huff. “You are a Castle Girl. You were born with an assignment, one which you failed to fulfill.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Mother? I asked Anatoly for her,” Simeon grits, pounding his own chest. “Anastasiya was given our blessing. She became mine. She became free.”
I want to smile. The selfish man, who always loved me without contingency, wants to believe I’m free. Hell, not even I want that. I’ll never be free because his love is my drug.
“Oh, moy syn, Anatoly blessed her, dah. But no one asked me. Before you were, I was Tsar.”
Chapter 43
Simeon
Ask me if my mother is out of her fucking mind. As a kid, I’d say nyet. I’d present facts:
Anatoly manipulated her.
Brainwashed her.
He ruined a certain part of her cognition. Not all of her, just the part designated for a really good man to love. Shit, even I saw Anastasiya as a blessing and not just a piece of pussy I couldn’t let go of.
Ask me about her sanity today. My mother has lost it.
“What do you mean, you were Tsar? Make this shit make sense now or walk!”
A flicker of a smile creases her mouth. “I could come to Anatoly with a cup filled with poison and tell him so. Tell him he’d be dead before he finished, order him to drink of it. He would.”
Around me, all the men are staring at the ground, unsure how to respond. Anastasiya is glued to her ranting.
“Our Asya was to have that hold on you, Simeon.”
I glare at her, the declaration echoing in my ears.
“Oh, nyet, my beautiful boy. She would never kill you. She did succeed in loving you enough. The little Castle Girl didn’t have it in her to follow through with orders.”
“The revealing dresses,” Anastasiya snarls. “The ‘talk to Simeon because his feelings are hurt.’ He was my friend. He was fucking traumatized by you and Anatoly.”
“Let me finish.” My mother lifts her stilettos again, and I’m slightly satisfied by her being agonizingly cold. “You forced this upon me, all of you!”
“Then finish,” I speak up.
She lifts her gaze and mutters to herself, “Alright, why the hell not? My brother was loaded, drunk, and high on cocaine when he raped me before the eyes of Vassili, his mother, and Grigor and Danny. God, in that moment, he did not see me as his sister but as an ally of Vassili’s mother. His enemy. I hated the very blood in our veins for it. Then I found out I was pregnant.”
Somehow, I glance over at Anastasiya. Her tiny arms are wrapped around me. Our roles have changed. She’s offering all the necessary support I attempted to aid her with a while ago. That mudak raped my mother. I could always tell when she was lying. One time, I had snapped after Anatoly had come to see her. She’d replied that these things had to be done. But that was a lie. She loved it. Somewhere along the lines, she learned to love it.
“Abortion was never an option. A Resnov more Resnov than us all. We had created perfection. A pureblood. And I was its mother. I was blessed with a pregnancy and then blessed with a male heir. Anatoly was so proud. And he loved me for it, for you, Simeon. I was rearing the next heir, his son. Because of that, Anatoly would do whatever I said. Whatever I wanted. I had the power. I was the true leader.”
I bite back the bile rising in my throat. “Keep
going,” I growl.
“I’m freezing!” Sofiya’s teeth chatter, and she shakes. “Let’s discuss this without all these extra—”
“I’d like to stick around, Tsar,” Kirill states.
I nod. “Everyone stays.”
“Absurd.” Sofiya shakes her shoulders, and snow descends. “When I went to Anatoly, in tears, and told him what beauty we made. Simeon, you have no idea how much Anatoly loved you. Blood of his blood. Our blood.”
“Loved him!” Anastasiya gasps. “Anatoly punched, kicked, attacked Sim every chance he got—”
“I said he loved him!” Sofiya snarls. “Loved our boy more than the rest of his children. Because our syn was a pure Resnov.”
“I’m sure you gave Anatoly that idea. Like drinking poison, right?” Asya grips my hand to show our solidarity.
My father loved me? I assess Sofiya for lies, but she snaps, “Anatoly loved him. But Simeon had to grow to be great. The Resnovs have to be devoted to our own ascension. None of Anatoly’s other children could compare to ours. That meant a father who didn’t spare discipline.”
“You’re vicious,” Asya says crossly.
“I am. I molded my son into the next in succession. Anatoly had to hate Simeon. And I had to assist with that by fucking my brother. So, there’s that.”
“I bet you learned to love it,” Asya growls.
“You’re saying that monster loved me?” I ask. People love things and other people. It’s a concept. This is unfathomable.
“Dah. Then Anastasiya came into our lives. A vessel. Like I said, you were to help me curve Simeon a little further. The perfect Tsar, unyielding.”
“I would never,” Anastasiya mutters.
“How?” I ask. The workings of my mother’s psyche are beyond conceivable.
“As Anastasiya has already expressed. Look pretty, console you when I curved Anatoly’s action.”
“When you controlled your brat?” I retort.
“Sim, this is not for the male species to comprehend.” Sofiya shakes her head. “The art of the female. You’ll be happy to know that our Anastasiya has only ever had your best interest at heart, which brings us up to speed. It’s unfortunate. She was to be my protégé. I’d shape and control her. She wasn’t pliable enough. She was too interested in falling in love than learning true wiles. Her innocence did captivate you. But that was only one part of the plan. Captivation. Influence—my influence.”
“I’d never!” Asya growls.
“Thus, we are here! Because you never fulfilled your duty, Anastasiya. You became their family. Luka and Kirill’s little friend. Simeon’s love.” Sofiya’s eyes blaze through Anastasiya with more to tell.
What more?
I glance at Anastasiya, and she’s as oblivious as me and the rest of my byki.
“When you say Anatoly blessed her, that was all. I allowed Simeon to love you and keep you. Then I dropped a little notion into Anatoly’s ear. I’d grown tired of waiting for Anastasiya to mold to my will. Like inferring that perhaps our Anastasiya was not a fucking virgin. He was to test you.”
I’m in my mother’s face in a second. “He touched her!”
My mother’s face tilts. “It was a simple test. You came running.”
Anastasiya grips at my hand, pulling me back.
“Anatoly fingered her cunt. Get over yourself, moy syn. You begged for this farce.”
“Shut up already!” Anastasiya shouts at her while heaving against me with all her might.
“Nyet. Keep magnifying your punishment,” I threaten.
My mother’s entire body shakes. With her hands fisted at her sides, she declares, “I want to die. The man I loved more than life itself is dead.”
“What happened to Anatoly raped you? To the disgust?!”
“We. Fell. In. Love.”
“Oh yeah? Anatoly had a whole lot of love to give, suka. You love no one!” Asya snarls.
“How dare you, little girl! I thought Simeon might not understand as a man. Don’t be so daft, Asya. Connections, Asya. Anatoly touched you, and Simeon was ready to die because of it. Don’t be so full of yourself. He touched you for me.”
Asya gasps, “What if—”
“Nyet, my daughter. You failed me.” Sofiya points a stiff hand at her own chest. “Anatoly taught Simeon tough love. Instead of being a facet for moy syn to reign with time, you weakened him! Your disappearance was the final key to his training since you weren’t manipulatable. You’ve always hated the Bratva, Asya.”
My woman nods. “But I stayed for Sim.”
“Correction. Had you stayed, you’d have become a variable. A division. You’d do anything for Simeon, and he’d do anything for you. Such as discounting all the work I did!”
“So, it’s all about you, Mother.” I glare in disgust.
“Dah, if you believe so,” she mumbles. “I suppose the death of my grandchild is also on Asya’s head. Had she been trainable then I wouldn’t have needed to—”
“Kirill, you get the names of every Armenian out of this woman as she walks, and you take a long fucking drive. Now,” I growl to my cousin, cutting off my mother’s blaming words. I never met my Angel. I will never forgive Sofiya.
“Dah, Kazen,” Kirill grunts.
My fingers brush along Asya’s frozen ones. “Let’s go.”
She nods.
My mother flies into a rage. At my command, the byki hold her back. I continue to address Kirill. “Tell me the second my mother falls to her knees. The moment she lays in the snow. The length of time it takes her to stop breathing.”
“How dare you, Simeon. You were coached to be the perfect vessel! I made you,” Sofiya hisses as I open the back door for my woman. “Get back here.”
“All this time, you were my first real mother. First real mother!” Anastasiya shouts.
“I was the best mother you could ever have!” is the last thing my mother hurls at Anastasiya as I slide in the seat beside her.
Dysfunctional as it may be, I needed this. I look her over, regretting yet believing she needed it too.
“How do you feel, moya milaya?”
“Alive.” She lets out a pent-up breath.
“Good. The Armenians will be taken care of. And speaking of Armenians . . . I cannot promise that I’ll ever apologize to Rudolf’s family. It would paint the Bratva in a weak light. But you know my sentiments, Anastasiya.”
“Yes,” she murmurs. “You’re remorseful . . . in your own way.”
“Good. One more person left to go. Then we can start our happily ever after, dah?” Again, I look her over. I hate to acknowledge that my mother’s last statement was a low blow. Everything she said was like a serrated knife through the heart. But when Anastasiya is ready to learn more about her parents, the truth is hers to be had.
She smiles at me. Eyes twinkling, content. “Let’s get all of this over. I think an HEA is in the cards—no parents included.”
“HEA?” I arch a brow.
Though this day was trying, there’s a sparkle in her eye when she says, “Means ‘happily ever after,’ Sim. You’re the literature freak, remember?”
Chapter 44
Anastasiya
Have you ever had one of those dreams where you’d stay asleep a while longer if you had that type of control? It’s enticing, dangerous, sexy. You’d awaken later, panties soaking wet. But for now, you were torn between the delight of staying a while.
Simeon’s broad chest epitomizes power against my back. Desire stirs warm in my core while he drops kisses on the nape of my neck. The rough padding of his fingers shapes my already hardened nipples into taut, focal points of delicious pain.
As I moan, I connect gazes with someone watching us.
Black leather strains over the muscles of a man, standing at our window. A leather mask covers the stranger’s entire face, only leaving gorgeous blue gems and a pleasantly twisted mouth.
I wonder who he is. My curiosity melds into deja vu. Simeon’s fingers trail
down my throat. His mouth nips at my neck so delicately. Every time I open my mouth to warn him of the voyeur, only a moan floats from my lips. With each moan, the magnetizing stranger appears closer to us. When my mouth opens to speak again, the stranger’s tongue brushes mine. His mouth tastes of champagne. I pull away slightly, turning my attention toward Simeon, whose fiery kisses weaken my legs. Shutters ribbon across my skin as the stranger nips the junction of my neck and shoulder. His hand slides up my stomach, steadying me before descending toward my breast.
“Sim . . .” I breathe heavily, hearing the undoing of a belt buckle behind me. This is a dream, I tell myself. Because Simeon doesn’t share. Or maybe I’m imagining us in one of those erotic stories I beg him to read to me.
As I attempt to think it through, they descend on their knees with me sandwiched between. My eyes close. The sumptuous feel of lips trail against my neck, spine, breasts, and lower back. I lean against the stranger, scraping my nails across Simeon’s shoulders as Simeon breathes in my sex.
Again, I call Simeon’s name, but his mouth is playing a game, teasing, flicking, tasting my inner thighs, everywhere except for satiating this carnal need. I know that the second his mouth brushes across my clit and throbbing lips, the danger stirring in my stomach will disappear. I’ll welcome Simeon’s touch and the stranger’s touch.
Simeon’s mouth frames my pussy. The stranger wraps an arm around me, kneading my nipple. My body starts to turn around. I tell myself to stop, but those champagne kisses intoxicate me.
“Sim . . .” I groan as he positions himself behind me. His hands drag smoothly down my spine. My arch is refined as his cock enters me.
Suddenly, the stranger is sitting before me, fingers massaging at my scalp as sweltering heat builds in my core. The outsider runs his hand along my frame. My senses are flooded as his fingers draw along the inside of my thigh while Simeon fucks me from the back. Then he drags his fingers over my clit, swirls my juices around.