Page 74 of Little Blue

Oh God, he isn’t going to have to kill me because I’m already dying.

My heart—taken one too many hits—is failing me.

“Fuck.” Ilya scoops me into his arms again, even though this time I try to fight him. Like all the times before, I’m no match.

But unlike the times before, this panic can’t be subdued.

I don’t know how we travel from the kitchen to his bedroom. I don’t see my surroundings, don’t even register that Lucy is there or that Ilya is standing with me beneath a spray of cold water in the shower, Lucy perched on the lid of the toilet seat, yellow eyes wide.

Sensing I’m coming to, Ilya sets me gently on my feet. His hands come to either side of my face, tilting my face up so he can peer into my eyes. I feel so incredibly raw.

“I wasn’t ready to tell you,” he says gently. Even though his voice is gentle, there’s a roughness to it that makes me think he’s—could he be afraid?

But of what?

Suddenly, it dawns. My heart gives another unsteady lurch in my chest. Was he keeping his blood ties to the Russian mafia secret because he was afraid that, if I did manage to escape him, I’d tell someone? Scream it from the highest rooftop I could find?

Oh God—does he mean to kill me now?

Can he take the risk that keeping me alive would pose?

“Are you—” I stutter, swallow, and begin to shiver again. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Christ.” He bites out. “No, Irelynn. I will never kill you. I could never kill you.”

At a loss, I shake my head. His blue eyes bore into mine, as though he’s drilling for the core of my soul.

My shaking intensifies. He leans over me to adjust the temperature of the water.

Capturing my face between his big palms once again, he bends over to speak gently, as though he’s talking to a frightened puppy who’s been kicked one too many times. And I have been kicked. Life has kicked me over, and over, and over again.

“Listen to me, Irelynn. I will never harm you. You could spend the last drop of my patience, betray me, tear my beating heart from my chest and I. Would. Still. Love. You.”

“You don’t love me.” My teeth are chattering even though the water is warm now. My clothes are still cold. Icy cold. They cling to me like a second skin.

“I love you like I’ve loved nothing else.”

“You’re obsessed—” I stutter through my shivers. “That’s not—l-love.”

At this point, I’m not sure if I’m cold or if my nerves are just shot and this is adrenaline. Or maybe it’s an adrenaline crash.

Jeez, I’m not even sure why I’m trying to convince my captor that what he feels for me isn’t love, but obsession. Maybe he’ll hurt me if he realizes.

Ilya just sighs. “You’ll understand in time.” His eyes sweep over my face. “Fuck. Your lips are turning blue.” He leans beyond me again to adjust the temperature. On the toilet seat, Lucy watches us closely. “I’m going to undress you now. I need to get you warm.”

I don’t have it in me to object. He’s seen me naked more than once. He’s touched me everywhere. He’s made me come unstitched in a way that has my body in a state of constant hunger for him.

Besides, I know him well enough now to know he wouldn’t listen if I objected, anyway.

Carefully, he strips me of my clothing until I’m standing only in my underwear beneath the hot spray of water. His eyes don’t rake over me with desire, but instead study me with worry. Even though I’m overstimulated, my mind overwhelmed, I can’t help but feel a tickle of soft response inside for the way he appears to care for me.

It hurts to know how damaged I am. How hungry I am for another person to care for me. How alone I’ve been for so long. How I can crave this monster’s affection even now, when I know he’s born of an evil I can’t even fathom. Because I am so shamefully desperate for someone, anyone, to care for me.

I can’t help it when a new swell of emotion surges inside me. It leaks from me in rivers of tears and torrents of sobs that has the monster before me gathering me into his big, strong arms, falling to his knees. He rocks me against his chest under the hot spray, and even though it’s messed up and entirely wrong, my violent sobs are soothed by the prison of his arms. Twisted as it is, in my new cage, I feel so impossibly adored. So. Impossibly. Loved.

Thirty-One

Ilya

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