Page 83 of Savage Reign

She makes a move to leave, but I slide a hand around her waist. “Go where? You belong in my bed. You’re my wife.”

A ragged breath slips from her. “This doesn’t change anything between us.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. This changes everything.” I grab her chin and force her to look at me.

“Niko…” Her voice is barely a whisper, holding emotions I can't decipher.

I exhale, moving an auburn strand of hair from her face. “You scared the shit out of me. I hated finding you like that,” I admit. My chest constricts, picturing her body, pale and shivering in the rain.

Fear gripped me in a way I haven’t felt since I was ten years old, and I came home to find Sergey pinned against the living room wall. Our mother’s latest boyfriend, a brute named Viktor, had Sergey by the throat, yelling about stolen money. I was too small to do anything but scream at him to stop, my voice cracking as I begged. I can still see the blood dripping from Sergey’s nose, the bruise forming on his cheek.

That helplessness and panic. It all rushed back the moment I saw Sofiya slumped against a tree.

“It was a mistake,” she admits. “I needed to get out of my head for a little while. To feel like I wasn’t trapped here.”

“Don’t ever risk your life like that again,” I say. “Emil has a broken nose because of it.”

Her eyes widen. “Are you kidding me!”

“He failed at his only job—keeping you safe.”

“It wasn’t his fault. I ran off before he could have stopped me.”

I shake my head. “That’s not how this works. If you’re under his watch, you’re his responsibility. End of story.”

Her mouth opens to argue again, but my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I glance at the screen. “I asked Dr. Safin to come back. I want her to look you over again this morning. She’s here now.”

Sofiya’s cheeks flush as her gaze darts to the rumpled bed. “She can’t come in here! It smells like… like…”

“Sex?” I offer, grinning.

She groans, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t want her to see me like this!”

I laugh. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

She rolls her eyes, muttering, “You’re impossible,” and moves to grab her clothes. But the moment she stretches, she winces.

“Ankle still sore?” I ask, softening my tone.

“A little.”

“Let me help you.” I scoop up her clothes and dress her carefully, pressing a soft kiss to her lips when I’m done. “I’ll give you space for the doctor to look you over, but when she’s finished, be ready for me to eat that beautiful pussy of yours for the rest of the day.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

SOFIYA

Nikolai hasn’t leftmy side in two days. He should be out running his empire—making deals, crushing rivals, and doing whatever it is bratva kings do. Instead, he’s holed up in bed with me, bringing me food, icing my ankle, indulging me with ‘90s horror movies (and a few action flicks because I’m generous), and even climbing into the bath with me.

And then there’s the sex. Honestly, I’m starting to think my ankle is the least of my problems. The way he keeps me pinned to the bed every chance he gets, it’s a miracle I can walk at all.

We’re living in a bubble, tangled in silk sheets and bad decisions, giving in to the attraction that’s been simmering for so long. But bubbles pop. And when this one does, I’m not sure where we’ll stand. He’s still on one side, and I’m on the other.

I’m still lying in bed, wrapped in sheets that smell like Niko, when he walks in with a tray piled high with food.

My heart does a stupid flip at the sight of him. He’s wearing nothing but gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, his dark tattoos stark against his skin, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing as he moves. He looks impossibly handsome for a man who was up most of the night with one hand buried in my hair and the other around my throat.

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