Page 32 of Unveiled

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “If you want to label it, neither of you will leave without my permission. Neither of you will roam this house freely until I know you’re trustworthy. I won’t have you ruining things, leaving fingerprints on my table, touching things that don’t belong to you, or making me lose sleep because you’re impulsive.”

I cross my arms, making a sound of disgust. “Do you think treating us like this will make us warm up to you?”

Semyon growls, his voice dangerously low. “Do you think Icare? Do you think I wanted to run out in the middle of the night, in the rain, dragging your brother into this mess?”

I flinch slightly at the rawness in his voice, but his words keep coming, sharp and cutting.

“I don’t,” he snaps, his tone softening only slightly. “But it’s my responsibility. I take care of what’s mine.”

My chest tightens at his words—what’s mine.

I don’t want to be his. I don’t want Stefan to be his responsibility. But some traitorous part of me, the part that’s so damn tired of fighting, clings to the word responsibility like a lifeline.

“Fine,” I say, crossing my arms. “But if you think treating us like this will make us trust you, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches, but he doesn’t respond.

We drive in silence. I glance back at Stefan, whose eyes are closed. He’s snoring softly.

When we arrive at the house, Semyon parks and turns off the engine. I kneel on the seat to gently shake Stefan awake. “Honey… we’re home.”

He doesn’t stir.

“Watch your foot,” Semyon barks at me. “You’re going to scuff the?—”

Something inside me snaps. I plant my muddy shoe on his pristine console and smear it across the surface.

In one swift motion, his palm slams against my ass. My breath catches in shock.

“What did I tell you about acting like a child?” he snaps, his voice low and lethal.

“Hey!” I gasp, my cheeks flaming. Something dark and unfamiliar flares in my chest.

Between my thighs.

My body betrays me, heat pooling in places I want to ignore. His gaze pins me in place, his tone leaving no room for argument, a promise there’s more where that came from.

Oh god.

“Anya, turn around and sit properly before I spank you again,” he growls. “And clean up the mess you made.”

I huff indignantly but grab the tissue he hands me to wipe the console. Itwaschildish. Still, I hate the smug look on his face as I obey.

“I need to wake him up,” I mutter.

“No,” Semyon says, his tone clipped. “He’s a child and exhausted. I’ll carry him upstairs.”

And then he’s out of the car, pulling Stefan into his arms like he weighs nothing. I want to hate him—Idohate him—but the way he holds my brother, careful and steady, breaks something inside me.

Stefan looks so small in his arms, so fragile. He’s always been too thin, no matter how much I’ve tried to feed him. He grows like a weed, but there’s never enough.

Semyon carries him toward the house with his back straight, his movements precise. I feel an ache in my chest born ofgrief and relief, opposing feelings but holding the same space somehow.

“I’ll put him in the second room on the right,” Semyon says, his voice cold. He glances back at me, his eyes sharp and half-lidded. His voice drops an octave as if trying not to wake my brother.

“When you come upstairs,” he murmurs, “I want you waiting in your bedroom.” I stare at him.

“I want your clothes off, Anya.”

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