Page 17 of Hostage of the Russian
“Entirely,” Kostya replied, his voice deceptively calm despite the anger she could see simmering beneath the surface. “Almost as necessary as this conversation about you disappearing from my home without permission.”
“Your home,” she emphasized, gathering her books with sharp, irritated movements that betrayed her own emotional state. “Not mine. I don’t recall signing any papers that made me a permanent resident rather than a prisoner.”
“Our home,” he corrected with infuriating patience, “as befits our marital status. A status you seem determined to ignore, despite the very real legal documents that establish our relationship.”
Azriel faced him directly, defiance flashing in her gray eyes like lightning in a storm. “I have finals in two weeks. Did you expect me to abandon my degree because of your arrangement with my father? Four years of work, thousands of dollars in student loans, my entire future, was I supposed to just throw all of that away?”
The question seemed to catch him off guard, and she pressed her advantage. “You did your research, didn’t you? You’re familiar with my GPA, major, and thesis topic. Did you really think I’d simply walk away from all of that to play house with the man who kidnapped me?”
For a moment, Kostya didn’t respond, and Azriel could see him reassessing the situation, perhaps realizing that his thorough investigation had revealed the facts of her academic life without truly considering what those facts meant to her personally.
“I expected you to behave like someone who understands her situation,” he replied finally, his tone measured and controlled. “Not someone foolish enough to run.”
“I didn’t run,” she said, slinging her messenger bag over her shoulder with a gesture that was both practical and defiant. “I went to class. There’s a difference, though I can see how someone like you might not appreciate the distinction.”
“Without permission.”
“I wasn’t aware I needed to file a formal request to continue my education,” she shot back. “Should I have submitted it in triplicate? Would you have preferred an official memorandum?”
Her calm defiance clearly irritated him more than tears or pleading would have. She could see it in the tightening around his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw that suggested he was unused to being challenged so directly.
“You need permission to leave the house,” he stated flatly. “For anything. That was made clear in our initial discussion.”
“That’s not happening,” she replied with equal flatness. “I have three classes this semester, plus weekly meetings with mythesis advisor. All of them require attendance for credit. I’m not throwing away four years of work because you and my father made a deal that conveniently ignored my existence as an actual person with goals and commitments.”
Before Kostya could respond, the classroom door opened and Professor Mercer entered, her arms full of folders and her expression slightly harried. She paused when she noticed them, her keen academic eyes taking in the scene with obvious concern.
“Everything all right here?” she asked, her gaze darting between them as she noted the tension crackling in the air.
Azriel opened her mouth to speak, but to say what, she wasn’t entirely sure. However, Kostya beat her to it, his entire demeanor undergoing a remarkable transformation that was both impressive and deeply unsettling to witness.
The cold edge disappeared from his voice, replaced by warm charm that flowed like honey. His posture shifted subtly, becoming more approachable, less predatory. Even his smile changed, becoming genuine and disarming rather than sharp and threatening.
“Perfect timing,” he said, and if Azriel hadn’t known better, she would have believed he was genuinely pleased by the interruption. “You must be Professor Mercer. Azriel speaks so highly of you and your classes.”
The professor blinked, clearly taken aback by both his presence and the sudden shift in atmosphere. “And you are?”
“Kostya Nikolai,” he replied, extending his free hand while keeping the other firmly on Azriel’s shoulder, his fingers warm through the fabric of her sweater. “Azriel’s husband.”
Professor Mercer’s eyebrows shot up as she shook his hand, her surprise evident. “Husband? I wasn’t aware you were married, Azriel. This is quite a surprise.”
Kostya’s thumb began tracing small, almost absent circles on Azriel’s shoulder, the casual intimacy of the gesture making her breath catch unexpectedly. The touch was warm, distracting, and infuriatingly effective at making her hyperaware of his physical presence.
“Very recent,” he explained with a conspiratorial smile that suggested shared secrets and romantic spontaneity. “We were hoping to keep it quiet until after finals, didn’t want to create any unnecessary distractions during such an important time, but I couldn’t resist stopping by to see her in her element. She’s so passionate when she talks about literature.”
The transformation was absolutely astonishing. Gone was the intimidating criminal who had threatened her family and forced her into marriage. In his place stood a charming, devoted husband who looked at her with apparent adoration and spoke about her academic pursuits with genuine pride.
If Azriel hadn’t known better, if she hadn’t seen the other side of him, experienced firsthand his capacity for calculated cruelty, she might have believed the performance herself.
“Well, congratulations,” Professor Mercer said, her initial surprise giving way to warmth as she responded to Kostya’s charm. “Though I must say, it’s quite a surprise. You’ve been rather private about your personal life, Azriel.”
“When you know, you know,” Kostya replied, pulling Azriel closer to his side with easy familiarity. His fingers brushed against her neck in a gesture that appeared loving but felt like a warning, a reminder of his ability to control even this innocent interaction. “Isn’t that right, darling?”
Azriel forced a smile that felt like it might crack her face. “It certainly was... unexpected.”
“Love often is,” Professor Mercer agreed with a soft smile, clearly charmed by what she perceived as a romantic story. “How did you two meet? If you don’t mind my asking. I’m always fascinated by how couples find each other.”
“Family connection,” Kostya replied smoothly, his hand sliding down to rest at the small of Azriel’s back, the warmth of his palm seeping through her thin sweater and making her acutely aware of every point of contact between them. “Her father and I have known each other for years, and moved in some of the same circles. But it wasn’t until recently that Azriel truly caught my attention.”
