Page 3 of BRATVA'S Killer Bride
Because this is going to burn everything. The deal. The truce. Me. And in the space of a heartbeat, I stopped being an executioner, and fell for the Killer Bride.
Sienna
My heart slams against my ribs as I stare at this stranger, the knife still slick in my palm, its weight a grounding force amid the chaos unraveling inside me. Blood drips from the blade onto the carpet, each drop soaking into the fibers like an accusation, but I refuse to lower my guard.
His words hang in the air, that feral grin splitting his face, and something primal stirs in my chest, a mix of fear and unwelcome curiosity. He stands there, tall and shadowed, his dark suit hugging a frame built for violence, not the bloated indulgence of the man now cooling at my feet. Those gray eyes lock onto mine, not with shock or disgust, but with a hunger that mirrors the storm brewing in my veins.
I tighten my grip on the knife, my breath coming in shallow pulls, the metallic tang of blood filling my nostrils and coating my tongue. The room feels smaller with him in it, the dim light casting harsh angles across his sharp jaw and the faint scar tracing his cheekbone. He moves closer, like a predator sizing up an equal, and I force myself to hold his gaze, refusing to let my legs buckle under the weight of what I’ve just done.
Andrey's body lies between us, a grotesque barrier, his blood staining my dress in patterns that feel like war paint, not ruin. This man doesn’t flinch at the sight; instead, his lips curve slightly, as if the carnage amuses him. Or worse, excites him.
"Who are you?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel, the words slicing through the heavy silence. My skin prickles under his scrutiny. Heat flushes up my neck despite the chill settling in my bones.
He tilts his head, studying me, and I catch the faint scent of him, clean and sharp, like pine and gunmetal, cutting through the reek of death. Part of me screams to lunge, to end this intrusion before it spirals further, but another part, darker and unbidden, wants to hear what he’ll say next. His presence commands the space, drawing me in even as every instinct warns me to run.
"Daniil," he replies, his voice low and rough, laced with an accent that rolls like distant thunder.
He steps over Andrey's leg without a glance down, closing the distance until I can feel the warmth radiating from his body contrasting the cold dread twisting in my gut. My pulse races from the way his eyes trace the blood on my skin, lingering on the curve of my collarbone where a splatter has dried into a scarlet streak.
"And you, Sienna Vasiliev, have just made my night infinitely more interesting." He reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. The touch is electric, sending a jolt through me that I can’t suppress.
I swallow hard, the knife trembling slightly now from the intensity of his nearness. His hand lingers, thumb grazing my cheek and smearing a faint trace of blood there. I hate how my body responds, a traitorous warmth pooling low in my belly. This is madness, standing here in a wedding gown facing a man who walked into this slaughterhouse like it was his domain. Yet his touch feels like a claim, possessive and unyielding, and for the first time tonight, I wonder if escape was ever truly an option.
"What do you want?" I demand, my voice gaining strength, while my mind races with possibilities, each one darker than the last.
He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through the air between us, and leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear.
"You," he murmurs, the word wrapping around me like silk threaded with steel. "I came to kill him, but now? Now I want the woman who did it first."
His hand slides to my wrist, not forcing the knife down, but holding it there, our fingers entwined around the hilt in a macabre intimacy. My breath catches, the world narrowing to this point of contact, the heat of his skin searing into mine. I should pull away, strike out, but the darkness in his eyes mirrors my own and pulls me under. And in this blood-soaked moment, I realize I’m not prepared, or able, to fight him.
The door remains closed, the guards outside silent in their eternal vigil, and the city lights flicker beyond the window like distant stars indifferent to our sins. Daniil's grip tightens just enough to remind me of his strength but there’s no threat in it. Only promise.
My mind flashes to the life I left behind. My father's betrayal, the cousins who might hunt me now for disrupting their fragile alliances. But here, with this stranger's gaze devouring me, I feel alive in a way I never have. The woman in me awakening to something new, something dangerous and intoxicating. He pulls me closer, our bodies inches apart, the blood on my dress brushing against his black shirt, marking him as mine in this twisted union.
"Tell me," he whispers, his lips hovering near mine, "do you regret it?"
His free hand traces the edge of my jaw, tilting my face up to his, and I search those gray depths for deceit but find only raw desire. My heart thunders a rhythm of defiance and surrender, and I shake my head slowly, the truth spilling out.
"No," I answer, the word sealing whatever fate we have just forged.
His smile widens, predatory and approving, and as his mouth claims mine in a kiss that tastes of blood and destiny. I let the knife slip from my fingers, softly landing on the floor beside Andrey's corpse.
With this kiss, the world burns and I burn with it. I’m no longer the soft bride to an evil man, but the queen of my own dark realm.
Daniil
Her lips crash against mine, fierce and unyielding, tasting of salt and the sharp tang of blood that lingers on her skin. I devour her like she's the only air I've ever needed. The kiss ignites something feral inside me, a fire that spreads through my veins, making my blood roar with a hunger I've never known. She's not soft or fragile like the women I was ith in the past.
Sienna presses into me with the same lethal grace she used to slit Andrey's throat. Her body molds to mine in a way that feels both inevitable and utterly destructive. My hands roam her back, fingers tangling in the blood-stiffened lace of her dress, pulling her closer until there's no space left between us, only the heat of her curves and the rapid beat of her heart echoing mine. I break the kiss just enough to gasp for breath, my forehead resting against hers, our eyes locked in the dim gold light that paints us both as sinners.
I can't tear my gaze from her, from the way her chest heaves with each ragged inhale. The crimson splatters on her skin like badges of honor she wears without shame. My thumb traces the line of her jaw, smudging the dried blood there, and she doesn't flinch. Instead, she leans into my touch, her brown eyes darkening with a mix of defiance and desire that mirrors the storm raging in my chest.
The knife lies forgotten on the floor beside Andrey's cooling corpse, but the danger hasn't vanished; it's shifted. It coilsbetween us like a living thing, ready to strike or bind us together. I want to claim every inch of her, to erase the ghost of that pig's touch with my own, but I force myself to pull back slightly, my mind racing ahead to the chaos we've just unleashed. The guards outside are dead, but more will come. Questions will rise, and this fragile moment could shatter under the weight of the Bratva's unforgiving gaze.
"Who sent you?" she whispers, her voice husky from our kiss, her fingers still clutching my shirt as if anchoring herself to me in this blood-soaked room. I can feel the tremor in her touch, not fear exactly, but the aftershocks of what she's done, and it only makes me want her more. This killer bride who's upended my world in a single night.
I cup her face in my hands, tilting it up so she sees the truth in my eyes, the raw need that strips away every layer of my calculated control.
