Page 74 of Blood, Bones, and the Bratva Bogeyman

“She will live.”

Misha leans against the wall, folding his arms across his broad chest. “You are nesting, brat.”

I roll my neck along my shoulders before I snap someone’s neck. Preferably not the man who is like a brother to me. “I am securing my family.”

He snorts. “I do not think there is a difference right now.”

Cressida is upstairs doing . . . something. Probably staying out of the way of my bad mood. She doesn’t know yet that I’ve tripled her guard rotations again, that I’ve swapped out two men whose nerves I didn’t like, and that I’ve ordered a panic room to be built into the library. That is an argument I’m saving for later, when she is too tired to scream at me.

Misha blows out a heavy breath as he shakes his head. “You will smother her.”

“She can breathe when she is safe.”

He tilts his head, watching me through those eerily, blank eyes of his. “And when she tells you she does not want all of this?”

The look I give him is cold and final. “She will get it anyway.”

There are parts of me that has softened around Cressida, but I am still the same monster in my core. That will not change. Especially now that there are even more reasons to let that part of me out to play.

She knew who she was getting when she accepted our bond and agreed to be my wife.

That night, I don’t let her walk the halls alone. I shadow her, silent, always close enough to touch. At first, she pretends not to notice. My little fox is clever like that, letting me think I’m winning while she waits for her opening.

She reaches for the kettle, but I beat her to it, pouring the water myself.

“I can make my own tea,” she says flatly.

“I will make it better.”

Her lips curve sharply. “Oh? Magic Russian hands?”

Instead of answering her taunt, I continue to make her tea just the way she likes before sliding the mug toward her.

She takes a sip then sets it down, cutting her eyes to me. “You’ve added more guards.”

“Da.”

“Konstantin.” Her voice is a warning and plea at once.

“Da,” I repeat in a harder tone.

“You can’t keep me in a cage.”

“You are not in a cage,” I growl.

Her eyes flash, her ire spiking to match mine. “It feels like one.”

The fury coming from her buzzes under my skin. I should let her rage burn itself out, but I’m not build to let her win an argument about her own safety.

“You are carrying my child.” My voice sharpens. “The Reaper wants you dead. There is no compromise.”

Her hand slams against the counter, the sound echoing through the house. “You don’t get to decide for me.”

“I do when it is your life.” My throat tightens. “Our child’s life. Do you think I could go on if something happened to either of you?”

She sees it then, the fracture under my calm. The place where my soul will split if she falls.

Her fury doesn’t vanish, but I watch it soften. “You can’t protect me from everything, Konstantin.”