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Chapter 1

Siberian Beast

Vasiliyi

T he amber glow of the Moscow bar does nothing to soften the edges of the man I’ve become. Fresh prison ink brands my knuckles like a badge, each line spelling out what it took to survive Siberia’s most merciless hellhole. The suit I’m wearing is a lie—a polished veneer stretched over a beast who learned to thrive on blood and ice. Twelve months in a cage didn’t break me. It reforged me.

Tomorrow, I’ll be in New York, close to the family I bled for. But tonight, this vodka is the only thing keeping memories at bay. The snap of bones in my fists. The crunch of teeth against frozen concrete. The men who whispered their sins in the dark, thinking I’d absolve them.

The bartender carefully watches me from the corner of his eye, like he recognizes what I am.

Smart.

Siberia taught me that predators don’t need to roar to be dangerous. The kind of man who walks out of that place isn’t a man anymore—he’s an animal. Primal and lethal.

Then the door swings open, and wind follows her in.

Galina Olenko.

The name hisses through my brain like venom. Hatred blooms hot in my chest, cold around the edges, the way frost bites before it burns. She doesn’t belong here. Not in this hotel bar. Not breathing the same air as me.

Her face is a weapon. The desperate sharpness I remember has been honed into something even more tempting.

She moves through the bar like a blade slicing through silk, each step a cut designed to make me bleed. The soft clack of her heels hits my ears like gunfire. I grip the glass tighter, pretending I don’t see the way her green eyes skim the room, cool and unreadable. Pretending I don’t feel the way my body reacts, a sick betrayal that has me gritting my teeth so hard they might shatter.

I should hate her. Hell, Idohate her. This woman is the reason my sister was bruised and broken. The reason my niece wakes up screaming in the night. The reason I spent twelve months in a Siberian tomb, trading every last scrap of my soul to keep my family safe. And yet...

My gaze catches on her dress—a slinky, midnight-blue thing that whispers against her curves. It makes my jaw lock and my pulse pound. She’s poison wrapped in silk, and I want her like a dying man craves his last breath.

I drain the vodka, but it doesn’t burn enough to erase the hunger I feel. My hatred for her festers in my chest, black and rotting.

Something even darker coils beneath it.

Desire. A white-hot, burning need to possess her.

She shouldn’t have come here.

The air between us snaps tight as she glances my way. Those emerald eyes hold no fear as recognition hits her.

But they should. Every part of me wants to show her what I became. To press her up against the wall and punish her for every sin she committed. My hands curl into fists at my sides, shaking with restraint.

I rise, my body acting on instincts I can’t suppress. One step, then another. Her gaze flickers but holds steady as I stalk toward her, and damn it, I hate how good she looks standing in the wash of neon light.

She turns, slipping into the hallway that leads to the bathrooms without a word. It’s a taunt. My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches. But I follow.

Like I have a choice.

The lights in the bathroom are clinical and cruel. I don’t stop to check my reflection; I already know what I’ll see. A man whose soul has been stripped down to raw edges. A beast masquerading as a human.

The last stall door is locked.

A slow, dangerous smile that feels like baring my teeth spreads over my face. “Open, Galina,” I order, my voice low. “I’m not in the mood to play games.”

No answer. Just the sound of running water, a pathetic attempt to drown out the threat. My patience, thin as it is, snaps.

The door shatters beneath my boot.

Galina stands at the sink, auburn hair spilling over her shoulders, a curtain of fire against cool porcelain. Her hands grip the edge of the sink, knuckles white, but her spine is straight. Defiant. She’s always been good at that—masking fear with steel.

The water shuts off. She looks up, and I feel it like a bullet to the chest. That smile, dark and knowing, curves the edges of her lips. She’s playing me. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and worse, she knows that it’s working.

Her dress cascades down her statuesque frame, shimmering in the stark light. My body responds before my brain can stop it. Heat flares low in my gut, molten and violent, mixing with the rage I’ve carried for her for so damn long. A year of deprivation twists the desire into something sharp-edged, something almost painful.

“Do it,” she whispers, her voice like smoke curling through my veins. “Destroy me.”

My breath locks in my chest, my fists clenching at my sides. I should. God help me, I should. But instead, all I can think about is how pliant her lips would be on mine. How good it would feel to crush her to me, to take what she’s daring me to take.

I’m a man possessed. A man undone. And she’s the devil smiling back at me in a midnight-blue silk dress.

Her smirk carves its way under my skin, slicing through every ounce of restraint I have left. “What’s the matter, Vasiliy?” she taunts, her voice low, syrup-sweet and laced with venom. “Afraid of what you might do if you let yourself touch me?”

I place my hand on her throat, tightening my grip, just enough to feel the pulse of her life thundering against my palm. Her body presses into mine like she craves the violence simmering between us. It’s sick. It’s wrong. And yet, I can’t pull away.

“You think you’re safe?” I hiss, the words full of derision. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Galina.”

“Don’t I?” Her lips curve into a smile that’s pure sin, her eyes sparkling with challenge. “I know the way your hands are shaking. I know you’re so wound up you’d rather rip me apart than admit how much you want me.”

She’s toying with me, daring me to break. And fuck, I’m close.

“But you… you’re poison,” I rasp. My thumb strokes her jawline, almost unconsciously, and she shivers against me. “Beautiful. Deadly enough to destroy a man.”

Her laugh is soft, mocking, the kind that peels back my last layer of control. “Funny. I don’t remember you being so poetic before Siberia. Tell me, Vasiliy, did the cold make you softer or harder?”

The fire in her eyes doesn’t dim even as I press her against the sink, my body bracketing hers, every line of me searing against every line of her. My reflection in the mirror stares back, a stranger with burning eyes, a man teetering on the edge of destruction. She tilts her head slightly, studying me in that infuriating, calculated way that makes me want to drag her into hell with me.

“You want to play?” I snarl. “I don’t play nice, Galina.”

Her lips part, and for a second, I think she might apologize for trying to kill my sister. Beg for mercy. But instead, her voice comes soft and low. “Maybe I don’t want nice.”

The room feels smaller, the air hotter. Every instinct I have screams at me to walk away, to let her go before I do something I can’t take back. But my body—my traitorous fucking body—has other plans. It’s been too long. Too many nights spent drowning alone in the cold emptiness.

And now she’s here, offering herself to me, not with submission but with defiance. A woman daring a monster.

I raise my hand to her face, meeting her eyes with mine. “You have no idea what I want to do to you.” I cup her jaw, stroking it lightly. She’s purring, leaning into my hand, moving as I explore the line of her face. I slide the pad of my thumb to her ear, tracing the shell with a light caress, feeling her tremble under my touch.

“Show me.” The challenge slips from her lips like silk, her green eyes blazing. “Or are you too afraid of what will happen when you give in?”

“You should be afraid, Galina,” I drawl, tipping her chin up and forcing her to look at me. She whimpers, the sound tugging low in my belly. The slide of my hand down her arm leaves a trail of goosebumps in its path.

My control snaps like a frayed wire. The beast I’ve been holding back—starved, violent, and furious—comes roaring to the surface. My mouth crashes into hers with punishing force, all teeth and tongue, my fingers tightening on her throat. Her lips are soft, too soft, and they part beneath mine willingly like she’s been waiting for this just as much as I have.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a battle. A collision of anger and lust that makes my blood roar and my chest tighten. She bites my bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, and it sends a white-hot jolt straight through me.

“You’ll regret this,” I rasp against her mouth, my breath ragged. My hand slides from her throat to the curve of her waist, dragging her closer until every inch of her is pressed against me.

Her laugh is breathless, wicked, and full of victory. “Maybe. But you’ll regret it more.”

The truth of her words cuts deep, but I don’t care. Not when she feels like fire in my hands, like salvation and damnation all at once. Her body arches against mine, her nails digging into my shoulders, and I hate her for the way she makes me unravel. Hate her for the way I want to rip her apart and worship her in the same breath.

I tear my mouth from hers, panting, my hands still gripping her waist as though she might evaporate if I let go. Her chest heaves, her lips swollen and red, and she looks up at me with those fucking eyes—eyes that don’t just see me but wreck me.

“I should kill you,” I growl. “For everything you’ve done. For everything you’ve taken from me.”

Her smile is slow, knowing, and infuriatingly calm. “What’s stopping you?”

The answer catches in my throat, too dangerous to admit, even to myself. Because for all the hatred and fury burning inside me, there’s something else, too. Something I can’t name. Something that scares the hell out of me.

Her hand cups my jaw, her touch almost tender. “Face it, Vasiliy,” she whispers, her voice a caress. “You don’t hate me nearly as much as you wish you did.”

My hand tangles in her hair, yanking her head back, exposing her neck. My lips skim over the column of her throat, a silent promise and a warning all in one. “You’re wrong,” I roar. “I hate you more than you’ll ever understand.”

“Stop talking and fuck me already,” she hisses between breaths. “Or get out of here if you can’t bring yourself to do it.”

Arousal and rage boil beneath my skin, mixing into something as volatile as nitroglycerin. Her bluntness only stokes the desperate need to possess her. One flick of my wrist, and I could snap her neck. I know exactly how my muscles would shift—how they would twist to take her life.

Yet I don’t move.

I imagine her pale, slender neck blooming with bruises, and my mouth goes dry. When she presses herself harder against my dick, instinct slams through my body, a primal call I feel down to my goddamn bones.

Her eyes snap to mine, full of challenge.

My lips crash against her collarbone, biting a trail up the delicate line of her throat. Her soft gasp hits my ears like a drug, sparking something animalistic in my chest. It’s been a year since I’ve felt a woman—since I’ve been allowed to want. The sensation is almost too much, a full-body shock that threatens to snap the last thread of restraint I’m clinging to. Every nerve screams, every muscle tightens with need, and for a breathless second, I’m not a man—I’m the thing I became in that cage. Starved. Unleashed.

Heart racing, I slam my mouth to hers in a fiery rush, our breaths growing loud and sharp with pent-up hunger. Each taste, each touch ignites more emotions I refuse to acknowledge. What I’m doing isn’t about her or even desire. It’s about marking her.

Ripping my lips off hers, I grab her wrist and march us toward the counter. Barely sparing her a glance, I lift her ass onto the cold marble and tear her panties down her legs.

Fuck.

I’m going to come any moment now.

Her body’s calling, drawing me in like a siren. Gripping her hips, I drag her to the edge until she’s pressed against my aching length. She cries out, needy and desperate.

“Don’t make another sound,” I threaten, pressing a palm against her pussy.

Eyes shut, she doesn’t respond.

Good. Now, to finally have my fill.

Gripping her chin, I run my nose along hers, breathing her in. Anger still simmers under the surface, a never-ending burn.

I want to mark her the way she marked me.

I want her to bear the consequences of her actions.

But I change my mind at the last second, pulling the tip of my cock away from her glistening entrance.

Galina makes a small noise in complaint, but I shush her with a hand over her mouth. She catches my index finger between her teeth and gives it a nip. I can practically feel the smart-ass retort forming in her mouth. Thankfully, she doesn’t give it a voice, but her tongue sneaks out to lick my finger instead.

Fucking hell.

One thrust, and I will be inside her.

Using my free hand, I take out a foil packet from my pocket and hand it to her.

“Get. That. On.”

Every word sounds like a slap in the face, brutal and unfeeling, and yet Galina’s gaze only darkens with lust. With a need that mirrors my own.

I barely stop myself from cursing.

Even now, she’s pushing me beyond the edge, demanding I give her more and more when it should already be too much. She’s an open wound I can’t possibly heal.

I draw in a deep breath, focusing on the smooth marble beneath my fingertips. On the scent of wine and lemon cleaning product. I rein in my thoughts until the hurricane in my head quiets to a mild winter breeze.

Patience. Control.

It all shatters when Galina’s fingers touch my cock, slipping the condom on before pushing the tip inside her.

Time stills. Only the thunder of my heart beats in my ears as I let the sensations wash over me.

Warmth surrounds me, embracing me so tightly, I’m afraid I’ll lose my damn mind to this pleasure. Sweat beads on my forehead. When I push into her fully, a guttural sound tumbles from my lips, revealing far too much. Holding on to a shred of my sanity, I retreat and then ram back inside her, my desperation bordering on feral.

There are no sweet nothings.

No whispered prayers.

Just ragged breaths, broken moans, and grunts punctuating each violent thrust.

Never have I stood this close to death, not with death herself writhing in my fucking hands. Galina’s always been a blade, but now she’s honed to something crueler—serrated, meant to carve me from the inside out. And the worst part? She isn’t even flinching. Her eyes burn with defiance, lips slick with sin, while her tongue—fuck, that goddamn tongue—is dragging over my finger like she’s tasting how far she can push me before I snap. Every flick is a dare. A promise. A threat. And I’m right there, trembling on the edge, ready to either destroy her or fall to pieces.

Tightening my grip around her throat, I hold her still as I thrust into her balls deep. “There’s only one way I will fuck you,” I growl as I bury myself deeper and deeper into her. Harder. Faster. “Rough and merciless.”

Underneath my grip, I feel the muscles in her neck strain. She moves against me, urging me on with more friction, pressure, and desperation, her tight channel convulsing around me in a powerful release. But she doesn’t slow down.

Fucking hell. If I don’t regain control, she’ll be the end of me.

The tempo of my strokes sharpens and increases until beads of sweat drip down my back and temples. Yet no matter how hard I thrust, Galina doesn’t cry out. Her eyes are locked on mine, and I let the storm raging inside me unleash, claiming her like the beast she’s created. Like I’m trying to break her body.

Like I’m trying to break her soul.

Mine is long gone.

The past year has seen to that.

My release is a hurricane, cutting through all coherence and leaving behind only the twisted web of need wrapping around my flesh.

By the time I finally slow down, I’ve barely enough energy left to push her back against the cold tiles, dislodging myself from her.

Satisfaction floods my veins. A fitting epilogue to this blood-soaked chapter of my life—finding redemption or damnation in the arms of my enemy.

Galina sprawls before me, wrecked and radiant, her mask shattered beyond repair. What’s left is raw—untamed hunger and defiance threaded through the wreckage. Her emerald eyes still burn like she’s plotting rebellion, even as her body hums with the proof of surrender.

I drag my thumb across her mouth, smearing what’s left of her lipstick like blood on a battlefield. Her ruined panties dangle from my fingers, a warped souvenir of the damage we just did. I offer them back like a dare, and her smile—twisted and knowing—hits me like a knife between the ribs.

She’s daring me to want more.

To fall harder.

To lose again.

This should be the end. We are gasoline and flame—violent, volatile, destined to burn everything down. But then she tilts her head, her voice a husky purr that lands like a gunshot to the gut.

“Your room or mine?”

The question isn’t innocent. It’s a goddamn grenade.

And just like that, every bit of resolve I have goes up in smoke.