Page 21 of Stalked & Bred by the BRATVA (Bred by the BRATVA #6)

I wake with heat pressed into my back and the lingering scent of him in my lungs. For a second, I don’t move.

I just lie there, blinking into the morning light filtering through the tall windows, trying to remember what time is, who I am, what day it might be.

But my body remembers. God, does it remember.

I ache in places I didn’t know could ache. My thighs are sore, my core tender, and my skin is sticky with sweat and… something else.

I shift slightly and wince. There’s a strange, slippery sensation across my lower back.

Confused, I push the sheet aside and reach back with trembling fingers. When I bring them forward again, they’re glistening.

My breath catches. I know what this is. Heat floods my cheeks. He came on me. At some point while I was sleeping. Not in me. On me.

My lips part, a shiver rolling down my spine. I should feel embarrassed. Violated, maybe. But instead…

I feel something else.

Possessed.

Chosen.

My body burns with the memory of his hands, his voice, his mouth between my legs in the shower. And still, somehow, it wasn’t enough for him.

I rise slowly, the soreness deep and pulsing. Every step to the bathroom is unsteady, my legs still shaky from how thoroughly he ruined me.

What is happening to me? To us ?

This is more than sex. More than lust.

It’s something darker. Hotter. Like I’m being swallowed whole. Wrapped in him like a second skin.

I dry off with shaking hands and pull one of the shirts he left behind over my head. It smells like him. Like cedarwood and sin.

I step into the hallway just in time to hear his voice from downstairs.

Deep. Sharp. Controlled.

“…I want him watched. I don’t care what it takes. If he leaves that motel, I want to know. If he even looks in her direction, I want his fucking teeth in a bag.”

My breath catches.

He’s talking about Thom .

I know it in my gut.

There’s a long pause, then a quieter murmur. “She’s not going back. I don’t care what she thinks she wants. This is where she stays.”

I lean against the wall, heart thudding. He’s not just watching me. He’s protecting me. Obsessing over me. Keeping tabs on my brother like… like he’s preparing for something.

I don’t know whether to feel safe or scared. Maybe both.

I press my hand to my stomach, that fluttering ache still there, the memory of last night still blooming across my skin.

Mikhail Vasiliev is dangerous.

But he’s mine .

And some twisted, traitorous part of me doesn’t want to run. It wants to belong . I don’t go downstairs. Not right away.

I slip back into Mikhail’s bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet up around me like it might shield me from the whirlwind inside my chest.

He’s watching my brother. He’s threatening him. And I should be horrified. Should feel like I’ve stepped into something too dark, too violent, too far from the life I knew. But all I feel is seen.

Someone finally sees what Thom is.

And not just that. He’s doing something about it.

My chest tightens as I think of the bruise over my ribs, the one I’ve been nursing since the night Thom threw me out.

He said I’d be punished. Said I’d regret making him look bad. But the only regret I feel now is that I ever believed him. The ache between my legs is a different kind of soreness. The one blooming in my chest is far worse. Because I think I’m starting to need Mikhail.

Not just for the safety. Not just for the sex. But for the way he makes me feel like I belong somewhere.

Even if that somewhere is a little dangerous. Even if that somewhere wears a suit and watches me like I’m the first thing that ever made his world make sense.

I take a shaky breath and look around his room.

It’s clean. Masculine. Structured. But now, it smells like us .

The sheets are tangled from our bodies. The windows are fogged from our panting.

I’m not scared of my brother anymore. Thom doesn’t get to be in this room with me.

He doesn’t get to touch what’s mine, and Mikhail, for better or worse, is mine as much as I’m his.

It hits me then, the strangest rush of heat curling through me. I’m not powerless here. I’m choosing this. Choosing him. The difference is dizzying. I cross the room to look at my reflection in a floor length mirror.

For a moment, I just stare, almost expecting to see the same girl who arrived here weeks ago. Pale, hollow-eyed, afraid to take up space.

But the woman looking back at me is… different.

My hair isn’t scraped back tight anymore.

It falls loose around my shoulders, curling at the ends where it’s dried in soft waves.

My cheeks have colour, not from a slap or from crying, but from heat and food and the kind of rest I didn’t know I’d been missing.

My lips look fuller, curved in a way that feels unfamiliar, like they’ve learned how to want without shame.

The fading bruises on my ribs catch my eye, shadows of the past still clinging to me, but they’re lighter now, blending into skin that looks stronger. Healthier. I’m not as thin as I was when I came here. There’s a shape to my body again, curves I’d tried to hide for so long.

And my eyes… they’re the strangest part. Still wide, still watchful, but there’s something else there now. A spark. A glint of something I can’t quite name, maybe confidence, maybe hunger. Maybe both.

I realise I’m not looking for my brother in the mirror anymore. I’m not looking for his approval or bracing for his anger. I’m looking at me. And I like what I see.