Page 23 of Stalked & Bred by the BRATVA (Bred by the BRATVA #6)

I never thought safety would feel like this.

It isn’t soft or quiet. It doesn’t come wrapped in a smile or tucked inside gentle words. It’s solid and unshakable and built from the way Mikhail fills a room without asking permission. The way he looks at me like he’s already made every decision that matters.

And I’ve stopped pretending I don’t want it.

I’m still standing in front of the mirror when he takes the scrap of blue silk from my hand and wraps his arm around my waist. I can see us reflected together, his chest broad and unyielding in a dark grey T-shirt behind me, his palm spread over my hip, his eyes locked on mine like no one else exists.

The girl I was a month ago wouldn’t recognise herself. She’d think I’d been taken over.

Maybe I have.

He tilts his head down so his lips brush my ear. “You’re mine now.”

It isn’t a question. It isn’t a request. And for once, the thought doesn’t send me running to hide. It settles in my bones, steady and warm, like it’s where I’ve been heading all along.

But still, there’s this tiny, stubborn part of me that needs to know. That needs to hear him say the thing I’m almost too afraid to ask.

“Mikhail?” My voice sounds small, even though I try to make it stronger.

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand slides up my side, over my ribs where the bruises are finally fading. His touch is careful there, almost reverent, and it makes my chest ache in a way I’m not ready to name.

“Tell me,” he says, and it’s not gentle but it’s not unkind either. It’s command wrapped in concern.

I swallow hard, keeping my eyes on our reflection. “What if you change your mind?”

His entire body stills. The arm around my waist tightens like he’s bracing himself against something that might knock him over.

“About you?” His voice is lower now. “Impossible.”

“You don’t even know me,” I say, though it sounds weak even to my own ears. “Not really.”

He turns me in his arms so I’m facing him. The scrap of silk is still crumpled in his fist, but his other hand cups my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“I know you keep your perfume on the right side of the sink, not because you care where it is, but because you like feeling in control of something. Even something as small as a free sample.”

I blush, ashamed that I’ve never been able to purchase myself anything special.

“I know you hum when you iron, but you stop if anyone walks into the room. I know you still flinch when a door closes too hard, but you try to hide it like it’s shameful instead of proof you survived.

And I know…” He leans in closer, his mouth a breath from mine.

“I know you’re mine, even if you’re still learning what that means. ”

My throat tightens and I hate that my eyes burn. I don’t want to cry. Not now, not when he’s looking at me like that.

“You’re so sure,” I whisper.

“Because I don’t waste time doubting what I want.” His thumb strokes over my cheekbone, slow and deliberate. “And I want you. All of you. The scared parts. The stubborn parts. The parts you don’t let anyone see. They’re all mine.”

It’s the tenderness in his voice that does it, the softness I don’t think he gives to anyone else. It wraps around me just as tightly as his arms, making it impossible to hold myself apart from him.

I press my forehead to his chest and breathe him in. Cedarwood and leather and something darker, something I can’t name. His heartbeat is steady under my ear, strong enough that I feel it in my own chest.

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

His laugh is quiet, almost dangerous. “I’ll never let you go. Even if you asked me to.”

Instead of fear, the words settle into me like a promise I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear. Maybe it’s madness. Maybe I’m losing myself. But if this is what madness feels like, warm and certain and protected, I don’t want to be cured.

He tips my chin up until I’m looking at him again. “I don’t just want you safe, Sarah. I want you happy. And I will break anyone who tries to take either from you.”

Something deep in me loosens, and I realise that for the first time, Thom’s shadow doesn’t feel like it’s hanging over me. It’s gone. Mikhail took it and crushed it without me having to lift a finger.

I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the solid heat of him through his T-shirt. “Then prove it.”

His eyes darken. “Prove it how?”

“Stay,” I say, my voice steadier now. “Don’t go anywhere today. Just… stay with me.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath since the moment I spoke. “Done.”

When he kisses me, it’s different from before. Less about possession, more about sealing something between us. His mouth is warm and slow, coaxing instead of taking, and it makes me melt against him in a way I can’t fight.

By the time we break apart, my lips are tingling and my pulse is a drum in my ears.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says, brushing his thumb over my lower lip. “But you will.”

I smile—small, but real. “Maybe I do.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, the closest thing to a smile I’ve seen from him. “Then you should also know you’re not leaving this room today.”

And for once, the idea of being trapped doesn’t feel like a threat. It feels like the best place I could be.

He guides me to the bed, but it isn’t rushed. We sit, and he pulls me into his lap, my knees bracketing his hips. His hands settle at my waist like they’re meant to be there, thumbs drawing slow circles over my skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he says simply. “Not because I say so, but because it’s the truth.”

I feel heat rise in my cheeks, but I don’t look away. “Even when I don’t believe it?”

His grip tightens just enough to make me feel it. “Especially then.”

Something inside me clicks into place. I’ve spent so long shrinking myself, making myself small so I wouldn’t take up space in the wrong person’s world. But Mikhail doesn’t want me smaller. He wants all of me. Every inch, every flaw, every piece I’ve been told to hide.

And I think I’m ready to give it to him.

I lean in and kiss him, slow and sure, my fingers curling into his hair. His low growl vibrates against my mouth, and I realise I’ve just shifted something between us. This isn’t me being claimed, it’s me claiming him back.

When we part, he rests his forehead against mine. “There’s no going back now.”

“I don’t want to,” I say. And I mean it.

The future doesn’t feel like something I have to survive. It feels like something I can want. And Mikhail is the reason why.