Peter

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I set a brisk pace, determined to get back to the house quickly. Already, the sky is darkening on the horizon, the air cooling and thickening. The storm is coming faster than predicted; we have maybe a couple of hours before it hits, and I can’t ping the guys to pick us up. After dropping me off, Anton took the helicopter to pick up a few supplies in Tokyo, and he wouldn’t be back in time.

I should’ve chosen some other day for this demonstration.

Oh, well. No point in worrying about it now. As we get to a flatter part of the trail, I pick up the pace further, and Sara shifts her grip on me, looping her arms around my neck as she leans forward.

“Is this okay?” she murmurs in my ear, and I nod.

“Fine. Just don’t choke me,” I tell her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to let me down? Because I’ve rested now and I can walk—”

“You’ll slow us down.”

My tone is brusque, but I’m not inclined to waste my breath on speaking. Not because my little bird is heavy—at barely fifty kilos, she weighs less than the packs I jog with when I train—but because I can’t afford to go any slower. The wind is gusting up, blasting us with an icy chill, and though we’re both warmly dressed, I want to get Sara indoors before the weather worsens.

The first drops of sleeting rain hit when we’re less than a half hour from the house. “Let me down,” Sara demands, and this time, I listen. I’ve been carrying her for over three hours, and by now, she is sufficiently rested. We’ll move faster if she’s on her own feet.

Gripping her hand, I begin to jog, towing her behind me as the sky opens up and the wind starts driving icy water into our faces.

“Oh, thank God,” Sara gasps out as the house comes into view. The sleet is now mixed with snow, and the wind feels like it’s cutting through our bones. My jeans are soaked through, my legs are numb with cold, and I can no longer feel my face. I can only imagine how miserable Sara must be. Unlike me, she’s never been trained to divorce herself from pain and discomfort, has never known what it’s like to focus solely on survival. If I could shield her from this storm with my body, I would, but the most important thing right now is to get her inside, where it’s warm and dry.

Another hour of this, and we’d run the risk of hypothermia.

When we’re less than thirty meters from the house, Sara stumbles, tripping over a branch, and I pick her up, carrying her clasped against my chest as I cover the remaining distance. Getting to the door, I knock with my boot, and as soon as Yan opens the door, I carry my half-frozen burden straight to our bathroom upstairs.

Putting her down, I turn on the shower, making sure the water is warm but not too hot, and then I strip us both, removing our wet, icy clothes before ushering her under the spray. Sara’s lips are tinted blue, and she’s shivering so hard she can barely remain upright. I’m not in much better shape, so I wrap my arms around her in a full-body hug, and for a few minutes, we just stand under the water, shaking as its warmth soaks into our frozen skin.

“We c-could’ve died.” Sara’s teeth are still chattering as she pulls back and meets my gaze. Her hazel eyes are almost black in her white face, her dark lashes spiked with wetness. “P-Peter, we could’ve d-died out there.”

“Yes.” I tighten my arms around her again, pressing her against me until I can feel every shallow breath she takes. “Yes, ptichka, we could have.”

Another hour or two in that storm, and she wouldn’t have made it. I didn’t let myself think about it before, didn’t let my focus waver from the task of getting her home, but now that we’re here—now that she’s safe—the realization that she could’ve died hollows out my stomach and wraps my heart with ice. I’ve only known fear like this once before, when I saw those methheads threatening her with knives. That time, I could eliminate the threat—and I did—but I couldn’t protect her from this storm.

If it had come two hours sooner, I could’ve lost her.

The thought is terrifying, unbearable. When I lost Pasha and Tamila, it felt like my world had ended, like I would never know anything but rage and agony again. The fury that drove me was absolute—because that was the only way I could get through each day, the only way I could eat and breathe and function.

The only way I could live long enough to find those responsible and make them pay.

It wasn’t until Sara that I began to feel alive again, to want something more than brutal vengeance. She became my new focus, my new reason for existing.

I can’t lose her.

I won’t lose her.

“You will never do this again.” My voice is low and hard as I grip her shoulders and pull back to meet her startled gaze, the fear inside me swamped by fierce determination. “You will not run from me, Sara. Ever. There’s nobody out there who can help you, no place you can hide from me. And if you try this futile stunt again, you’ll regret it—I give you my word on that. You think you know what I’m capable of, but you haven’t even scratched the surface. You have no idea of the lengths I’ll go to, ptichka, no clue what I’m willing to do to have you. You’re mine, and you’re staying mine—now and for as long as we’re both alive.”

I can feel her muscles tensing as I speak, and I know I’m scaring her. It’s not what I want, but I have to keep her from these escape attempts.

I have to keep her safe.

“Peter, please…” Her soft hazel eyes fill with tears, her palms coming up to press against my chest. “Don’t do this. This isn’t love. Even you must realize that. I’m sorry for everything you’ve lost, for what George did to your family. And I know—” She swallows, holding my gaze. “I know there’s something between us, something that shouldn’t be there… something that doesn’t make any sense. You feel it, and I feel it too. But that doesn’t make this right. You can’t stalk someone into loving you, can’t intimidate her into caring. For as long as you’re keeping me here, I’m your captive, no matter what you make me say… no matter what you coerce me into. Whether I run or not, I’m not yours—and I never will be. Not like this.”

Every word she speaks is like a knife puncturing my liver. “How then?” My words come out harsh and desperate, violent in their intensity. “Tell me, Sara. How can I have you? What other way can we be together when I’m a wanted man?”

Her gaze mirrors my torment. “We can’t,” she chokes out, her delicate nails scraping over my skin as her hands curl into fists against my chest. “This isn’t meant to be, Peter. We’re not meant to be. Not with the past we share—not with who and what we are.”

“No.” My rejection is visceral, instinctive. “No, you’re wrong.”

Realizing I’m gripping her shoulders with biting force, I release her and step back, then turn away to turn off the water, using the small task to regain some control. Now that I’m no longer freezing, my body is starting to respond to her nakedness, my hunger for her sharp and dark, aggravated by the volatile brew of anger and frustrated longing. If I don’t calm down, I will take her, and I will hurt her.

I will fuck her until she breaks and admits she belongs to me.

She’s crying when I turn back to face her, the tears mixing with the wetness on her cheeks. “Peter, please…” She reaches over to grip my hand, her slender fingers wrapping around my palm imploringly. “Please, just let me go. This isn’t what you want, not really. I can’t be your family. I can’t be their replacement. Can’t you see that? It’s just not meant to be. What you want is not—”

“You are what I want.” Tugging my hand out of her hold, I fist it in her hair and wrap my other arm around her waist, molding her against me. She sucks in a sharp breath, her peaked nipples brushing against my chest, and my cock throbs, hard and ready against her stomach as I say thickly, “You, Sara, are everything I want. I don’t give a fuck about the past, or what is or isn’t meant to be. We make our own fate—we choose our own destiny—and I chose you. I don’t care if the whole world thinks it’s wrong, if I have to fight an army to hold on to you. I found you, I took you, and I’m keeping you—and I’m never going to set you free.”