Page 50 of Devil’s Reign

I look for Boris, who’s stationed at his usual post near the door, and beckon him over.

Melani requires special instructions.

27

MELANI

When I wake up, my whole body is deliciously sore, aching in places I didn’t even know it was possible to ache.

Vanya certainly kept his promise. I am thoroughly fucked.

Over the course of the night, he had me in more ways and positions than I can count, and the evidence of it is written into every muscle I own. I’m smiling before my eyes are fully open. But the smile fades when I realize I’m alone. He’s gone.

I’m lying on his side of the bed, so I can’t even check the sheets for lingering warmth to gauge how long ago he left. With a sigh, I roll onto my back and blink up at the ceiling.

Did I really expect anything to change between us? I’m still his hostage, and he’s still my captor. Those are the hard truths, no matter what happened last night.

I’m sure he knows I tried to run yesterday, though he didn’t bring it up. Not that we had the chance to do much talking after I made my proposal to him. My lips quirk up as vivid images from last night rush back, and with a soft squeal, I flop onto my stomach, burying my face in his pillow and kicking my feet against the mattress. I didn’t know sex could be like that. So intense. So fucking hot. I shiver as phantom heat from last night ghosts over my skin, his name echoing in my head on a loop. My Vanya.

You’re falling for him. Mom’s words slice through the warmth like a draft under a door, and the balloon of my delusion deflates. I go still on the sheets. Is that what’s happening now? Am I truly falling for him? Is this what it feels like? Scary yet exhilarating?

Whatever this feeling is—whatever I’ve been feeling from the start—one thing is certain: I can’t turn it off. It's so alive in my chest I can feel it with every breath. This is a dangerous game, and I’m in for a brutal awakening when he inevitably lets me go. But even knowing that—that he most likely doesn’t feel the same way, that I’m experiencing this alone—isn't enough to stop it.

The ache of that pushes me up off Vanya's bed, and I instantly regret it. My body voices its protests with every step I take towards the bathroom. By the time I reach the mirror above the sink, I’ve graduated from limping to an awkward shuffle, and when I finally look at my reflection, a gasp slips out.

I look… different. My skin is a map of last night. Bruises and hickeys bloom on either side of my neck, across my shoulders, climbing up my arms. Even my hips bear faint imprints in the shape of fingertips—clear evidence of where he gripped as he drove into me. My lips are swollen, my face still flushed, my hair a wreck of tangles, and my pupils are blown wide. It’s like I’m still trapped in the aftermath. No one could look at me and doubt exactly what Vanya and I did.

I lean closer to the mirror, a little mesmerized by the stranger looking back. This is what he’s turned me into. This is the Melani who belongs to Ivan Petrov. I meet my gaze in the reflection. Those are the eyes of a woman obsessed with a man she can’t have.

I stare at myself for a long moment before finally moving. Opening the sink drawer, I find a spare toothbrush and his toothpaste. If I’m going to do the walk of shame out of Vanya’s room, I need to at least look presentable. I brush my teeth quickly, then shuffle to the huge bathtub that looks more like a small pool and run a hot bath. Once the water is ready, I sink into it with a sharp exhale that comes out sounding almost grateful. Heat wraps around my battered body like an embrace, soothing every ache. Still, even as relief seeps into my bones, I know I wouldn’t change last night. If I had the chance to do it over, I’d choose Vanya again—and again and again and again. My eyes slide shut as I rest my head against the rim of the bathtub. Shit. I’m in a world of trouble, aren’t I?

Pushing the thought aside, I let my mind go blank and wash slowly, lingering in the warmth until the water turns cold. Only then do I drain the tub and wrap myself in one of the impossibly soft towels. Steam still clings to my skin as I pad out of the bathroom, the towel pulled tight around me. It must be close to the time Boris brings my breakfast. Heck, what time is it even? I’m sure I woke up later today than usual. Will Boris be surprised to find my room empty… or does he already know I’m here? My face heats at the implication.

I take two steps into the bedroom but stop short when I see the table across the room. I hadn’t expected anything, so for a moment I simply stare, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. The small table has been transformed into a spread so rich and abundant it almost looks unreal, like something lifted straight from a magazine cover or a movie scene. There are strawberries dipped in chocolate and brushed with gold, figs split open and glistening with glaze, cherries piled so high they look ready to spill over, plates of cheeses and cured meats arranged neatly next to a basket of fresh croissants and brioche. And at the end of the table, a bucket of champagne chills in a bed of ice, with crystal glasses waiting beside it.

The sight and smell of it all hit me at once, indulgent and overwhelming, and before I know it, my stomach is growling loudly enough to break the silence. I hadn’t even realized how hungry I was. I walk towards the table slowly, drawn in by the rich aroma and my still-rumbling stomach. I’m suddenly ravenous.

My attention is so focused on the spread that I don’t notice it at first—a small velvet box sitting at the edge of the table, placed directly in front of the chair I was about to sit on.

I freeze, my chest tightening as I take it in. Because I already have an idea of what it might be, and the possibility alone sends my pulse racing. After a moment’s hesitation, I pick it up and open it. My breath hitches, a sharp gasp escaping my lips. Nestled inside is a diamond pendant, simple but dazzling, catching the light as if trying to mesmerize me. For a moment, all I can do is stare, my heart hammering against my ribs.

A gift from Vanya.

His way of claiming me?

I gulp as I run my fingers reverently over the metal. It’s stunning and probably stupidly expensive. I shouldn’t accept it. It’s too much. It would only complicate things between us. We’re not in a relationship. And yet, standing here with the feast he laid out for me and the necklace shining in my hand, all I can feel is the sharp pull of inevitability dragging me under.

Before I can think better of it, I lift the jewelry out of the box and clasp it around my neck. It’s warm against my skin. My fingers drift over the pendant as I return to the bathroom to check my reflection.

The necklace rests just above my collarbone, glinting softly. It looks right. It feels right. It makes me feel like his. My body tingles at the thought, my nipples hardening. How am I supposed to hold myself back from him when he does things like this? How do I keep myself from falling in love with a man who seems to see me so clearly? How do I witness the sweetness beneath his dangerous exterior, the capacity for thoughtfulness he hides, and not want to slide right into him?

This necklace and the elaborate breakfast might be nothing to him, just another gesture, but to me it’s everything. My hand rises to the clasp because I tell myself I’ll take it off. Because no matter how much I love it, I can’t accept it. I shouldn't. But my fingers linger there, unmoving. I can’t take it off. Worse, I don’t want to. I don’t want to pull it away. I don’t want to push him away.

Would it really be so bad to accept it? To lose myself in this fantasy? Just for a bit.

My hand drops to my side. I slip off the towel and raid his wardrobe, pulling on a shirt that drowns me and a pair of shorts I have to secure at the waist with one of his ties. Then I go back to the table, sit down in his clothes, with his necklace heavy at my throat, and his food spread out before me, and sink into the quiet certainty that settles in my bones.

I’ve been claimed. And I don’t want to escape it.