Page 46 of Beautiful Ruin

That is exactly why I can’t stop now.

Ivan exhales, and when he speaks again, his tone is sadder than I’ve ever heard it before.

“Oh, Rowan… You have disappointed me immeasurably today. What am I to do with you now?”

13

ROWAN

The first blow comes directly at my left cheek.

I see it coming.

Ivan has never been a sloppy man. Not in politics, in punishment, and certainly not in violence. His hands have always moved with purpose, fast enough that most men on the other side of them would only register the pain after impact.

But I know him too well. I see the shift in his shoulder, the flex of his fingers, that slight turn of his body to make sure the strike lands with the full force of his anger and not merely the weakness of an injured man lashing out.

I could stop it.

That knowledge moves through me in the same instant his hand arcs toward my face.

I could catch his wrist or step back from it completely, turn my head enough to lessen the impact. Any half-trained man could, and I am far beyond that. My body knows a hundred ways to avoid getting hurt without thought.

But I don’t.

Pain detonates across my cheek with enough force to rattle my teeth and send me crashing to my knees on the floor at his feet. The room lurches sideways, heat bursting behind my eyelids. It is white hot and blinding, and for a second all sound narrows to the violent crack of his palm catching the other side of my face.

Blood fills my mouth, the coppery taste unfortunately familiar.

I don’t flinch, nor do I defend myself. I kneel and take it because Ivan has every right to punish me for disobeying him so blatantly. I have earned every single strike. Sometimes, loyalty demands blood to hold the line.

Ivan stands above me, breathing harder than before.

“Get up,” he tells me.

And so I do.

Another hit comes, then another, each one weaker than the last as Ivan’s healing body limits the strength behind them. But the emotional blow cuts deeper than any physical pain ever could.

I have been Ivan’s blade for fifteen years. His shadow. His weapon. His son in all but name. Never, not once, have I gone against his wishes intentionally. Until her. Until Sofia walked into this house and made me forget the only rule that has ever defined me.

When Ivan finally stops, he stands over me breathing hard and sways. For one dangerous second, I fear he may crash to the ground too, but he surprises me by staying upright.

His voice, when it comes again, is quiet. Almost gentle. “What has gotten into you?”

I have no answer.

Because I genuinely do not know.

I don’t understand why I let Sofia sway me today. Why her curiosity overrode my discipline and caused me to break the single iron law that has kept me alive and useful all these years.

Ivan steps forward, grabs a fistful of my hair, and uses it to force my head up so our eyes meet. “I did not drag you out from those fighting rings only for you to forget who made you. Who gave you purpose.”

I swallow the blood in my mouth, nearly choking on it. “I’m sorry, Pakhan.”

Ivan releases me with one final strike. “Leave. When I see you again, there will not be a single drop of rebellion left in you. Do I make myself clear?”

My entire body is shaking by the time I manage to push myself back up onto my knees.