Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I'm borrowing her characters and giving them some guns (again).

Unbeta'd, unedited.

I'm sorry.


I wake to warm, heavy arms wrapping around me from behind.

There's a heartbeat of disoriented panic, but all those years of battlefield exposure and training kick in an instant later, overriding the instinctual urge to break his hold and escape.

Instead of bolting, I lie here beneath the mountain of cloud-soft sheets and blankets, willing my body to remain limp as Aronov rubs his face in my hair and gathers me into the pocket of his chest. He curves himself around me, and the tops of his thighs hit the backs of mine, aligning our bodies in a starkly intimate embrace.

Especially considering the state of his undress.

Naked fifty-somethings aside, I risk a peek and squint at the bank of floor-to-ceiling, east-facing windows. Pale, muted light filters in through the gauzy fabric panels, casting the room a dim, yellow-gray. It's quiet, too, punctuated by the rustle of cotton and Aronov's breathing. I pick up the faint tick of the antique wall clock in the adjacent sitting area.

The best I can tell, it's maybe half past six, and I allow myself all of two seconds to reel internally, annoyed that my natural alarm clock failed me for the first time since we started this bullshit operation.

Granted, I'm pretty much running on empty at this point, but for a moment, I wonder if I'm getting too old for this. More likely, I'm just getting sloppy.

Okay, to be fair, I went easy on my supposed lover last night. Just in case his people discovered Cullen's absence earlier than planned, I dosed him a mere fraction of the norm when we finally made it back to his house here in Florence. When Aronov crawled up my body to settle between my thighs, demanding, fervent, and darkly possessive, fueled by lingering rage and remnants of his earlier carnage, that little bit of Spooky magic was just enough to send him into orbit before knocking his ass out.

Either way, I'm not exactly happy that Aronov beat me awake, and my stomach sinks at what this might mean for me.

Because while Cullen's finally out and alive, we're not done.

Not yet.

Not until I have every one of those fucking traitors' names at the CIA and not until we can shut it all – the massive weapons trade, the genocidal violence, the drugs and human trafficking, the shady, front-facing businesses operating under the guise of legitimacy – down.

Gentle fingers comb sleep-mussed hair off my cheek. Aronov takes his time, too, languidly stroking my skin like he's touching the finest silk, almost as if in apology. When I don't move, they drift down my neck to the loose, borrowed button-up I threw on before finally closing my eyes early this morning. Sneaking beneath the fine, custom-tailored fabric, he eases it off my shoulder.

The cooler air hits my skin, and I make a groggy protest as I wriggle and burrow into my pillow. Instead of being deterred, Aronov just hums and holds me tighter, like he can't seem to get close enough, like he can't stand even an inch between us. A beat later, he kisses the top of my spine, and then he does it again and again, open-mouthed and lingering.

Knowing what he wants, I smile and sleepily stretch, arching my neck to give him better access.

"Good morning, rodnaya moya," Aronov whispers. His lips trail across my bare skin, back and forth in an unhurried, sensual circuit from my nape to my shoulder and back. "You steal my shirt again."

I mumble another incomprehensible response, but unlike the other day, he's not having it.

"You know I love seeing you like this," he says as his left slides under the blankets to my waist to flirt with the hem of his oxford. Creeping beneath, he runs his palm over my hip to my stomach. He uses my body as leverage, pulling me tighter against him as he buries his face in the crook of my neck and shamelessly grinds his cock against my ass.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

My brain scrambles to find some way out of this – some reason or excuse that won't give me away when shit hits the fan later on – even as I lazily rub against him to maintain this fucked up charade. I let out a drowsy, breathy little laugh when he twitches. "I think someone's happy this morning."

"Always." Aronov groans when I shift against him again, and then he muffles a curse against my shoulder blade before dragging his lips to my ear. "Tell me, how do you feel this morning?"

"Maybe a little tired," I say, hedging, and my smile turns into a yawn. I stretch once more and run my foot up and down his calf. "But just so you know, I'm never wearing heels again."

Aronov's chest rumbles, taking me right along with him. "You do not have to wear anything at all." His palm slides upward, and his thumb teases the bottom swell of my breast. "In fact, I would prefer this."

My laugh is cut short when his mouth closes over my throat, licking and sucking hard enough that I know he wants to mark me. I let out a soft moan and inwardly curse myself when his thumb wanders even higher, flicking across my nipple in time to the lazy thrust of his hips.

A confusing sensation rocks through my body, some fucked up blend of unexpected physical arousal and mental disgust.

Even though I know it's the job, just like I knew it could eventually come to this, something inside me threatens to crack.

And I can hear Masen's voice as clear as a bell, telling me this won't change a fucking thing between us, but my heart rate soars at what feels like a sick betrayal of both him and myself.

But I do it.

Like the good little actress I've become, like the soldier I've trained to be, God help me, I fucking do it.

I give myself to my target, pushing more of my breast into Aronov's hand, goading him until he squeezes and kneads and pinches and pets me like the desperate, needy lovers he thinks us to be. His breath catches in his throat as I shimmy my hips and tease him through the thin silk of my panties, and when I reach over my shoulder to touch his face, a hard shudder passes through his frame.

"Bog moy, ya tak sil'no tebya khochu," Aronov mutters as his teeth graze my earlobe. "How? How is it possible that you can feel even better to me?" He lets out another low, gravelly groan. "Let me have you like this. Let me have you, skin to skin."

That sinking in my gut might as well be a freefall.

I scratch my nails through his coarse, neatly-trimmed beard, writhing against him as he continues his assault on my throat and breasts. "You're really wanting to test my IUD, aren't you?"

Aronov releases my breast, only for his fingertips to walk down my stomach and slip beneath the waistband of my panties. His palm flattens against my lower abdomen, and when he responds, his voice comes out little more than a hoarse whisper, stripped raw, absent every bit of its usual urbane sophistication. "Would it be so terrible?"

Gooseflesh ripples across my skin as the air sucks out of my lungs. I swallow past the sudden knot at the base of my throat, and it's a miracle my voice doesn't shake when I respond. "Would what be terrible?"

"To have my child grow inside you."

Jesus Christ.

My stomach threatens full-on revolt.

"You must know," Aronov continues before I can even begin to formulate a reply to that little bit of horror. "If such a thing were to occur, I would make you and our children the center of my entire universe. You would want for nothing." His palm strokes back up my abdomen between the valley of my breasts to frame my face. "I would give you everything."

Where the fuck is Spooky when I need her?

This is so far past my skill set it's not even funny.

"Slow down," I finally tell him, licking my lips as my heart slams a panicky, disjointed rhythm against my sternum. He stiffens around me, but I run my fingers through his hair and gently cup the back of his neck, directing his lips back to my shoulder before he can protest. "I'm not saying no or never, but not now, okay? It's too soon for that kind of conversation, especially after last night."

"You were magnificent last night." A harsh, triumphant breath of humid air punches out. "You were everything I could have ever dreamed you would be." A fine tremor skates through his limbs, and his arms spasm and squeeze around me. "And yet… and yet, I find that I finally begin to understand my brother-in-law."

"What do you mean by that?" I ask.

Aronov's grip loosens, and he releases me just enough to prop himself up on his elbow. When I roll toward him, he traces my face with his eyes and fingers, studying the faint, blue-black bruises Basayev left behind. When he glances down to where his shirt falls to my bicep, those eyes of his sharpen and darken with barely leashed fury. Slowly and surprisingly tenderly, he places his hand over Koshmarin's handprint.

"I understand why Sasha keeps my sister and his family locked away in that vault of his."

"You know my answer to that." I throw just a little bite into my tone, and my nails dig into his forearm, leaving tiny crescents. "No cages, ever, no matter how gilded."

One corner of Aronov's mouth lifts into a sardonic smile. "And if I said no?" His brows climb his forehead as he combs through my hair, pushing the wild strands away from my face. "If I hid you away in my tower?"

I roll my eyes at his fairytale threat and give the hair at his nape a sharp tug of rebuke. "Try it, and we'll see how well that works for you."

He doesn't answer me at first, but then that dark smile cracks into a broad grin that stretches his cheeks. He dips his face to mine, taking my mouth in a slow, deep, exultant kiss. "Willful woman," he murmurs. "Such a beautiful, willful woman you are."

Aronov's hips rock into me again, rubbing and sliding in a blatant search for friction. My insides roil, and I grasp for the first excuse that comes to mind to slow this shit down. "Can I ask you a question?"

Against my lips, Aronov makes a frustrated noise, but then he sighs. "Of course. Always."

"Do you have children?" I ask, and it's a careful, precisely aimed stab, delivered under the guileless façade of a quietly curious lover.

But my knife finds its home, and this time every muscle in his body locks down. He goes deathly quiet as his eyes roam my face, searching.

I thumb his lower lip in apology. "Never mind, I shouldn't ha–"

"No," he says, cutting me off with another slow, resigned sigh, and when I look up, I see ghosts in his eyes. "Some years ago, there was a brief moment when I believed there was a possibility, but Sulpicia…" Trailing off, Aronov's eyes go flat, and his expression abruptly shutters. "No, I do not."

That asshole, Koshmarin, was right after all, that the baby Aronov's dead wife carried was someone else's. If I hadn't seen the evidence of the brutality and horror Aronov inflicted in his responding rage, I'd almost feel sorry for him.

But I have seen it. I've seen the burns from the ropes he used to tie her down. I've seen the blood and bruising from the long, drawn-out beating he meted when she couldn't fight back. I've seen the signs of torture etched into her skin before he finally gave her mercy in the form of a 9mm.

So, I lie, and I trace the monster's handsome, aristocratic face, following the light gray shading in the hollows of his eyes. "I'm sorry I asked."

"Do not be." Folding me back in his arms, Aronov kisses my forehead and runs his nose along my jaw, inhaling as he goes. "It was a long time ago."

Slowly, I nod, chewing on my bottom lip until I finally whisper, "But last night…" My voice hitches and I inhale a deep, steadying breath, letting him see what he wants to see. "I can't get it out of my head. I keep seeing that man and what…" I force a tremble. "Misha, you killed him. You shot hi–

"Shh," he says, peppering soft, gentle kisses along my hairline. Aronov croons in my ear, quiet and soothing, and from his tone and the way he gathers me against his chest, gripping me tightly so I can't get away, he anticipated some version of this reaction. "It is all right, my love. I am sorry you witnessed such a thing."

"Did you…" My throat bobs, but then I freeze and push a little steel into both my expression and my spine. "Did you kill him because he assaulted me or because assaulting me was an insult to you?"

His jaw turns to stone, and his irises darken in a whiplash response. "It would be untrue if I did not say both, but I will admit that I behaved rashly." His muscles flex and roll around me, his fingers dig into the tops of my shoulders, and when he speaks, a dark, vicious fury rides his words. "I should have drawn it out and made him suffer as he deserved. I should have made that bastard fall at your feet and beg for forgiveness before I bled him dry and hung him for all to see."

Fuck, he's unhinged.

"That's… terrifying."

"I am not sorry for this." Aronov shrugs like I just said the sky was blue, and then he pins me with a hard stare. "I am only sorry that you were present." He tsks at whatever he sees in me. "I told you that I was a ruthless man and that I had very, very few boundaries. And I will do it again, however many times is needed."

I don't answer that. I pin him with his own stare right back, showing him that I, too, have some claws. We stay like that for a minute, tense and waiting, until that sharpness vanishes, morphing into deeper, darker arousal.

"Now… let us forget about all this unpleasantness and return to where we started," he purrs as he finds the hem of his shirt. Smiling, he yanks it over my head, and I watch starched white cotton flutter to the floor in my periphery. "Pozvol' mne lyubit' tebya."

Goddamnit.

"What does that mean?" I ask, moaning like I'm supposed to when he kisses a wet trail down my throat.

I feel him smile against my skin. "Let me love you."

Without another word, Aronov hooks a finger around the elastic of my panties and slowly drags them down to my knees. And then… and then his hands and mouth are everywhere, exploring all the parts of me I've managed to avoid until now.

Aronov rolls me into a prone position on my stomach, spreading my thighs with his knees. He covers me with his body, and his weight pushes me into the mattress. And then he's right fucking there. All I have to do is tilt my hips to take him inside.

"Do you feel how hard I am for you?" he asks, groaning as he reaches down to rub himself against me. "How wet I make you?"

"You know the answer to that," I whisper, staring almost numbly at the richly carved paneling of the headboard.

I've done countless ugly things over the years. I've taken down warlords and gunrunners, rapists, traffickers, and terrorists. I've killed more people than I can count in just as many ways, and I've bartered my soul left and right to take out the monsters.

But as I wait for Aronov to enter me and finally fuck me for real, I know that I am not built for this side of the business, and I fear this operation is going to take something from me, something I never even considered.

Of course, that's not going to stop me.

I have a job to do, after all.

"Tell me," he says, this time demanding, as his arms curl underneath mine. Following his lead, I lift to my elbows and tip my face to the ceiling. He grips me by the throat, angling my neck so he can kiss me there, sucking on the marks he's already made. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to picture a different man in his place, and they burn with tears I refuse to let fall.

"Tell me, lyubimaya," Aronov whispers, and that demand turns desperate and pleading like he needs this from me. He takes my earlobe between his teeth in sensual punishment as he knees my thighs further apart. "Say that you love me and that I am not alone in this madness."

My lips part, ready to give him what he wants, but then a hard rap against wood shatters the silence and echoes in the room.

We freeze in mute surprise, and after a heartbeat of stunned stillness, Aronov's head whips toward the door.

Aronov rolls off me, and my chest collapses in relief so visceral that I swear my heart stops. Air saws in and out, burning my lungs like I've been running for hours.

But I'm not stupid and not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. No, I seize the distraction and scramble out from under him. Flipping to my back, I yank the sheet up to my neck as I stare, wide-eyed, at the door.

There's another knock, but this time, it's accompanied by an all too familiar voice.

"Aro, mne zhal' preryvat', no eto srochno," Masen says through the door. "Nam nado pogovorit'."

Fury wars with frustration, and then Aronov spits a long string of pissed-off curses. He gives me a final reluctant look, curses again, and then climbs out of bed to grab his pants off the floor.

Not even bothering with a shirt, he stalks to the door and whips it open.

Already dressed in his usual uniform of black-on-black, Masen casually props one hand against the doorframe. Sans jacket, he's strapped on his shoulder rig, ready to go, but his hair hangs damp and wild like he's just gotten out of the shower.

Cool and calm as ever, he looks every bit the bored, apathetic killer Aronov believes him to be, but when he looks past Aronov's shoulder and sees me, his eyes turn black as night. The hard, straight line of his jaw rolls in a barely-there movement, but I'm not fooled. I feel his fury like a scorching caress.

Oblivious, Aronov growls and waves an angry hand. "Nadeus', eto vazhno."

"U nas situatsiya v komplekse," Masen says, flat and emotionless, and then his gaze flits to me again. "Cullen's gone."

.

.

.


Notes:

Regarding Aronov's comment "skin to skin" while narrator Bella has not explicitly shared the details, you can assume she's had him use condoms for their supposed trysts during his prior drug-induced states. Less messy that way, plus there's "evidence"


Russian (transliterated):

Rodnaya moya: term of endearment, very intimate, meaning roughly my dear but more than that... as anyagal described it some chapters ago, more like "blood of my blood, bone of my bone"

Bog moy, ya tak sil'no tebya khochu: My God, how I want you

Pozvol' mne lyubit' tebya: Let me love you

Lyubimaya: term of endearment, love/beloved

Aro, mne zhal' preryvat', no eto srochno... Nam nado pogovorit': Aro, I'm sorry for interrupting, but it's urgent… We need to talk

Nadeyus', eto vazhno: It better be important

U nas situatsiya v komplekse: We have a situation at the compound


Glossary: