Page 49 of Untamed Beast
I understand our wedding night better now.
This has never been about me. Even if it would insult my father to touch me, Aleksandr doesn’t want to stoop that low.In some ways, he’s a better man than I thought, even if the fact that this marriage will never be real does feel oddly disappointing.
“I’ll tell him to be more careful,” I murmur, my chest feeling empty.
I don’t like either possibility for where this rivalry between Aleksandr and my father will go.
The listening devices that I’ve been planting every day to help my father…the traitorous flutter in my core whenever Aleksandr comes close to me.
This war is going to tear me in half.
Aleksandr laughs at that, but his eyes go cold.“Don’t think I don’t know that you want me dead, princess.”
I press my lips together.I should want Aleksandr dead, but there’s something unbearable about the idea.
As he walks away from me, he throws a comment over his shoulder.
“Don’t come to fight night in latex pants again.”
15
NATALIA
Idon’t have to ask where Aleksandr’s been anymore when he comes back with busted knuckles, a split lip, and a black eye developing.
“You know, I looked it up. It’s not good for you to sustain this many head injuries.”
He huffs out a surprised laugh. “That ship has sailed, princess.”
He goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of beer, which he offers me.
I make a face. Wine? Vodka? Sure.
Beer tastes like stale bread.
He flinches as he opens the beer against the counter. I wince when I see the state of his fingers.
“Those look broken.”
I pick up his hand to take a closer look and he raises an eyebrow at me.
“Did you get a medical degree all of a sudden?”
I flush, glaring at him as he takes a long swig of the beer. I try not to focus on the bob of his throat as he swallows, but it’s distracting.
When I drag my gaze back to his face, he’s smirking at me like he saw exactly where I was looking.
“My fingers are okay, princess. Want to kiss ‘em better?”
The midnight blue of his eyes lands on my lips and his face shifts to hunger.
I’m exhausted of trying to read him. I drop his hand and reach for the beer bottle.
“Fuck you,” I tell him in Russian.
He lets me take his beer bottle. I take a slow sip, wrapping my lips around the end of the bottle as I take a swig of the cool, fizzy liquid. I still hate the taste, but I like the fact that it’s his.
He watches me drink closely in a way that stokes a flame in my blood.
