Kissed by Shadows: Chapter 1

I walk down the clean street towards our beautiful mansion in Holland Park, London, sipping on my favourite hot chocolate from the small Italian cafe just off Kensington High Street. It’s January, but the sun is shining today, hardly a cloud in the sky, and the birds are singing in the trees. The promise of spring is just around the corner, but all I feel…is restless.

I have everything a girl could want. It’s been a little over six months since I graduated with honours from Wyndham’s Finishing School for Young Ladies, and I celebrated my nineteenth birthday in style with twenty of my inner circle at Escargot, a top-end French restaurant in the city, then at a private club night in central London.

My new, beautiful Kneed handbag—one of my favourite sustainable fashion brands—hangs from my shoulder, along with several garment bags from a new boutique that specialises in British-made clothes.

And yet, the winter sunshine can’t seem to lift my mood. I feel lost, cast adrift, and unsure about what happens next. Even the cute Italian barista who made my hot chocolate couldn’t shake me fully from my funk. Though, given my lack of experience having spent the past few years at an all-girls school in the middle of the countryside, I’m more likely to blush at any attention from the opposite sex than anything else.

I’m highly trained to be the perfect hostess, the perfect housewife to some lucky, wealthy businessman or aristocrat—or so they kept telling us at Wyndham’s, but I can’t help wondering if there’s more for me than that. If I’m meant to do more than come up with the best menu for an intimate gathering of the rich and elite.

Maybe it’s because Dad is acting weird, hardly spending any time with me in the past few months even though we’ve always been inseparable. Ever since Mum left when I was five, it’s just been him and I. I’ve never felt the lack of only having one parent because he’s lavished me with his attention and affection, dropping all his work just to spend time with me when I was home for the holidays. He always took me on trips around the world, bringing me gifts from his business travels, and making a point of eating dinner with me every night when I was at home no matter what else was going on.

But lately, he’s been so distant, his brows deeply etched as he pours over papers in his home office into the early hours. I know he’s up so late because I’ve been struggling to settle myself, this damn restlessness making my skin itch, even after a day at my favourite spa in Wiltshire.

We’ve always had money, I’ve never wanted for anything and have never had to watch my spending. My father is very good at what he does, and although some may criticise his connections to certain organised crime groups, I know he’d never do anything bad. He’s a good, kind-hearted person who loves me and places my comfort and happiness above everything. It’s why his behaviour has been so unsettling.

Sighing, I reach into my bag to grab my key out, juggling my shopping and the hot chocolate as I fish around. Finally grasping it, I open my front door, blinking in the slightly darkened interior.

“Dad, I’m home!” I yell just as my phone dings. Dropping the key back into my bag, I hunt around, trying to find the damn device, sighing with joy at how fucking lush and buttery-soft this bag is.

Our mansion is just down from the beautiful Holland Park—my home since I was a small child—and is full of wonderful memories, photos of our many trips abroad, and Christmases at home lining the walls. The last rays of the winter sunshine are dying behind me as I finally grasp my phone, the latest version that Dad gifted me on my birthday, one of many presents. Pulling it from my bag, I frown when I get the screen up to my eye level.

DAD

I’m so sorry, darling. I had no other choice.

I fumble with the device, rereading the message and my brows lower further. My chest tightens as one thing becomes obvious. My father, the man I have looked up to my entire life, who has put me first in all things, has done something that’s about to affect me and not in a good way. He wouldn’t be apologising, by text, if it wasn’t something cataclysmic. Right?

“Dad?” I murmur, my eyes still locked on the screen as I will the words to make more sense. My heart begins to pound when the click of footsteps sound down the tiled hallway, my stomach clenching as some part of me knows that it’s not my father or any of our staff. I know the tread of his footsteps and theirs, know the way they sound as they move about our house, and it’s Beatrice’s—our housekeeper and chef—day off.

These footsteps coming towards me sound familiar, but I can’t quite place who would be here if not my dad.

Dragging my eyes away from the screen, it’s as if every molecule in my body is fighting not to look up, like time is standing still. But my limbs are frozen, my breaths short as I lock eyes with the strange man in front of me.

No, that’s not quite right; he’s not a complete stranger.

“Mr Petrov?” I rasp out, my fear ratcheting up a notch and leaving me with a heartbeat that thrashes in my ears.

Sergi Petrov is the leader of the Russian Bratva here in London, and my father has been doing business with him for many years. Sergi and his son, Nikolai, have spent many an afternoon here, and although my father seemed to be happy to host the Russian, to do business with him, he always warned me that Sergi was not a man to cross. That we needed to be cautious around him and Nikolai, which I always scoffed at because Nikolai was my friend. My childhood crush if I’m being completely truthful.

I was never really privy to what sort of business my father did with the Russians, only really learning how dangerous they were after I went to Wyndham’s and overheard some of the other girls gossiping about it. I was angry at first, because how dare they talk so harshly about my dad, but as I stood outside the French doors that led to one of the drawing rooms and listened to the rumours they’d heard about what happened when you angered Sergi or tried to take my father on, unease crawled up my spine, leaving me nauseous.

If the leader of the Russian Bratva is here instead of my father, something is terribly wrong.

I had no other choice…

Those were the words my father used, and something tells me they have everything to do with me, given that I am here and he is not.

“Good afternoon, Iris,” he replies, his Russian accent thick and his slow grin like that of an evil villain, ready to devour all good from the world. The door slams behind me and I jump out of my skin, my precious handbag and garment bags dropping to the floor with a thud along with the cup of hot chocolate. I can’t look down to see the fate of my belongings because I can’t tear my gaze away from the grinning man in front of me. I have to lock my knees at the predatory gleam in his dark eyes, swallowing hard so that I can speak.

“T–to what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask, falling back on the years of fucking tedious etiquette training I’ve had. I suppose that I should be thankful now, but there was never a class on what to do when you find yourself alone with Russian mobsters. I almost laugh, but the mirth soon dies at the way he watches me like a snake about to strike. I know who the apex predator in the room is, and spoiler alert, it’s not me. I swallow hard again and will the trembling in my hands to cease, gripping my phone tightly.

He laughs, and it’s a cruel, cold sort of sound, like glass that has been shattered and lies ready to cut you into ribbons. “It is I, or more precisely, Nikolai, that will be having all the pleasure.” The smile is still there, but there’s a tension when he says his son and heir’s name.

“Nikolai is here?” I ask, a small glimmer of sunshine penetrating the afternoon that seems to have suddenly turned gloomy since the front door was slammed shut.

Nikolai may be a son of the Russian gangsters, but he was a light in my childhood, coming over with his father for business meetings. We were always allowed to play; hide-and-seek was a favourite game of ours. He was kind, humouring a girl who was six years younger than him and who forced him to play tea parties and dress up.

“Hello, Iris,” a deep voice greets from the stairs, and I twist, my heart skipping a beat as Nikolai comes down them. I’ve had the same reaction ever since I turned twelve and was faced with a gorgeous eighteen-year-old. I haven’t seen him since I was sent away to finishing school six years ago. He’s certainly grown up in that time from a handsome youth to this…god-like man before me.

He’s just as stunning as I remember, stealing the very breath from my lungs with his beauty. He has that same dark hair, cut neatly and slicked in place, and deep, chocolate-brown eyes that used to be full of laughter but now seem cold and unforgiving. His firm, chiselled jaw is tight, and my eyes glance over his navy suit that’s fitted to perfection and hugs every new muscle. Tattoos peek out from his collar, and the backs of his hands and fingers are covered in ink too. A small silver nose stud glints in the light, and there’s something about it that just suits him so well. Plus, nose piercings are hot as fuck on guys.

“Hello, Nikolai,” I breathe out, jumping at the snickers behind me and desperately trying to ignore the predator to the side of me. I keep my focus locked on Nikolai’s, unwilling to look away and begging him to make me understand what’s happening here.

He comes to stand in front of me and all the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention at his close proximity. His juniper, black pepper, and vetiver scent wraps around me like a forbidden caress, making my lower stomach tighten in want, easing some of the tension from my body. I thought my crush on him was just a young girl’s fantasy, but it’s back with a vengeance, making my skin feel tight and almost allowing me to forget the strange, terrifying situation I appear to be in.

Though I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised because he’s always had a calming effect on me, soothing my tantrums and upsets as a child. He was able to distract me that time I fell from the tree house and fractured my arm when I was ten, visiting me when my arm was in a cast and drawing silly pictures on the plaster.

“Come upstairs,” he orders, his voice gruff with a hint of a Russian accent that I don’t remember from before. I wonder when he got that? I shudder at the note of command in his tone, not exactly hating it.

Nikolai feels just as dangerous as his father now, maybe even more so, but my body refuses to acknowledge anything other than lust as soon as he’s within touching distance. No one has ever made me feel this way before, this need that has my skin tingling, this reaction akin to muscle memory as my body recalls feeling this way ever since I was a young teen and my childish crush developed into something more. I mean, there wasn’t exactly much opportunity at the all-girls school, and I’ve not really been looking for anything since I came back, but still.

My breath stutters when he takes my hand, electricity racing from the point of contact. I haven’t exactly done a great deal of hand-holding with the opposite sex in my time, but it surely doesn’t always feel this…exhilarating, does it?

More chortles sound from who I assume are Sergi’s men behind me. I ignore them—fucking arseholes—and let Nikolai pull me a step towards the stairs, his eyes fixed with mine, his expression hard and unreadable. I whirl when someone takes my phone from my other hand.

“You won’t be needing that, little Iris,” Sergi chides, and I somehow manage to suppress the shudder that wants to roll across my skin at the nickname, his tone cloying like petrol fumes. He still has an infuriating smirk on his deceptively handsome face, and the small amount of tension that had left my body at seeing Nikolai again slams back in full force, causing my shoulders to stiffen and my stomach to clench. I want to be the type of person to snarl back at him, but although my father instilled confidence in me, he also made me all too aware of what danger can lie behind a smile when he took me to parties and introduced me to the upper echelons of society.

Sometimes ugliness is hidden behind a veneer of beauty, luring unsuspecting victims to their deaths with a charming smile and pretty words. Sergi’s eyes are the same brown as Nikolai’s but somehow far colder, like mud frozen in the depths of winter. He looks past me to his son and speaks in rapid Russian, Nikolai’s hand tightening in mine. He answers back, again in Russian, so I have no fucking idea what they’re saying.

Giving my hand a tug, Nikolai turns his back, leading me up the stairs in silence, and I find that I can breathe easier with each step, like I’m climbing a mountain and the air is cleaner here, fresher.

“Nikolai, what—” I ask, my mouth clacking shut when he looks over his shoulder with a glare. Hurt makes tears prick behind my eyes; he’s never looked at me like that before, like he would rather be anywhere than here with me, which is not the impression I got from him before I went to Wyndham’s. He made me promise to write to him every week, and he answered each of my letters, telling me what he could of his life. It was the highlight of my week when the post came. Though now looking at him, I wonder how much he left out. We haven’t written since I got back, but surely not that much could have changed in the months since my return?

His face softens for a second, and then he turns away, leading me to my room, where he opens the door, pulling me inside before shutting it and flipping the lock. My heart thuds loudly inside my chest, his palm warm in mine but offering me no comfort as he doesn’t move, still facing the door.

I pull my hand from him, my body quivering as he just stays there, refusing to look at me. “Nik?” I question, using the name I’d call him when I was a child because I couldn’t pronounce his name properly. “What the fuck is going on?” My voice trembles, all the fear and confusion rendering me unable to speak in anything louder than a whisper.

His shoulders suddenly slump as if the weight of the universe has just landed on them. I wait, watching as his hand tightens on the brass doorknob. There’s a pain inside my chest that isn’t just fear of the situation I’m in. It’s a worry for my childhood friend, for the boy with the kind brown eyes who I crushed on for years, as his body screams of a defeat that breaks my heart.

Slowly, like he’s moving through water, he turns to face me. His eyes are tortured, his brows deeply furrowed as he steps closer to me. My breath stills as he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the light scruff that covers his chin and neck.

Then his hand comes up, cupping my chin and tilting it upwards so that I’m forced to look back into his swirling brown eyes. Warmth radiates from his touch, and I want to lean into it, soak it up, but I’m frozen like he was moments before, somehow knowing that what he’s about to tell me will shake my very foundations.

“Your father sold you, Solnishko.”

“W–what?” Her voice is a breathy whisper and my chest tightens at the way her face pales, the realisation hitting her.

“He had a debt he couldn’t pay, Iris, so he made a deal with my father.” My lip curls down at the way they used her like she was no more than an object. Yeah, her father was distraught, but he shouldn’t have gotten into that fucking position in the first place. He never should have put her safety on the line like that, even if it was Sergi’s idea and he baulked when it was first suggested. But he didn’t fight hard enough, even if he did protest and offer up anything else to start with.

“What kind of deal?” she questions, not moving away, and fuck, to touch her like this, to be this close to her after all this time is excruciating, especially given what must happen between us to keep her safe.

“Your life, Malyshka.” I watch as her eyes widen, fear making them shine, and it’s like a punch to the gut to see it directed at me. “He gave you to my father in exchange and left the country to fuck knows where.”

Anger flares hot and bright inside me at the betrayal. How he could have ever left this angel for the wolves, for beasts like us, I’ll never understand. I’ve loved Iris for as long as I’ve known her, from the moment I tripped in their garden when we were kids and she cleaned up my grazed knees, giving me a cookie and showing me a kindness that I got nowhere else. The life I lead is a hard one, and from a young age, my father toughened me up so I’d be ready to take over his mantle when the time came.

“No, Nikolai, he wouldn’t—” She’s shaking her head, stepping away from me, and my heart lurches inside my chest. Then she wraps her arms around herself, and mine twitch, wanting to give her comfort, but how can I when I am part of the problem? “You’re lying.”

“I would never lie to you, Iris,” I say firmly, my jaw clenching. “He sent you a message, did he not?”

Her lips part but no words come out. I watch as the betrayal sinks in, her beautiful, hazel eyes fill with tears, making them sparkle like jewels.

“He promised he would never leave, that he loved me,” she whispers, her voice rasping and broken, and my control snaps. Striding over to her, I pull her into my embrace, wrapping her in my arms as her entire body sags and she sobs into my chest.

“He really didn’t have much choice, Solnishko,” I find myself saying, her sadness making me desperate to take it away and fill her with something other than pain. She’ll need her light to face what’s to come, and her father really didn’t have much choice because Sergi weaves a tight web of entrapment with no choice but to bow to his wishes. My father has been working on Iris’s for years, funding his lavish lifestyle, investing in his company until Mr Montgomergy was so deep there was no way to get out. I always wondered why my father was so interested, was willing to go so deep, and the way he was so quick to suggest Iris as the payment leaves my skin crawling. He’s never been so…obsessive before.

“There’s always a choice, Nikolai,” she murmurs thickly against my chest, her fists clutching my suit. I don’t give a fuck that she’s causing wrinkles. I should as it’s something my father always beat into me, presentation is fundamental to who we are, but she makes me not care about inconsequential things like pain.

“Not always, Dorogoi,” I murmur, placing my lips on top of her wavy blonde hair and dropping a kiss there. It feels like silk against my skin, and I take a huge inhale of her honey and cocoa butter scent. It’s like the best cocaine, loosening my muscles and leaving me almost dizzy. “We don’t have a choice.”

“We?” She pulls back, just enough to look into my eyes, hers rimmed in red and the green in the hazel stronger, leaving me speechless for just a moment. “What do you mean?”

I heave a sigh, knowing that the next thing will be another blow, only this time I’ll be the one to deliver it.

“Your father said you are a virgin,” I tell her, watching her eyes widen once more and her cheeks flushing the most beautiful rose. I suppose he didn’t exactly volunteer the information, but more confirmed it under duress. Then again, he’s not had the training I have, so how could he withstand the small amount of pain that Sergi’s goons made him endure for that tidbit? “It was your biggest selling point.”

“What the fuck, Nikolai?” she hisses, trying to pull out of my grip, but I just tighten my arms. Now that I’ve finally got her pressed against me, I’m not letting her go. “Let me fucking go!”

“Solnishko, if we don’t show them bloody sheets, he’ll give you to his men.” My tone is unwavering because I refuse to let my father or his disgusting men have her.

She’s mine. She has always been mine and I proved my worth when I fought for her. My father looked at me with a single raised brow as I stated my claim, then told me to prove it against his best enforcer. It was a test that I could not fail, and so with the years of training, the years of pent-up aggression, and having to take his punishments, I unleashed my inner beast for her. My father’s man barely got a hit in. My cracked knuckles are proof of my devotion, the taste of copper in my mouth as I ripped his throat out with my teeth, my love letter to her.

My body and soul are stained in the blood of my victory, my claim to have her first won with the death of another, and I’d do so much worse, kill so many more to keep her safe.

The fight drains from her then, her eyes racing back and forth as her mind tries to figure out another option. There isn’t one though. Blood needs to be paid to secure my claim. At least for tonight.

“That school of yours prepared you to accept your fate as a wife or partner, this is just a different step but the same rules apply, Solnishko,” I tell her, and her eyes narrow, her nostrils flaring and a fire blazing in her eyes that I want to burn in. “I’ll make it feel good. Trust me?” Her gaze softens, her pale cheeks heating as she searches my face. Then her eyelids flutter, cutting me off for a moment, and my chest tightens.

“Always, Nikolai,” she breathes out, her sweet breath fanning against my lips in a teasing caress. “I have always trusted you.” Her shoulders slump once more, her head giving a small nod of resigned acceptance, and my jaw works at having to be the one to take away her fight, dousing her bright flame. Her lips suddenly tilt in the smallest of smiles, sending butterflies flying around my stomach. “Always had a crush on you too…”

My lips split into a grin, the first genuine smile that has crossed them for months, fuck, maybe even years. This woman is so strong, facing this horrific situation with grace and finding the silver lining like she always used to do. She’s stronger than when she left, fiercer too if her fight with me earlier is anything to go by. Good. She’ll need that too for what lies ahead.

“You did?” I tease, and her lids open, narrowed on me once more, but this time there is a playful edge that makes my breaths speed up.

“You know I did, I hardly hid it well. God, I used to go red as a fucking tomato every time you came over.” She chuckles and the sound is the sweetest music, my mouth going dry as all my nerves tingle.

One of my arms come up, my hand cupping her burning cheek again, and the way she rubs her face against it sets my fucking soul on fire.

“I always wanted you, Iris. You are my Solnishko, my sun,” I confess, her lips parting, and I lean closer to her. “The days I didn’t see you were like the darkest night. The years spent apart like living in Hell, my soul keening for its mate.”

“Nikolai…” My name is a whisper against my lips, my heart pounding at having her so close after all this time.

“You were always mine, Iris,” I tell her, then close the breath of distance between our lips, coming home after years of being left out in the cold.