by Bea Paige
He’s a man, for fuck’s sake. He’s naked, vulnerable, and something about the way she hovers over him has my skin crawling and my stomach roiling.
Ms Hadley stiffens, my veiled threat hanging in the air around us. She might be the matriarch of this family, ruling over these men, but I’m not about to let her do something I don’t agree with. No way in hell.
“Mother, it’s time to leave. Let Anton sleep this off. As soon as he wakes, Ivan can let you know,” Erik says, breaking the battle of wills happening between us.
He briefly looks at me, his emotions schooled behind taut features, and before I avert my eyes, I can see beyond the pretence. I know that he’s suffering just being in the same room as me, any longer and he’ll not be able to control himself. Ms Hadley must see that too because this time she doesn’t argue.
“Fine, but the moment he wakes I want to know. Come Erik, let’s get you back to your room.”
Erik nods his head, not denying her even though I desperately want him to. I watch him carefully under lowered lashes. When he passes behind me, I can feel the almost visceral pull that makes me want to fall to my knees and beg for… I don’t know, release, I guess?
Forgiveness, that voice inside my head says.
I shake that thought away. Why would I need forgiveness from Erik? We barely know each other. The moment they both leave I let out a long breath.
“Well, that was fucking intense,” Ivan says, with a smile that doesn’t reach the confusion in his eyes.
“It could have been a lot worse. What is it with that woman?”
Ivan sighs. “She has been part of our family for a long time. She cares for us, Rose.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Are you certain of that, Ivan?”
He doesn’t respond immediately. “Besides, I wasn’t talking about the tension between you and Ms Hadley.”
“What then?”
Ivan looks from me to Anton and back again. “You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?” he asks.
I don’t respond right away. I look at Anton, bare and vulnerable, completely oblivious to what’s going on around him right now. I think about the moments we’ve spent together in his studio, and my need to uncover the truth of him.
“Yes.” I respond, because Ivan deserves some honesty. “Yes, I am. But it doesn’t change anything between us, Ivan. I’m still your Domina. Do you understand that?”
“I do…”
“But you’re still troubled. Why?”
“I meant Erik,” he responds.
“I’m attracted to you all,” I say truthfully, hating that my cheeks flush. I should own how I feel, not feel guilty about it. Pulling my spine straight I look Ivan directly in the eye. “I can’t deny my growing attraction to Erik and Anton. I want to be honest with you.”
There’s no point in denying it. I won’t lie to the man who’s only ever been truthful to me.
He nods, already trying to process the reality of this possible new dynamic. We’ve been skirting around the issue of Erik and Anton for a while now, but this is the first time we’ve discussed it openly.
“How will this work?” he asks.
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
We fall silent, both of us trying to process that.
“What do you want from me, Rose?”
Everything, I want to respond.
But that’s flirting with dangerous emotions and right now I must protect myself.
“Come here, Ivan,” I demand, needing him to understand that what we have is important to me despite admitting my attraction to his best friends.
Ivan leans over, grabbing the thick throw from the bottom of Anton’s bed and covering him with it before coming to stand before me.
“I want you to go to Moscow. I want you to trust me to take care of Anton. And I want you to know that when you return, nothing between us will have changed. You are still mine, Ivan.”
He steps closer. I can feel his need for me growing between us, the demon within me awakens.
“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with, Rose. Anton is dangerous. He’s hurt people. This,” Ivan says, pointing to Anton’s peaceful form, “is just the start.”
“I understand dangerous men, Ivan. I can deal with it.”
“You don’t know Anton. What kind of man would I be to leave you alone with him, knowing what he’s capable of?”
“You’d be the kind of man I’d respect. I think you know I can handle myself.”
Ivan grimaces. He knows it’s true. I managed to tame the demon within him, didn’t I?
“This is different, Rose… he fucking painted you.”
“I know that. I let him. I agreed to be his muse, Ivan. That hasn’t changed.”
“No, you don’t get it, Rose. You don’t understand what you’ve agreed to. I should’ve warned you. I should’ve told you immediately what that meant.”
“Then tell me now. Tell me what it is that has you so worried and let me decide whether I can handle it.”
“No,” a voice croaks from the bed.
Ivan stiffens as I turn to face Anton. He hauls himself upright on unsteady arms and swipes a trembling hand over his ashen face.
“Fuck,” he breathes, pressing his fingers against his eyes.
“We didn’t think you’d be awake for some time, Ant,” Ivan says, perching on the corner of the bed. “How do you feel?” All his anger is gone now, just relief.
“Like I’ve drunk too much whiskey and smoked too much weed.”
“And what about the heroin? You might not have taken it tonight, but those marks on your arm are recent,” I ask, not willing to avoid the subject. He needs to be open with us, with me.
Anton’s gaze meets mine. “I needed something, Rose.”
“Not that shit you don’t.”
“It’s the only way I’ve got through…”
“Got through what?”
“These past few weeks being here in this house whilst you two spent every second together. Damn it! I needed you Rose, and you didn’t come. You didn’t fucking come.”
Anton brings his knees up, resting his elbows on top of them. He clutches his head, unable to look at us both. Despite what I said to Ivan earlier, guilt burns my throat and constricts my lungs. Anton’s right, I didn’t go to his studio like I promised. I’ve been too wrapped up in Ivan. Helping him get prepared for this trip meant every hour of every day has been filled with work. Every evening we’ve locked ourselves away and fucked, blocking out all thought of everyone else.
We’ve been selfish. I’ve been selfish.
“I’m sorry, Anton. I didn’t realise being with Ivan affected you this much.”
I glance at Ivan whose mouth is pressed in a hard line. I’m not sure whether he’s angry at Anton for bringing the subject of us up or me because I’m apologising for it.
“No, you misunderstand, you being with Ivan doesn’t upset me. I’m glad. I said that before, and I meant it. I just needed you as well.”
“Then you should’ve said,” Ivan snaps, his go to emotion bubbling once again.
“I should’ve done a lot of things in my life, Ivan, but you know as well as any that I don’t always follow the right path.”
“I know that very well, Ant. Look what happened to Amb…”
“Enough!” Anton snaps, his dark eyes smouldering with anger of his own. “It isn’t your story to tell. It’s mine. Mine, Ivan.”
He turns his hot gaze to me. “If you want to know what being my muse truly means, then I should be the one to tell you. Me, not Ivan.”
I nod my head in agreement, stepping closer to him, and despite the worry in Ivan’s gaze I know that I won’t be able to leave this room without hearing the truth.
It's time to find out what being Anton’s muse really, truly, means.
“Are you ready to hear my story, Rose?” Anton asks.
“I am.” Aren’t I?
Reaching for Ivan’s hand that’s currently curved into a fist o
n his lap, I squeeze tightly.
“Go back to the office, Ivan. Finish off whatever you need to do so that you’re prepared for your trip tomorrow. Anton has a right to tell me his story, and I’m going to listen.”
Ivan grits his teeth, but he doesn’t protest even though I know he wants to. Standing, he gives Anton one last piercing look.
“Tell her everything, Ant. No secrets. Rose needs to understand, and I need to know I can trust you to tell her the truth, all of it. Even the shit you think I don’t know.”
Anton blanches at that.
“If you hold back, if you leave out one piece of the story to make you sound fucking better, then know this, best friend or not, brother or not, I will end you.”
“Ivan!” I say sharply.
He looks down at me, his eyes pleading for me to understand.
“Rose, you’re my Domina and I will do anything you ask, everything, but I draw the line at compromising your safety. That’s my hard limit. That’s Red. If Anton tells you the whole truth. If he tells you just what he's capable of, then perhaps you’ll understand why I’m acting this way. If you choose to remain his muse after that then I know it’s a decision made on all the facts, not a mirage of the truth. I will accept your decision, no matter how hard that will be for me, but if at any moment I believe you’re in danger I won’t hesitate to act.”
With that he leaves us alone, and for the second time in Anton’s presence, I wonder what the hell I’ve got myself into.
Chapter Five
Anton
Rose watches Ivan leave, jumping slightly as he shuts the door.
Is she afraid to be alone with me?
She should be.
Ivan was right to warn her, to warn me.
When I hurt Rose the same way I hurt Amber he will keep his promise and I’m glad of it. There’s no if’s in this situation. I’ve already gone beyond the point of no return.
Now that my hand has been forced and I have no choice but to give Rose the truth, I feel a kind of grim acceptance. It will be hard for me to tell her, but the truth is, I’d rather she came willingly than me taking her by force.
And believe me, if she refuses, I will take her by force despite Ivan’s threats.
Because this time I know she’s the one.
She’s strong enough to survive what I must do. I have to believe that.
Rose turns back to face me, her expression neutral. Our eyes meet, and not for the first time I wish I could see the true colour of them. That day, when I’d stumbled blindly into Ivan’s office and came face to face with her, she’d told me they were green. I’d said that was a colour I hadn’t seen in a long time. I’d lied.
It’s a colour I’ve never seen.
“What is it, Anton?” she asks me, and I realise I’m frowning. I’m staring at her so intently that even though I can’t see her skin blush, I know that she is.
“Ivan is right to warn you. He’s right to threaten me. I’ve caused pain, Rose.”
“And he hasn’t? Ivan has dished out his own, he’s freely admitted that.”
“This is different. He never made promises to the women he fucked. They knew what they were getting into with him. He never lied about who he was.”
“To them perhaps. To himself, to Svetlana it was a different story. I don’t blame him for her death, of course I don’t, but hiding who he truly was, only hurt them both.”
She’s right. He hid behind a façade for years. Luka might be his real name, but Ivan is the man he’s always been. Only now, in Rose’s presence, has he finally accepted the truth. It’s why I know she’s the one who can help me, and why, despite Ivan’s threats, I will do what I must to ensure that she does.
“The lies he told himself kept him from being the real person inside,” Rose continues, explaining what I already know. “Ivan opened himself up to me. I understand the truth of him now and I’m not afraid of it.”
“This isn’t the same, Rose…” I repeat, suddenly panicking at the thought she’ll run, and I’ll have to fucking catch her. I don’t want the chase. I don’t want to force her into this situation, but I will if I have too.
That’s a truth that neither of us can escape.
Today I’m going to tell her everything about who I am.
No more hiding.
“So, tell me what this is. Tell me what you’ve done that’s so bad Ivan is willing to hurt you if you do the same to me.”
When I do the same.
Drawing in a shuddering breath, I pull back the throw covering me and stand. My head spins, and I fight the urge to let the darkness swallow me.
“Can I take a shower first, I smell like a fucking vagrant,” I grind out, willing the bastard of a headache to go away and the floor to stop moving.
Rose nods her head. “Of course.”
She keeps her gaze trained on my face looking at me just as intently as I look at her. My skin covers with goosebumps as I recall the night a few weeks ago when she’d slept in the room a few doors down from this one. That night I’d stayed awake whilst she’d slept. I’d sat by her side fighting the urge to mark her, but as dawn broke, I’d taken my paintbrushes and paints and I’d done just that. I’d started my descent into madness the second the brush had touched her skin, and unwittingly so had she.
Swallowing hard, I fight the nausea that climbs my throat wondering how the fuck I’m going to broach the subject with Rose. I’d stripped her down to her underwear with every intention of wrapping her up in a warm duvet and letting her sleep.
But I hadn’t left the room.
I’d sat in the darkness watching her fade into the night and I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear to see her disappear. I fought myself for hours. Hours of pacing up and down beside her bed, until I couldn’t take it anymore.
I’d returned to my studio grabbing what I needed and returned just as the sun was rising behind the horizon, and I painted her.
“I’ll wait here whilst you shower,” she says finally, breaking the spell between us.
Gritting my teeth I walk to the corner of the room and open the door to my en-suite knowing that no matter how many showers I take, I’ll never wash away the sins of my past, or the ones I’m about to commit.
Twenty minutes later I’m clean and dressed in a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a long sleeved top. My wet hair is combed back off my face, but I leave it to hang loose so it can dry. I’ve trimmed my beard so that it’s lost its shaggy look, and though I look better I still feel like shit.
With my fucking nerves frayed and my stomach roiling, I push open the door to my bedroom.
Rose is standing by the window looking out onto the grounds beyond. Outside a mist hangs over the scenery blocking the view behind a light grey blanket.
I prefer days like these. There’s very little colour for everyone when the mist rolls in, selfishly it makes me feel better.
“It’s pretty miserable out there. It’s the kind of weather that seeps into your bones,” Rose says, absentmindedly.
She doesn’t turn to face me, she simply stares ahead, her hands clasped together across her front. I stop, captured by the beauty of her profile. The slope of her nose, and the tiny bump across the bridge, the arch of her brows and the soft curve of her lips. Today she wears her hair down, tucked behind her ear, and though I only see it as a stark grey, I long to touch it. I long to twine my fingers in her hair and breathe in her scent. She looks like a 1950’s movie star with her knee length skirt and fitted jacket.
She looks untouchable.
“The mists will linger for days with the colder temperature,” I respond, shivering a little despite the warmth from the shower, and the heat of the room.
She turns to face me, her body moving with remnants of grace and I’m forced to lean against the doorframe for support as another, ghostlier version of Rose appears by her side, the alcohol and drugs making me see double.
“Do you need to sit down?” she asks, noticing how unstable I seem.
&n
bsp; “It’s probably best,” I say, as another wave of nausea washes over me.
I should probably eat something, or at least send for something warm to drink, but honestly, I don’t think I could stomach anything right now.
Rose steps back as I walk past her on unsteady legs, but when the edge of the rug catches my foot and I stumble, she reaches for me hauling me upright.
“Take it easy, Anton,” she says, her soft voice whispering over my skin.
Every molecule of my being hone in on the point where her warm hand grasps my skin through the thin material of my top.
“I’ll be okay,” I respond, reluctantly pulling free from her hold.
The last thing I want her to think is that I’m weak. The fact that the light is so low today from the mist blocking the sun, doesn’t help either. Everything gets that little bit harder to see. Combine that with a bitch of a hangover and I’m not exactly graceful. Not that graceful has ever been a word to describe me.
Being unsteady comes with the territory, even without the fucking drugs.
“Anton…” She reaches for me again as I lurch towards the sofa.
“I’ll be fine!” I snap, pride making me ungrateful.
She nods, her mouth tight as she takes a seat next to me.
“Should I get Fran to bring you up something to eat. It might help?”
I shake my head. “I’ll ask her later myself, right now I can’t stomach anything.”
“Was it really just weed and whiskey, or something stronger?” she asks, not skirting about the issue. I both like and despise that curiosity. She’s not judging, just simply asking.
“Yes.”
“But you have been using stronger drugs recently?” she persists, her gaze flicking not to my arm, where I know she’s seen the needle marks, but to my bare feet. Shit.
“Those marks hidden beneath your top might not be recent, but I’m betting the ones between your toes are just a few hours old.”
“Rose…” I begin, wanting to explain myself but she holds her palm upwards.
