There’s nothing more irritating than being stuck.
My annoyance level has been building in the background despite my futile attempts to remain fucking calm.
Ever since we arrived at the old couple’s house yesterday, I’ve been trying, and failing, to reach Viktor. To avoid suspicion, I had to call him from the village’s public phone, thinking maybe he had gotten back to base, but there was no reply.
He and I found out about this village during our initial scouting of the area prior to the mission. I told him that if things went south, this place would be our emergency hideout.
The fact that he hasn’t come here yet is unlike him. Even with the snowstorm.
I have a firm belief that he’s stronger than a boar and would be able to defeat a whole army on his own. But then there’s the pesky reminder that he’s only human.
Not to mention that someone targeted us with the intention of annihilating my men.
No matter which angle I look at the events from, it screams a setup, and I’m ninety percent sure I’ve figured out the reason for it.
That aside, if Viktor were to meet Rulan’s fate—
“Captain.”
I lift my head from the book I’m supposed to be reading but am only seeing a replay of the battlefield on its pages.
Lipovsky—Aleksandra—stares at me from her position on the bed. She’s been uncharacteristically quiet since I grabbed her chin and called her by a pet name a few hours ago.
Her cheeks curiously flushed with a soft pink hue in the span of seconds. A fact that makes me want to repeat the gesture just for the reaction alone.
But I won’t.
For now.
Nicholas, Nadia’s husband and the doctor who saved her life and treated my minor leg injury, came to check on her earlier and said she’s healing properly, but she can’t strain herself.
It’s a miracle that she managed to survive after losing so much blood. The color has been gradually returning to her face, too.
I plant my elbow on the armrest and lean my chin against my fist. “It’s Kirill.”
That unusual blush creeps up her neck and cheeks again. Despite her short brown hair, she looks more feminine than most women.
The strap of her nightgown slips off her uninjured shoulder and settles on her arm. The small motion teases the creamy skin of her naked breasts, which are tipped with dark pink nipples. I know because I saw them when I changed her clothes yesterday.
A sight that’s engraved in my memories in spite of my futile attempts to erase it.
I must stare for longer than socially acceptable, because Aleksandra clears her throat. She appears oblivious to what I was hyperfocused on, though. Either she’s too naïve or too good at this game.
“It’s hard for me to call you by your first name.” Her voice is softer, but it has that husky undertone that made it easier for her to pretend to be a man.
“Then you need to get used to it. Say it. Kirill. It’s a very simple name.”
“K-Kirill.”
My lips twitch at the stutter, finding it surprisingly adorable on someone who couldn’t be accused of lacking a backbone.
“Say it again but more naturally this time. That didn’t sound like a wife who’s been married to me for two years.”
She purses her lips, obviously uncomfortable with the scenario I came up with, which is probably why I keep referring to her as my wife every chance I get.
Is this shit entertaining? Absolutely.
“Go ahead,” I nudge when she remains silent.
“Kirill,” she says with more force than needed.
“Again. Naturally.”
“Kirill,” she murmurs in a gentle tone that vibrates through my chest, then shoots straight to my dick, and my heart jolts.
Maybe I need to have Nadia and her husband look at it in case I have an internal injury. Or maybe I should stop having a front-row seat to Aleksandra’s side tit.
I flip a page as if I’ve been reading this classical book all along. “Don’t be a flirt.”
“You’re the one who told me to do it more naturally.” She crosses her arms and then winces when she probably triggers the pain in her injury. “Make up your mind.”
“If we were at camp, you’d be punished for that.”
“But we aren’t.”
“Watch it.”
“Pretty sure a husband doesn’t talk to his wife in that tone.”
“I do.”
“You…are you married?”
“I am.”
Her lips part, and she slowly lets her hands fall to either side of her. I can almost taste the dramatic shift of her mood in the air. Interesting.
“To you, remember?” I add in the same casual manner I’ve been speaking with.
I’m almost sure I spot some form of relief, but it vanishes when she starts to get up. “I should probably go help Nadia with something.”
She stumbles in her attempts to stand, and I reach her in a few steps and then support her from behind, one hand on her arm and the other grabbing her wrist.
Aleksandra starts to push me away. “I can stand on my own.”
“You don’t even have the strength to breathe properly.”
“I’m fine.” She attempts to wiggle free of my hold, but I tighten my grip on her.
“Quit being stubborn.”
Her body’s still rigid, but she doesn’t fight anymore. Once she’s calmed down a little, I release her and reach for the velvet robe Nadia placed on the foot of the bed.
I gently pull it over her injured side, and she groans but quickly mutes the sound. I’m starting to realize that she hates showing weakness more than anything. That’s probably why she didn’t want me to help just now.
That’s also why she looked horrified when Nadia told her I carried her all the way here. Or maybe that had to do with how she called me her husband a couple of times.
“Now, put in the other hand.”
She begrudgingly complies. “I can do it on my own.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you insisting on helping?”
I pull up the strap of the nightgown that’s been subtly teasing me for the past twenty minutes.
Goosebumps erupt on her skin, and she goes still. She even stops breathing for a second too long.
A devilish thought sparks my mind. I wonder if she’ll tremble if my hand innocently touches her breast.
I only have a side view of her face, but the more my hand lingers on her skin, the longer she holds her breath.
After a quick thought, I remove my hand.
While it’s fun to toy with her, the way she’s holding her breath may cause complications.
Slowly, her chest rises and falls in a harsh rhythm as she snatches the belt of the robe and ties it around her waist.
“Are you mad about something, Sasha?”
She whirls around and stares at me with that stupefied expression. “Why are you calling me that?”
“Everyone in the unit does. I assume it’s your way of relating to your true name more, yes?”
“I never said you could use it.”
“Never said I couldn’t.”
She narrows her eyes as if I’m next on her shit list, which wouldn’t be a surprise, considering all the whiplash I must’ve been giving her.
Sasha hasn’t been with me long enough to know that my actions turn unpredictable when I’m in a situation that I haven’t anticipated.
“You might want to control your expression. Our hosts are already suspicious of you, and we don’t want them to kick us out in the middle of a storm, now, do we?”
She opens her mouth to say something, but she quickly thinks better of it and clamps it shut.
When she slowly walks to the door, I block her way. She subtly pushes back, but I can see the slight jerk in her shoulders before she schools the movement.
“Now what?” she asks in a careful tone.
“Now, I need you to be natural. No jerking or acting uncomfortable. Remember your favorite married couple and act like them.”
She pauses for a moment, then nods once.
“I mean it, Sasha. If we’re kicked out of here, I might be able to get through the storm on my own, but you won’t survive.”
“Got it. Natural.”
It’s far from a good sign that she even needs to say it out loud, but if there’s anything I trust about her, it’s her strong determination to survive.
Someone else would’ve lost the battle during the time it took me to get here.
She didn’t.
Despite the fever, she held on to life with everything in her.
We leave the room side by side, and although she attempts to seem strong, Sasha walks slowly.
I grab her by the elbow for support, and she starts to wiggle free, but I shake my head.
Her struggle wanes, but she breaks eye contact. Almost as if she’s avoiding me.
Well, well, well.
Once we arrive in the living room, Sasha stops to inspect our surroundings.
The space is small but has character. A vintage green sofa and matching chairs form a circle. A plant with small white flowers sits in the middle of a glass coffee table. There’s also a dark green antique teapot and two cups.
The couple obviously loves green, because their carpets and wallpaper also have green in them. Even the mantle over the fireplace that’s blazing with the wood I chopped for Nicholas yesterday has Russian dolls dressed in green sitting on it.
Upon seeing us, Doctor Nicholas abandons watching a rerun of an old show.
He’s older than Nadia and has a wrinkled face but a surprisingly straight posture for someone his age. He’s not overweight like my father, who wheezes and turns blue after walking a few steps.
“Do you feel better, child?” he asks Sasha.
Her expression softens as she nods. “I do. Once again, thank you so much. I’ll make sure to repay you one day.”
He throws up a dismissive hand. “There’s a saying I believe in. It’s about doing good and forgetting about it.”
“We’re still thankful, Doctor,” I say.
“It’s Nicholas, I tell you. Come, come, sit by the fire.”
“I’m going to see if Nadia needs any help.” Sasha starts to walk, but the woman in question appears in the kitchen doorway.
“Nonsense. I need no help. And what are you doing out of bed?” She fixates Sasha with a stern motherly expression.
“I can move.” Sasha pulls from me and does a small turn. “It’s good to walk around instead of staying in bed all day, right?”
“Not if you strain yourself.”
Sasha completely ignores her and steps toward the kitchen, a small smile painted on her lips.
This girl obviously knows no fear, or maybe it was purged out of her.
It’s not that I don’t want to be a woman, it’s that I can’t. Those are the words she said, and even though I already categorized the situation to be none of my business, I find myself thinking about it.
In the beginning, I assumed she went through all the trouble of disguising herself because she wanted to be a man, which is why I respected her wishes and even addressed her as a man. Turns out, she has to be a man because being a woman is dangerous. She has a natural feminine aura, so does that mean she hasn’t been pretending to be a man for very long?
Besides, as much as she tries to hide it, she has a very posh, educated way of using words. I know because it resembles Yulia’s manner of speech that somehow affected my own Russian. One doesn’t talk like that unless they were brought up a certain way that includes private tutors and a high standing in Russian society.
There’s also a finesse to her movements, despite the manly image she tries to project. It’s mixed with a naïve softness of someone who has been both sheltered and taught nothing of the world. At times, when Maksim blabbers on about mundane things, she listens with keen curiosity as if it’s the first time she’s heard of it.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she was a princess before the military and the gender change.
How someone like her ended up in the lowest rank of the army is a mystery.
“Don’t worry. Nadia will take care of her.”
Nicholas’s voice alerts me to the fact that I’ve continued staring at the entrance of the kitchen long after the two women have disappeared inside.
I internally shake my head and take the seat opposite him. He pours me a cup of tea, and I thank him for it, then take a sip, even though I’m not a fan.
“She’s a strong young lady.” Nicholas’s voice rises over the TV, whose volume is already low. Unlike his wife, he speaks in a serene tone, soothing and welcoming.
“Strong?” I ask.
“Yes. She’s out of danger now, but when I first saw her, I thought she wouldn’t make it through the night.”
I actually thought that, too. She’s still a bit pale, but it doesn’t compare to the pasty complexion and blue lips she had when we arrived.
“It takes a lot of willpower to hang on to life like that.” Nicholas fingers the rim of his cup. “It could be due to either a strong love or a strong hate.”
“Why do you think it would be one of the two?”
“An intuition.” He smiles. “I assume it’s the love part that kept her going.”
Nah. It’s definitely hate.
From the first day I met her, Sasha has been fighting and trying to be strong, and that’s only because she’s needed that strength to fight whoever poses a danger to the female version of her.
It took me some time, but I’m starting to put the pieces of the puzzle that is Sasha into place.
“You’re lucky to be the subject of such love, son,” Nicholas says. “Take it from me, it’s a blessing to come across, and if you don’t protect it, using your life if needed, you might regret it for the rest of your days.”
I smile politely, nodding in agreement. Then he goes on to tell me about his wife and how he nearly lost her once and how they eloped, lost one son, married off another, and sent the third abroad.
It’s an interesting tale that keeps my head occupied from the niggling doubt about the operation from fucking hell.
Thirty-eight hours now.
Viktor still hasn’t gotten in touch.
It could be because of the storm. It has to be.
Nicholas is interrupted when Nadia tells us to set the table. Sasha tries to help, but the stern nurse literally swats her hand, so she stays still.
She also bluntly informs her that redoing her stitches would be bothersome.
We sit down for dinner, and although I didn’t expect much, Nadia actually went all out with traditional dishes I haven’t had in ages.
My mother never cooked—at least, not for me. And the woman who raised me isn’t Russian.
Sasha stares at the food as Nicholas says a little prayer before we dig in. Nadia tells her to eat specific dishes, something about nutritional value and amount of salt.
Sasha slowly lifts a spoonful of soup to her lips. The moment she tastes the food, a tear slides down her cheek.
I lean over and whisper, “What’s wrong?”
It’s then she realizes she’s crying and wipes at her eyes with her sleeve. “Nothing…it’s just…this reminds me of home and Mama’s cooking.”
“Do you like it?” Nadia asks in a softer tone.
“I love it. Thank you for letting me relive this feeling.” Sasha drinks her soup, stopping now and again as if needing to catch her breath.
I place a hand on her back, stroking it, but she shows no reaction. She’s either gotten into the role, or she’s too engrossed in the food to notice.
The rest of the evening has a homey feel and Nadia scolds Sasha whenever she tries to move or exert herself.
Nicholas takes another look at her, and Nadia gives her painkillers before we all bid each other goodnight.
As soon as we reach the room, Sasha lies on the bed, obviously exhausted. But since she’s a stubborn being, she did everything she could to hide her condition from the old couple.
I go to wash up in the adjoining bathroom, then remove the old reading glasses I borrowed from Nicholas under the pretext that I’m nearsighted. Thing is, glasses make me look less threatening, so I always have them on while off duty.
When I return to the room, I find Sasha lying on her back, the robe scattered at her side and her eyes are closed.
Looks like she gave up the battle and fell asleep. I sit on the bed and start to pull the covers from her hold.
The bright color of her eyes meet mine as she grips them tightly. “W-what are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going to sleep.”
“Aren’t you supposed to sleep on the floor or something?”
“Why would I do that when there’s a bed?” I forcibly pull the covers back and lie down, palm under my head, then I close my eyes.
“Then…” She inches to the edge of the mattress. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Without opening my eyes, I roll onto my side and throw my arm over her middle. “You’ll do no such thing. It’s cold and uncomfortable on the floor.”
Her body goes still beneath mine, but it’s a careful type. A behavior like injured animals would exhibit when they’re under stress.
“Kirill…”
“Yes?” I ask nonchalantly, pretending not to feel the squeeze in my chest at hearing her call my name.
“Nadia said you seemed to have taken a long journey to get me here. It must’ve been so hard in the middle of all the snow and with the enemy at your back. I was as good as dead, so why didn’t you leave me behind?”
I open my eyes to be greeted by her molten ones. They’re more green than brown now, bright, innocent, and…breakable. “You were still breathing.”
“But I was unresponsive and bleeding—”
“As long as you were still breathing, I wouldn’t leave you behind. That’s not how I operate.”
“Even if you were in danger because of me?”
“Even then.”
She gulps, the delicate veins in her throat bobbing up and down. “Thank you. I think I stayed alive because I knew I had you.”
Her face shines with that bright innocence again. This isn’t only a display of gratefulness—it’s something much more.
