Chapter 71 Chapter 71 Nightmares
My eyes flutter open, and I’m standing at the top of a dark staircase. The door slams shut behind me, echoing through the hollow space, and I realize I’m not alone.
Roman’s voice carries from somewhere beyond the thing in front of me—the monster. The monster stands between Roman and I, wearing khaki pants and a blue polo, like nothing is wrong, like this is normal. He lets go of my hand, telling me to stay still, then grabs my wrist again and presses it against something soft. I squeeze instinctively, but I don’t know what I’m touching.
We move down the stairs together, step by step, into a cellar. The air is damp, thick, wrong. The monster closes the door to a small wine room behind us. His face is blurred, shifting, impossible to recognize.
And then he makes me watch.
He hurts Roman.
Screams fill the small room, bouncing off the stone walls, but I don’t understand what’s happening. I can’t process it. Roman falls, crawls, dragging himself across the floor until he reaches the corner. A new smell fills the air—metallic, sharp. Red liquid spreads beneath him.
Blood.
I’ve seen blood before. I’ve watched my father and grandfather slaughter a sheep every Easter for my brother’s name day. I know what blood looks like.
Roman is bleeding.
Roman is hurt.
I reach for him, for my little Prince, but the monster grabs me.
Suddenly I’m on the cold, damp floor. Pain explodes through my body, sharp and endless. Blood drips from me too, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
The monster leans over me.
Roman is still screaming.
The monster turns, strikes him across the face, silencing him, then comes back to me. Fingers force my mouth open.
And I scream.
I scream until my throat burns, until there’s nothing left inside me, until the sound tears itself apart.
“Elena!!!”
The voice cuts through everything.
“Elena! Elena!”
My eyes snap open.
There’s someone in front of me, but I don’t recognize the face. My body is still screaming even if my voice is breaking. I look down—I’m naked, on a bed, in a room that isn’t mine, nothing familiar, nothing safe.
I scramble backward, falling off the bed, hitting the floor hard, crawling into the corner. The stranger follows me.
“Elena, it’s me—Dimitri!” he says urgently. “You’re safe. Everything is okay.”
His hand brushes the back of my arm, gentle, grounding, but my vision is still fractured, struggling to focus.
The door bursts open.
Another figure storms in, others crowding behind him.
“What are you doing to her?” he demands, his voice sharp enough to make my skin prickle.
“Nothing, Ivan,” Dimitri snaps back. “She’s having a nightmare. She hasn’t had one this bad in a while. I can usually calm her down.”
I blink again.
And again.
The room sharpens into place. Dimitri is kneeling beside me. Ivan lowers himself to my other side. Behind them, I see Sal, Illia Jr., and the rest of the brothers filling the doorway.
I woke the whole house.
My screams dragged them all here.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, pulling my knees to my chest, trying to make myself smaller, quieter.
Ivan turns, mutters something to the others, and the door closes. He comes back, pulling his shirt over his head before helping me up. The fabric slides over my skin, warm and soft, hanging loosely off one shoulder.
Dimitri lifts me like I weigh nothing and places me in the middle of the bed.
Then they both climb in with me.
I turn toward Dimitri instinctively, wrapping myself around him. His hand smooths over my hair, steady and calming. Behind me, Ivan’s heat presses close, his large hand moving in slow circles along my back. His lips brush my exposed shoulder.
Their warmth surrounds me, heavy and consuming.
Safe.
Too safe.
Something shifts.
The fear drains out of me, replaced by something else—something hotter, sharper. A slow burn starts low in my stomach, spreading outward. My body wakes fully, painfully aware of where I am, who I’m between.
Why am I like this?
After nightmares—after fear—this always happens. My body betrays me, turning panic into heat, terror into want. It disgusts me.
I hate it.
I hate myself for it.
My hand rests on Dimitri’s chest, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer. His skin is marked with vertical scars beneath the lion tattoo, rough history beneath smooth warmth. When I try to move my hand, he presses it back over his heart, holding it there.
Ivan’s hand slides under the shirt, settling against my stomach, his touch slow, deliberate.
I look up at Dimitri, my breathing uneven.
“Feeling better?” he asks quietly.
“You… you’re both too close,” I whisper, but it comes out wrong—too soft, too breathy, almost a moan.
“Do you want us to move?” Ivan murmurs against my ear, his breath sending goosebumps racing over my skin.
“No,” I breathe, my thighs pressing together as I try to ease the growing ache.
Dimitri cups my face, forcing me to look at him. His eyes search mine, sharp and knowing.
“Elena… are you turned on?”
I inhale sharply, my body tightening.
“Elena,” Ivan whispers, his lips brushing my neck, “Dimitri asked you a question.”
The soft kisses unravel me completely.
I take Ivan’s hand and guide it lower, past my stomach, between my legs. Dimitri’s fingers move to the ties of my bikini bottoms, loosening them slowly.
“Oh, baby…” Ivan breathes, his voice rough. “You’re so wet. Dimitri put a finger inside her!"
My body arches as their touch meets me, my breath catching, breaking. My hips move without permission, chasing more, needing more.
“Will you let us share you?”
The words hit me like a shock.
My eyes fly open, locking onto Dimitri’s. What did he just ask me?
“What?” I whisper. “Share me?”
“Yes,” Ivan answers from behind me, his voice low and certain. “If you relax enough… we can both fit.”
A shiver runs through me, anticipation curling tight in my core.
Together.
The thought alone makes my body throb harder.
“Yes,” I breathe, surrendering to it, to them, to the heat overtaking everything else. “Share me.”
Dimitri’s lips crash into mine.
It’s everything I imagined—and more. Soft, controlled, but full of something deeper, something that pulls at me. His hand stays steady on my face as he kisses me, grounding me even as I come undone.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his breath warm against my lips.
“We’ll be gentle,” he murmurs.