ALVARA

xxv

*If you cannot recall the events preceding this chapter, scroll down to read a summary of the story so far

― ALVARA

I THINK I'M DREAMING.

Because there is no way Kaiser is kissing me. I'm kissing Kaiser.

His mouth is surprisingly soft and uncertain on mine, only the faintest of touches before he leans back.

We stand there for a moment, sharing each other's breath and trying to collect our thoughts.

"I... I hadn't meant to do that." Kaiser's voice is low and throaty. When I look up at him, though, there's a small, satisfied smile on his face and his eyes are closed. As if he's replaying a particularly sweet memory.

"I think you did," I whisper, and wrap my arms around his neck to pull his mouth back on mine. There's no going back from this, whatever this is. I might as well enjoy myself before we both come to our senses.

We kiss and kiss and kiss until we're both gasping for air. While I catch my breath, he turns his attention to my exposed throat, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses up and down my jugular. Each languid touch creates an electric current that runs through me. My arms tighten around his neck.

Kaiser pulls back and looks down at me. I attempt to regain my composure, but I'm sure he sees through it. A smile of pure male satisfaction spreads across his face as he takes in my undoubtedly dishevelled state.

"I look good on you," he murmurs in my ear. The hand around my throat slides to the nape of my neck before weaving through my hair. We stare at each other for a heartbeat, something softening in his grey eyes as he plays with my hair.

Unable to stand the look in his eyes any longer, I lean my cheek against his chest, which is warm and surprisingly snuggly. We stay there for God knows how long, my arms around his shoulders, his chin on my shoulder.

Two lonely souls inhabiting one body.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

― KAISER 

"YOU WANTED TO TALK?"

Nikita sits opposite me, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of honey-coloured whiskey in hand. Even though it's a little past midnight, he is impeccable in a three-piece suit.

I swallow, my brain still lingering on the feel of Alvara leaning against my chest. I settle for a safe reply. "Yes."

His eyes flash. "At three a.m. in the morning? Really?" The stress of being newly-appointed Pakhan has clearly taken a toll on him; upon closer inspection, there are bruises beneath his pale-green eyes, his lips are chapped, and a stain marks his charcoal vest.

Concern, a foreign feeling, floods through me for my childhood friend. His biggest enemy isn't rival syndicates, but his father's advisors. They despise him, the young, hotheaded playboy who has much, much different plans for the Bratva's future than his predecessors. 

He scowls when I remain silent. "What do you want, Kaiser?"

"We never got to continue our earlier conversation before a gunshot rudely interrupted us," I say pleasantly.

Nikita scrubs a hand over his face, sighing. I don't know if it's a good thing, him showing weakness so freely in front of an enemy mafia's hitman. Either way, I plough on.