come first. In the end, if either woman died, so did their man. That was the bottom line.
Ania looked from her husband to him, going from challenging to vulnerable in one short moment. That look cut deep. He’d caught brief flashes of something very close to that in Flambé’s eyes. Ania moved past him, quicksilver like Ania was, and he didn’t have time to move out of her way. She brushed up against him and he scented blood. Ania? Bleeding? That time of the month maybe, but it didn’t seem quite right. It wasn’t his business, but still, it was worrisome.
Frowning, he pushed back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest, leaving the door open. He wanted to be able to keep an eye on Flambé while Ania talked to Mitya.
The moment Ania moved into the room, Mitya’s hard features softened. He spun his chair around immediately, his blue eyes sweeping over her from head to toe as if checking her for damage.
“I’m sorry I interrupted you, Mitya. I wanted to take Flambé to see my latest work out in the garage, but I should have just texted you or Sevastyan. I had no idea Rolan was anywhere near.”
That told Sevastyan that Mitya shared their history with his wife. He and Gorya exchanged a long look. Ania had gone through one war already with their family when Lazar, Mitya’s father, had come to kill him. It couldn’t be easy to ask her to go through another.
Sevastyan studied Ania. She hadn’t hesitated as she crossed the room to go straight to her husband. She leaned into him. Everything about her body language screamed that she adored him. When she tilted her face up to his, the love on her face was almost so blinding, so intimate, it seemed wrong to witness it. Mitya bent toward her, his hands gentle as he cupped her face.
“We aren’t certain where he is, kotyonok,” he replied, calling his wife kitten, his nickname for her. “We just have to make certain you’re safe.”
Sevastyan glanced down the hall to Flambé. She never touched him outside of sex. She didn’t move her body close to his even when they were alone. She didn’t lean into him. There was no look of adoration unless he had her in the ropes, one of the reasons he wanted to tie her more and more. He loved that look on her face and in her eyes when he took her. She kept herself emotionally—and to an extent, physically—away from him.
He went very still inside. All along, his cousin had tried to tell him that he had made a mistake with his choice. He thought it was more about him being fucked up. He’d known all along he was, but then all of them, every Amurov, had thought they were—until they found their mate. Sevastyan had been different. The others had been able to stop having sex when their leopards had gone so crazy and wanted to tear apart any partners. Sevastyan had been unable to do so.
The craving for sex had grown stronger in him. The worse the rage, the more the need for sex built until he had no choice but to go to the club. Not that the differences ended there. Mitya might be extremely dominant, but his sex didn’t border on brutal. He didn’t want or need the kind of kink Sevastyan did.
Ania loved Mitya. She really loved him. He knew Evangeline loved Fyodor. Ashe loved Timur. Flambé didn’t want to even connect with him no matter what he tried to do. He reached out over and over to her. Every time he thought he was close, she retreated. Granted, he didn’t know the first damn thing about a relationship, but he was trying. He was going to have to face the fact that there was something wrong with him.
Abruptly, he turned and stalked out of the office, straight down the hall to Flambé. They’d had a good day the day before; at least, he thought they’d made progress. Today, she’d come with him to work and she’d been quiet, thoughtful, but she hadn’t completely retreated from him as she normally would have. He knew she didn’t like his cousin and avoided him as much as she could. Mitya was often rude to her. He was going to talk to his cousin and ask him to try with her, even though Mitya didn’t understand her.
He walked right up to Flambé where she stood, back pressed against the