Heart of Fury - Stone and Fire # 2 [17+]

Chapter 26

small tiny one bc im failing school

Aurora's POV

The motorcycle swiveled to stop, and the familiar compounds of my house made itself into view. Dread sank a hole into my chest.

I stayed on the motorcycle, arms unwinding from his hard waist, a pit of stone weighing myself heavy. The motor became a silent thrum against my thighs. The moonlight gleamed against the marble steps of my house, as if ordering me to step inside; no matter how furiously the denial pulsed in my chest. 

He was doing it again. Squaring me out. Fueling this light between us, only to switch it off once it'd been running too long.

"You gonna pull a double and fuck me tomorrow, too?" I said, cold humor in my voice. "Don't lie and say it'll be in your bed this time."

"Oh, wait. I forget about you Russians and your 'love for range.'" My voice dripped with sweet, sickly distaste, and I pulled out my phone from my pocket. "I can make Jess a call girl real quick. All I need is an order."

"Taunting me won't do anything, Aurora." He gripped the handles of the motorcycle like in the car. He thought I didn't notice, but I did.

"Yeah? What do you want me to do, drag myself behind you like a dead corpse everytime you fuck a new girl? Watch you call me sweet names and give me soft kisses while a naked stripper waits for you, eagle-spread, at home?" Puffs of smoke leave my mouth with the cold air surrounding me.

"Go inside. You're shivering." The pure pity in his voice made fire rage in my throat. Who the fuck did he think he was? 

A laugh tears out of my chest, mocking his order. "I don't recall asking you to take care of me. That wasn't in the rulebook."

He finally looks at me, but with the dark sky and green in his eyes it's impossible to tell what he's thinking. "I wasn't aware of a rulebook."

My arms crossed over my chest. "Rule number one. Don't have sex with an Italian woman. Ring a bell?" I gestured to myself, highlighting the subject of the sentence. 

His eyes lowered to my exposed thighs. "I guess I can cross that off, then."

"You ever think about becoming normal, for once? Not psychotic?" I stepped closer until my arm brushed against his elbow. Even through the hoodie, my skin ached to feel his warmth again, whether it was underneath a goddamn shower or on cracked pavement. 

"It runs in my blood." His neck rolled away from me. "If you expected flowers, you should've fucked me a little more gentlemanly." My cheeks heated at his reference. 

"This is so- beyond twisted." My eyes nagged on his shoulder, suddenly remembering the bullet wound. The blood had sunken through his jacket too, and was a wet, black patch under the night sky. "Mikhail. You're still bleeding."

Dazed, my hand pressed on it. It came away sodden in red, trickling down my hand. "Oh my god." I choked out, lifting the jacket to see an even bigger hole in his shirt. "You need to treat it."

"What I need is a goddamn drink." He roughed out, pushing my hand away with a force that shot straight to my chest. "Go inside, Aurora." I stepped closer. "Now." Another step. I kept going, until the darkness in his eyes gave away to the silence underneath.

"Let me help you. You're gonna die if you try to go home like this." He groaned as I pressed my hand over the wound; it was getting worse.

"Better than getting shot by a fucking Italian." He pulled out a Zippo lighter and a cigarette, lighting it up as I stay there with a pathetic hand over his bullet wound.

"Are you smoking?"

"No. I'm brushing my teeth."

I rolled my eyes, swallowing as he stared into my eyes and placed the white paper between his lips. I removed my hand off the wound, grabbing the cigarette and slipping it into my mouth instead. He glanced at my hand.

"Your hand's covered in my blood." He raised a brow, as if accepting the sight with open arms.

"What difference does it make? Not long ago I was covered in something else of yours." He smirked at my dirty joke.

"You might wanna get yourself checked out, angel. BP's pretty hard to deal with."

My brows furrowed as I handed him the stick and blew out a long, delirious puff of smoke into his face. Like always, he looked straight through it. "BP?"

"Bipolar disorder." 

"I don't have bipolar disorder, if anything, your the narcissistic one. Never get tired of the attention, do you?" 

"Flattery." He corrected. "It's good to boost a man's ego."

I cringed, grabbing the cigarette again. "No need to go over the top, I'll stop liking you."

"You won't." He stated matter of factly.

"You can never be so sure."

"Oh, I'm sure." Something dark played in his eyes as he adjusted on the motorcycle. "You won't be touching another man after tonight." 

I shifted, hesitant but listening all the same. Unease spread through me as he slunk a heavy arm around my waist and tugged, so harshly I let out a squeak as my hands fell over his shoulders and I was pressed into him.

He looked straight into my eyes, hesitantly flickering to my lips and then the red twinge on my cheeks. "Because he'll be shot seven times in the chest before you can bring him back his shot of whiskey."

Seven times. Specific number, don't you think? He then took the cigarette, snuffed out the tip with his thumb, and slipped it into his pocket. I fell back, dazed from the alarming amount of heat coming from his body. Didn't people go colder the longer they lost blood?

"You can't kill an Italian. Everyone will be gunning for you." I said in a last ditch effort, as he spruced up the gears and turned on the engine. 

"No harm in fighting for what's yours, Aurora." The deep-seated verity in his voice drew a shiver up my spine, unrelated to the cold. 

And then he left, motorcycle rumbling out of the driveway with a red-kissed cigarette in his pocket. 

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bye pooks