Page 77 of Wreaking Havoc
“I just…I wish I could hate him completely.”
“Your father?”
Sascha folded his hands on Kai’s chest and propped his chin on top, meeting Kai’s eyes. “He used to sit me on his lap when he was doing paperwork,” he recalled. “Before he sent me away to boarding school. He’d let me stay up past my bedtime like that, if I was quiet. Sometimes I’d fall asleep there. He always smelled like cigarettes and milky tea.”
Kai brushed a strand of hair back from Sascha’s face. “Hatred and love can coexist, zaychik. Even if it hurts for them to do so.”
“But I don’t like pain.” It was easy to admit to Kai. He didn’t care that Sascha wasn’t some badass warrior or hardened mobster. He didn’t mind that Sascha was soft.
“Most don’t,” Kai told him. “What do you do when you’re hurting? What dulls the pain?”
Sascha thought it over. “Sex, I suppose. Shopping.”
“Mm. What else?”
“Oh!” Sascha sat up with a start, ignoring Kai’s disgruntled noise when he kneed him in the chest with his movements. “You’re gonna like this one.”
Kai peered up at him suspiciously. “Why do I doubt that?”
Within ten minutes—after a cursory clean and changing into silky sleep shorts—Sascha had them both settled in the living room, his duvet from the bedroom draped over his shoulders, Kai sitting cross-legged in front of him on the hardwood floor.
Sascha had “Viking braid tutorials” pulled up on his phone next to him on the couch, but Kai’s eyes were fixed on the TV screen. “I don’t understand,” he said, frustration in his voice. “If these housewives are so wealthy and pampered and famous, why do they yell so much?”
“The yelling iswhythey’re famous,” Sascha explained for the third time. “It’s all about drama.”
“I hate it,” Kai grumbled.
But two episodes later, Kai’s eyes were still on the screen. “The blonde woman should apologize. She has greatly wronged the brunette.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Sascha warned him, putting the last braids into place. “Apologies are rare.” He patted his handiwork. “There, all done. But don’t get up!”
He hopped off the couch and ran to grab his compact from his vanity. He handed it to Kai, smiling at the way the thing looked so ridiculously minuscule in his hand.
But Kai held it with great care, bringing it up to his face and eyeing Sascha’s efforts. When he turned back to Sascha, he was grinning. “These are very fine braids, zaychik. I’m lucky to have you as a mate.”
Sascha’s cheeks heated. He leaned down, placing a chaste kiss on Kai’s lips.
Kai’s smile grew even wider.
Sascha cleared his throat, willing himself to be brave. “Speaking of mates. Is it a whole to-do? Like candles and robes and whatnot?”
Kai’s grin dropped, his expression taking on a new intensity. “No props. Only words, to be spoken by each of us with intent.”
“Oh.” Sascha shifted on his feet. “Okay.”
Kai cocked his head. “Now?”
Sascha took a deep breath. “Now,” he confirmed. “Except, wait.” He grabbed the remote, turning off the TV. “I can’t get demon-married withThe Real Housewivesplaying in the background. It’s too tacky, even for me.”
Once they’d collectedthe Book and returned to Sascha’s bedroom—Kai had declared his living room “too sterile” for bonding—Sascha could only giggle.
While Kai looked fairly regal (Sascha had done, he had to admit, a fucking fantastic job on his braids), Sascha was apparently going to bond his soul to his mate while wearing a pink silk pajama set.
Kai cocked a brow. “What amuses you?”
“Just…we’re going to have to have a real wedding, you know?” Sascha told him, surprising himself in the process. He waved a hand to encompass his whole ensemble. “I can look much better than this, I promise.”
Kai’s eyes gleamed at he looked him over. “But you look good enough to eat, zaychik.”
