Blood And Vows

Liliana's POV

The blood wouldn't come out.

I scrubbed harder, my split knuckles burning as they scraped against the frozen cobblestones. My body vibrated under the chilly weather and I could feel my blood freezing. But I dared not stop. Elena would make me regret it.

The water in my bucket had long since turned pink, yet the blood stain from last night's disciplinary lesson remained. Above me, my half-sisters' laughter floated down from the rooftop like falling icicles.

"Look at her," Irina sneered, swirling her morning tea. "Papa's little ghost, scrubbing away her sins."

Katya threw a crust of black bread at my feet. It landed in the dirty water with a splash. "Here, svoloch. The dogs didn't want it."

They bursted into laughter.

I kept my head down. Ten winters in the Orlov household had taught me that silence was the only armor they couldn't strip away.

Elena's stiletto heels clicked across the courtyard behind me. The eldest Orlov daughter stopped so close that I could smell her French perfume over the metallic tang of blood.

"You missed a spot," she purred before kicking my bucket over. Ice-cold water soaked through my threadbare dress, one of their cast-offs from three winters ago. The sisters' laughter rang out as I shivered violently.

Elena crouched down, her perfectly manicured nails digging into my chin. "You'll never be a real Orlov," she whispered, her minty breath fogging between us. "You are nothing but a bastard mistake. Our little house rat." She giggled.

Elena sipped her champagne, her heels digging into my fingers as blood seeped out. I held back my tears. "I wish you'd just died at birth." She said, her voice dripping with disdain. "You're nothing but a bad luck charm."

The courtyard gates groaned open. Guards snapped to attention as Nickolas Orlov himself strode through, his wolf-fur coat dusted with fresh snow. The sisters immediately straightened, their cruel amusement vanishing like smoke.

"Liliana."

My father's voice sent ice flooding my veins. He never used my name unless...

"Clean yourself up." His cold gaze raked over my soaked dress with obvious disgust. "You'll be of use to the family tonight."

Elena's champagne flute slipped from her fingers, shattering on the stones. "Papa?"

Nickolas didn't spare her a glance. "The white dress," he told me. "And for God's sake, do something with that hair."

My throat tightened. The white dress, the one decent garment passed down to me by Elena, reserved for rare occasions when the Orlovs needed to pretend I was family.

"Use... how?" The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Nickolas backhanded me so fast I barely saw it coming. Pain exploded across my cheekbone as I crashed into the half-frozen water.

"You'll know when you need to know," he said calmly, shaking out his hand. "Now go. The car leaves at seven."

As I scrambled to my feet, Elena caught my arm, her fingers like talons. "Finally making yourself useful," she whispered, her smile reaching her hazel eyes.

The bathhouse was empty when I entered. While my sisters use private rooms and bathrooms, I share with the maids. Steam curled around my battered body as I sank into the hottest water I could bear. My mind raced with terrible possibilities. Of what use could the daughter of a maid be? They never made me forget that I was of low-birth.

My father called me a curse. Because my mother died immediately I was born. He was expecting a boy, an heir not a mistake!

His empire is full of girls, making him weak and vulnerable.

My sisters are spared from his wrath because they are of noble birth, not a maid's daughter.

When the maid came to do my hair, she couldn't look me in the eyes. The expression on her face was way too familiar. I see it on her face every time. Pity.

"Who is it?" I asked quietly as she worked the knots from my tangled hair.

Her hands stilled for just a moment before continuing. "They say... they say it's a great honor, devochka."

I knew it was a lie.

At exactly seven o'clock, I stood in the foyer wearing the white dress, my damp hair braided tightly down my back. Nickolas looked me up and down with something almost resembling an approval.

"Remember," he said as he pushed me toward the waiting car, "you are an Orlov tonight."

The black Mercedes wound through Moscow's snow-covered streets, driving past glittering storefronts and crowded cafes. I pressed my forehead to the cold glass, watching ordinary people live ordinary lives. I wish I had that much freedom.

The car stopped before a towering cathedral, its golden domes glowing against the night sky. Armed men in dark suits flanked the entrance.

Then I saw the banners.

Black and silver. A snarling wolf.

Volkov colors?

My blood turned to ice.

What could we be doing here? I wondered.

Nickolas gripped my jaw, forcing me to look at him. "Tonight, you'll marry him." He whispered. "Smile, Dochka, you're finally useful." He smirked. "I can finally end this decade-long war. You are my peace offering, Liliana, so serve your husband well."

My blood ran cold. Marriage! who?! I am only 21!

"Papa...please don't..." I begged, but it was too late. My father pushed me down the aisle.

"Be a good wife, Liliana." He smirked, walking away.

I walked down the aisle, alone as I fought to hold back the tears that threatened to drop.

"Mother...please protect me." I whispered, holding onto the locket hanging on my neck. It was the only thing I have left of my mother - her picture. Her other belongings were burned down to ashes. Cruel! Just cruel!

The hall was empty except for some priests whose eyes never left me and standing in front of them was a godlike being.

"Is he an angel?" I muttered, walking slowly down the aisle. But the look on his face told me that I was wasting time, and needed to hurry up.

This godlike being can't be the man I'm marrying, right? Well, I wasn't given to him as a wife. I was sold to him. But why would such a perfect man agree to marry me?

But as I stood before him, my blood ran cold.

It was no one but the devil himself. Mikhail Volkov.

I swallowed hard, my knees trembling beneath the white dress. His glacial eyes raked over me, stripping me bare with a single glance. The air between us became tense.

Ahead, my father stood in the shadows of the cathedral's archway, his lips curled in a smirk.

He sold me.

Not just to an enemy. But to The Reaper.

Why would The Reaper choose to marry me? Guess he wanted a slave not a wife.

Mikhail's gloved hand grabbed my wrist tightly as the priests chanted.

Then he whispered, his tone cold. "Your father thinks he's trading trash for peace. But trash burns...and I love watching things burn."

I felt my stomach tighten, it became very difficult to breathe.

We stepped out of the cathedral after making the marriage vows. A sleek black Rolls-Royce Boat Tail stopped right in front of us. I scoffed. At least I get to enjoy luxury.

"One minute with my daughter, please." Nikolas walked up to Mikhail. Mikhail nodded, his face void of expression.

Nikolas dragged me aside, pressing a dagger into my palm. His gaze turned deadly. "When he fucks you, cut his throat."

My eyes widened.

This wasn't a peace treaty.

This was a suicide mission.

If Mikhail Volkov was that easy to kill, I wouldn't be standing here disguised as a peace offering.

Nikolas walked away and I quickly slipped the dagger into my sleeve

I knew that I was never going to survive.

Mikhail's POV

One glance at her and I knew she was the perfect pawn.

Frail. Fragile. Weak. Gaunt. Skinny.

"Tsk tsk tsk." I shook my head.

"Told you it was a bad idea, but you insisted on marrying her. You could still own her without marriage." Dmitri whispered, our eyes on the child and her father.

I smirked. "No one owns a thing without a covenant."

Dmitri shivered, his eyes wide as the realization dawned. "No way!"

"Time's up." I muttered, checking my watch. I looked up at the child as she slipped a metal substance into her sleeve. I grinned. "Perfect!"

Dmitri opened the car door for me. "You're a psychopath." He whispered, leaving the car door open for her.

She stood there, gazing at the ground as she bit her perfectly carved lips.

"Is this what I will be dealing with for years?" I muttered, loud enough for Dmitri to hear.

He chuckled. "Warned you,"

I hissed. "Pathetic."

Dmitri looked back from the driver's seat, his breath warm against my face. "She's going to try to kill you tonight."

I smirked, adjusting my gloves. "I'm counting on it."

Those fragile hands wouldn't even kill a roach.

I got out of the car. The girl flinched when I reached for her, her hollow eyes widening as I yanked open the car door.

"Get in," I commanded.

She hesitated just for a second before obeying. Good. There was still some fight in her.

The leather seats creaked as I settled beside her. The car reeked of her fear, sour and sharp beneath the floral perfume they'd doused her in.

Dmitri shook his head. "This is a mistake."

I ignored him, turning instead to study my trembling bride. Up close, she was even more pitiful, dark circles under her eyes, her lips bitten raw, her collarbones sharp enough to cut glass.

I wasn't shocked when her father told me he wanted me to take one of his daughters to be my bride.

I knew she was going to be the sacrificial lamb that was why I insisted on a proper wedding.

No father would give out his daughter to The Reaper except he wants her dead.

"You're smaller than I expected," I mused, reaching out to trace the bruise blooming on her cheek.

She recoiled like I'd burned her.

I chuckled. "Did Nickolas hit you? Or was it one of his precious daughters?"

Her throat worked as she swallowed. "Does it matter?" She replied, her voice cracked and dull.

Not that I was expecting a response from her though.

"It does if you want me to return the favor." I smirked.

Her breath hitched.

Interesting.

The car rolled to a stop outside Volkov Manor. Dmitri turned, his gaze flicking between us. "Mikhail..."

"Out," I snapped.

The second the door closed, I grabbed Liliana's wrist, twisting it until the dagger clattered to the floor.

She gasped, her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird beneath my fingers.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" I purred, kicking the blade aside.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't beg.

Disappointing. I hissed.

I leaned closer to her, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Your father sent you to die, girl. But I have other plans for you."

Her breathing became faster. "W...what plans?"

I smiled, my eyes darkened. "Tonight, you'll find out."

I dragged her out of the car inside the manor, and she followed quietly.

The heavy oak doors of my throne room groaned as they shut behind us, sealing my new bride inside my domain. The scent of gunpowder from this morning's executions still hung in the air, mixing with the expensive Cuban cigar I'd been smoking before leaving for the cathedral.

I watched as Liliana took hesitant steps across the marble floor, her cheap white wedding gown dragging behind her like a soiled handkerchief. The fabric was thin. I could practically see through in the dim lighting. I could count her every rib through it.

"Kneel," I commanded, my voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings.

She hesitated for just a second before dropping to her knees with a quiet thud. The resignation in that simple movement pissed me off more than any defiance could have.

Dmitri chuckled from his post by the fireplace. "Looks like Orlov trained his bitch well."

I shot him a glare that silenced him instantly. This was my game to play.

Slowly, I circled my trembling bride. The flickering firelight caught the silver threads in her braid, and it was the only thing about her that looked even remotely bridal. That, and the fresh bruise blooming across her cheekbone where her dear old Papa had struck her.

"Look at me," I ordered, stopping directly in front of her.

When she didn't immediately obey, I grabbed her chin with my leather-clad hand, forcing her head up. Her skin was ice-cold beneath my fingers.

And those eyes, Christ, those empty, haunted eyes finally met mine. Her expression was blank. No anger. No fear. Just... nothing. Like she's already dead inside.

And it made my blood boil.

"Do you know why you're here, little ghost?" I asked, tightening my grip on her chin.

She swallowed hard but didn't flinch. "To die." Damn. Her voice was ice cold.

Dmitri barked out a laugh. "Good to know you're aware."

I silenced him with a glare. "Talk one more time, and your head will be served on a plate."

I turned to Liliana. "You're smart," I purred, dragging my thumb across her bottom lip. It was chapped from the cold. "But not quite right."

I released her abruptly, turning to pour myself a drink from the sideboard. The crystal decanter clinked as I filled it with amber liquid.

"You're here," I said after taking a slow sip, "because your father is a coward who thinks trading his useless daughter will save his crumbling empire."

I watched her carefully for any reaction. Nothing. Just that same hollow stare.

With sudden violence, I threw my glass into the fireplace. It shattered spectacularly, flames leaping up with the added fuel.

"Fucking look alive!" I roared, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her hard enough that her teeth rattled. "I didn't marry a corpse!"

For the first time, something flickered in those dead eyes. Anger? Fear? I couldn't tell, but it was better than nothing.

"You... you married me to torture my father," she whispered, her voice raspy from disuse. "To humiliate him."

I laughed, low and dark. "Oh, malyshka. You give yourself too much credit."

Dmitri stepped forward, his expression uneasy. "Mikhail, perhaps we should stop for..."

"Leave us," I snapped without looking away from Liliana.

When the door clicked shut behind him, I crouched down to her level. Close enough to smell the sweat breaking out along her hairline.

"You might be useless to your father, but you're useful to me." I smirked.

"H...how?" She asked.

"You'll find out soon." I replied, gazing into her forest green eyes. "And also, you can try killing me. I really want to see how far you can go."

And shockingly, Liliana stood up and dashed at me.

My eyes widened.

She had a flint knife in her undergarment all along!

Liliana's POV

At the Volkov's manor, My husband made me kneel in his throne room.

My father also has a throne room. It's more like a judgement seat. I have experienced my father sentence a man to death for stealing from his money to save his daughter.

My memories are still fresh from the encounter.

"You stole from me to save your daughter!" My father slammed, his voice shook the building. "How useless." He spat. "Girls are a waste of resources. If you had stolen my money to save your son, I would have turned a blind eye."

The man turned to look at me who was busy scrubbing the floor of the throne room.

The experience still made my stomach burn.

I looked down at my reflection on the shiny marble floor of Mikhail's throne room. I looked horrible. My wedding gown was a cheap imitation silk, one that Elena had picked for me.

The air reeked of gunpowder and expensive cigarettes.

Then he stepped forward. Mikhail Volkov. The devil with the face of a fallen angel.

His high cheekbones were sharp enough to draw blood. And his eyes, like frozen mercury, gleamed under the dim light. His mouth carved for sin, curled in a smirk that didn't reach those lethal eyes.

He is tall and broad-shouldered. His tailored suit clung to every lethal inch of him like a second skin.

As Mikhail stared at me, all I could think about was how unfair life had been to me.

I cursed the day I was born. For ten years, I had wished I never existed. The day I came into this world was the day my mother died.

His leather-gloved hand suddenly gripped my chin, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes darkened. I recognized that look.

Frustration.

He wanted to see fear in my eyes. But there was nothing. Just emptiness. The look of someone already dead inside.

Because I was dead inside. I don't feel anything anymore.

And his reaction told me one thing, he was angry.

I was afraid of him. Terrified. No one who crossed paths with Mikhail Volkov ever came out the same.

And now? I was his wife.

Which meant every day from now on would be hell. Living with the devil himself would be easier than surviving even a single day with The Reaper.

I remembered overhearing my father talk to his advisor about me.

"She's useless to this empire."

In our world, marriages are business. Alliances. Power plays.

My sisters had suitors, men from powerful mafia families. But no one wanted me. Because everyone knew the truth.

I was just a maid's daughter.

So when my father said I was getting married, I didn't believe it.

And now, here I was.

Trapped.

Owned.

And completely at the mercy of the most dangerous man in Moscow.

My numb mind struggled to comprehend. How can something so beautiful be so cruel? I thought.

"...you can try killing me. I really want to see how far you can go." I heard him say, and without thinking, I stood up and dashed at him.

I saw his eyes widened. But it wasn't out of fear. It was out of amusement.

I always have a knife hidden in my undergarments. For safety, of course.

He didn't flinch. He didn't even move.

I stabbed him straight in the chest. His white shirt bloomed red as the blood soaked through.

My eyes widened in horror. Did I just kill him?!

Mikhail's smirk sent shivers down my spine. He didn't even show signs of pain.

"I love that," he laughed.

I pressed my palm against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. His blood coated my fingers, warm and sticky.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer, his warm breath fanned my face.

Then slowly, he licked the blood from my skin.

"Next time, Malyshka," He murmured. "aim for the stomach." He tapped the spot just below his ribs. There's enough fat there to make it interesting."

My hands trembled as I struggled to breathe.

Then the double doors burst open. A guard strode in, his expression grim. "Boss. The Bratva leaders have arrived. They're demanding proof of the alliance. They didn't believe you could end the war with the Orlovs'."

Mikhail's smile turned lethal. "Perfect."

He yanked me to my feet, his grip bruising. "Time to show Moscow what happens to Orlov trash."

As he dragged me toward the balcony overlooking the packed ballroom below his lips brushed my ear as the crowd fell silent.

"Pray to your dead mother now, malyshka."

The cold night air slapped my face as Mikhail forced me against the balcony railing. Below us, Moscow's most dangerous criminals looked up. Bratva enforcers, Chechen warlords, even a few traitorous Orlov soldiers. Their champagne glasses glittered like weapons in the torchlight.

"Behold!" Mikhail's voice carried across the courtyard, his arm like an iron bar across my collarbones. "The new Mrs. Volkov!"

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Someone shouted, "Does she come with a return policy?"

My fingers turned white-knuckled on the railing. The drop was at least twenty feet, just enough to break bones if I tried to jump. Not that death would be an escape though. Even if I die, Mikhail will hunt me down in hell. That's a fact.

Mikhail's breath was hot against my ear. "Wave to your admirers, wife."

When I didn't move, his hand slid down to grip my hip. I got the message. It's either I obey or be humiliated.

I raised a trembling hand. The crowd erupted in mocking cheers.

"That's my girl," Mikhail purred. Then louder. "The wedding gift from coward Nickolas Orlov! Tell me, boys, should we send a thank you note?"

"Send her head on a platter!" Someone yelled.

The roar of approval shook the balcony. I flinched as Mikhail's fingers dug into my side where the bruises from Elena's latest punishment still throbbed.

"Please," I whispered before I could stop myself. "Don't..."

"Don't what?" He spun me to face him, his other hand coming up to cage me against the railing. "Don't show them what weak stock the Orlovs produce? Too late."

His mouth crashed down on mine, taking my whole mouth in his. The taste of expensive whiskey and cigarettes filled my mouth as he bit my lip hard. I could taste my own blood.

The crowd went wild. Whistling and cheering.

Tears filled my eyes, but I dare not make them drop.

When he pulled back, my blood smeared his perfect lips. His eyes burned with something darker than anger. "Now they all know," he murmured, swiping his thumb across my stinging mouth. "You belong to me." He smirked.

The declaration slithered down my spine. It wasn't a promise. To me it was a death sentence.

As he dragged me back inside, the loud and annoying cheers followed us. My legs gave out the moment the balcony doors closed, but Mikhail caught me effortlessly.

"Tsk. Such weak knees already?" He hauled me upright, his grip unforgiving. "The night's just beginning, malyshka."

He was right. The real horror started when he threw open the bedroom door.