The Varkas Brothers And Their Princess のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 211 - チャプター 220

KROSS I sat on the edge of the chair, my laptop balanced on my knees, but I wasn't really working. Yes, the screen was open, the cursor blinking like it wanted me to focus, but my eyes refused.They kept drifting toward her. She lay on the bed, her body curled under the soft sheets, her hair spilling across the pillow like a dark river. She was beautiful, and she looked fragile, and my damn chest was aching because I wanted her. Again. Wanted her? That was saying it lightly. I needed her. The thought made me grit my teeth. I hated it. I hated myself for it. I never planned for any of this to happen. It just happened. And now, every inch of me burned with desire, my wolf felt restless with me, and yet I was supposed to be her protector.I didn't know when that duty fell on me, but it did eventually, and I wasn't supposed to be feeling this way. It wasn't good. I was supposed to be the one who kept

Time passed, and Sade kept working at the bakery. In the second week, I noticed something. With everything that I was busy with, I barely had time to see her or even go home, but in the few times I've seen her, I noticed her eyes were quiet, though not sad, but it wasn't like her. They looked dim, like someone had turned the barely bright light inside her down. She tried to smile when she saw me sitting by the couch on the night that I managed to come home, going through a file and our eyes meeting, but it wasn't the same smile she had given me on the first day of her job.“You look tired,” I said softly, watching her place her small bag on the table. She froze for a second, like I caught her off guard.“I'm fine,” she whispered, brushing her hair behind her ear and trying to look normal. “It's nothing.”But I knew too well that it wasn't nothing. She moved past me to remove her shoes, but I watched her fingers shake just a li

I started the next day, too excited to wait, but…The building was too big.L’Institut de Parfumerie Élite was a French academy in the States, and one of the biggest. I stood on the marble steps of L’Institut de Parfumerie Élite at 7:42 a.m., clutching the canvas bag Kross had bought me the night before he dropped me off. It still smelled faintly of him—cedar and cold air and something darker I never had a name for. The scent was the only thing keeping my knees from folding.Inside, the lobby soared three storeys high. Chandeliers dripped light like liquid gold. Students glided past in cashmere coats and designer perfume that cost more per millilitre than I used to earn in a month on my knees. Their French was fast, confident, laughing. I caught fragments (accord, headspace, extrait) and felt every year of my stolen education like a brand across my back.You don’t belong here, They’ll smell the fear on you They’ll smell th

KROSSThe warehouse was on the edge of the 19th arrondissement, condemned, stinking of piss and old chemicals. It smelled like rust, piss, and old blood. I walked in at 02:14 a.m. wearing the same black coat I’d worn the night I hit Sade with my car. Honestly, I didn't know why I chose to wear that jacket, or why I was doing this, or why I even felt like Sade was mine when she clearly wasn't. I stopped asking why long ago, and just went where the wind took me. I didn’t feel the cold as I stood in this disgusting place, a place I’ve never stepped foot in in my life before. I only felt the photograph burning a hole in my pocket and the wolf riding me so hard my gums ached with the need to shift. The man in the chair was called Viktor: mid-level trafficker, ran girls out of the Balkans into Western Europe. Thursday nights had been his specialty; tonight was Thursday, and I made sure it was his last.He was already missing three fingernails, and his left eye was swollen shut, courte

SADEJust when I started to get used to success, with being appreciated by people and making new friends, I never for once thought I would get an enemy or, in a better sense, a ‘rival.’ I’m here for a better purpose, not some childish rival campaign. But there was Tami, a brunette, beautiful girl I would’ve thought had manners if she had her mouth shut. The first barb came the morning after Amelia was placed in the archive case. I was wiping down my station when Tami walked past with her usual cluster of friends. She didn’t even look at me, just said loud enough for the whole row to hear, “Some people get extra points for tragic back-stories, I guess.”A couple of them laughed. I felt the words land between my shoulders like a slap, but I kept wiping the steel table in slow circles, the way I used to wipe blood off skin that wasn’t mine. I told myself it didn’t matter; I had spent eight years learning how to swallow poison and keep walking. A rich girl’s jealousy was nothing. The ba