The Romanovs' Mark

Leonariz met Psyke's gaze, a flicker of surprise in her own eyes. Despite her best efforts to remain impassive, the understanding of his words burned through her carefully constructed composure, fueling a simmering frustration. She drew strength from the memory of her tribe, their faces a shield against the encroaching dread.

"Pfft, you look like you're talking to a doll right now." Sebastian's laughter echoed, a casual amusement that grated on Leonariz's nerves. He leaned against the doorframe, a picture of nonchalant cruelty.

Psyke's left finger lift Leonariz's chin, his gaze shifting to Sebastian, cold fury replacing the earlier intensity. The lethal glare only spurred Sebastian to laugh harder.

"Hey! beruhige dich boss," Sebastian said in German, the slangy words cutting through the tension.

Leonariz's surprise was palpable. She hadn't anticipated German, and the fact that she understood it, despite her limited knowledge of the language compared to Russian and English, was unsettling.

Sebastian's brow furrowed at Leonariz's reaction. With a swift movement, he produced a gun, the cold metal glinting against her skin as he pressed it to her temple.

Psyke merely tilted his head, observing. "Take care of her for a bit, I'll just fix these chains." He left the kitchen, leaving Sebastian alone with Leonariz.

A smirk played on Sebastian's lips, but his attention was laser-focused on Leonariz.

"One wrong move and I'll shoot your head," he said, his voice low and menacing, his eyes probing hers for any sign of understanding.

He waited, watching for a reaction, a flicker of fear, a betrayal of comprehension. Leonariz's brow remained furrowed, her gaze fixed on the gun, unwavering. Slowly, Sebastian lowered the weapon, returning it to his coat.

"I must have been mistaken," he murmured, crossing his arms, his eyes still assessing her.

"Vid yego oderzhimosti etoy zhenshchinoy byl ves'ma nepriyaten. Kem on stanet cherez neskol'ko mesyatsev? Khm?."

("The sight of him being obsessed with this woman was quite unpleasant. What will he become a few months from now? Hmm?") He mused to himself, a hint of dark amusement in his tone.

"Aha! I should make a bet with the others." He chuckled, a low, self-satisfied sound.

Leonariz observed him, her curiosity piqued, but she wouldn't betray her understanding. Her attention remained fixed on the kitchen door, her senses heightened.

Psyke's absence stretched, each second amplifying the tension. Psyke's aura was dangerous, the silent menace palpable, like a starved predator stalking its prey.

Leonariz gasped as Sebastian grabbed her arm, pulling her from the kitchen. She didn't resist.

"Sit," he said, releasing her arm and gesturing to the sofa, patting the cushion beside him. He was clearly suggesting she wait for Psyke's return. Hesitantly, Leonariz sat, the ache in her back a dull throb.

Her eyes drifted to the mansion's front door. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating a bird outside. It watched her, its gaze unnervingly intense. Leonariz rose, about to approach, when the scrape of metal against marble echoed through the house.

The sound was instantly familiar—the same chilling sound that had preceded the attack on her tribe. Even from this distance, it sent a shiver down her spine.

"Crazy motherfucker," Sebastian muttered under his breath, his voice tight with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

Leonariz flinched as a heavy chain, complete with shackles, landed near her feet, having fallen from the top of the stairs. She looked up, seeing Psyke at the head of the stairs, his face impassive, yet his eyes blazing with barely controlled rage.

Leonariz froze as Psyke descended, his gaze fixed on her, unwavering.

A new, chilling sensation washed over her.

Psyke grabbed the chain, dragging it as he approached. Sebastian whistled low, a sharp sound cutting through the silence as Psyke knelt, his movements swift and brutal. He fastened the shackles around her ankles.

"Razogrey, Sebast'yan."

("Heat it up, Sebastian.")

"Aye aye!" Sebastian's reply was curt and immediate.

Psyke looked at her, then at her left ankle.

Leonariz bit her lip, trying to stifle a cry as a searing pain lanced through her leg. Psyke was using the sharp edge of the shackle to slice her skin, each cut an inch long but deeply penetrating. She gasped, the pain too intense to conceal.

"A–ah!"

Terror flooded her as Psyke began to lick the blood from the wound, his tongue tracing the raw flesh. Her knees threatened to buckle, but he continued, his touch both agonizing and strangely arousing. The cuts were on her thigh, just above the knee.

The pain was unbearable, yet intertwined with a strange, unsettling arousal that intensified with each lick.

Leonariz braced herself, her hands on either side, supporting her weight. Psyke continued to lick and suck at her wounds, his actions both cruel and strangely intimate. Then, he produced a small capsule and inserted it into the wound.

Leonariz shrieked, a wordless cry of pure agony.

Sebastian arrived, carrying a branding iron and a strange, unfamiliar symbol.

"It's ready, Boss," Sebastian said.

The iron glowed red-hot, the heat radiating menacingly. Leonariz couldn't comprehend its purpose.

Psyke released Leonariz's ankle and approached Sebastian.

Leonariz gasped for breath, her eyes fixed on her bleeding leg.

Psyke returned, lifting her to her feet, then forcing her onto the table. He held the branding iron, his gaze unwavering, his intent chillingly clear.

"Put her shackles," Psyke ordered Sebastian.

Leonariz felt the cold metal of the shackles clamp around her bleeding ankle, the weight heavy and familiar.

Psyke raised her skirt, revealing her smooth, tanned skin. He knelt, pressing her leg firmly against the table, preparing the branding iron.

"ARGH! A-AHH!" Leonariz's scream tore through the air as the hot iron seared her flesh, just above her knee.

The searing pain was beyond anything she'd ever experienced, far surpassing the earlier cuts. Tears streamed down her face, her body wracked with agony.

Psyke released her leg, removing the iron. A cruel smile played on his lips as he watched her, his eyes cold and devoid of empathy. Tears streamed down her face, her pain a testament to his power.

"What a scary obsessed and possessive jerk," Sebastian muttered before leaving.

Leonariz met Psyke's gaze, her eyes dark and filled with a complex mix of pain, fear, and something else. He knelt, lifting her into his arms.

He kissed her forehead. "You have my mark now… no one will dare touch you without my permission."