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Aleksander watched the horror dawn on the young man’s face as he ripped the mask from him. He had to admit, Alina’s little sidekick had done well, managing to disarm him and get him on his knees. It was a shame it wouldn’t be enough.
Mal stared down at him in shock, his handgun seemingly forgotten as it hung at his side. “Kirigan?”
Oh, it was all too easy. Before the mere child could ever comprehend what hands happened, Aleksander had flicked his wrist, releasing the knife kept in his sleeve and lunged forward, slashing straight through his neck. The only thing Mal managed before he collapsed at Aleksander’s feet was a mess of gargled nonsense, as the blood began to seep from his neck and bubble out of his mouth.
Sinking to the ground to meet him, he took hold of the tracker’s hair, pulling his limp body up until his lips almost brushed the boys ear. “Not quite,” he hissed, ignoring the wheezing of Mal’s throat as he tried to breathe, “Morozova.”
Mal’s eyes widened to an almost comical side, but Aleksander didn’t care. Releasing him roughly, he wiped his blade on his trousers, storing down at the pathetic form on the floor. Suddenly, every memory of every conversation he’d overheard at the Soldat Sol’s offices washed over him, a reminder of just why this boy deserved to die as much as he did.
“Who’s the pretty boy now, Oretsev?” He taunted, watching the life drain from Mal’s body, “Who’ll be the one who’ll be taking Miss Starkov home tonight? Who’ll comfort her as she mourns your death?” He was grinning now, he could feel that his expression has changed.
“Fuck you,” Mal spluttered, his chest heaving with the effort of getting the words out. Who knew, maybe they’d be his last.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Aleksander smiled, “She will.”
And with that, he brought his boot down on Mal’s face, knocking him clean out. Maybe evening finishing the job. Either way, he still didn’t care. He had to move, get far enough away that no one would be any wiser of his involvement in the altercation that’d led him to where he was.
He had to admit, when he’d heard that the Lantsov pup would be in the Os Kervo dockyard, he’d been too quick to assume it to be true. When he’d realised it was all a trick, set up by the bastard himself to lure whoever was hunting him, it’d been too late. Aleksander was only grateful that he’d been smart enough to bring a team with not ties to him, no distinguishable uniform to identify who they were. Unfortunately, Alina had been all too easy to spot.
Her bright white hair had stood out so boldly against the shipping containers they’d stationed themselves behind that he’d momentarily considered slipping off, avoiding all confrontation where he could. But alas, Oretsev had decided to try and play hero, sneaking off after him.
Aleksander had known that Malyen Oretsev had posed as a threat from the very first moment he’d stumbled upon Alina Starkov in a bar on the outskirts of Os Alta. She’d been pissed out of her mind, and just grateful to have someone to confide in over her asshole ex boyfriend, who’d recently been assigned on a job with her.
It hadn’t taken Aleksander long to have her spilling her soul to him, how she was a Agent with the Soldat Sol, whispers of the return of Nikolai Lantsov wreaking havoc within the city, and the only person her superiors had seen fit to help find him was one Mal, well known within the establishment for his tracking abilities when it came to criminals. To be fair, he’d penned most of his success that night on her recognition of him as Aleksander Kirigan, owner of the city’s biggest private security hire firm. Why would she not trust someone seen fit enough to help serve the King himself, after all?
It’d taken Aleksander even less time to have her in the back of a car, his lips on hers as she clung desperately to him, tugging him closer by the collar of his jacket as they sped further into the city towards her apartment. If he was being completely honest, the first time he’d stepped foot in the place he’d taken no notice of anything except the bedroom door, which he’d promptly swung open and then closed behind him, leaving a trail of both his and her clothes in their wake.
She was unlike anyone he’d ever met, and that first night they’d spent together had certainly been indicative of many more. The clandestine nature of what they’d shared had only drawn him closer to her, especially given that he himself was after Lantsov, just not in the same way. That little bastard would be dead by Aleksander’s hand, and if Alina could lead him right to him, then he had no qualms over doing anything necessary to get there.
That took him right up to where he was now, crouched inside yet another shipping contained, shucking off his blood soaked clothes and wiping furiously at his face in an attempt to rid himself off any sign he’d been in the warehouse not ten minutes ago. The sound of gunshots had faded only a few minuted previously, leaving him to think he had only a few more until someone found Mal’s body outside. He’d had a fresh set of clothes tucked away in his bag, of which he quickly pulled on, the sweatshirt and trousers the total antithesis of the military garb he’d just rid himself off. His hair was a mess, he didn’t need a mirror to know that much, but it could easily be passed off as bed hair, it was only 8:30 am after all.
Parked only a few streets away in a an abandoned garage, it only took ten minutes for Aleksander to reach his own car, managing to have snuck away from where he’d changed with no one seeing him. He simply assumed that every Soldat Sol member still standing was too engrossed in identifying the mystery team who’d ended up facing them off. He hadn’t even entertained the thought that Alina may have been caught in the crossfire. She simply couldn’t have, it was impossible.
Kicking the car into gear, he sped straight out and onto the road, following the main route to the dock yard. His foot never left the accelerator, reaching 60, 70, 80mph as he pushed towards her. Less than a minute had passed before he was slamming to a stop, seeing exactly what he wanted play out right in front of him.
A small frame with white hair, doubled over a lifeless corpse.
“ALINA!” He bellowed from the car, jumping out and sprinting towards her. He could hear her sobs from where he’d parked, each ragged breath she took in as she pulled Mal’s body towards hers, shaking it as if he were going to wake up. Aleksander had a feeling she knew he wouldn’t.
“He can’t be dead,” she cried when he dropped to he knees beside her, “He can’t be.”
Aleksander grabbed her face, turning her head until their eyes met. “Alina, what happened?”
“I don’t know.” She didn’t let Mal dropped, even as she leant into Aleksander’s touch, “How did you find me?”
“I had a business meeting. I was told by one of my contractors there was disruption in the dock yards, and was only a few miles out of Os Kervo at the time. I got here as soon as I could,” he lied easily, the explanation for why he was so far from Os Alta rolling off his tongue liked a well practised monologue. “Alina, tell me what happened,” he repeated, his grip on her face tightening ever so as she fought to steady her breathing. He did his best to ignore the fresh coat of Mal’s blood that now covered his hands.
“We were tricked,” she said miserably, “They said Nikolai would be here, I pulled a team together and rushed down. We were met by a group of unmarked soldiers who just started shooting and-” he breath hitched as he sobs rang anew, “They got Mal.”
Aleksander pulled her shaking body into his chest, as she finally dropped Mal to the floor. He resisted the urge to smile as the sound of sirens began to ring in his ears from the distance, no doubt heading towards them. He stayed with her on the floor until they were surrounded by cars, ambulances and every type of emergency response Os Kervo had to offer.
One offericer approached them, just nodding at Aleksander with a perfunctory “Kirigan” before bending over where Mal lay, examining the damage. Alina had just calmed down enough to by that point to be pulled to her feet, one arm looped over his shoulder, the other covering her face as she was walked towards Aleksander’s car. No one tried to stop them, not even as they watched their Special Agent in Charge be helped into a Bentley, covered in the blood of her partner by Ravka’s most notorious security contractor, who’s presence hadn’t even caused the batting of an eye.
“Let’s go home,” he said finally, as he clicked his own seatbelt into place, looking over to where she now stared lifelessness at the tent that’d been placed up around Mal.
“Home,” she agreed quietly. With that, and remembering his last words to Oretsev, Aleksander put his keys in the ignition.
Alina’s hair was still sticky with Mal’s blood as he raked his hands through it, the warm spray of the shower on his back whilst she remained pinned to the tiled wall, one leg hitched up over his hip as he thrust languidly in and out of her.
As soon as they’d arrived back to Alina’s complex, Aleksander had all but carried her up the stairs, not even putting her down to unlock the door and kick it open with one foot before closing it with the other, passing straight through the living area and into her bathroom. Where he’d gone to gently put her down into the bathtub, she’d relented, wiggling out of his arms until she stood before him, her big, yet tired, brown eyes meeting his quartz gaze.
“Not a word,” she had said quietly, as though she didn’t really mean it, before taking hold of his jumper and pulling him down to her, his lips meeting hers. What started off as something soft, and warm, and comforting quickly turned, as each began to divest the other of their clothing. Aleksander’s clean jumper left discarded on top of Alina’s filthy combat jacket, his lithe fingers deftly unhooking the clasp of her bra and she gracelessly shoved the waist of his boxers down his legs, until they were both left panting, foreheads touching a completely naked in the middle of her sunset-lit bathroom. It’d taken almost ten hours to drive from Os Kervo back to Os Alta, and the mid winter leant itself to the early sunsets.
If only Mal could see his little girlfriend now, Aleksander thought as he eased her backwards, stepping over the threshold of the shower and flicking the water on, relishing in the small moan that escaped Alina as she tilted her head back into the steady stream, watching the deep maroon wash away from her skin, the final few traces of Mal disappearing down the drain, to be lost to the Os Alta water system.
No one to waste time, Aleksander’s hands were already back on Alina, his head bowed once again to catch her with a searing kiss, his tongue immediately pushing past the seam of her lips. Her breath hitched as the evidence of his arousal nudged her stomach, but didn’t prevent her from matching his energy, her own arms looping up to circle his neck, her small hands twisting into the short hair at the base of his scalp.
Tracing the sides of her body with his palms, smoothing up and down over the curve of her waist, her hips and further up to the underside of her breasts, feeling the goosebumps erupt at the contact cast a smirk onto his face, something she quickly devoured with yet another small moan. It only egged him forward, hands raising ever so, just enough to trace her hardening nipples with the pads of his thumbs.
“Sasha, please,” she breathed, drawing away from their kiss for just a moment to catch her breath, her head lolling to one side as he continued his ministrations.
“You you only have to asked, Solnishka,” he replied, using her nickname in turn for his. He couldn’t remember when they’d first started referring to each other as such, but he’d initially found it useful to help separate her from who she was in moments like this, and who she was outside. Every day, she was Alina Starkov, Special Agent in Charge of the Soldat Sol, but right in that moment, in every other moment he’d had her coming undone in every conceivable place of her apartment, she was his solnishka, the brightest thing he could see.
Without hesitating, he dropped his mouth to her neck, biting and sucking roughly down the path of her throat, to the juncture of her neck and across her collarbones, passing along the swell of her breasts that he still held in his palms. Sparing a glance up before he landed on his final destination, he watched as Alina panted a over him, trails of red tinted water still trailing over her face. He grinned, before swooping back down, taking one nipple into his mouth, circling its peak with his tongue as Alina whined, arching herself off the wall.
Immediately, one of his hands came to rest at the base of her back, holding her in place as the other continued to palm at her other breast. He was painfully hard by that point, but this wasn’t supposed to be about him, it was about what he did to her, how he made her feel a way that Mal never had, never would be able to do so. He dared to thing he was succeeding. He released her nipple with a small pop, but before he could move to the other, Alina’s hands were on his face, pulling him back up towards her.
“I want you, Sasha,” she said, her voice husky as she stared at him through heavy lidded eyes, “Now”
He raised an eyebrow at her, pressing her further into the wall and rolling his hips forward, making sure she was aware of quite how much he wanted it too. “Are you sure? I could do this all day,” he teased, not one to give in quite as easily as that.
But the sound that left Alina’s throat was not a moan, or a whine, in fact in was akin to a growl, something primal as he brown eyes seemed to flash amber. “Aleksander, fuck me. Now.” And who was he to turn her down?
His hand dropped straight down, over her hip, down her thigh and into the back of her knee, pulling it up over his own hip, and lining himself up with her entrance. He paused for a moment, catching her eye and the small nod she gave before pushing in, groaning at the sudden warmth of her around him. Alina’s head fell forwards onto his chest, giving him a clear view of where Mal’s blood had begun to dry, matting her white hair. He smiled to himself.
Picking up his pace, he let the hand that wasn’t holding her leg in place travel up to the base of her throat, squeezing just so she threw her head back, her grip on his shoulders tightening enough that’s he knew she’d leave nail marks. The thought spurred him on even more, and he began to slam into her, the sound of flesh hitting flesh reverberating around them in the large shower and the water continued to fall down onto them.
“Fucking hell, Sasha,” she cried, her words catching with each sharp inhale of breath she took.
“Is it too much Solnishka?” He asked mockingly, never slowing the snapping of his hips into hers, “Do you need me to slow down?”
“Slow down and I swear to every fucking saint I will shoot you.”
Whilst he had no doubt that she likely would, it didn’t stop him from tightening his hold on her neck, until her breathes became laboured with the mixture of pain and pleasures he was supplying her with. “I hardly think that’d benefit either of us,” he replied lazily.
“Just shut up and keep fucking me,” Alina snapped, and he didn’t just that. Hiking her leg up even further, he managed to change the angle of which he’d been moving, rewarded by a loud gap from her. “Fuck, right there Sasha.”
Still not in the mood to get shot, he did just that, keeping the slightly awkward angle as he continued to move, until Alina was writhing beneath him, her muscles starting to spasm as she cried out, her climax shaking her whole body and clenching at him as he finally slowed his movements in and out, now only seeking his own release as she fell fully forward into him, nails no longer digging into his skin or tugging at his hair but looped loosely around his neck.
With his free hand, Aleksander began to tug at a few of the bloody knots still not quite washed out of her hair, all while he slowly felt his own climax building. He finished, buried deep inside of her with a low groan, before slowly pulling out, watching with a sense of twisted satisfaction as his come mixed with hers, trailing down her thighs, mingling with the final traces of the bloody water.
He doubted Alina had noticed, as she seemed to have worn herself out, both physically and emotionally. Sighing, Aleksander reached for a bottle of shampoo, proceeding to wash her hair himself, followed by her conditioner and finally her shower gel, wiping every last trace of dirt and grime that he’s been caught by the water alone from her until she stood, perfectly clean and almost pure looking in front of him, all long tresses of wet snowy white hair and slightly tanned skin. He’d asked once if she dyed her hair, only to be told it was natural, although she wasn’t sure how or why, given that no one in her family had ever had hair so pale. He’d told her she was a miracle of nature.
Much the same as the journey to the apartment, he took her into his arms, carrying her from the shower and into the bedroom, towelling her odd and wrapping her in a clean nightdress before tucking her into bed. It wasn’t as though he expected anything else, but he still felt a bubble of fondness rise in his chest when she fell asleep almost immediately.
Tending to himself too far less time, just quickly drying off his hair throwing on a fresh pair of boxers he’d ended up keeping in one of her empty drawers. Only then did his eyes fall on the handbag, to the file that stuck out of it. The same one he’d spent hours pouring over as she’d slept before, always disappointed to find no new additions. Nikolai Lantsov, or Sturmhond as he’d come to name himself, was still running rampant, and Aleksander was no closer to finding him than the Soldat Sol, apparently. No mind, he knew he had time, still. After all, Lanstov posed no threat to him in that moment, he had not idea of the ways in which he was really involved in his life, or its downfall. Saints, he’d even reached out to Aleksander, still believing him to be a friend, someone who understood the toll being in the First Army had taken on him, the pressure of all those covert missions they’d been sent on by Agent Van Eck.
How foolish he was. But Aleksander would get him. And Aleksander would kill him. Just as he had done to Mal. Getting into bed that night, he allowed his arm to circle Alina’s waist pulling her against him, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breath. She was so perfect, such the light to his dark, but even through all of her goodness, Aleksander could see straight through her facade. The darkness she harboured was hidden in plain sight, and he dared say she had it in stores to rival his.
“I’m going to kill them.” Aleksander turned from where he’d been tying his tie in the mirror to see a groggy Alina pushing herself up from the bed, wiping at her eyes. “Every bastard involved yesterday, I’m going to hunt them down, and kill them myself.”
Wonderful. “Are you sure they didn’t all die at the scene, Solnishka?” He asked in response, now fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt.
She shook her head, sitting herself against the headboard and pulling her knees against her chest. “The one who,” she took a deep breath, “The one who killed Mal got away. There were five of them, and four killed. When we left, the fifth still hadn’t been located.” and he won’t be, he thought, “he’s still out there, and I want him.”
Aleksander grabbed his suit jacket from the open wardrobe, yet another thing of his that’d migrated over over to her apartment. “Don’t you think it could have been Oretsev who fucked up?” He asked idly, “I mean, he was the one with a gun. How did he manage to get himself stabbed?”
“Sasha please-” Alina began, but he quickly cut her off.
“This is our job, Alina,” he said firmly. “We go out there, knowing we are risking out lives for a greater good. Oretsev knew this, as do I, as do you. And whilst I may have never liked him, he knew what he was doing. And he died defending his country.”
Alina laughed coldly, but there was an emptiness there. “He died on a false lead.”
“Better a false lead than letting Nikolai Lantsov fall through your fingers once again.”
Alina didn’t respond, and Aleksander finished adjusting his jacket in the mirror, casting one final hand over his hair before turning back to her, studying the curled up ball she’d formed on the bed.
“You can’t blame yourself,” he said frankly, “People die every day. Yesterday just so happened to be Mal’s day.”
She nodded weakly, and he paced over, sitting down next to her. “I won’t coddle you, Alina. You’re an SAC for reason, just as I’m a contractor for a reason. We mourn out losses, and the we move on. Understand me?” She hummed, and he leant forward, gently pressing his lips to her forehead. “Good.”
He stood up, walking towards the door, grabbing his phone and keys from the bedside table as he went. Just before he reached for the doorknob, he turned his head, catching her staring at his back, “While you’re at it, gets some more rest, you deserve it after yesterday.”
She smiled sadly, then turned the corner of her lip up every so slightly, “Need it after last night, too,” she said quietly, an attempt at humour in her voice, although it was evident her heart wasn’t truly in it.
Still, Aleksander smiled in return, and then he was gone. As he descended the stairs to the car park, he found his mind clearer than it’d been in weeks. Alina would be completely distracted in her bid to hunt down Mal’s assassin, likely send the Soldat Sol on another wild goose chase, leaving him clear to find Lantsov. Everything seemed to be falling right into place.
And, of course, he’d graciously acted on poor Oretsev’s last words. How generous he was.