God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2)(78)

“Bored to fucking death from the lack of action.”

They break apart and Yan nods at me. His long hair is gathered in a small ponytail and his face is as pretty as ever. He’s one of my father’s two most trusted guards and Mom’s best friend.

Oh, and I totally used him as my makeup subject countless times because he’s cool like that. Mom still has the pictures of my amateur creations as proof.

He smiles at me. “Princess.”

“It’s just Anni, Yan.”

“Don’t go using those tasteless American nicknames. Now, come. Your mother has been waiting for you.”

We’re barely two steps inside when Mom emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and smiling so big, I can’t help but grin back.

She looks so radiant in the floral dress half hidden by her apron. Her hair is pulled up in a chignon with bangs escaping on either side. I’ve come to the conclusion that she’s a vampire, because she hasn’t changed a bit since I was young.

“Babies!” She opens her arms and I run straight into them, letting my bag fall to the floor.

When she embraces me and I drown in her rose scent, I feel like everything is going to be okay. She smells of warmth and unbounded affection. She smells of every beautiful memory and happy childhood dream.

“Let me look at you.” She steps back to examine me closely. “You’ve gotten tall and more beautiful, my baby angel.”

“I’m eighteen. Don’t call me a baby.”

“You’ll always be my baby angel. I can’t believe my youngest is already eighteen.” She hugs me again. “I’ve missed you to death. I’m kind of regretting letting you go.”

“Missed you, too, Mom.”

“Can I say hi or should I come back in an hour, after you guys are finished?”

Mom steps back at Jeremy’s voice and laughs, then pulls him down for his own hug. He’s so tall compared to her that the angle looks comical at best.

“Come now, let’s have dinner. I’ve prepared a lot of food for you two,” she says once they release each other.

“You didn’t have to. We could’ve eaten anything,” I say.

“Nonsense. It’s been months since you guys came home and there’s no way you’ll eat just anything.” She ushers us into the kitchen with Yan’s help. Ogla, our head maid, greets us and I give her a hug. Something she’s found blasphemous for the past eighteen years, but I’ve slowly trained the stern Russian lady to accept them.

“Where’s Papa?” I ask Mom while I help Ogla fill plates that look no different than a feast for an army.

“In his office with Kolya.” Mom plants me on a seat and places my favorite salad in front of me. “You know how he gets with work.”

“Let me go call them.” Jeremy has barely finished his sentence when Papa strolls into the kitchen with Kolya—his second-in-command—in tow.

Papa has an imposing, intimidating presence that calls for everyone’s attention whenever he walks into a room. I’m lucky enough to be his daughter, so I’m never the subject of his wrath, but I know that people tremble at the prospect of being in that position.

After he hugs Jeremy in greeting, he regards me with a soft smile. “Anoushka.”

I run into his arms, and while they’re not as soothing as Mom’s, they’re safe, like a fortress.

It’s moments like these that make me glad to be home. Moments of normalcy, of warmth, and peace.

Of family.

Even if we’ll never be the conventional type.

We all sit for dinner, Kolya, Yan, and Ogla included. Boris, another guard in the close circle, would’ve joined us, too, but he’s apparently not in the house.

We’ve always considered these guys our extended family. The ones we go to whenever our parents are unreachable.

They’re our godparents in a way.

Mom, who’s beaming from ear to ear, doesn’t stop pushing all sorts of food in our direction. Her happiness is contagious, to say the least, and so is her energy.

“How’s everything at school?” Papa pours himself a glass of wine.

“The usual,” Jeremy answers with a shrug. Needless to say, he made the guards report back that the fire that took place was minor and nothing to worry about. Otherwise, Papa and these ruthless guys would’ve come over and buried the Serpents with their own hands.

Especially if they’d found out my and Jeremy’s lives were in danger.

I push my glass in front of Papa. “Me, too.”

He levels me with a look that would bring a mountain to its knees. “You have your juice.”

“But I’m already eighteen. People drink at this age in the UK.”

“This is not the UK and you are not English.”

“Well, I’m half Russian and people drink at eighteen in Russia.”

Mom raises a brow. “She has a point.”

Papa slides his attention to her and all I can do is watch as a different, cryptic emotion blossoms in his eyes. I’ve always loved the way he looks at her, like she’s his world. How he searches for her when she’s not there. It’s like she’s his air and he has to see her every moment.

My papa might be heartless, but he’s the best husband and father alive.