Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This is the end.

They’ve had many close calls over the years, but the situation really does seem dire right now.

The two of them are hopelessly outnumbered by the monstrous creatures that roam the wastelands. They’ve got precious little ammunition left and nowhere to run to.

She grabs hold of Mal’s hand and squeezes it tightly. If this is truly the end, she wants to confess to him that –

“DUCK!” a voice yells.

Alina drops to the ground instinctively, dragging Mal with her.

And then there’s the sound of heavy gunfire and the pained grunts of the creatures.

There’s some kind of gas too, thick and cloying, that makes her feel woozy.

Alina slips into unconsciousness just as she feels large hands lift her up from the ground.

She wakes in a hospital ward, the likes of which she hasn’t seen since before bombs blew civilisation as they knew it apart.

“Where am I?” she asks, sitting up and regretting it immediately as she sways.

A man with sandy brown hair and kind eyes hurries over, “try not to move too quickly,” he tells her, “you’ll be alright in a few hours.”

“Who are you? Where am I? Where is Mal?”

“Relax,” he presses gently but firmly on her shoulders so that she’ll lie back down, “you’re safe here, I promise.”

“What … what happened?”

“We found you and your friend being attacked by the volcra and brought you here.”

“The volcra?”

“That’s what we call the creatures in the wasteland – poor humans tainted by the chemical explosions.”

“What is this place? Have you managed to colonise a hospital?”

The man shakes his head, “no, this is just the infirmary in our community’s compound.”

Alina stares, wide-eyed, “a community? How … how have you managed that?”

She and Mal have come across small groups as they’ve travelled, but never more than a dozen or so people. Infighting and jealousy and a craving for power tends to break apart attempts at larger communities.

“The General is an inspiring leader,” the man tells her, a fervent look in his eyes, “he’s the most remarkable man, and a true visionary.”

Something about the man’s devotion makes Alina a little nervous. It reminds her of the way believers used to talk about cult leaders and stalkers about the object of their obsession.

“Where’s Mal?” she asks, trying to look around but seeing nothing but empty medical cots.

“He’s in another room,” the man tells her, “his injuries were more severe. You should be able to see him tomorrow or the next day.”

A whole day, maybe two, before she can see for herself that Mal is truly ok. She wants to demand to be allowed to visit him now, but she gets the feeling that she will be refused.

“What’s your name?” she asks instead.

He smiles, “I’m Fedyor.”

“Alina,” she offers.

“I hope you don’t mind me running through some questions with you, Alina,” Fedyor says.

“What sort of questions?” she asks, a little suspicious.

He laughs, “why don’t I start, and you can tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I … I guess so.”

“Do you know how long it’s been since The Incident?”

Alina snorts, “that’s a polite way of saying the day the world went to hell. I guess it was about five years ago – we try to keep track, but it’s hard when you’re always moving.”

“You’re right,” Fedyor tells her, “it’s been five years, two months and twelve days. And so, based on that, how old are you and Mal?”

“Err … I’m twenty-one now, I guess, and Mal is twenty-two.”

“And how is your health?”

“Well, Mal’s good at hunting and foraging, so we do pretty well with food. We’ve had the usual illnesses and injuries. I imagine your fancy medical equipment can tell you more.”

“And do you get your period?”

Alina stares at him, frowning, “is that really necessary?”

He shrugs, genially apologetic, “it’s useful for us to have as full a medical history as possible.”

She can’t understand why he needs that information, but she also can’t see the harm in it, “mostly regular, but if there’s difficulty finding food I might skip a month.”

“Is it only Mal you’ve travelled with, or have you ever been with a bigger group?”

“Always just Mal and I. We’ve met other groups, but never joined them.”

“And are the two of you …” Fedyor trails off suggestively.

“That’s none of your business,” she hisses.

“My apologies, but the General prides himself on keeping order here, which is important with so many of us. It’s useful to know the dynamics of any new people.”

“We’re not staying,” she says immediately, “I mean … I’m really grateful to you for saving us, but Mal and I are fine on our own – we like it that way.”

“Well, for now, you can have a room in the guest wing. I’m afraid we’ll have to lock you in – simply a safety precaution – but someone will fetch you in time for dinner.”

“Am I a prisoner?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

Fedyor gives her an apologetic smile, “it’s standard procedure. But no one will hurt you, I promise.”

It’s clear that she has no choice. She has no weapons and she’s still tired, and Fedyor looks like he’s hiding serious muscles under the elaborate red and black coat he’s wearing.

It’ll be fine, she thinks as she’s led to the guest room. Mal will recover and then the two of them will leave – surely this General won’t want more mouths to feed than he already has.

The guest room is sparsely furnished but neat and clean, which is more than Alina has had in years.

She tries not to feel nervous about the bars on the windows, and turns her attention to finding something that could entertain her for a few hours. There are no books, but there is a sketchbook and pencils – odd that they’d included that rather than reading material, but Alina has always loved art.

The time passes quickly as she draws, and she’s startled when the door unlocks and a young woman with magnificent red hair and striking amber eyes enters. She’s wearing the same kind of coat as Fedyor, but hers is red and dark blue instead.

“Hello, Alina,” she chirps, “I’m Genya. I’m here to help you get ready for dinner.”

She frowns, “why can’t I just keep what I’m wearing?”

It’s perfectly serviceable, after all. Hard-wearing and not completely worn out.

Genya wrinkles her nose, “no offense, Alina, but that outfit is filthy. I’ll draw you a bath, and then I’ll do your hair, and –”

“I think I’m good, thanks.”

“It’s a private dinner with the General, Alina!”

“He’s not my General.”

For a brief moment, a dark look flickers across Genya’s beautiful face, “he’s the General. And it isn’t wise to disobey.”

Alina wants to argue, but she knows she’s in a precarious position, especially when she doesn’t know how to get to Mal, who is probably still injured.

She and Mal have always been careful not to start fights or offend other groups they come across. She doesn’t want to start now, especially not with a man powerful enough to have proper facilities and a large, clearly devoted following.

And so she has a bath (the first properly hot one since the explosions turned the world upside down) and lets Genya do something that makes her hair silky smooth and shiny.

“What’s that?” she asks when Genya hands over a bundle of fabric.

“For you to wear to dinner.”

“This … this is basically a nightgown.”

It’s not too low-cut, or very short, but it is thin and lacy.

“The General was very insistent.”

“And no one ever says no to the General,” Alina mutters sarcastically.

Next to her, Genya freezes, and Alina realises that maybe jokes about the General aren’t a good idea.

The red-head is quiet as she leads Alina down empty corridors to a different wing of the compound.

There are four men in charcoal grey uniforms guarding the double doors, but they step aside to allow Genya and Alina through.

“In you go,” Genya says with an encouraging nod.

Feeling very much like cornered prey, Alina steps into the room and tries not to think about how ominous it feels when the locks click behind her.

The room screams understated wealth.

Not ostentatious, but everything is clearly expensive and well-made, dark wood and rich furnishings in black and gold.

And in the centre of the room, lounging in his chair like it’s a throne, is the General.

Alina expects to be underwhelmed after the high expectations that Fedyor and Genya’s behaviour instilled in her. Instead, she is entranced.

His very presence is nearly suffocating, his gaze intense and then pleased when she continues to meet his eyes rather than turning away. There are strands of silver in his dark hair, crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes and few nasty scars on his neck – he is still the most handsome man she has ever seen, and she feels such a strong rush of physical desire that it scares her.

“You look lovely, Alina,” he looks her up and down, lingering in a way that makes her shiver.

She finds herself tugging the gown self-consciously, “I’m not used to wearing so many … frills.”

When was the last time she wore a dress? A few weeks before the bombs dropped, she thinks, at Mal’s birthday party.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he gestures for her to sit down at a table loaded with food.

No charred rabbit or watery soup here. There’s beef and chicken, vegetables and soups, thick bread with butter and cheese. Not a wasteful amount, but a good, hearty meal for two.

“How do you make all of this?” she asks, wide-eyed.

“I think you’ll come to see that there are many perks to large, thriving community living.”

Alina can see what he’s doing. He’s trying to sell his community to her. She doesn’t really understand why – she and Mal struggle to keep themselves alive and she can’t imagine how difficult it is to be responsible for so many people.

“As I told Fedyor,” she says, “I’m very grateful that you saved Mal and I, but we prefer to be on our own.”

“Stay a few days, while your friend recovers. You are not alone, Alina, and sometimes it’s nice to have a place to belong. I truly think that you could thrive here.”

“I … alright, then.”

He smiles widely, “well, dig in. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Despite how tense she is, it truly is an enjoyable meal. The food is amazing and the General is exceptionally good company – witty and intelligent and charming and genuinely interested in hearing about her experiences out in the wasteland.

For a while, she is distracted from her worries, but when the food is finished, she remembers reality.

It’s dangerous, allowing herself to be drawn in like this.

“I should go to bed,” she tells the General stiffly, “thank you for dinner.”

She half-thinks he’ll protest, but he lets her go with an amused smile.

“It was a pleasure, truly,” his dark eyes are as intense as they were when she first arrived.

Fedyor is waiting outside to lead her back to her room.

“How’s Mal?” Alina asks.

He frowns, “not doing as well as we would like. It seems infection may have set in, despite our best efforts.”

Alina goes cold. Infections can be deadly these days, with how difficult it is to get medicine.

“He’s getting the best treatment possible,” Fedyor adds, “but he’s not conscious much at the moment. You can see him tomorrow, if you want, but you probably won’t be able to actually speak to him.”

She wants to protest, but they’re back at her room now and Fedyor locks her in once more. She’s starting to doubt his excuse of security.

Alina means to make a note of what she’s learned about the compound so far, but exhaustion comes on quickly.

She’s asleep before she’s even written one thing down.

In the morning, Fedyor brings her breakfast – kasha topped with fresh berries – and then takes her to see Mal.

Her oldest friend looks pale and feverish, but he’s still alive, and she would swear that when she takes his hand, he squeezes it in response.

“He’s showing some improvement,” Fedyor tells her, “but we don’t want to risk waking him too soon, before his body has had the chance to fully heal.”

Genya appears then, offering a tour.

Alina accepts immediately. She might be suspicious of this place, but she’s also extremely curious. Besides, it can’t hurt to have more information.

The sprawling compound is huge but well organised and most areas are bustling with people.

“What are those coats you all wear?”

“Oh, we call them keftas. They denote the different roles we take on in our society.”

Alina can’t help but look around in wonder, “it’s like a fully functioning town.”

“That’s right. We have everything we need here. We grow food and keep farm animals, and we go out to hunt in the wastelands sometimes. We’ve got the infrastructure to purify and heat water, and run an infirmary. We have a small school, a library, a space for arts, a sports centre, gardens, and weapons training. It’s a wonderful life.”

“And the General built all this?”

The red-head nods, “he had some of it in place already. I think he was some sort of reclusive, paranoid billionaire before the bombings. Some, like Ivan and Fedyor, have been here since the beginning. They rescued me about six months after the bombs fell, and then I found my husband David here a few weeks later, when he arrived here – we’ve just had our third child.”

“Three in less than five years! You must be run off your feet.”

“The human race has been decimated. The children are our future!” Genya exclaims, “and, anyway, there’s a limited supply of birth control, and you generally only get access once you’ve had a few children or for medical reasons.”

Despite her initial unease, Alina really is impressed by the compound.

All the small camps she’s seen have been makeshift tents or derelict buildings, but here … if you don’t look over the fortified walls out at the wasteland, then you might think the apocalypse never even happened.

The General seems to be everywhere, always trailed by members of his community. He’s clearly a popular figure, and they all look at him almost as if he is their messiah. Perhaps he is, in their eyes, considering he’s kept them all safe and warm and fed for years.

Alina does understand the appeal. The General has a magnetic personality, drawing you in. When his attention is focused on her, Alina can’t really notice anything else going on around her. A dangerous man, she thinks, but compelling enough that she tends to forget that whenever he speaks to her.

Her second night, she dines alone with him again.

“Is this usual?” she asks, “you dining with just one other person?”

“It’s not a regular occurrence,” he admits, “I often eat in our War Room with some of my advisors, or in the dining hall with the whole community. But I’d like to get to know you, Alina, even if you don’t plan on staying, and this is a simple way to do that.”

“No ulterior motives?”

He laughs, “oh, Alina, there are always ulterior motives. But that doesn’t mean I don’t genuinely want to get to know you.”

“Why?” she frowns, “what’s so special about me?”

He reaches out and lays one of his hands – calloused and scarred, but warm and oddly comforting – over hers, “patience, Alina, you’ll learn that soon enough.”

His hand lingers a little longer than it should, but Alina doesn’t push him away.

They’ll be gone soon, her and Mal, but part of Alina wants to stay here with this man who looks at her like she’s special.

Chapter Text

It is another two days before Mal is conscious and three days after that before he’s cleared to leave the infirmary.

Alina visits as regularly as she can, but Mal is sleeping a lot – “rest is the best medicine in many cases,” Fedyor tells her cheerfully, “I wouldn’t worry” – and so she spends many hours exploring the compound and taking part in various activities.

She helps to feed the farm animals, and gets a few horse-riding lessons from the General himself, and visits the library to gape at the number of books held there, and she exercises in the sports centre.

She likes, best of all, to help watch the children when they’re doing arts and crafts – she hasn’t seen such a large group of young children since before the bombings, and they are an adorable and lively group who welcome her with smiles and tugs on her hand and love to show her their artwork and have her draw pictures of them too.

Mal, she finds, is grumpy when he’s awake.

“I don’t like this place,” he mutters when they’re alone, “there’s something weird about it.”

“They’ve been so kind, Mal,” she reminds him, “they saved us and patched us up and they’re giving us food and shelter.”

“That leader of theirs gives me the creeps.”

“You’ve met the General?”

“He came to visit once. All smiles on the outside, but those eyes of his… they were like bottomless pits. I swear he wants to tear me into tiny pieces and feed me to the monsters that live out in the wastelands.”

“I’m sure you must be mistaken, Mal. He’s got no reason to dislike you.”

“No, I’m telling you, Lina. There’s something off about him, about all of them. This place isn’t right.”

The problem is that Alina disagrees with Mal.

She can’t help but enjoy not having to be constantly on her guard in case the volcra attack.

The compound has thick, solid walls and security cameras and a constant rotation of guards. There are, she learns, an underground network of tunnels that will allow the community to make a safe retreat should the monsters overwhelm the compound.

Alina thinks she could learn to feel safe here, if given the chance.

Mal won’t change his mind, though, Alina knows this for certain. And maybe he’s right, and it really is too good to be true.

Still, she’s rather sorry they have to leave.

The General finds her in the library.

“Fedyor tells me that Malyen is recovered and that the two of you intend to leave us tomorrow.”

“I … yes,” she nods, blushing slightly, “we’ve trespassed on your hospitality too long and Mal, well he wants to get moving again.”

“You don’t need to be delicate about it, Alina,” the General laughs, dark eyes dancing with amusement, “I know he doesn’t like me.”

“He … he’s just … well …sorry.”

She feels awful about it, after all, considering all that the General and his community have done for them.

“You don’t need to apologise for him. Nevertheless, are you sure I can’t convince you to stay? I think you’d like it here.”

“Oh … this just isn’t Mal’s scene and –”

“Ah, I’m afraid the invitation is simply for you, Alina, not for Malyen.”

She stares for a moment, gaping.

“Is this because he doesn’t like you?”

“I’m not quite as petty as that, Alina. I’m afraid I simply have some non-negotiable requirements for those who live here and Malyen does not meet them.”

“And they’re alright with your requirements, everyone who lives here?”

He shrugs, “they would not be here if they weren’t. Some are invited but leave when their companions cannot remain. Others choose to stay and reap the benefits of this community – Zoya, for example, took quite a fancy to a guest who recuperated here briefly after he was injured by the volcra, but she ultimately decided to stay when he left. I was sorry for the hurt she faced, but I must think of the whole community and ensuring its safety and survival.”

“That seems … harsh.”

“This is a harsh world, Alina. Despite this thriving community, I do not have the luxury of forgetting what lies outside the walls of this compound. I cannot save everyone and I must prioritise the survival of those I am responsible for.”

Truly, Alina can’t really fault the General for his view.

After all, while she’s seen the best of humanity since the bombs fell, she’s also witnessed the worst. And there’s only so much that one person can do in times like these.

Still, she won’t mention this little interlude to Mal. He’s already unreasonably distrustful of the General and it will only be worse if she tells him that she was offered a place here but he wasn’t.

“I must go,” he tells her, “I have a meeting. My offer still stands, though, Alina. You will be very welcome indeed if you choose to stay with us.”

“Thank you,” she says, “but I don’t want to leave Mal.”

For so long, they were all each other had. Even though they’ve drifted somewhat apart as they’ve got older, she can’t imagine life without him.

“Very well,” the General nods, dark eyes flashing with something unreadable, “I wish you safe travels, then.”

He offers her a smile as he leaves. Still, she can’t help but feel uneasy for hours afterwards.

“I’m glad to see the back of that place,” Mal says, the compound beginning to disappear from their sight as they walk down a hill.

Alina hums noncommittedly.

She’s still thinking of their departure this morning. Fedyor and Genya had seen them off with two rucksacks of food and supplies. The General had not been present, stuck in meetings, but she thinks she might have spotted him at the window of one of the buildings as they left, watching as they left. Genya had hugged her and whispered something strange.

Sorry. One word that is still confusing Alina. After all, Genya and the others at the compound had been generous and hospitable. There’s no reason at all for the redhead to apologise to her.

----------

They’ve been travelling for only a few hours when they hear the tell-tale screeches of the volca.

“Fuck,” Alina hisses, looking around for the best shelter.

Most of their weapons were lost in the attack they had been saved from and all they have now is two knives that won’t really do anything against the volcra.

Mal had been so sure that they’d make it to the cache of weapons he has nearby, the volcra usually being most active when it gets dark, but they are out in force now, even though it’s only noon.

We’re going to die here, Alina thinks.

She’s close to hysterical laughter at the idea that the General’s people had saved them from almost certain death, only for them to be attacked again as soon as they leave the safe confines of the compound.

The volcra are closer now, some on the ground and others up in the air, leathery wings blotting out the sunlight.

Their claws and razor-sharp teeth glint in the sunlight, viciously sharp, circling Alina and Mal.

Closer and closer, and the stench of rotting flesh that follows the volcra makes Alina gag as Mal wields one of the knives as if he truly believes they can buy the two of them more than a few extra minutes of life.

Despite her pessimism about the situation, Alina still fights when the volcra get close, lashing out with the knife, hoping against hope that she and Mal might kill enough of the monsters to make their escape.

For a few minutes, she knows nothing but the fight.

Blood splattering across her face, talons and teeth tearing into her skin, the screams of the volcra when she or Mal manage to truly injure them.

It’s too much, though. There are far too many monsters for them to face without back-up.

When one of volcra knocks her backwards and she lands hard on the ground, her knife too far for her to reach, Alina is sure that this is the end.

But then, just as three volcra loom above her, there is a high-pitched whistle.

The volcra freeze and then fall back, still snarling and screeching but no longer in biting distance.

And there, no more than twenty feet away, stands the General, a foreboding figure in black, flanked by a dozen of his people.

For a moment, she is so very relieved at the luck that has seen them saved twice. But there’s a glint in the General’s eyes that begins to make Alina nervous.

“What … what’s happening?”

Her voice is barely a whisper. She keeps still, unwilling to do anything that might draw the attention of the volcra.

Instead of an answer, the General makes a string of noises – whistles and clicks – and four of the volcra advance forward towards Mal’s position, surrounding him.

Then, the General makes his way over to her, offering his hand, “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Alina. I’d hoped that you would accept my offer – things would have been simpler that way.”

She flinches away from him, scrambling backwards.

While she may not know exactly what is happening right now, it’s clear that the General has a hand in it.

He sighs and then reaches down, grasping her hand too quickly for her to refuse him, tugging her up to her feet.

“Look at you,” he brushes his thumb across her cheek, wiping away smears of blood, “aren’t you tired, Alina? Don’t you want to be able to rest and feel safe?”

Of course she does. She’s been on the move for five years, her stay at the compound the first true rest she’s had. This feels like a trap, though.

“I suppose you think you can give that to me?”

“Of course. You saw my compound for yourself, Alina. You liked it, no matter how much you might try and deny it.”

She begins to shake her head, but he only mirrors her mockingly, a smirk on his lips that makes it clear that he sees through her.

Five years and she’s never felt as safe as she did in his compound.

“If you were going to come after us, then why let us leave in the first place?” she asks.

“After you refused my offer, I knew I would have to use an alternate method of persuasion, but of course I wasn’t going to allow volcra inside my compound.”

He wants to scare us, Alina realises, to intimidate us with the power he holds over the dangers of the wasteland.

Alina looks over at the monsters, a little restless but still not attacking, “have you … domesticated the volcra?”

The very thought is horrific. An unholy alliance.

The General laughs, “of course not … not yet, at least. But we have figured out how to control them to some extent.”

“Still,” he glances at his watch, “they’re impatient things, and they don’t yet like to obey for very long. We better get back before they lash out.”

He produces a pair of handcuffs and fastens them around her wrists.

“Just a precaution,” he says, tucking a piece of flyaway hair behind her ear, suddenly tender, “it wouldn’t be safe for you to run off.”

His people aren’t nearly as gentle with Mal as they bundle him into one of their jeeps. He shouts and struggles until Ivan stabs his arm with a needle and he goes limp.

“Leave him alone, please,” Alina turns to the General, “just let him go and I’ll come quietly, I promise.”

“There’s no need for you to worry, Alina. Malyen will be quite safe as long as you cooperate.”

“You’re a monster,” she mutters mutinously as she gets into one of the jeeps.

“I am what I need to be in order to survive,” he tells her, taking a seat next to her, “you’ll understand one day.”

“Never,” she vows.

His mouth curves into small smile, “never is a very long time, Alina. And I have plenty of practice being patient."

“Did you know, Alina,” the General says once they’re in the room where they’d dined together, the handcuffs discarded now she’s back in the heart of the compound, “that once the dust settled, roughly 98% of the human population was dead? The fact that we survived is a miracle in itself, even more so that we weren’t one of those unlucky humans mutated by the chemical weapons to become volcra.”

Alina stares, eyes wide. She’s heard the rumours, of course, that the volcra were once human, but it’s never been confirmed to her before.

“It wasn’t so much a miracle for you, though, was it?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him, “to have this huge compound of yours running so well in just five years, after everything that happened, is more than a little suspicious. You knew it was coming.”

“I had an inkling,” he smiles unapologetically, “and I prepared accordingly.”

She shakes her head, disgusted, “and you didn’t warn anyone?”

“Well, even I only have so many resources, Alina. I have to be selective.”

“And what is your selection criteria, then? Why did you invite me to stay and not Mal?”

“Of the 2% of humanity who survived the apocalypse, about one fifth became volcra, and about three-fifths were rendered sterile.”

Alina’s eyes widen. She remembers noticing how many young children there were in the compound, and thinking it odd that so many would choose to expand their families so soon after a devastating apocalypse. She remembers Genya’s pride over her three children, and her remarks about sustaining the human race.

“Is … is your compound a fucking breeding program?”

“Oh, don’t think of it like that, Alina. We’re simply a strong, united community looking to ensure that the human race survives.”

She stares at the General. He can put it whatever way he wants, but she knows she’s right. This whole place truly is a breeding program.

“But I saw Ivan and Fedyor, and Nadia and Tamar. How do they fit into your grand vision?”

He lets out a bark of laughter, “I’m not a monster, Alina. I’m not going to force someone to change their sexuality. Surrogacy and IVF are tricky in these times, but we manage well enough.”

“But why do you want me? Clearly, whatever tests you ran showed I was … fertile, but there are loads of women here who would probably love to bear your children.”

She remembers the way they all looked at him, as if he was their god and saviour. He could have a harem if he wanted.

“I told you, Alina. You’re special.”

“You keep saying that!” she yells, frustration boiling over, “without explaining what it really means.”

“I … experimented a little before the bombings. I didn’t have much notice of what might happen, despite what you may believe, and so I tried to use my time wisely. I started this place, and then I wanted to see if I could do something to make myself a little more resilient. I was a geneticist before all this, and I … well, I suppose you could say that I tinkered with my DNA. Something must have worked, because after the bombings, I found that I actually had become more resilient and less prone to illness. I mapped the mutation, but I still haven’t figured out exactly how to recreate it.”

“What do I have to do with your aspirations to be a mad scientist?”

His dark eyes glitter with excitement, his face aglow with delight, “you, Alina, have the same mutation in your DNA. As far as I can tell, it is entirely natural, and was triggered by whatever was released in the explosions. Have you noticed it, these last five years?”

“I …”

The truth is that he’s right. She was a sickly child and teenager. It had seemed mad that she had survived the bombings when so many others didn’t. And then, afterwards, she didn’t seem to get colds even when Mal got a bit sick, and she recovered faster than he did when they were injured in the wastelands.

His smile widens, knowing and smug.

“No,” she insists, “that can’t … I’m not …”

“I told you, Alina. You are more special than you know. You and I are two of a kind. And like calls to like.”

“I am nothing like you.”

He leans over, gripping her chin firmly, tilting her face up so she’s forced to look him in the eyes.

“You can lie to yourself all you want, Alina, but we both know the truth. We are meant to be, and together we will ensure that the human race survives – stronger than ever before.”

“You’re insane,” she whispers, “I won’t do it.”

“Oh, yes, you will,” he murmurs, releasing her chin and leaning back into his chair, lounging as if he is a king and it is his throne, “because if you don’t, then I will make you watch as I feed your friend Malyen to the volcra. And they like to play with their food.”

She lashes out instinctively, but her attempt at a slap doesn’t land, the General’s reflexes too quick.

“Behave,” he tweaks her nose like she’s a naughty child and not a furious woman that he’s trying to blackmail.

She settles, worried about what he might do to Mal if she frustrates him too much.

“I’m quite content to send your friend on his merry way,” the General tells her, “I’ll even give him food and water, a few weapons, and a map of a route that is likely to avoid any volcra for a hundred miles. All you have to do, Alina, is agree to stay and marry me.”

She snorts derisively, “and I’m supposed to trust you. What’s to stop you killing Mal as soon as he’s out of my sight?”

“Nothing at all,” the General shrugs, apparently unbothered by her accusations, “still, I am being truthful when I say I have no interest in that boy and I don’t care if he lives another fifty or more years, just as long as he doesn’t interfere with my compound. But if you are uncooperative, Alina, then I’ll be forced to take drastic action – and then, I’m afraid, his death will be a certainty.”

“I’d hate you forever if you killed Mal.”

“So you say, but I rather think you’d change your mind eventually.”

“Don’t count on it.”

"Oh, Alina,” he brushes his calloused fingers across her cheek, “do not mistake my affection for you with any sort of weakness. If I have to, then I will strip away all that you know, all that you love, until you have no shelter but mine and my embrace is all you will seek.”

He means it. She can see it in his eyes.

“You’ll let Mal go, unharmed and with supplies?”

“The very moment our marriage is concluded, then you can say your goodbyes and he can leave.”

“If I find out you’ve had him killed, I won’t rest until I’ve put a dagger in your black heart.”

The General actually smiles at her, fond and amused, “you know how to make a marriage sound exciting, Alina. I do so look forward to having you as my wife.”

He kisses her then, heated and all-encompassing.

She doesn’t have time to pull away.

(she doesn’t want to admit the attraction she still feels, despite all he’s done).

“I still don’t know your name,” she murmurs as they break apart.

“Tomorrow you shall,” he promises her, “it will be one of your wedding gifts.”

He leaves her then, and she lays awake almost all night, trying to come up with a plan that will allow both her and Mal to escape.

But the dawn comes, and she knows it’s all futile.

Soon, she’ll be married.

Chapter Text

“I don’t even know his name,” Alina whispers.

Genya, who has come to eat dinner with her, sighs, “he’s told you that you’ll have it tomorrow. Besides, is it really so important? All of us here trust him with our lives even if we only know him as the General – he has earned our respect, and our devotion, with what he has done for us.”

Alina scowls, “I should respect him for blackmailing me into marrying him?”

“He only wants what’s best for you, Alina. You know better than almost everyone here what it’s like outside the compound – it’s not a good life, or a safe one. Surely you can see that you ought to stay here, where you can be safe.”

“And leave Mal to the mercy of those creatures!”

Genya shrugs, “the General will give him equipment and food, and he seems capable enough. I’m sure he’ll be fine, but he doesn’t belong here.”

There is no point arguing with the red-head, Alina thinks. Genya, like everyone else in this compound, is entirely in the General’s thrall.

She knows he’s done a lot for them all, keeping them safe and healthy when the world is such a dangerous place, but that doesn’t excuse his blackmail and threats, or the way he ruthlessly excludes anyone who cannot be of use in his creepy breeding program of a community.

Alina ignores the voice in the back of her mind telling her that even the General can’t help everyone, that he needs some sort of method for choosing who stays with him and that surely it is his prerogative to decide on the criteria considering it’s him keeping everyone safe.

“Now,” Genya says, swiftly changing the subject, “I just wanted to check, thinking about the wedding night, if you –”

“I’m not a virgin, Genya.”

She wonders, briefly, if that might put Aleksander off. Genya seems unsurprised by her answer, though, and Alina thinks back to the medical exam she’d undergone when she first arrived, wondering if that is something that has already been checked, the information given over to the General without a second thought for Alina’s privacy.

“Alright,” the red-head says, “I just thought I ought to ask, in case you needed any information.”

Alina ducks her head, blushing. She’d been sixteen when the world went to hell, old enough to have learned plenty simply by browsing the internet, although perhaps not as much as might be expected, since she’d only had access to a computer shared by all those in her foster home and a second-hand mobile phone.

She and Mal had slept together four times before the bombings started. She’d been on birth control and they’d used condoms every time, far too scared of how their respective foster parents would react to risk a pregnancy. After, they’d never done anything more than huddle together for warmth – her birth control expired, they didn’t have access to condoms and they had far more important things to worry about, simply trying to survive.

So, no, she’s not a virgin. Still, it’s been over five years, and she can’t deny that the thought of her wedding night makes her a little nervous. She refuses to admit that to Genya, though – the red-head is nice enough, but she can’t be trusted not to report to the General and Alina will not display weakness if she can help it.

“He won’t hurt you,” Genya adds, “he’s never unnecessarily cruel.”

Alina personally thinks this whole situation is unnecessarily cruel. The General could very easily get another woman pregnant, doesn’t need to force Alina to stay and marry him because he thinks she’s some sort of perfect match for him. And he could certainly do more to help Mal than simply give him equipment, if he really wanted to – he has some strange sort of control over the volcra but he’s never even suggested using that to ensure Mal has a safer passage away from the compound.

Besides, it doesn’t matter if the General is handsome and good in bed, that doesn’t excuse the fact that he is blackmailing Alina into staying.

“This is a harsh world we’re living in now,” are Genya’s final words of wisdom as she leaves Alina to rest, “apocalyptic in a way none of us except maybe the General were really prepared for. But this place is a safe haven, a blessing for our community. You are luckier than you realise, Alina, to be welcome here. The old rules of society don’t apply anymore, and we all do what we must for the best chance in this new world. Don’t judge too harshly, not when the General’s favour gives you the best chance of a long and fulfilling life.”

And then she’s gone, leaving Alina alone with her warring, confused thoughts.

The next morning, after an uneasy night of sleep, Alina is allowed to meet with Mal before the ceremony that will bind her to the General.

Her oldest friend is agitated and angry, frantically pacing up and down the room. They’ve been given privacy, although Alina knows it’s only an illusion, can see the small cameras in each corner of the room.

“I’ll find you,” Mal’s voice is pitched low, trying not to be overheard by whatever audio surveillance there is, “I’ll get some weapons and some more people, and we’ll storm this place and get you out, and then –”

“No,” she hisses, eyes wide, “no, Mal. It’s too dangerous.”

Her oldest friend’s expression turns mulish, defiantly convinced of his own abilities despite the shows of strength and power they’ve seen from the General and his community, “I can take him.”

But these days Alina is realistic, not idealistic, “you know you can’t. We’ve never seen anyone with weapons and security like this. And that’s without even considering the way he managed to control those creatures. It would be a complete massacre, Mal.”

“He’s not that impressive,” Mal grumbles, which is patently untrue and not at all helpful.

“Be sensible, Mal.”

“Some friend you are, Lina. You don’t have any faith in me at all.”

“This isn’t about your fucking ego, Mal,” she hisses, stung by his cruel words and irritated by his seeming inability to understand the dangerous situation they’re in, “this is about making sure you don’t die.”

“Whatever, Lina. You can just go and enjoy your comfortable bed and hot, running water and three meals a day, and all the fancy luxuries this place has.”

As if she’s betraying him for a more comfortable life and not doing all she can to save his life.

Alina can’t listen to him anymore, just stands abruptly and storms out of the room.

She bursts into tears as soon as the door has clicked shut behind her.

The General appears at her side, tutting softly as he holds out a handkerchief to her, “that boy doesn’t deserve your tears, Alina. I’ve half a mind to turn him out without so much as a bottle of water.”

“No, no,” she protests, “please, just let him go.”

She’s not going to be so petty. Some of Mal’s attitude is understandable and the rest … well, he’s her oldest friend and she’s always been quick to forgive him.

“So tender-hearted,” the General lifts his hand to caress Alina’s cheek and she blushes despite her wish to remain aloof with the man who is forcing her into marriage.

“Come now,” he tells her, “we will talk a while, before the ceremony begins.”

“You promised me your name,” she says as he pours them glasses of wine.

Wine, of all things. They have a small vineyard within the compound, and greenhouses producing fruit and vegetables, and proper plumbing. For years, Alina has had to boil and then cool water before she drinks it, celebrating if they come across some bottled water in one of the few shops or houses they find that haven’t already been picked over by other survivors or completely destroyed.

“So I did,” he murmurs, “it is Aleksander.”

Alina’s brow furrows in confusion. It is such an ordinary name, for a man who is anything but ordinary.

“Aleksander,” she tests it out and finds that she likes how it sounds.

He shudders slightly. Alina realises, suddenly, that no one else here knows his name. No one here shares it either, although it had been common enough before The Incident. Years have gone by and no one has ever called him by his name, not until now.

“Say it again,” his voice is barely a pained whisper.

She ought to deny him. He doesn’t deserve favours from her. But his expression is so painfully hopeful that she can’t stop herself from obeying.

“Aleksander.”

Eyes bright with what might be unshed tears, he takes her in his arms and kisses her with a hunger that is almost manic.

He is not unfeeling, it seems, however imposing he might be.

And it is easy to fall into his arms and kiss him back. Alina hasn’t been touched like this in so long – Mal hasn’t kissed her since just after the bombings, and he stopped even hugging her years ago, too tired and worn down to show any real affection when it took almost all of their energy simply to survive.

In contrast, Aleksander is all warmth and wandering hands, almost desperate to keep touching her. There is something enticing about being so desired, even if she wishes to remain aloof from the man because of the circumstances of her ending up here.

He keeps kissing her for a while longer but, while his hands roam across her body, he never tries to go further, never attempts to remove her clothes even when she starts to wish he would.

Eventually, they break apart and Alina can’t imagine what she looks like.

Flushed and panting, lips slightly swollen and hair mussed.

“Soon,” he murmurs, kissing her almost chastely on the lips, his fingers brushing her cheek tenderly.

She lets out a string of swear words when he’s gone, locking the door behind him.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she mutters to herself, touching her lips and getting frustrated when she wished Aleksander was back with her.

Alina is self-aware enough to realise that she might be a little touch-starved, affection-starved too, to get so worked up by some kisses.

She has to remember what Aleksander has done. Even if it might be sensible to make the best of the situation in which she’s found herself, this is still the man who is keeping her here by threatening Mal, and forcing her to marry him because he’s obsessed with repopulating the world.

Then again, the world had gone to hell five years ago and so had normality.

Maybe she should consider herself lucky to find herself in a place where she can live relatively safely.

She doesn’t have a wedding dress as she knows it.

Instead, Genya brings Alina two new garments that are like the keftas she has seen before.

Both are black with gold embroidery, similar to Aleksander’s. The first is plainer and sturdier, meant for everyday wear and put away in the wardrobe. The second, which Genya dresses her in, is made of a material that feels like silk, the gold embroidery delicate and beautiful.

Genya works her magic on Alina’s hair too, rubbing oil through the strands that makes it thick and shiny, and then pinning it into a bun with ornate gold combs.

Everyone who lives in the compound, save those on guard rotation, wait in a grand hall that resembles the churches Alina recalls attending before.

It’s quite a beautiful sight, a sea of jewel tones interspersed with the plain brown keftas worn by the children whose role in the community has not yet been decided.

There is a low murmuring of voices, joyful and excited, mixed in with the laughter of the children. It is community in a way Alina hasn’t seen in years. For all she has been forced to remain, she can’t help but enjoy seeing such a community spirit in the place that will be her home.

Everyone goes quiet when Alina begins her walk down the aisle towards the front, where Aleksander waits with David and Genya, who are to act as witnesses to the ceremony.

The wedding vows are strange, different to the standard ones she vaguely remembers from tv shows, films and books before The Incident.

She recites them exactly, though, reading them from the small card that has been handed to her. This is only a minor thing compared to everything else, and she is well aware of Mal standing at the back of the room, with dour and dangerous Ivan looming over him, more than willing to act if his General gives the signal.

“We are soldiers,” she recites, only a little shakily, “I will march with you in times of war. I will rest with you in times of peace.”

Peace seems like a foreign concept to Alina, but she cannot deny that this compound is the closest thing she’s had to a safe haven in many years.

“We will be …” she stutters a little on the line, “will be devoted in our duties to the world, and will be thankful for the blessing of our fertility by being fruitful and ensuring that human life survives and thrives.”

She can’t look at Mal, cannot bear to see the disgust on his face at the words she is speaking. She knows he won’t understand why she’s going along with this, worries that he’ll try and return here despite her warnings.

“I have seen your face in the Making at the heart of the world,” she finishes, “and there is no one more beloved.”

Alina has never been religious. She only went to church before when her foster families insisted and the services there had tended to focus on a veneration of the saints. The Making at the heart of the world had been a fringe belief for centuries, a relic of the Old Ravkan faith, with the belief in a small, blessed group destined to save humanity – it isn’t surprising that Aleksander has latched onto it, considering his obsession with re-populating the earth, or maybe it’s the other way around and this community exists because of his long-held faith.

Aleksander says his own vows, identical to Alina’s, with far more confidence and spirit than she did, his gaze turning heated when he speaks of being fruitful.

Genya hands Alina a gold silk ribbon and David gives Aleksander one in black silk. They loop and tie one end of the silk around their own wrist before then knotting the other ends together, joining the two.

David and Genya speak in low voices, almost chanting. Alina doesn’t pay much attention to the words, more focused on how intently Aleksander is watching her, and in very carefully not looking in Mal’s direction.

When David and Genya fall silent, Aleksander takes her hand, twining their fingers together. And then he leans down and kisses her.

It’s a delicate brush of his lips over hers, almost chaste. But she can see his dark eyes smouldering, can feel his other hand settle onto the curve of her hip, pulling her in closer, and she knows that he won’t settle for family-friendly touches for long.

It frustrates her, how easily and quickly her body responds to him.

She tells herself that it’s because it’s been so long since she’s been touched this way. The truth, though, is that Mal never looked at her with anything near the intensity that Aleksander does. Theirs was a more casual, friendly sort of romance, not the sort of thing written about in books and poems.

Not like this.

In a way, it makes sense.

The world is so different now to what it had been when she and Mal had grown up. These days, connections are forged in the flames of adversity and so much seems heightened.

And Alina has spent so long just trying to survive that now – in a compound that, for all of the dangers Aleksander himself presents, is the safest and most secure place she’s been since The Incident – she still has adrenaline coursing through her body without the usual outlet of evading or fighting the volcra.

Is it any wonder that Aleksander’s touch makes her want to vibrate out of her skin?

In the background, the occupants of the compound clap loudly, a few even wolf-whistling.

Alina scarcely notices, locked into a staring contest with the man who is now her husband.

He keeps their hands clasped as they turn towards their audience, a wide and satisfied smile on his face.

Alina avoids looking at Mal, but she can feel his fury all the same.

It is a raucous celebration, with music and dancing and food she has only dreamed of for the last five years.

Alina tries to maintain a stoic demeanour, to make it clear that she isn’t here because she wants to be, but because she has no choice if she wants Mal to survive.

The sense of community and celebration is infectious, though. And everyone is so welcoming, coming up to congratulate her or bringing her food to try (like cake, actual home-made Medovik and even the chocolate kartoshka that she used to buy as often as she could back when things were normal).

Then, some of the children come up and beg her to dance with them – two girls and a boy, all about four years old and absolutely adorable as they take her hands and lead her in an energetic, if uncoordinated, dance. They’re so sweet and it reminds her how special it is, for this to be a place where there can be new life and the children can grow up safely.

When Aleksander cuts in during the dance, the girls let out squeals of excitement and Alina can’t bring herself to refuse.

He’s a graceful dancer – of course he is – and he twirls her around the floor in between the other couples.

“I want you to be happy here, Alina,” he tells her quite seriously as they dance, “no matter the … unconventional reason for your stay here, I have no interest in any of my people being miserable.”

Alina nods stiffly, because she sees little point in arguing with him when she knows it won’t make a difference.

“When will Mal be allowed to leave?” she asks.

“Tomorrow morning,” he tells her, “at first light. Better to go then than to journey at night.”

“And can I –”

“I think it’s best that you don’t speak with the boy again, Alina, not after he upset you earlier.”

“It was just the shock,” she protests, “I’m sure if I talked to him again then he’d understand.”

“You give him far too much credit, zhenushka.”

She jolts at the nickname, the reminder that she is his wife now, for better or worse.

“But … but you will give him supplies, won’t you?”

“I am a man of my word, Alina, not a monster. He will have the proper supplies and directions to avoid the nearby volcra. However, Ivan will impress upon him that any agreements to leave him unharmed will be voided if he returns here looking for trouble or to cause harm.”

Alina nods, and she hopes desperately that Mal will take this opportunity to get away safely and won’t be foolish enough to try and return for her. Perhaps their argument was for the best, a clean break to make it easier for them both.

“Now,” Aleksander continues, “I think you’d like to retire while everyone is distracted by the dancing. I sense you’re not one for spectacle.”

Alina is torn between gratitude at avoiding innuendos and teasing from the crowd and panic at the reminder that this isn’t just a marriage in name, but one that will be consummated.

He takes her hand and squeezes it gently, “you don’t need to worry, zhenushka. As I told you I’m not a monster.”

Alina takes a deep breath and nods. She’s doing this for her security and Mal’s safety and, considering the state of the world, it could all be a whole lot worse.

“Alright,” she agrees, “let’s go.”

They’re not in love, far from it, but he acts as if they are.

Gentle caresses, tender kisses, soft touches from scarred hands as he strips her kefta from her.

She has been expecting something clinical, despite the way he has been looking at her since their very first meeting. His goal for this place seems to revolve largely around procreation, after all, not romance.

And yet …

“You don’t have to pretend,” she whispers.

It would be easier for her to hate him if he treated this coldly and clinically. Her thoughts and feelings wouldn’t get so muddled then.

“Alina,” he sighs, “zhenushka. I won’t pretend that I don’t want many children with you. I won’t insult your intelligence by denying that I can be ruthless. But I am a man too, you know. I feel emotions and both affection and desire are certainly two of those emotions.”

He sighs, fingers brushing her cheek, “let me, Alina, please.”

Alina looks right into his dark eyes, sees the heat and the desire, but something else too – genuine emotion.

“Alright,” she nods.

Her eyes widen when he undresses. His body is lean and muscled and absolutely covered in scars – mostly faded, but a few that are more recent.

“Dominion over the volcra does not come easily,” he says when she tentatively reaches out to touch the longest scar, which runs down his left side, “nor does it come without experimentation and more than a little danger.”

Before, she might have recoiled at the scars, but this new world has left its mark on them all. Alina has her own smaller collection of scars and Aleksander seems unbothered by them – so different, she can’t help but think, from Mal, who had always grimaced when he saw them. The two of them are some of the lucky ones, she knows – they still have all their limbs, their scars are mostly faded and their injuries were never fatal – a part of the gift of the mutation in their DNA, she supposes.

To her surprise, Aleksander slides down her body and puts his head between her legs, his mouth and then his fingers probing the space between her legs.

“Oh,” she sighs in pleasure.

She’d expected him to skip foreplay, determined to stick only to activities that could actually impregnate her.

This is a pleasant surprise.

“I am a gentleman,” his mouth curves into a smug, teasing smile ten minutes later when he’s brought her to two shuddering climaxes, “and I don’t imagine it would be very comfortable for you if we jumped right into it after what I believe is rather a long period of abstinence for you.”

Alina flushes pink, but she doesn’t offer any sort of rude retort, too grateful for his consideration.

Even with how wet she is now, and Aleksander’s ministrations, it has still been too long for Alina not to wince a little at the stretch when he presses inside her, but it isn’t nearly as uncomfortable as it might have otherwise been.

As soon as he’s inside her, he seems to lose much of his usual control.

The things he murmurs in her ear as he begins to move make her blush from head to toe.

She and Mal had been so young when they slept together, all fumbling and awkward, no thought of trying dirty talk. But to hear such filthy things in Aleksander’s low voice nearly drives Alina crazy.

“Let me fill you up,” his voice is rough, lips brushing the shell of her ear and dark eyes glittering brightly, “let me give you a child, my Alina. A true family, just like you’ve always wanted.”

Alina never spoke to him of before in the few days they’ve known each other. She never confided in him about how her parents had died in a car accident when she was too young to really remember them, and how she’d gone back and forth between group homes and foster placements all her life, at least until the world had gone to hell. She didn’t give any indication of how desperately she’d always wanted a family, how she’d tried to build some semblance of one with Mal, how even in these desperate times she often dreamed of a stable home and loving family.

Alina has never told Aleksander any of this, and yet he just knows.

Knows the deep desire of her heart, knows that as much as she despises how she’s got here, that she’s not nearly as unhappy as she is trying to make him believe she is.

“Let me,” he whispers it over and over, “let me, my Alina.”

And what else is there to do but give in to the feelings inside her?

“Yes,” she gasps out when the pressure inside her is built up too high and she feels like she might explode, ”yes.”

“I’m going to make sure it takes,” his eyes are alight with an almost religious fervour, “going to fill you up again and again, every day and every night until you’re round with my child and everyone knows who put a baby in you.”

And that pushes her over the edge, her vision going white as she comes and he follows soon after, filling her with warmth.

She’s learning things about herself that she’d never realised, getting aroused by all his promises.

It’s madness, that he seems to know her better than she knows herself, that he has figured out what makes her tick when Mal – who she’d known over a decade before they slept together – never did.

Alina doesn’t know how many times they come together, loses count after fifth time he comes inside her.

(wonders, idly, how he has such a short refractory period, and if this is somehow another result of his tinkering with his DNA).

Aleksander seems quite determined to fill her up as often as possible, as if he’ll consider it his own personal failure if she fails to fall pregnant on their very first night together.

He has her in so many different positions – on her front, on her back, on all fours, riding him – and it’s almost entirely overwhelming, how much pleasure he wrings from her body as he fills her up over and over again, fingers probing at her entrance to push his come back inside her when it threatens to drip down her legs.

By the time he’s ready to let her rest, Alina is practically a puddle, a loose-limbed, pleasure-drunk mess of a woman.

He lifts her carefully in his arms, taking her to the bathroom so she can relieve herself and then running her a short, hot shower while he changes the sheets.

She’s exhausted when he tucks her under the covers and then gets in beside her, but her mind is still whirring at the events of the last few hours and she’s not sure she’ll sleep quite yet.

----------

Half an hour passes and Aleksander dozes next to her, the heavy slumber of a well-satisfied man, arm slung over her waist, face buried into the crook of her neck.

She wonders if he is as deep a sleeper as he appears right now, or if it is only a ruse to get her to lower her guard. If she tries to move, then will his arms tighten like a vice around her?

Is there anything in this room that she might use against him, a weapon to incapacitate him long enough for her to flee? And if she did get out of the bedroom, would she only be faced with patrolling members of Aleksander’s community, ready and willing to subdue her and return her to him?

Should she rebel against this? Should she try and wipe away his seed between her thighs? With the number of times that he has spilled inside her in the last hours, Alina thinks it will be a miracle if she doesn’t end up pregnant. It is what Aleksander wants, after all, and he strikes her as a man who can somehow get even nature to bend to his will.

Perhaps there is no point in asking any of these questions.

Maybe she should make the best of her situation.

Certainly, she has never met any other group of people who live somewhere so secure, with a thriving and united community, with enough food to never go hungry, with a library and activities. This is the closest thing to civilisation she has known since The Incident.

And he is not cold or unfeeling, not to her or the rest of his community, at least. Whatever his reasons for choosing her, it is clear that his attraction to her is genuine and strong.

The world is not the same as it was years ago. Survival requires compromise and Alina is so, so tired of running from place to place, avoiding vicious gangs and the elements and the volcra.

Here she is, in a safe compound which is well-provisioned and able to withstand volcra attacks, married to – and desired by – the most powerful man in the compound, able to fulfil her long-held desire for a proper family.

Why should she fight? Why should she protest?

In this desolate, decimated world, this is probably the very best place she could be.

And if Aleksander had to resort to some threats and blackmail to get them to this point … well, many other survivors would give much less and take much more.

Alina snuggles closer into Aleksander’s chest, enjoying the feeling of safety and security that comes with being wrapped up in his arms.

However she got here, she thinks she’d like to stay.