The frozen threshold

The air in the bedroom felt thick and charged, a heavy weight that seemed to vibrate between us as Doc moved closer. His presence was commanding, an inescapable force that made the rest of the world—the blizzard, the ruin of my engine, the ghosts of the tundra—feel like a distant, half-forgotten dream. When he finally claimed me, the sheer scale of him felt like a revelation. I gasped as he pushed his dick in me, my body stretching to its absolute limit to accommodate the weight and width of his dick. I’d forgotten that he was significantly larger than Vic.

"Fuck. I’ve missed you and this," he rasped against my ear. His voice was a low, vibrating growl that sent a violent shiver down my spine, triggering a primal reaction I couldn't suppress. He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye, his gaze dark with a possessive fever. "Marry me."

He didn't wait for an answer, nor did he hold back. He drove into my wet pussy with a relentless, rhythmic power that stole the air from my lungs. It felt like an eternity of friction and heat, a blurred cycle of breathlessness and mounting pressure. Every thrust was deep and deliberate, a masterclass in the sexual connection we had once built our lives around. I found myself clinging to the heavy oak headboard for stability, my knuckles white as he pushed me further and further toward the edge. Finally, with a sharp intake of breath, he surged forward one last time. I felt the hot, heavy flood of his cum filling me completely, a searing mark of his return to my life.

“No, Doc,” I moaned, my voice trembling with the aftershocks of the climax. “I love you, but I can’t.”

He didn't let the momentum fade or the rejection settle. Before I could even catch my breath, he pulled out and firmly rolled me onto my stomach. I felt the overwhelming weight of him settle over my back, pressing me into the mattress as he guided his dick back inside my pussy while I lay prone bone. The new angle was sharper, more intense, reaching depths that made my vision swim.

"Again," he demanded, his hands gripping my hips like iron vices to anchor me against the force of his movement.

He rode me fast and hard, the rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the quiet room. We were caught in a loop of constant climaxes; every time I thought my body couldn't handle more, he would cum inside me again, adding to the thick heat he’d already left behind.

Just as the world started to spin, he withdrew and pulled me to my feet, guiding my shaky legs toward the heavy oak dresser. He bent me over the cool, polished wood, the sudden chill against my stomach a stark contrast to the heat between my thighs. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror—wide, blown-out pupils and flushed skin.

"Look at what you do to me," he moaned, his breath hot against the back of my neck.

With a single, powerful motion, Doc shoved his dick back into my pussy, claiming me in a way that felt entirely different—stretching, invasive, and overwhelming. As he worked me over the dresser, his large hands reached around to find my tits. He didn't just hold them; he squeezed with a possessive strength, his fingers digging in and pinching my nipples with a sharp intensity that grounded me in the moment.

He stayed there for a long time, relentless and unyielding, coming in waves that seemed never-ending. By the time he finally finished, I was breathless and trembling, completely undone by the sheer force of him. We finally came for the last time, a simultaneous collapse of willpower and physical endurance.

Doc pulled out and, seeing my legs could no longer support me, carried me to the shower. The steam filled the room as he turned the water on and joined me. We didn't talk much; the intimacy of the last hour had said enough. The only words exchanged were a quiet, "Please pass the soap."

After a long time under the hot spray, he turned the water off and we toweled each other dry. I dressed in some of the clothes he had held onto for years—soft, familiar fabrics that still smelled faintly of his home. I was quietly thankful he hadn't thrown them away. When we finished dressing, we headed downstairs.

My bags were already in the foyer. He called his housekeeper, Mona, over and asked her to wash my belongings. She barely looked at me, her face a mask of practiced indifference as she nodded her head.

“Stay inside, my love,” Doc said as he bundled up in his heavy winter gear. “I’m going to check in with the mechanic to see the damage on the ATV, and then I’ll be right back.”

He bent down to press a firm kiss to my lips before stepping out into the cold. The door clicked shut, and I immediately went to find Mona.

“Miss Mona?” I called out as I entered the sterile, white-tiled laundry area. “I’m sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you have a minute.”

She was sorting through my gear with unnecessary force. “Anything for Doc’s ex-wife,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her lips. She finally looked up, her eyes hard. “What do you need?”

“I’m going to let that slide, Miss Mona,” I said, my voice dropping to a cold, level tone. “I’ve been respectful toward you, and I’d like the same courtesy in return, whether you respect me or not.”

She stood up, realizing I wasn't in the mood for games. “Fine,” she said, her voice tight. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m looking for Doc’s office,” I explained. “I know he has a particular charging cable for the type of phone I have, but I don’t want to go through his house unless he’s inside. Could you please direct me?”

“It’s next to his bedroom, but it’s behind a hidden panel,” she said, her eyes narrowing as if weighing whether to tell me more. “Would you like assistance in opening the panel?”

“I’m okay, but thanks,” I replied. “Thank you, Miss Mona.”

She nodded once and returned to my laundry. It was clear she wasn't just protective; she was in love with him. I couldn't fault her—I knew the pull of the man better than anyone—but I had work to do.

I headed upstairs. I checked the right-hand side of the door, moving my hand along the wall at about six feet. Just as I was about to give up, I felt the texture of the paint change—a slight, nearly imperceptible seam. I tapped the panel three times, and the mechanism clicked, swinging open to reveal the dark, tech-heavy office.

I grabbed my phone and plugged it into my old laptop. Doc had kept it charged and updated, a detail that didn't surprise me. I quickly ran a trace on the satellite calls I'd exchanged with Sera. The data bloomed on the screen: she had left Sancho’s twenty minutes ago. She was heading for the mountain pass where the bridge had been burned. She was close, but I didn't want her too close to me. The proximity was a liability I couldn't afford right now.

I sent an encrypted email to my brother, Bob. I'm alive. If you don't hear from me by spring, don't believe the lies of my death. I then checked my computer bag and found the drug test kit I’d stashed. I needed to know the truth about the food from the lean-to. I grabbed the kit and headed back to the bedroom, setting it up on the vanity. I processed the samples of the meat stew, testing for hallucinogenics. The kit was older, the chemical strips taking an agonizing amount of time to change color.

While I waited, I darted back to the office. No messages from Sera. No reply from Bob yet. I sighed, the tension in my chest tightening. I ran back to the bedroom just as the final strip stabilized.

Negative. No hallucinogenics in the food.

A wave of relief washed over me, but it was short-lived. If the food wasn't drugged, the dreams of Rasputin were either real or a result of my own deteriorating psyche. I gathered the kit and the remaining food and threw them into the fireplace in his room. I lit a match, watching the evidence curl into ash. I added several logs to the fire to mask the chemical smell of the burning kit.

I hurried back to the office one last time. Still nothing from Sera, but a new message from Bob had just hit the inbox. Before I could click it, the heavy sound of the front door opening echoed through the house. I heard Doc’s voice calling out for me.

I grabbed my phone, shut down the laptop, and closed the hidden panel. I moved as quickly as I could, reaching the top of the stairs just as he looked up.

“Doc, how’s the ATV?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from sounding as breathless as I felt.

He began unpeeling his outer layers, his face red from the biting wind outside. "You truly destroyed that engine, Deppgrl," he said with a half-smile, shaking the snow from his coat. "It’s beyond repair. However, my mechanic is the best in the sector. He told me he could build you a newer one—one with a renewed block that you could push as hard as you could without it smoking out on you."

I felt a small prickle of hope at the prospect of reliable transportation. "Thank you, Doc," I said. "And please, send my thanks to your mechanic. I really appreciate him doing that."

"I will," he promised, stepping toward me. He reached out, his hand warm as it rested on the small of my back. "But right now, I need to defrost. The cold is still in my bones, and more than that, I want to catch up with you."

He looked at me with an earnestness that made my skin crawl with the weight of my secrets. I knew he was looking for a connection, for the woman who used to be his wife, not the ghost running through the snow. I tilted my head and smiled at him—a soft, believable expression that reached my eyes but never touched my heart. It was a fake smile, honed by years of survival, but I made it look so real that he didn't even blink.

"I'd like that," I lied, the believable curve of my lips masking the frantic ticking of the clock in my head.

He led me back upstairs. When we reached the hallway, he walked straight to the wall next to his bedroom and pressed the hidden panel. I acted surprised, widening my eyes as the door clicked open. I knew Mona wouldn't say anything to him about our conversation; she was too smart for that, and too invested in appearing as the perfect, invisible helpmate.

We entered the office, and Doc closed the door behind us, sealing us in the dark, wood-scented sanctuary. He turned to me immediately, bending down to catch my lips in a slow, lingering kiss.

"Mona is jealous of you," he whispered, his hands resting on my shoulders. "She’s been in her own head for a long time. I wanted to get you out of her negative circle for a bit."

"I noticed," I said softly, leaning into him for just a second. "Thank you for the heads-up. And for this."

He pulled back, his expression softening. "I brought you in here so you could have some privacy. I know you’ve been through hell. Reach out to whomever you want, let them know you’re okay. I’ll be right outside if you need anything."

He squeezed my hand and stepped out, giving me exactly what I had been praying for: the room to work. I waited until the door was fully shut before moving. I went over to my laptop and entered the passcode. The screen flickered to life, showing the encrypted mail client I had left open. My heart hammered against my ribs as I saw the notification. I opened Bob’s email, my eyes scanning the text for the news I both feared and needed.

The subject line was blank, but the body of the email was a blunt, terrifying reality check.

“I don’t want to know what you’ve gotten yourself into,” Bob wrote. “You can’t stay with Doc for more than twenty-four hours. He’s being watched. If you see the mark of the black sun, run.”

I stared at the screen, the blue light reflecting in my wide pupils. The relief I had felt minutes ago evaporated, knowing that with my message to Bob he automatically knew where I was. I appreciated his warning about the black mark on the sun; it was his warning that Doc was a descendant of Grigori Rasputin and I needed to tread carefully.

I closed the laptop and took a deep breath, forcing my heart to steady. I left the office, moving quietly back into the bedroom where Doc was sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked up as I entered, his gaze questioning but gentle.

"Doc," I started, my voice tight. "I have a really difficult question to ask you. I don't even know how to ask it gently."

He stood up, walking toward me with that calm, steady authority. "You can ask me anything, my love. You know that."

I looked him dead in the eye. "Are you related to Rasputin?"

The silence that followed was heavy, but only for a second. His expression didn't shift into surprise; it shifted into a somber realization. "Yes," he admitted, his voice low. "I am."

The confirmation hit me like a physical blow. Without a word, I turned to the bags I had only just begun to settle. I started shoving my clothes back into my packs with frantic, jerky motions.

"What's wrong? Why are you packing?" He reached for my hand, but I pulled away.

"I am not safe here," I said. "Your admission to being a descendant of such a holy man... it puts me at a risk I can't even quantify. I have to go. Now."

"It's just history, Deppgrl," he argued, but I wasn't listening. I grabbed my meds, checking the vials and packing them securely. I didn't care about the blizzard or the broken ATV. I just knew that the twenty-four-hour clock Bob had set was already ticking too fast.

I shouldered my packs and hurried downstairs. I practically ran into Mona in the foyer. She was standing there, watching the stairs as if she’d been waiting for the inevitable.

"You're going to be one happy woman, Mona," I snapped, my breath coming in short bursts. "I have to leave. I'm not safe here."

To my shock, the sarcasm was gone. Her eyes went wide, and she immediately moved into action. "Hurry, then," she whispered, her hands already moving. She grabbed my freshly laundered clothes from the basket and began expertly stuffing them into my side pockets. "Don't just stand there, move!" She darted into the kitchen and returned with heavy sacks of dried food—beans, rice, grains—packing them into the remaining space in my gear. "You'll need these. The tundra eats the unprepared."

"I wanted to warn you," she whispered. "I thought that you already knew because of your marriage to him."

"I didn't know," I said, stunned by her sudden helpfulness. "I had no idea."

She reached out and, for the first time, her touch wasn't cold. She hugged me tightly, a brief, fierce squeeze. "I'll help you leave," she promised. "I'll make sure he doesn't see which way you go."

I pulled back slightly, raising an eyebrow and letting a smirk touch my lips despite the terror. "So you can have him all for yourself?"

Mona let out a short, unexpected laugh, a sound devoid of the bitterness I’d heard earlier. "No," she said, shaking her head. "I just want you to survive."

"Thank you, Mona," I said, the sincerity surprising even myself.

She didn't waste time on sentiment. She helped me bundle into my Tek gear, the high-tech fabric sealing out the drafty foyer air. "The mechanic is out back, behind the shed on the property," she instructed, pointing toward the rear exit. "Go through the mudroom. Doc is still in the hallway; he won't see you cross the back lot."

I bolted out the door before my resolve could waver. The cold hit me like a wall of iron, but the adrenaline kept my muscles moving. I hurried across the yard, the wind whipping around the corners of the main house. I reached the mechanic's shop—a low-slung, industrial building tucked away behind the large equipment shed.

I burst through the door, the warmth of the garage and the smell of oil a sudden contrast to the gale.

"Your Imperial Highness," the mechanic greeted me, wiping grease from his hands with a rag.

I just rolled my eyes, leaning against a workbench to catch my breath. "Cut the crap. Is the ATV set?"

"It is," he said, nodding toward the machine. It looked like a beast now, the engine block reinforced and—to my relief—he'd added a significantly larger fuel tank. "I fueled it to the brim and topped off the jerry cans in the back. You've got enough range to clear the mountain pass twice over."

"Thank you," I said, checking the straps on the extra fuel cans. I looked him in the eye, the isolation of the tundra making me paranoid. "Is there anyone else around? Within miles?"

He shook his head slowly. "No one. Just the wind and the ghosts."

I paused, the title he'd used seconds ago itching at my brain. "Why did you call me that? 'Your Imperial Highness'?"

He stopped what he was doing, his expression turning solemn. "Because you are a descendant of the last Tsar. The bloodline didn't end in that cellar, no matter what the history books claim."

I stared at him, my exhaustion making it hard to process the words. "I don't believe you."

He didn't get angry. He just sighed and turned away, heading toward a cluttered corner of his shop. "I knew you wouldn't believe me," he said over his shoulder as he began digging through a heavy iron crate. "But my family... we have been Tsarists for as long as I can remember. We were sworn to protect the line, even when the line didn't know it existed."

He turned around, holding a sleek, silver device that looked out of place among the rusted tools and oil drums—a recent model of a DNA comparison kit. He carried it over to a high-tech computer terminal shielded by thick plexiglass and attached it with a series of clicks.

I looked at him with a mixture of awe and growing concern. The technical sophistication of his setup was staggering for a man living on the edge of the Frozen Threshold. "What are you doing?"

"Verification," he muttered, his eyes fixed on the booting screen. He looked up and asked for my arm.

I hesitated, then slowly offered him my hand. He took my glove off with surprising gentleness, cleaned the tip of my index finger with a stinging antiseptic swab, and used a sterile lancet to take half a vial of blood. He removed the needle quickly, applying a small bandaid before I could even wince.

"Give me a few minutes to process the sample," he said, his voice dropping into a professional hum as he inserted the vial into the kit.

He turned back to the terminal, his fingers flying across the keys as a progress bar began to crawl across the display. I stood there, the silence of the shop broken only by the whirring of the cooling fans and the distant howl of the blizzard outside.

Fifteen minutes later, the machine let out a soft chime. He spent another few moments scrolling through data I couldn't see, his face unreadable in the blue glow of the monitor. Finally, he straightened up and came back out toward the center of the shop with a few printed documents in his hand.

"What's going on?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. My hands were shaking inside my gloves.

He handed me the papers, his gaze intense. "Take these documents and head back to the Kremlin as soon as you can. Your presence is no longer just a matter of survival—it’s a matter of state."

I looked at the documents, the Cyrillic text blurring before my eyes. "The Kremlin? That’s impossible. It could take me twelve days to get there, even with this ATV. The blizzard is getting worse, and the amount of snow on the pass is insane. I’ll run out of food, or freeze, or simply get lost in the white-out."

"You don't understand," he said, stepping closer. The smell of grease and cold metal was thick around him. "Time is a luxury you don't have. The Kremlin isn't just a destination; it’s your fortress. The Romanov blood in your veins... it carries more weight than you can imagine in the halls of power today."

"How am I supposed to get there?" I demanded, gesturing toward the door where the storm was screaming. "I'm one woman on a machine in the middle of a frozen wasteland."

"I have people keeping an eye on you," he said calmly, as if he were discussing a grocery list. "They are positioned along the route. From here to the capital, there are eyes in the trees and ears in the wind. You need to trust them."

I let out a harsh, dry laugh, my chest tightening with a mix of fear and absurdity. "Trust them? I don't even know who 'they' are. I don't know who you are, really. How can I possibly trust strangers in a place like this?"

The mechanic looked at me with a profound, ancient loyalty, a devotion that felt like it belonged to a different century. "You will know them because they will know you. They have been waiting for this day for generations. When they approach, they won't call you by the name on your passport."

"Then what will they call me?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"They'd call you Marie Alexandrova," he answered, his voice ringing with a strange authority. "And you will answer to it, because it is who you are. Now, go. The path is clear for the next hour, but after that, even I cannot guarantee the visibility."

I looked from the documents to the monster of an ATV, my mind spinning. Marie Alexandrova. A name that felt like a death sentence and a birthright all at once. I tucked the papers into my internal pocket, checked my gear one last time, and mounted the machine.

"Don't stop for anything," the mechanic called out as I keyed the ignition. "The wolves aren't the only ones hunting tonight."