Work Text:
Sturmhond had seen many storms during his time at sea.
But none of them took his breath away like the woman standing at the front of his ship, with her eyes closed, hands wide open, and hair flowing in the ocean wind.
No other hurricane ever made his heart flutter like it was made from her hands, an ephemeral breeze that had no start and no end.
None other enchanted him so much while devastating his very existence.
Some would probably argue that she bewitched him. Others, that she did everything intentionally, to make him fall for her and make her his future Tsaritsa.
But he knew she was a soldier before a muse, a sharp tongue before a gentle hand, a confident nightmare before a hypnotizing daydream.
She was Zoya of the wind and thunder. Zoya of clear skies and rainy clouds.
Zoya of his heart and soul.
Anyone could argue that she attempted to make Nikolai Lantsov hers.
But only he knew that he’d be the one to work towards making Zoya his.
