Dmitri fishes a cloth from his pocket, wiping the handle of the discarded knife before dragging the bodies into the nearby brush, hiding them from view.
“Cleanup team in five,” he says. “I’ll stay here and make sure no one stumbles onto this mess. You two go.”
Vlad nods a thanks to Dmitri, then guides me toward a side door, arm an unbreakable band around my waist.
My knees wobble. “Jack… he was here,” I whisper.
“We’ll deal with your brother later,” Vlad says. He pulls the door open, light pouring out onto the snow-speckled dark. “First, I get you safe.”
Tremors rack me now that the shock is fading. Vlad guides me through the empty hallways of the hotel.
He suddenly stops and turns me toward him, tipping my chin, gaze fierce. “You’re not allowed to blame yourself. Understand?”
Tears threaten and I nod. He draws me into his chest, the steady thump of his heart anchoring mine. The ballroom’s music fades in the distance. I clutch his jacket, feeling the unspoken promise beneath the dark prince’s veneer—anyone who comes for me will bleed.
The fire in Vlad’s study crackles like static on vinyl, casting bright against the dark-paneled walls. I sit curled in a leather wingback, palms still tingling from adrenaline. The study doorsbehind me open, and Vlad steps in carrying two tumblers—amber in one, something pale and fizzy in the other.
His jacket is gone, shirt sleeves are rolled, tie hanging loose. Even after the blood and chaos at the gala, he moves as though nothing can ruffle him.
My gaze flicks to the far corner. A Christmas tree that wasn’t there this morning towers in silver-blue glory, glass baubles winking among icy white lights. Gaily wrapped boxes cluster around its stand.
“New addition,” I say, nodding towards it.
He chuckles, handing me the paler drink. “Realized it’s three nights before Christmas and I’d neglected seasonal décor. Dmitri made a bribe or two to get us something nice.”
“And the presents?” I arch a brow.
His mouth tilts. “You’ll wait until Christmas,kotenok.”
I laugh despite myself, lifting the glass. “If this is vodka?—”
“It isn’t. Seltzer, rosemary, splash of ginger. I understand you said alcohol’s lost its appeal.”
Dmitri must have said something. I take a sip—bright, herbal, soothing. Vlad settles into the chair opposite me, his bourbon catching the firelight. For a moment we just sit, letting the quiet fold around us.
“Thank you,” I whisper after several moments of silence. “For saving me tonight.”
“You don’t thank a guard for stepping in front of a bullet,” he answers. “It’s my duty.”
“It feels like death follows me.” The words slip out, raw as scraped skin. “Maxim, my parents, Jack’s mess…”
He studies the flames. “I’m an angel of death by trade. I know the feeling. Can’t promise what the future holds, but I can promise this—any danger that finds you will end with me.”
The vow hangs heavy, real. I slide from my chair to the rug between us and lean my head on his knee, exhaustion catching up in waves. He sets his glass down and threads his fingers through my hair, then gently draws me up beside him on the wide settee. My head nestles against his shoulder as his arm curves around me, solid and protective.
Firelight paints gold on his neck, copper darts in his eyes. When I tilt my face up, our noses almost brush. I breathe him in—the smell of pine and ginger and faint gunpowder clinging to his shirt.
“Teresa,” he murmurs.
I answer by touching my mouth to his. The kiss is tentative only for a breath, then deepens. His hand cups my jaw, my fingers slide beneath his loosened tie. Outside, sleet patters against the windowpane, but inside the world narrows to deep kisses, bated breath, and the steady promise of his heartbeat beneath my palm.
His lips, firm and warm, taste of bourbon and raw desire, igniting my pulse. My fingers clutch his undone bowtie, silk slipping as I pull him closer, needing his heat. His hand slides from my jaw to my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, possessive yet tender.
“You’re mine,” he whispers. “And I swear I’ll kill any man who tries to hurt you.”
His words cause a spark within. I slide off the settee and kneel between his legs, my dress pooling around me. His eyes darken, tracking my hands as I undo his belt, the leather snapping free. I tug his trousers down and his cock springs free—thick and hard, precum at the tip.
My mouth waters and I lean in, licking the head, tasting. He groans, low and guttural, hand fisting my hair as I take him deeper, lips stretching around his girth. I swirl my tongue, sucking hard, bobbing until his breath hitches.
