Maxim
Were it not for the armed guards trailing through the gouged snow at our back, Annika Desyatova and I could be on a lover’s tour of the estate. We walk side by side in the early morning gloom, sun obscured by thick gray snow clouds that hang like a guillotine over the mountains.
She walks just ahead of me, keeping my pace but leading us, and I let her. It gives me a moment to watch her as she is: the sly, quick, lithe way she moves; the way her dark curls, bound at the nape of her neck in a low ponytail, bounce and ripple; the way her dark eyes seem to find me at all times, dark, gleaming, smiling, knowing.
She thinks she can wrap me around her finger—she can’t.
She almost did last night.The back of my neck heats at the thought. I look away, into the black, winter-dormant trees. Last night.Last night. Yes. She almost got me. In my desperation, in my moment of vulnerability, and grief, and rage, she nearly convinced me she could be my salvation, if only carnally, if only for a moment.
I want to ask myself why—but I know why. Annika believes that because we have history, she has a chance to control me. Or, at the very least, save her own life. Sacha asked me what will become of her when this is all over. I didn’t have an answer for him then. I don’t now. In a way, he was right to be afraid of her. My judgment is clouded, as much as I fight for it not to be.
I need to settle this. I need to set boundaries with this woman, and the sooner the better.
I look back at the guards, raising my palm. They halt where they are, and I follow Annika deeper into the gardens. They’re barren now, nothing but bare trees and seeds sleeping deep beneath the snow. But the winding cobble pathways are kept clear, and among the crumbling stone walls and ancient trees, Annika and I find solitude, and privacy.
“Well,” she says, touching trees with gloved hands as she goes, winding in and out of them, footsteps deft and silent. “You had me alone last night. Why do you want me alone now?”
“In the house, I have power. In the bedroom, you have power. Here, that power is neutralized.”
“And why would we want neutrality?” She smiles sharply at me over her shoulder. Cheeks and nose pink from the cold, scarf wrapped tight around her neck, she looks younger, somehow. Innocent, almost.Almost.“You’ve left no room for negotiation.”
Ahead, half-hidden by mountainous drifts of stone, is a dome-topped terrace. In the summer, the wooden beams enclosing the tiled deck are drenched with fragrant rose vines. Now there are only streaking black boughs, pricking here and there through the snow like thorns or knives.
Annika steps inside, and I follow her. There’s an eerie, insulated, chamber-like silence here. She dusts snow from one of the stone benches and sits. I lean against the opposite rail, leaving as much space between us as I can. Annika notices and smiles at me, amused.
“I’m not going to bite you, you know,” she says. “Unless you’d like me to.”
“Sacha will kill you,” I say simply. Her smile dissolves. “All he needs—all he wants—is an excuse. You trying to sleep with me is more than enough.”
Annika dusts snow from her thigh. “Sacha needs a woman.”
“My brother is going to die.” I swallow the black rage, the blinding grief that lurches into my throat.Compose yourself. You’re a leader—lead.“I know you aren’t afraid of death. I know you don’t fear me, or pain, or torture, or even your father.”
Annika doesn’t look at me. “…do you know that?”
Her words catch me off guard, and I find myself examining her more closely: the veneer of aloofness is thinner than it appears, and deep within those fearless, cold eyes there may be something else—a shaking foundation. A fragile heart. The girl I was lucky enough to hold in my arms three years ago.
“You aren’t taking this seriously,” I say measuredly, wanting her to understand. “But my men are. I am. The more you play, the more you flirt, the more you trivialize—the less they will trust you.”
“And why would they trust me,molodoy volk?”Young wolf.Her eyes narrow, and for the first time since I found her in Seattle, I see something other than arrogance or calculation in them. I see a crack, albeit a small one, in her façade. “I am the Daughter of the Snake. I was a world away when your foolish brother went after my father alone. I did not fire the bullet. I did not leave him to die. But there is no difference, is there. Blood for blood.”
She’s right, I realize. “It is the nature of this work.”
She examines me for a moment, and I find I can’t read her expression. “Do you think about it? That night?”
Yes.“Not really.”
“I do.” She turns, staring into the snow-clad woods beyond the terrace. “Often.”
Desire rises in me as though bidden. “Annika,” I warn.
“Relax. I’m not trying to fuck you. Not at this exact moment, at least.” She gives me a sidelong smile. “I don’t remember a time in my life before that night that I felt seen. Always there is the shadow of my father on me. His blood on my hands. His history at my feet. But that night, I was myself, and no one else.”
What can I say to her? How can I compel her to behave, if only to protect herself from the rage of people like Sacha, who will never see her as separate from her father? I can’t promise to let her go. I don’t know if I can allow myself that luxury. And I won’t promise something I don’t know I can deliver.
“Give me a reason to protect you,” I hear myself say.
“That one night was not enough?” But her smile fades as quickly as it appears. “Guarantee the safety of my children, and I will do whatever you say.”
