Four men gathered around her in a semicircle. Maxim and Iacob both looked gently concerned, while Zoran’s expression was curious. Grigoris was the only one who knew enough to look wary.
One by one, she looked at them, held their gaze.
Whatever they saw in her face caused them to transform—from concerned and curious to deadly. Maxim straightened, head cocking to the size like a predatory bird. Iacob shifted his weight to his back foot, sliding a knife from some hidden sheath and twirling it between his fingers. Zoran took his phone from his back pocket, tapped the screen a few times, and the light over the dining table, which was on despite the daylight, flickered once. He’d just seized control of the hotel’s electrical system.
She ended with Grigoris, who hadn’t visibly reacted to her mood or expression. That was what made him deadly—he never looked dangerous.
“What do you need, Admiral?” Grigoris asked.
Nikolett took a deep breath, counted to three as a double check that yes, she really was about to do this, then exhaled.
“Bring me Eric.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Eric’s knees hit the floor and he winced as his captor pushed him down. Given there was still a bag over his head no one saw the grimace flash across his face.
It wasn’t his first time being black-bagged, and he calmly ran through a checklist of what he knew. The fact that he was calm was the first point to note. It was probably due to the remnants of whatever sedative they’d given him, not just experience making him nonchalant about kidnappings.
He’d been moved to a secondary, indoor location. They’d transported him in some sort of large, wheeled cart. He’d woken up crammed in a semi-reclined position in a space narrow enough his shoulders were forced forward, his back rounded, but there’d been space above his head. He’d heard what he thought were elevator doors opening and closing, then a faint beep of an electronic lock before he was wheeled into this room.
On his knees, bent forward slightly to give the impression he wasn’t yet fully awake, he took stock of his body. He was still shirtless and wearing the same pocketless pajama paints, based on the feel of the fabric on his legs. He wasn’t seriously injured. They hadn’t beaten him or cut any pieces off while he was out.
He chewed on the gag and finished assessing. It was a DIY piece—knotted fabric, the knot shoved into his mouth, the rest tied tight enough his cheeks were compressed.
There was someone behind him, close enough to trigger his awareness but not close enough for him to do anything. There were at least two, probably three, other people in the room based on the faint sound of footsteps.
The room smelled like…
Eric straightened.
Closing his eyes, unnecessary though it may be with the bag over his head, he took a deep breath.
Now he was calm for an entirely different reason, because he knew that scent, faint though it may be.
When they yanked the bag off his head, he was smiling.
Nikolett sat in front of him, forearms resting on the arms of an elegant chair, one leg crossed over the other, chin held high.
She was wearing a dark-blue dress with thin straps that showed the curves of her shoulders and collarbones. Her hair was pulled back from her face, exposing that slim, delicate neck.
Her expression was hard. Imperial.
She sat in the chair like it was a throne, and she was the queen. No, queen wasn’t right. That title wasn’t enough.
She was an empress—powerful and merciless. Too primal for this modern age, instead meant to be a ruthless goddess descended to the pathetic mortal plane to rule and conquer.
Two men in urban camo flanked her, pulling off their balaclavas. Maxim and Iacob.
They’d hidden their faces to attack him, but apparently now, they didn’t have a problem with him knowing. Either Nikolett was going to have them kill him—a solid possibility—or she assumed that he wouldn’t retaliate against her people. Knew that all she had to do was ask him not to and he wouldn’t.
Nikolett’s gaze slid from the top of his head to where his knees pressed into the floor, expression never changing. Then she glanced over his head. “Undo the gag.”
The person behind him moved closer. Eric didn’t bother to turn and see who it was, because it didn’t matter. Only Nikolett mattered.
The gag went slack and Eric spit it out. He licked his lips, and Nikolett’s gaze traced the path of his tongue.
Eric tipped his head left, then right, cracking his neck.
