He might hunt down Gio, but what if Gio gets to Sam before Alexei gets to him? What if Alexei decides I’m too much trouble and risk? I’ve seen how easily he kills. How little a human life weighs in his calculations.
Bile burns my throat.
Smart girls keep their mouths shut.Especially to the monsters who imprison them.
Information is my only power.
I’m not ready to surrender it…not even to the monster who’s currently protecting me from the other beasts lurking nearby.
Chapter 27
Alexei
The skyline lightens on the other side of my desk, the city coming alive as dawn creeps across Chicago. My monitors flicker with surveillance footage, financial reports, and inventory logs. All the machinery of an empire operating smoothly despite my distraction.
Yesterday’s coffee shop excursion confirmed what I already expected. Samantha Bailey is exactly as Aurora described, and very much like her sister.
Bright, vibrant, and passionate.
During their visit, I detected no threats. Yet Aurora was different on our walk back to the Lexus, her wary gaze darting to car windows and passing strangers.
Was her edginess a reaction to being forced back into my world after the brief reprieve with her sister? Or is she naturally a little jaded after her recent experiences?
A crash from the kitchen propels me from my chair. Burning butter permeates the air, followed by a soft curse in Aurora’s musical voice.
I check the time. She’s awake earlier than usual. I should go back to work and ignore whatever fresh disaster she’s creating in my previously spotless kitchen.
Instead, I find myself drawn toward her chaos like a moth to flame.
Her back is to me, showing off the messy pile of hair atop her head, and she’s wearing another of my t-shirts. This one hangs to her mid-thigh, exposing her slender yet muscular legs.
Heat jolts straight to my groin.
The counter around her resembles a war zone. Eggshells scattered like shrapnel…flour dusting surfaces like fallout…an open gallon of milk too close to the edge. She leans over the center island, focused on a sizzling pan.
Pixie sits at her feet licking her whiskers.
“What are you doing?” The question elicits a yelp.
She jumps, spinning toward me with the spatula raised like a weapon. “Sheesh! Make a noise when you walk.”
I raise an eyebrow at the destruction surrounding her. “I thought I did. What is all this?”
“Pancakes. Well, I gave it a shot anyway.” Her smile is hesitant but genuine.
I should have stopped her pathetic attempts at cooking right from the start.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed as she returns to her culinary battlefield. “I see.”
She oozes nervous energy, humming an upbeat tune as she flips a sad, misshapen circle.
She motions toward two mugs. “Coffee’s fresh. I figured out your fancy machine.”
I pour myself a cup from the carafe she filled, the rich aroma a stark contrast to the burned stench wafting from the pan. The first sip is perfect. Strong, black, no sugar. At least she’s learned that much.
“Breakfast is served!”
She slides her creations onto a plate, a stack of uneven circles with charred edges and pale, lumpy centers. Afteradding a pat of butter that refuses to melt on the undercooked surface, she drizzles syrup over the whole sorry mess and places the plate in front of me as if presenting a masterpiece. Still humming, she floats back over to the island and scoops up discarded eggshells.
