“She touched you. She implied you went down in her.” My voice comes out harder than I intended.
“She never mattered.” His thumb strokes the cord of muscle in my neck. “But watching you eviscerate her was the hottest thing I’ve seen in months.”
“Just months?”
“Keep talking, and I’m going to fuck you in the coat closet.”
“Promises, promises.”
His laugh is low and dark, and it goes straight between my thighs.
Movement catches my peripheral vision—a man approaching with golden hair and storm-grey eyes.
Dmitri.
My stomach drops.
Roman sees him at the same moment I do. His hand doesn’t move from my neck, but the pressure changes—tighter, more possessive.
Dmitri stops at an appropriate distance. “Roman. Anya.” His eyes find mine and hold too long. “That was quite the display with Polina. I’m impressed.”
“Dmitri.” Roman’s voice stays flat. “I didn’t realize you were attending.”
“Vadim extended a personal invitation.” His eyes still haven’t left my face. “I was missing a sparring partner.”
“My wife isn’t up for discussion.”
“Of course.” But Dmitri steps closer, and Roman goes unnaturally still beside me. “Though I have to say, Anya—you continue to surprise me. The note I gave you clearly didn’t work. So I thought I’d try something more… tangible.”
He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a small velvet box.
A silver bracelet sits inside—delicate Chechen filigree, the metalwork intricate and old.
“In my country, we give these to women we want to keep safe.” Dmitri’s voice is soft, meant only for us. “I’m offering you a door, Anya. If Roman’s war goes badly—if Vadim wins—you’ll need somewhere to run.”
Roman sets his champagne down without a sound.
“You’re in my wife’s space, Dmitri.” His voice is pleasant. His eyes are dead. “I’d suggest you count your fingers. Make sure you still have ten of them before you reach for her hand.”
Dmitri ignores the warning.
He takes my hand and lifts it with old-world courtesy and presses his lips to my knuckles.
His mouth is cold. Wrong. It makes my skin crawl. I don’t want safety. I don’t want a door. I want the smoke. The blood. The fire. I want the monster who burns the world down just to keep me warm.
Three seconds. Four. Five.
Dmitri’s lips linger too long on my skin, and Roman’s stillness beside me shifts into something darker, something that’s figuring out exactly how many bones he can break before security intervenes.
“Dmitri.” I pull my hand back and step between them, putting my body in front of Roman’s. “Your offer is noted.” I look him dead in the eye, voice bored. “But I prefer my wolves with teeth. You can keep your safety.”
I turn back to Roman and put my hand on his chest.
“He’s not worth the bullet, Roman. Let’s go.”
For a moment, Roman doesn’t move. His eyes stay fixed on Dmitri with that flat, dead expression that makes captains step back and enemies disappear.
Then Dmitri makes the mistake of speaking again.
