My pulse spikes. I blink a few times, taking in the dark walls, floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive walnut furniture, and the faintest trace of cedar and firewood in the air.
Brax's penthouse.
And I'm in his bed.
Memories slam back in fragments. There's the jet cabin, Brax's body under mine, his arms locked around me, and the sense of floating, drifting, sinking. Then the ritual comes flying back. Chants haunt me. The lingering smoke in my hair turns thicker. Thevision of Brax's body pressing mine into the mirror while he convulses against me makes my thighs clench.
I try to turn my head, but can't move very far.
He keeps me anchored against him. His breath ghosts down the back of my neck. His muscular leg hooks over mine as though I'm a flight risk.
Am I?
We got married.
Panic flickers, sharp and wrong. I try to move.
His arm tightens, and his gravelly, deep voice questions, "Where are you going, Minx?"
I freeze.
He lifts on his elbow and brushes my hair off my face. He cautiously asks, "You okay?"
I swallow, and there could be shards of glass in my throat. I wince, "I'm…awake."
"No shit."
I smile. "How did I get here?"
His expression darkens. "You don't remember walking in here?"
"No."
"That's because I carried you." He winks.
"Oh." I sit up.
He drags his hand over his face, sits next to me, and curses under his breath. "You scared the hell out of me, Valentina."
It knocks me off-balance. I snap, "I'm fine."
"You're not fine. At least you weren't." He stares at me as if he's waiting for me to crack.
I insist, "I'm fine. I was tired."
He gives a humorless laugh, "Tired? You were unresponsive."
My jaw clenches.
What did I say to him?
I sharply assert, "I'm awake now. You don't have to worry about me."
"Don't worry about you? Minx, you're my wife."
It lands like a punch. My chest tightens. Our vows come flying back to me. I blink, trying to ease the guilt.
He leans in and cups my jaw. "Don't do that again."
