Footsteps approach.
Steady hands grip my arms, pulling me out from under the dead man.
Prying my eyes open, I meet Kirill’s gaze.
His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. You’d never know he just killed four men considering he’s spotless. Not even a drop of blood on him. The man’s so cold, butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
His flat, calculating, impossible-to-read eyes sweep over me as he takes measure. After forming a decision, he sets me on my feet.
As if jolted out of a trance, my paralysis shatters.
Pure, simple instinct takes over, shoving me forward before I can think.
I collide with him, headfirst, my fists bunching in the front of his jacket, the fabric slick and soft to the touch. I hold on to the jacket like a lifeline, wrapping the fabric around me and wallowing in the warmth.
This isn’t comfort or trust. Not anything close to forgiveness.
But he’s familiar and safer than the men he just murdered.
I bury my face against his shirt. He smells like metal and sweat and faint citrus, and the scent cuts through the ringing in my head. My whole body quivers, from my eyes to the tips of my toes.
His hand finds my back. For a second, it just hovers. Then he presses his palm between my shoulder blades.
Not gentle. But steady.
I should bolt. Run until my lungs give out or Kirill throws a knife in my back like he did to the other guy.
But here and now, with blood pooling around my feet and my throat still bleeding, he’s the only thing left keeping me upright. The lesser evil. The lone shelter from those who hunt me in the dark.
And…in the end, the universe answered.
I asked for safe transportation. My first guess—the taxi—was wrong.
Kirill, the monster I manifested into my living room, must be my path forward.
So I cling to him and try not to fall apart.
Chapter 14
Kirill
I freeze.
After her escape last night, I thought I’d need to tie her up to haul her back to the safe house. I’d even grabbed a handful of zip ties for efficiency.
This wasn’t in the manual. Not this shuddering surrender or the way she crashed into me, desperate for safety where she should see nothing but threat.
She’s quaking so viciously, I can feel the wild flutter of her pulse hammering against my chest. As the ice shelf inside me dislodges and starts to melt, a warm, heavy sensation pools low in my gut.
I grit my teeth.
Wrong time. Wrong place.
Wrong fucking person.
Her hair spills everywhere, tangling over my arm, brushing my wrist. The scent of leaves and earth and the memory of the park cling to her clothes and linger in the air. And under it all,her. The smell that’s been spreading through the safe house for the past week. Lavender. Warm skin that thaws the ice in my veins. Haunting my days and nights and creeping into my room like a succubus.
“Car. Now.”
