VERA
I wake to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows.
For one confused, blissful moment, I think last night was a nightmare, but then I move, and every muscle in my body protests.
I look down at my clothes. I’m still wearing yesterday’s blood stained outfit (gross, I slept in jeans?). My hands are dirty gripping that gun and my arms still bear the finger-shaped marks from where Alexei grabbed me.
Reality crashes back.
The attack. The safe room. Alexei alive and trying to take me. The firefight. Dimitri wounded but alive.
And the words we said to each other.
I love you.
I turn my head on the pillow and find him already awake, propped on his good arm, watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. His hair is mussed from sleep, thebandage on his shoulder stark white against his skin, but those gray eyes are fully alert and focused entirely on me.
“Hi,” I say softly, my heart pounding.
“Hi yourself.” Despite everything—the blood, the violence, the chaos—there’s warmth in his eyes, something that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it was, and I just couldn’t see it.
“How’s your shoulder?” I ask.
“Hurts like hell.” He shifts so he’s on his back and reaches out, brushing hair back from my face. It makes me shiver. “How are you?”
“Sore. Confused about what day it is. Pretty sure I need a shower.” I pause. “Also possibly traumatized, but I’ll deal with that later.”
His mouth quirks. “That’s my girl. Compartmentalizing like a champion.”
I ignore how my heart races when he calls memy girl. “I learned from the best.” I catch his hand, holding it against my cheek. “So. We said some things last night.”
Dimitri makes a pleased noise. “We did,” he agrees.
“Big things.”
“Verybig things.” His thumb strokes my cheekbone. “Any regrets?”
“About telling you I love you?” I consider it, enjoying the feeling of his rough fingers against my face. “No. About the timing? Maybe. It would’ve been nicer to do it without the gunshot wounds and near-death experience.”
“I don’t know.” He leans down and kisses me softly. “I thought the ambiance was perfect. Very romantic. Lots of adrenaline.”
A strangled laugh escapes me. “You have a weird definition of romantic.”
“Says the woman who shot at people with me,” Dimitri counters.
“Badly,” I correct. “I shot at peoplebadly. There’s a distinction.”
He grins—actually grins—and I realize this is what happiness looks like on Dimitri Volkov. And the fact that it’s currently directed entirely at me makes warmth spread throughout me.
Then his expression sobers. “We need to talk about what happens next.”
Well, that kills the mood immediately. “Konstantin and Alexei,” I sigh, already missing his hand as he drops it from my face.
“Yes.” He sits up carefully, wincing as the movement pulls his injured shoulder. “They’re not going to stop. Last night was a tactical retreat, not a surrender. They’ll regroup and plan another attack.”
I pluck at the bedsheets, hating that he’s right. “So what do we do?”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I can practically see him working through scenarios. “We call a meeting with both families and lay out everything.”
