The message pops up before I can answer.
Get back before I slide you and feed you to the dogs.
I bark out a laugh, tucking the phone back in my pocket. He’d do it, too, but not before I drop this little bombshell in his lap. The smirk spreads before I can stop it.
Speak of the devil.
As I walk out, my hand presses against the folded report like it’s a secret only I know. Leonid’s world is about to tilt on its axis, and I’ll be there to see the exact second it happens.
Chyert,I might even savor it.
51
Leonid
Anya walks a step ahead of me, her heels crunching faintly on the frosted path outside the restaurant. She’s stiff, nervous, and not doing a good job of hiding it. Her hands keep fidgeting with the hem of her coat, and every so often, she glances over her shoulder like she expects me to bark at her.
I don’t. Not yet.
My mind is too preoccupied withwhy. Why is Clara demanding to see me?
Blyat,this had better not be another one of her tests.
Anya stops abruptly, turning toward me. “They’re just outside,” she murmurs, her voice almost too low to hear as she opens the glass door leading to the balcony.
The cold hits immediately. I step out, and the world stretches in every direction—mountains blanketed in snow, the horizon endless and clear. It’s the kind of view that makes people stop, stare, and feel small.
But I don’t stop for the mountains.
I stop for her.
Clara is standing a few feet ahead, her back to me, arms crossed tightly against the cold. She’s looking down at Elijah, who is crouched in the snow, his little hands working diligently to shape something. It’s not a snowman—it’s more of a lopsided lump, but he’s completely engrossed, muttering to himself about “fixing it.”
Something in my chest tightens as Clara’s head tilts back, her face turning toward the sky. Her shoulders rise and fall with a breath that looks heavy enough to carry whatever weight she’s trying to shed. The wind picks up, sending loose strands of her rich, chestnut brown hair dancing across her cheeks, andblyat, I shouldn’t notice how the sunlight catches each strand, how it makes her look almost ethereal against the stark white landscape.
Yebat.I want to walk over and pull her against me. Feel her back against my chest. Press my face into her neck. The urge is so strong it pisses me off.
I cough, just enough to break whatever moment she’s having with the sky. Her shoulders go rigid before she turns, and those blue eyes hit me like a physical force.
She’s even more beautiful than I remembered, which is annoying as hell and puts me in an even worse mood.
Maybe it’s the cold turning her cheeks pink. Maybe it’s that stubborn set of her jaw. Maybe it’s just that she’s real, standing here, not just another memory keeping me up at night.
I walk closer. She smells like vanilla and winter, and my hands clench at my sides.
“Clara.” I keep my voice flat.
Her eyes narrow. “Leonid.” She spits my name out like it tastes bad.
I stop a few feet away, my gaze dropping briefly to the rise and fall of her chest, the flush in her cheeks. It’s infuriating how much she gets under my skin.
Elijah’s still playing in the snow behind her, talking to himself about whatever he’s building. But all I can focus on is Clara and how much I want to kiss that anger right off her face. Which is exactly the kind of thought I need to shut down. Now.
“You wanted to see me,” I remind her, watching her jaw clench tighter.
“Damn right I did,” she snaps, her voice low enough not to reach Elijah.
“Remember,kiska, you’re my captive,” I whisper fiercely back at her. “And you—”
