“AHHhhh!”
“AhHHhh!”
“Ahhh!” My voice echoes off the glass ceiling, and suddenly, two peacocks join in, squawking in startled harmony.
“REEE-yaaah! REEE-yaaah!”
“REE-yaah!”
“REE-yaah!”
“Mother fu—udgesicles!” A swirl of green and blue swoops at my head. Again. Because apparently, one near-death experience isn’t enough for these feathered demons.
I try to duck, but my feet tangle. The stone path rushes up to meet my face and—
A firm arm snakes around my waist, yanking me back against a solid chest.
“Careful,” Leonid says from behind me, his voice low and way too close to my ear. My breath catches, every nerve in my body crackling with awareness. His grip is strong, steadying me as the chaos around us seems to fade for a moment.
Maksim coughs—the kind that sounds more like choking on laughter.
I spin away from Leonid’s chest, twisting around to face him.
That fucking smirk.
“You scream like a—” His mouth quirks up. “Girl.”
“Oh, no! You didn’t just—” The words die in my throat as the scent of bacon and maple syrup punch through the air. Fuck my traitorous stomach for growling right when I’m about to tell him exactly which body part he can choke on.
“Food’s ready!” Kayla appears through one of the side doors, carrying a tray laden with plates of food. She moves gracefully,setting the tray down on the long wooden table that’s been artfully placed in the middle of the glasshouse.
Like this is some family brunch instead of a hostage situation.
“Sit.” Leonid’s hand lands firmly on my lower back, guiding me to a chair. My legs give out before I can think twice.
This is fucked up. All of it.
Elijah scrambles into the chair next to me, face flushed with excitement.
“Mama, look. A colorful feather.” He holds it out, and the iridescent greens and blues shimmer under the morning light, catching like tiny shards of precious stones.
I reach for it. “Baby, we shouldn’t—” I open my mouth, about to tell him it’s not nice to pluck feathers from the birds when Leonid sits down beside me.
Grabs a plate. Adds a pancake, dumps blueberries on top, shoves it in front of me.
“Eat,” he says, then turns to Elijah. “You too.”
“Okay, Meowth.” He nods and stands on his chair, arms stretched high, trying to reach the pancake plate.
Leonid reaches over and helps him, guiding the plate closer. Elijah beams up at him.
“Thank you!” he chirps before sitting back down, clutching his fork with both hands to attack his pancakes.
“I’m not Meowth, kid,” he mutters, suppressing a cough. “I’m Leonid.”
“Or theboss,” Maksim adds. I glare at him, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. He keeps glancing between the three of us—Leonid, Elijah, and me—with an expression that makes my skin prickle, like he’s savoring some inside joke at my expense.
The scene feels wrong, twisted, like I’ve stumbled into an alternate universe.
