“Inside voice, little man,” I attempt to whisper, but the words tumble out in that parent-whisper way that’s about as subtle as a foghorn.
But he’s already running further into the greenhouse, the soles of his shoes too loud on the damp stone floor. I shake my head and glance at my watch—five hours since lunch. I swipe a bead of sweat from my forehead, feeling the dampness cling to my skin.
Leonid’s still not back. Probably off charming his diamond-draped blonde. Maksim’s smug words about “Fiona” replay in my head like a bad song on repeat.
Damn it.Or maybe something more colorful:Fuck Maksim. Fuck Fiona. Fuck Leonid, too, while I’m at it.
I exhale sharply, tugging my hair off my neck, like the heat—or the irritation—might evaporate if I just try hard enough. But I’m not thinking about that. Not now.
The path narrows ahead, forcing me to duck slightly under the sprawling leaves of something huge and waxy. The plant is so green it almost looks fake, its massive leaves brushing against my arms as I pass. Another step, and I have to squat a little to avoid the low-hanging branches of a tree covered in bright, unfamiliar blooms. It smells faintly of lemons and something sweeter, a sharp contrast to the damp, earthy air.
“Mommy, come on!” Elijah’s voice carries from up ahead, and when I straighten, I spot him near the far end of the greenhouse, standing in front of a tall metal door.
He bounces on his toes, his excitement practically vibrating off him as he turns to me. “He’s here, Mommy!”
The door looks like it belongs in a vault, the steel polished to a dull shine, and I glance around instinctively. No guards in sight, no one watching us. It’s strange, but then again, I’m not running. Not with Mitch still in their clinic. Not when Elijah’s smiling like this. It feels more like an open cage than a hostage situation, but the bars are still there.
“Who’s ‘he,’ buddy?” I ask, moving toward the door.
“You’ll see!” Elijah chirps, turning back toward the metal door. His excitement pulls me forward, but a soft crunch of gravel under heavy footsteps makes me freeze.
I glance over my shoulder, my pulse ticking up for a split second. A man steps out from the back of the greenhouse, his bulk impossible to miss. He’s massive—barrel-chested, withbroad shoulders stretching the seams of his black T-shirt. His beard is thick and reddish, streaked with gray, and his sharp gray eyes take us in with a calm, practiced ease.
The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, revealing forearms covered in faded ink. A coiled serpent winds up one arm, a grinning skull leers from the other. He carries himself with that relaxed confidence you only see in men who know exactly how strong they are.
He bows slightly, just enough to mess Elijah’s hair with a big, calloused hand.
“Elijah,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, thick with a Russian accent. His lips quirk into a small, polite smile as his eyes meet mine.
“Dobry vecher,” he says, inclining his head toward me.
Elijah beams, dimples flashing as he points at the man like he’s just introduced a celebrity.
“Mommy, this is Adrian! He’s so cool. He knowseverythingabout snakes.”
Adrian straightens, his sharp gray eyes still on me. “You brought your mama, huh?” He grins, a little sharper now, as his gaze flicks back to Elijah. “Good. She’ll love this.”
I raise a brow, watching as Adrian casually taps the door behind him, his movements smooth and unhurried. Elijah is bouncing on his toes again, vibrating with excitement.
I fight the urge to laugh under my breath. Of course, Elijah’s making friends.
Adrian pulls a key from his pocket, the metallic jingle breaking the quiet hum of the greenhouse. He slides it into the lock, the door groaning softly as it swings open. A waft of cool, stale air seeps out, faintly metallic and earthy, like wet stone and steel.
Elijah grabs my hand instinctively, his fingers warm and small against mine.
“It’s dark in there, Mommy,” he whispers, half-excited, half-wary.
The door creaks open, and the first thing that hits me is the cool, sterile scent of the room—a mix of glass cleaner and something faintly metallic. I step inside, and my breath catches.
The enclosure is enormous, stretching from floor to ceiling, made of reinforced glass so clear it feels like there’s nothing separating us from what’s inside.
“Holy—” I clamp my mouth shut before I finish, swallowing the word.
A yellow Burmese python moves sinuously, her golden-yellow scales shimmering under the specialized lighting. She’s enormous, at least fifteen feet long, coiled loosely around a thick branch and a smooth rock slab. Her head lifts slightly, her black eyes sharp and watchful as her tongue flickers in and out.
“She’s so big!” Elijah squeals, his voice bouncing off the glass.
“She’s fat,” I mutter under my breath, stepping closer despite myself.
