Page 9 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

I don’t think, I just react. I’m not a princess right now. I’m a cornered animal.

I swing my fists, my heavy lace sleeves fluttering like broken wings. I manage to catch him in the jaw with a sharp knuckle, but it’s like punching a brick wall. He doesn't even grunt in pain.

"I told you," he growls, his hand snaking out to catch my wrists. "Stop."

"Make me!" I scream. I lean forward and sink my teeth into his shoulder. I bite down hard, wanting to taste blood, wanting to leave a mark that he can’t wash off. I can taste the expensive wool of his suit and the salt of his skin.

He goes rigid and for a second, I think he’s going to strike me. His grip on my wrists tightens until the bone feels like it might snap, and a low, guttural sound erupts from his throat. But he doesn't hit me. He just hauls me against his chest, pinning my arms between our bodies, and lifts me off the ground.

"You really are a little beast, aren't you?" he rasps into my ear, his breath hot against my skin.

"I'll kill you!" I snarl, kicking my legs wildly. My white heels fly off, one of them hitting the side of the SUV with a loud thwack. "I'll bite your throat out next time! Put me down, you monster!"

He ignores my screaming, tucking me under his arm like a bulky piece of luggage and walking toward the massive front doors.

The stronghold is exactly what I expected. Cold, imposing, and smelling of lemon wax and old money. The foyer is a cavern of grey limestone and floor-to-ceiling windows that probably have enough bulletproof coating to withstand a tank shell.

Two women are waiting by the stairs. One is older, her grey hair pulled back into a bun so tight it looks like it’s pulling her eyebrows into her hairline. She’s wearing a black dress and an expression that says she hasn't smiled since the Cold War. The other is younger, maybe twenty, with wide, terrified eyes and hands that are currently twisted into the fabric of her apron.

"Welcome home, Pakhan." The older woman dips her head slightly before looking back up, and her eyes flick to me, yes, the same me that is currently hanging upside down, dress bunched up, screaming my head off, and she doesn't even blink.

What the hell? Is this a norm here? Are they all crazy?

"Yara," Ilya grunts, not slowing down. "Tell the kitchen we’ll eat in an hour. Sasha, prepare the North Suite."

The younger girl—Sasha, I guess—nods frantically, her gaze darting between me and Ilya like she’s watching a bomb with a five-second timer. She looks like she wants to run, and honestly? I can’t blame her.

"Is this the welcome committee?" I shout, my face flushed purple from being upside down. "Because I have some feedback! The service is terrible and the manager has an oversized ego and a seriously undersized personality!"

Ilya stops dead.

I feel his muscles bunch under me. He’s about to say something, probably something threatening involving a basement—I don’t care, he can go to hell—when a small, melodic sound echoes through the foyer.

It’s a laugh.

I twist my head as much as I can, seeing a girl standing at the top of the marble staircase. She looks about fifteen, beautiful dark hair but eyes that are soft and currently sparkling with amusement.

She finds this… me… amusing? Oh, how the mighty has fallen. In just a matter of seconds, I was going to marry a stable man and live a good life. Now I’m upside down on my fiancé’s murderer’s shoulders and a kid is laughing at me.

Just kill me now. Nothing matters anymore.

The kid is wearing an oversized sweater and leggings, looking like a normal teenager trapped in a Gothic horror novel.

"Ekaterina," Ilya says, his voice losing some of its edge, "go back to your room."

Who is she? His daughter? If this devil has a daughter, then the world is coming to an end.

"But Ilya, she’s funny," the girl says, leaning over the railing. She looks at me, a grin spreading across her face. "Did you really just say my brother has an undersized personality? Nobody says things like that to him. They usually just shake and agree with whatever he says."

"That's because they're sane," I yell back, still dangling from his arm. "I've officially lost my mind, so I might as well speak the truth. Are you his sister? Run while you can, honey! He’s a one-star experience!"

The girl, Ekaterina, laughs again, a bright, genuine sound that seems to bounce off the cold stone walls. I see Ilya’s jaw set, his black eyes flashing with frustration but also surprise.

The fuck? People don’t look happy around here?

"Ekaterina, room. Now," he commands, but the bite is gone from his tone.

She rolls her eyes, a move I deeply respect, and disappears back up the stairs, but not before giving me a little wave.