Page 5

“But I can make an exception for you, dollface.” His hand lifts, to touch me.

No. No. No.

Don’t. Touch. Me.

“Step back.” I’m startled by how calm I sound when inside I’m anything but.

My fist drives forward, aiming for his torso, yet it never lands. A large hand closes around mine mid-swing, stopping me cold.

“Elara.” The voice is thickly accented, nothing like Roman’s metallic tone.

Sergei’s grip around my fist isn’t tight, yet I can’t break free. And his gaze—unsettling now that he’s so close—pins me in place.

I don’t understand. When did he step in, becoming a wall between Roman and me?

I try to look past him, only to catch Roman and Aleksandr exchanging glances of confusion that mirror my own.

Because no one has ever seen Sergei voluntarily speak to another human outside his circle of friends, let alone touch them.

Roman Volkov, Aleksandr Petrov and Sergei Zaytsev are the three Russians who rule this campus.

They are at the top of the triangle, the politicians are in their pockets, the media says what they want it to say. Nothing slips past them and no one defies them without consequences.

“Look at me.” I’m forced to obey, as if my eyes have a will of their own. “Breathe.” His touch is unexpectedly tender for someone so massive; he could easily be twice my size. And yet, I’m not intimidated.

Why?

I don’t allow touches. I hate them.

Then why is my mind eerily quiet, no longer spiralling out of control like it was seconds ago? Why doesn’t his touch repulse me?

The thought causes me to panic for a whole different reason, it makes me want to claw at my own skin, scratch my head raw, or slam it against a wall just to make sense of the contradiction.

I jerk my hand away in a hurry, the skin still warm where he’d touched me. Sergei is watching me again, but unlike before, it’s unsettling.

His eyes have darkened, narrowed on the hand he’d caught moments ago. His chest rises and falls unevenly, as if he’s trying to rein in whatever is threatening to break free.

Why is he looking at me like that?

“What a weirdo.” Roman groans behind me, as though I’ve ruined his fun. He chuckles when I take another step back, then circles around Sergei to close the distance once again. “Stay away from my sister.”

The humour is gone now, stripped from his voice. His jaw is tight, his teeth grinding together, and all I see behind those icy blue eyes is the threat he wants me to.

“Stay away, or I know ways to make sure you do.” He takes one final step, leaning down until his lips are close enough for only me to hear. “Permanently.”

Then he straightens and walks away as casually as if he hadn’t just threatened to kill me.

I gulp.

What. The. Fuck.

I feel Sergei’s eyes still on me as the trio leaves without saying another word. Roman is laughing again, his voice carrying down the corridor, but it isn’t his death threat that rattles me most.

It’s Sergei. The ghost of his touch that hushed my panic instead of feeding it.

I push through the crowd, their whispers following close behind.

“Oh, she’s dead now.”