Page 16

I let the curtain fall and turn around.

Viktoriya is staring at me with an expression I haven’t seen from her, eyes softened, lips parted. Her gaze follows a droplet of water as it carves a path down my chest and stomach, over the ridges and hollows of my muscles, before it soaks into the white towel around my hips.

I watch her stare at me, my eyebrows creeping up my forehead.

She looks away, very quickly, and fixes her eyes on the wall. Her jaw is set and her cheeks are slightly pink in the dim light.

I can’t help the smirk that crosses my lips. With malicious slowness, I pick up the first aid kit and my duffle bag from the bed. I pass close to her and linger in her field of vision, enjoying that I caught this little printsessa gawking at me.

“Not bad for a monster, printsessa?”

Viktoriya’s cheeks grow hotter by the second. I give a dark chuckle and disappear into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

I set the first aid kit on the edge of the sink and look at my hand under the neon light. She got me good. The bite is deep, a clear semicircle of tooth marks in the fleshy part below my pinkie, the skin broken and bruised purple around the edges. My hand is going to be sore for days.

I turn the memory over while I clean and bandage it. The way she latched on and committed. Full force, jaw locked, not letting go even when I tried to pull free. I’ve never had an asset fight me like that. I’ve dealt with hysterics and catatonia, and one woman who wept all the way back home while I wordlessly passed her tissues, but nobody has ever drawn blood. Most of them are so relieved that the nightmare is over that they’d follow me anywhere.

Viktoriya would push me into traffic if I gave her half the chance.

I wrap the bandage and flex my fingers experimentally, and find myself smiling.

I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.

My hand aches, but it’s manageable. I get dressed, kill the bathroom light, and go back into the room.

Viktoriya is where I left her, sitting on the floor beside the bolted table, legs drawn up, hugging her knees. Alert even though she’s exhausted.

“Are you hungry?” I ask her, passing her a bottle of water from my duffle bag. It’s sealed, so she knows I haven’t tampered with it.

Viktoriya shakes her head.

I’m certain that’s a lie, but I’m not going to argue with her. I’ll pick up some food for us when we get back on the road. She doesn’t take the bottle from me, so I set it down on the carpet within her reach.

Right now, I need sleep. My eyes are nearly hanging out of my head.

I take hold of the bed nearest her and push it closer across the carpet. She watches me do this without speaking.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But I’m not taking any chances with you.”

I reach for her wrist to check the cuff isn’t biting into her flesh. She jerks back from me, fast and instinctive, pressing herself against the wall.

“I was checking that—” I break off, gritting my teeth. Taking a breath, I try again. “I’m not going to touch you. I’m going to sleep over there.” I gesture at the other bed. “Do you understand?”

She looks at the bed. Then at me. Then she turns her face away.

I mutter darkly in Russian about ungrateful, stubborn women and switch off the light. I get into bed fully dressed, gun under the pillow, my hand curled around it. Professional habit.

My eyes close, but suddenly I’m not tired. My ears are straining to listen.

After several long minutes I hear the creak of mattress springs as she climbs carefully onto the bed.

Good. Finally. Now I can get some sleep.

As I lie in the dark, I wonder if she’s comfortable. Whether I pushed the bed close enough to the table for her, and if her hand will get cold while she sleeps. I’ve never had to lock an asset up before. I don’t like feeling like her jailer instead of her rescuer.

I hear a stifled noise behind me. Snuffling and shaky, followed by little gasping breaths.

I push the heel of my hand against my brow, screwing up my eyes.