Page 35 of Lord of the Underworld

Oksana…

Unsurprisingly, the ride to Vadim's home is silent. And I'm fine with it. My social battery is drained after an entire day of wrangling faux French wedding planners, and the gossipy tribe that is the Moscow Six families. Not to mention...

The thought skitters away before Yefim's horrific visage can fully form.

"You were very brave tonight."

"Wh- what?" Did he really say that?

"You were very brave tonight," he repeats slowly, deliberately. To my utter stupefaction, he gently picks up my left hand and kisses my knuckles. My husband may have a chilly soul, but his lips are warm on my skin.

Maybe it's his compliment, or the intimacy of sitting in the dark together, but I pull together some courage to speak. "May I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"How did you know to come in? I'd said fifteen minutes. You were there in less than one."

A frown creases his brow. "I had to."

I tilt my head, watching as his face is revealed and hidden again with the flash of the street lights and then the darker pools between them.

"I could feel it," he says.

My hand knot in my lap. "Do you have those feelings often?" I venture.

"Yes," he nods. "They've kept me alive."

"So that explains it," I say.

To my amusement, he turns to look at me. Ah, the rise of the eyebrow. I know he wants to ask. It's not fair to torture him and make him wait for it. I suspect he's used up all of the words he can endure for the day as well.

"The Morozova cousins have a theory that you're a creature of the night," I venture.

He's staring at me blankly.

"You know, supernatural? So that whole extra sensory perception thing just makes sense." I add a little chuckle there at the end, in case he wants to write it off as a joke. His expression doesn't change. Vadim's eyes are such a pale blue that they almost glow in the darkened car. This feels a bit like another nod toward the whole paranormal theory.

"Are you certain Dr. Komilova checked all of your wounds?" he asks. "Perhaps a CT scan…"

"I promise you, she did. My throat's going to be sore for a few days. I'll probably have to wear a scarf or people are going to think you gave me love bites, but...

I did not just say that.

"Oh. I just meant that as a joke."

He's not saying anything. Does this mean he thinks I was serious? He's going to think I'm hinting about the whole wedding night. I'm writhing with embarrassment as the silence stretches out.

My upper half is stridently against the whole concept of a wedding night. I'm bruised up and slightly wonky-headed after getting my head slammed against the wall. When the time comes, I'd like to be pretty. Focused. Wearing something that would make me feel sexy.

However, my treacherous lower half is insistently reminding me that endorphins are a wonderful painkiller, and what a perfect way to forget all the bad parts of tonight by replacing them with a spectacular orgasm or two.

Now, my upper half sternly points out that just because dream Vadim is insanely sexy, doesn't mean real life Vadim is.

My lower half is now telling my upper half to shut the hell up.

It really doesn't matter what any part of me thinks. Vadim hasn't said a word. He's probably regretting that compliment earlier.

I'm not surprised that my new husband lives in one of those formidable steel and glass monstrosities downtown. One of the tallest, in fact, with sharp, vicious lines and an unforgiving edifice. The guards escort us into a private elevator, and I watch the numbers climb with some amusement. Of course, it's going to be the penthouse.