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The hard line of his jaw loosens.

His gaze moves quickly over her, checking—counting limbs, looking for blood.

Then those eyes lift. And land on me.

The change reverses immediately.

I have never felt so comprehensively assessed in my life.

His gaze moves over the blood at my temple.The way I’m sitting. My hand braced against my hip. Then back to my face.

He says something, but I don't hear it.

Because suddenly the room tilts.

Oh. That's bad.

I grip the edge of the sofa. Someone says my name. Possibly Anya, possibly Kirill.

I try to stand. Why? No idea.

Perhaps my brain’s finally abandoned me altogether. The floor shifts beneath my feet. My vision narrows. The last thing I see clearly is the silver at his temples as he moves toward me with startling speed.

Then the world goes black.

I don't hit the floor. That’s the last thing I realize.

Two strong arms catch me before I can.

3

NIKOLAI

I catch her before she reaches the floor, one arm going around her waist while the other slides beneath her shoulders, and for a moment I simply stand there with a complete stranger unconscious against my chest while every person in the room becomes unnaturally quiet.

She’s lighter than I expect.

That’s the first thought that comes to me, followed almost immediately by the realization that there’s blood in her hair, dried along the side of her face and smeared across the collar of the ridiculous blue delivery jacket she’s still wearing.

“Levin, get over here and tell me why she’s just lost consciousness,” I say, turning toward the doctor without taking my eyes from the woman in my arms.

Dr. Levin is already crossing the room, carrying the expression of a man who knows better than to tell me to calm down even when he’s probably thinking it.

“She has a head injury, Nikolai, and considering she was struck by a moving vehicle less than an hour ago, fainting is not particularly surprising,” Levin says as he reaches us. “Put her back on the sofa and let me examine her properly.”

I look down at her again before I move.

Her face is pale beneath the scratches and dirt, and without the sharp, suspicious expression she had been wearing when I first walked into the room, she suddenly looks younger.

Mid-twenties, perhaps.

Dark hair has fallen across one cheek, and there is a bruise already beginning to form beneath it.

I lower her onto the sofa more carefully than is necessary, supporting the back of her head until Levin takes over.

Anya immediately pushes between us.

“Papa, she was talking before you came in, and she was completely fine except that her head hurt and her hip hurt and her shoulder hurt, but then she looked at you and just fell over,” she says breathlessly.