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For every exotic poison that screams of secret government involvement, there are dozens of health failures and routine accidents that clear away the obstacles in the paths of powerful, ruthless people… people like my family.
This isn’t the first covert assassination I’ve had to plan.
Originally, I wasn’t going to tell Chloe any of it. She would’ve learned about Bransford’s death on the news, same as everyone else, and whatever suspicions she’d have harbored at that point would’ve been nowhere near as burdensome as the knowledge she’s now carrying. But she came to me tonight demanding answers, and I couldn’t bring myself to lie to her. In a way, my sister is to blame for that, too. Though Alina has kept her mouth shut around Chloe, she’s been coming to me almost daily, insisting that Chloe has a right to know what I’m planning, that it should be her decision.
I strongly disagree about the latter, but I’ve come to see some merit in the former. I don’t want my zaychik stressing about her situation, worrying that at any moment more assassins might show up on our doorstep. Not that they’d get through, but still, it has to weigh on her, the knowledge that someone out there wants her dead.
That her biological father wants her dead.
No, it’s for the best that I’ve told her. Masha needs at least a few weeks to complete her mission, and this way, Chloe knows that I’m taking care of it and she doesn’t need to worry.
Having lodged her objections, she can relax with a clear conscience. It’s my decision, my sin, not hers.
Getting up, I smile at her, hoping she can’t see the twisted hunger in my eyes, the dark need that bubbles in my veins like fresh lava. “Of course. If you’re tired, go to bed, zaychik.”
As much as I want to claim her, tonight is not the night. I’m too hungry, too close to the edge, and though her injuries are all but healed, she’s still nowhere near where she needs to be to handle me.
She backs away, as if she’s read my mind, but then her shoulders pull back and her delicate chin comes up. “No,” she says firmly, stepping around the table toward me. “I’m not leaving until you promise to find another one of those ‘ways.’”
21
Chloe
I know this is a bad idea. I also know that I can’t be a coward and slink away like he hasn’t just admitted to me that he plans to assassinate a man on my behalf. A terrible, awful man, but still a man… who happens to be my biological father.
Something dark flickers in Nikolai’s eyes as he gazes down at me, and belatedly, I notice the dangerous tautness of his jaw.
“Zaychik…” His voice is a soft growl. “You should go. Now. While you still can.”
My breath stutters to a halt as the realization of what he means crashes into me, ratcheting up my pulse and paralyzing my muscles.
He still wants me, badly, yet for whatever reason, he’s restraining himself.
I should listen to him. I should back off and back away while he’s giving me this chance. If I don’t, it’ll change everything, put an end to this interlude out of time, bridge the distance between us that’s kept me so safe.
Because the biggest danger to me is not out there.
It’s here.
It’s always been him.
I will my muscles to move, to obey the frantic commands of my brain, but I might as well be wishing to bench-press a car. All I can do is stare up at him, mouth dry and heart pounding as pulsing tension gathers low in my belly, peaking my nipples and painting my skin with swirls of heat.
I can see the savage storm brewing in his eyes, can feel the crackle of that electric charge in the air, yet I remain still, frozen and mute, the perfect prey for the taking.
“Chloe…” The hoarsely uttered word is equal parts warning and capitulation. Slowly, with exaggerated gentleness, he cups my face with both hands, the heat of his broad palms burning my chilled skin. His eyes are a hypnotic alchemist’s gold as he whispers, “My sweet zaychik, it’s over. You’ve lost your last chance to escape.”
22
Chloe
I’m still frozen in place when his lips descend on mine, as inevitably and violently as lightning striking a tree on a plain. The shock of it jolts my whole body, scalding every cell on the way.
There’s no finesse to his kiss, no gentleness. He doesn’t ask, he takes. With my head immobilized between his palms, he plunders every inch of my mouth, sucking me into a vortex of savage desire, a lust so dark and volcanic it scorches me from deep within.
He tastes like cognac and danger, like every twisted, secretive yearning of mine. The heady flavor intoxicates me, the sensual notes of his cedar-and-bergamot cologne making my head spin. Whatever thoughts of resistance I still entertained evaporate, my willpower dissolving like a grain of sugar in hot tea. With a helpless moan, I arch against him, my belly pressing against his groin as my hands clutch his sides.
