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She felt a chill down her spine when she realized that she was exposed like this, left by herself, nothing to defend herself with. Anyone could walk in and do anything to her. What could she do? Try to drown them in the bowl? Kick them, bite them? She knew a little self-defense but reprimanded herself more harshly than ever before that she hadn’t finished the training. Damned arrogance. Why had she thought nothing could touch her?
She raked a hand through her hair, listening to any noise as if it was a threat about to strike; every creak a killer sneaking down the hallway to have his way with her. The way the men had looked at her earlier. Hungry, eager. She looked around for some sort of weapon but only landed back on the bowl. Itwasmetal. Might work.
She heard a gunshot, eyes going to the door.
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
She could hardly breathe, listening intently for any further sign of a struggle. None came. She could hardly stand it.
Was he dead?
Had they shot him in the head this time?
They wouldn’t. They couldn’t. He was too valuable.
“Please,” she mumbled, eyes glued to the door. “Come on.”
The memory of his hand, commanding, at the back of her neck, pulling her in, sent pleasure firing through her. She clung to herself with an ever-tightening grip. His smile. Lighting up his face. The way he’d so carefully uncovered what her true desire was. Questioning it without prejudice, but rather wondering if she was strong enough to sit in the seat, to rule with as firm a hand as her father. She knew she could. But she wondered… Reformation was an ideal, but perhaps it was untenable in the end. Perhaps what she wanted was someone in the seat beside her who fully understand that end of the business. Someone to advise her and to take her advice.
Wasn’t he right in saying that it wasn’t a bad idea to join the families?
Why would a blood bond exist between two families only? And wouldn’t her father be pleased with the Kumarin name tied to both of the other families? She supposed the Aslanovs might balk at the distribution of power, but it wouldn’t be as though they weren’t all blood bound. Would it?
Her eyes rested on the door, impatient.
The tension was getting to her, infesting her.
Any second she’d have to leave this room and go find him.
The thought of discovering him on the floor of one of the hallways, blood spilling from a wound to his temple, made her give a soft whimper in protest.
Whatever this was between them it was clear to her it wasn’t just a passing infatuation or desire. The mere possibility of losing him felt like claws down her back, like teeth at her throat.
She couldn’t breathe.
Where was he?
Then there were voices, gruff male ones.
“…for you to get in there!” a guard exclaimed as the door opened and Dmitri was pushed through it, hard enough to make him stumble.
He was seconds from falling when her hands caught him, supporting him while he regained his balance. They both glared at the door, the guard pointing his gun at Dmitri, then moving it, slowly, until it was pointed directly at her head instead.
Her breath caught in her throat, but Dmitri didn’t hesitate.
He stepped in front of her.
She clutched at the back of his shirt, unable to do much else in the few seconds it took the guard to lower the gun again. He wore a knowing smile as he closed the door behind him. This time the lock clicked.
“Oh, my God,” she sighed.
He turned around, thumb brushing her cheek as he slipped his hand to the side of her face, eyeing her worriedly.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“AmIokay?” she asked back. “Areyouokay? What happened?”
