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I had all these strategies in mind to get close to him, but none of them will work now for obvious reasons.
I’m still trying to think about this fallout when another crazy woman lunges at Kirill’s back while holding a big kitchen knife.
Usually, people freeze up in situations like these. I certainly did a long time ago when my cousins were slaughtered in front of me.
I couldn’t move and I even considered dying right there and then.
However, that’s not the case right now. I don’t know if it’s the military training, but my reflexes have become sharper, and my response time has gone from average to lightning speed.
In a fraction of a second, I grab Kirill by the shoulder and start to flip him around. I realize too late that if I shove him out of the way, I’ll be the one who’s stabbed—in my still-healing shoulder.
That doesn’t stop me, though. Just when I think I’ve successfully turned Kirill, he effortlessly pushes me away with a strength that throws me against the wall. Pain explodes in my injured shoulder, but my good one takes most of the hit.
The knife slashes the side of his arm, and blood pours out, soaking his white shirt in bright red, then drips onto the floor.
Due to the force of her lunge, the girl, who looks about my age, crashes against the wall next to me. In no time, she stands upright, a shimmering rage shining in her eyes that are a shade darker than Kirill’s. Her hair is blonde, though, and long, stopping at the hem of her silk sleeping shirt and getting tangled with the buttons.
She tightens her hold on the knife that’s dripping with blood and stares pointedly at Kirill.
He doesn’t even pay attention to his wound or show any signs of discomfort.
Sometimes, I wonder if he’s human or, in fact, a robot in the form of a person. The more I see his cold reaction to events, the surer I am that his insides are icier than those frightening eyes.
“Hi, Karina. Does this welcome mean you missed me?”
“I’m going to kill you!” she snarls from between clenched teeth, then runs in his direction again.
This time, I’m quick enough to grab her from behind. I twist her free arm, and when she starts to struggle, I use force to pin it to her back.
She waves the knife blindly in the air and nearly cuts me. Actually, she does, judging by the delayed burn in my neck.
But I manage to twist her other hand and turn it around. She loses her grip on the knife, and it clatters to the ground. The girl still kicks and thrashes against me, her full attention on Kirill.
“Fight me, you fucking coward!” she shrieks. “Fight me!”
Is this tiny girl really asking Kirill to fight her? Even those in the army never did that, knowing full well they would lose.
“Let her go,” he tells me with deceptive calm.
“But she’s trying to kill you.”
“Take the knife away and release her.”
Slowly, I loosen my hold, then instantly make for the knife and hold it behind my back to be sure.
The girl, Karina, jumps at him, face red, and starts cursing in a stream of unintelligible words.
She does sound American when speaking in English. So did his brother and mother earlier. In fact, so does Kirill sometimes. They’re really Russian royalty in the States.
“You grew up, Kara,” he says in a weird affectionate tone that I’ve never heard before.
She punches him in the chest. “No thanks to you, asshole, jerk, fucking bastard. I was praying you would die every day. Why did you come back alive?”
“Cat with nine lives?”
“Go die. I hate you, I hate you!!”
“I know,” he says with superhuman understanding and strokes her shoulder. “Would you hate me any less if I told you Father died?”
