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And he’s mine.
But am I his?
“Bedroom, Vanya,” he orders, letting go of me. His voice is low and deadly. A distant thunder.
Fear clenches my stomach as I let go of him. I want to argue about him giving me orders. To take charge and be the queen his mother says I am, but even I know a queen needs discretion. Arguing with him right now would be a death wish and I’ve read enough about kings chopping off the heads of their queens to know I should probably hold my tongue.
So, I follow his order.
Sasha follows behind me at a small distance. He’s quiet. I want to apologize for leaving him suddenly. To explain the situation but my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth. When I reach the bedroom door, I stop, my hand freezing on the handle.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to Sasha. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the big man tense. “I wasn’t running away. I just—I saw a ghost.” A beat passes. Then two. When he doesn’t say anything, I sigh and turn the handle, opening the door.
“Don’t worry,malen’kaya Koroleva,” he rumbles. “I know all about ghosts.” Swallowing back the tears threatening to break free, I nod my head and retreat into the safety of my room.Our room. Well, maybe not after tonight.
The door closes behind me with a soft click and for a moment I feel as if I can breathe. It doesn’t last long as the reality of the situation comes crashing down on me. That little girl… my jaw clenches. It can’t be. Everything I know is unraveling. The tightly wound ball of string has come loose. It’s unwinding and becoming a tangled mess.
Pulling up the sleeve of my sweater, I stare down at the small mark on my wrist. It’s crescent-shaped and looks like scarred flesh. I was born with it. So was my father and his and his brother. Their father and his mother before him. On and on for generations.
I remember coming into the bathroom one day to find Ada cutting her wrist. It was after a lengthy separation. I thought she had been trying to cut her wrists. She’d stared up at me and giggled as she held it out.
“I’m just like you,” she whispered as if it were a secret. “We’re sisters.” I’d been horrified that she would mar her perfect skin.
Now I am beginning to wonder.
To think.
To remember.
I startle when the door to the room swings open. Adrian stands in the doorway, his blue eyes hardened into sapphires. He slams the door shut with so much force, it shakes the frame. My body tenses but I remain still. That’s what prey does when a predator is upon them.
They lie quietly and hope they go unseen.
Adrian stalks forward until he is in front of me. Two fingers find their home under my chin and force my gaze up. Desire shoots through me at the look in his eyes.
This predator wants to devour me.
“Strip,” he orders.
What?
When I don’t move to do as he tells me, he repeats it again. “Strip, little wife, or I will do it for you.”
I keep still, too frightened to move. Is this it? The moment he takes what is his? I’m frozen in place, unable to move. Do I want to do this? Am I ready? Will it matter?
“Vanya.” Anger courses through his tone. Frustration at my inability to follow his orders.
Terror rushes through me like a raging river as I try to get my limbs to move. They won’t. They’re stiff and heavy. I swallow hard and shift my gaze to the door. His eyes follow mine and he smirks.
“You won’t make it,malen’kaya I’vitsa.”
My gaze snaps back to his at those last two words. They’re Russian. I know them.
Little Lioness. He’d called me that in the alley, too.
I’ve never heard it spoken by anyone other than Google Translate, but I’ve read them. At the top of every letter. On every page. Adrik called me that in his letters. He said I was brave for waiting for him. Brave to trust in him.
“Why did you call me that?” I query.
