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CORA
For a split second, I convince myself I’m hallucinating.
How many nightmares have I had the last few nights that featured the pale face in front of me? Maybe this is another one of those.
Except no. Ivan is never there in my nightmares.
But he’s here now.
Before I can even process that this is real, Ivan grabs my arm and jerks me behind him.
“Is it a trap?” I whisper.
I look around in horror. If this is a trap, Alexander will be waiting just outside. I don’t see anyone out of the blue, though. Just a few couples and families like us. Some construction workers on lunch break. Nobody who doesn’t belong.
“Master let you off your leash today, Mikhail?” drawls Ivan.
I peek around him in time to see pure rage flicker over Mikhail’s face. His neck is a violent red color.
If this is a trap, he looks just as surprised as we are.
“No one controls me.” He looks pointedly at me. “I would never let myself be dragged into a war for another man’s woman.”
“I didn’t do it for another man’s woman,” Ivan snarls. “I did it formine.”
The customers standing between Mikhail and Ivan shift nervously. A man in a janitor’s jumpsuit steps out of the way, glancing back over his shoulder to watch this altercation play out. So much for not having all eyes on us.
Mikhail doesn’t seem to notice. He doesn’t have eyes for anyone beyond Ivan. Not even me.
“You fucking Pushkins think you own everything. Cordelia was always mine. She was promised tome.”
Ivan snorts. “We don’t all play by the rules your daddy made up for you, Mikhail. He can promise Cora to you all he wants, but she was never his to give away.”
Mikhail’s eyes flick down to where my hand is clutching Ivan’s forearm. I see rage turning his face a dangerous shade of violet.
Without warning, he rears back… and charges.
Ivan shoves me back, farther away from the mayhem. The other customers in the restaurant shout and slide back. Over the scraping of chairs on the concrete and worried voices, I hear one sound rising above the rest: the thud of Ivan’s fist connecting with Mikhail’s blood-red face.
The hit rocks Mikhail, but he manages to stay on his feet. His eyes narrow into furious slits—or maybe it’s just that they’re already beginning to swell shut.
“The bitch is nobody.Nobody.” Mikhail spits blood onto the floor. “You could have anyone, but you stole what was mine.Youstarted this war, Ivan. And for what? I guess I need to get between the whore’s legs to figure out what you see in her.”
Ivan doesn’t bother with a reply. This time, he takes the fight to Mikhail.
Mikhail sees it coming and dodges to the side, but not fast enough. Ivan lands a glancing blow that sends Mikhail toppling into a nearby table. The customers there have already abandoned their lunch to cower along the wall, but their burgers and shakes crash to the floor.
“Someone call the police!” a woman cries out.
Ivan waves a hand in the air, dismissing the woman. “Not necessary. I’m going to put the dog down myself.”
He grabs Mikhail by the front of his shirt, lifts him off of his feet, and slams him back down on the table he was just gripping for support.
His back ripples with strength. The veins in his arms are raised, adrenaline and blood and vitality coursing through him.
“Cora does not belong to you or anyone,” Ivan growls. “It’s her choice. It hasalwaysbeen her choice. And she chose me.”
Mikhail screeches and springs up off the table with all of his strength, but Ivan just uses the momentum to spin him around and slam him against the wall. His chest caves in, the air rushes out of him in a huff, and the color drains from his face. His eyes go wide with panic.
