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I follow him, knife held aloft, menacing him. Pretty knife, pretty knife, pretty knife, pretty—
But he’s merely led me from one room into a larger stone chamber. “Show me the way out,” I demand, glaring at his cheek. He just laughs maniacally.
I spin on the others, keeping the two-faced man in my peripheral vision, my precious, pretty knife held aloft in warning. There are too many people here for my liking, but the knife’s sharp blade focuses me. “Take me to the exit!”
“Wait, just tell us who you are,” the woman steps forward before one of the beast creatures—the one with the lion’s face and horns—tugs her behind him. Stubbornly, she pokes her head around him. “You’re hurt. We can help. How did you get here?”
I open my mouth to tell her I don’t need her help. That I’ll be fine on my own, and I’ll leave the same way I came—
Except it hits me in a rush.
I have no idea how I got here. Or where here is. Dad blindfolded me when he drove me to the cabin. He said it was some super-secret retreat that only he and Uncle Pavel knew about. And I was impressed when I saw the place. It was more than a hunting lodge in the middle of nowhere. It was almost a chateau.
“I’m Hannah,” the woman says, her voice soft and kind. “What’s your name?”
My eyes widen. Ksenia. I’m Ksenia Volkov, daughter of mafia kingpin Dmitri Volkov, and. . . and the last thing I remember was the chateau getting attacked. I don’t know if my father got out alive.
I just know I glanced back and saw Uncle Pavel in the hallway after I killed as many sons of bitches as possible while I fought my way to the doorway and out into the snow. He shouted furiously at more of them to come after me.
I straighten, blood dripping down my forehead into my eyes, sure of only one thing.
I will get revenge on Pavel, and I will ensure he receives a slow, painful death.
Chapter Three
THING
I turn in rage to Abaddon and, with all six of my arms, grasp him—shoulders, wings, and torso. I do not lift him into the air or shake him as I long to. I simply pin him in place and look him dead in the eye as I speak. “She is terrified and hurt, and it is partially my fault. Now heal her. We both know you owe me, brother.”
Abaddon looks furious, but I do not care.
“Fine,” he barks. “If only so she can answer questions about what she is doing here.”
I let go and turn back to the woman, who is crouched low, moving her blade through the air menacingly as she backs into a room that only leads deeper into the castle, away from the exit. Not that she knows that.
“Take me back to the chateau,” she demands, swinging the blade through the air again as Abaddon approaches.
But he is not intimidated by a mere human weapon. He easily yanks it out of her grasp and crumples it as if it were one of the tin cans Hannah-consort’s food comes in. She makes an upset noise as she watches.
But not nearly as loud as the scream when he touches his palm to her forehead. I hate the sound and wish there was some way to calm her or let her know I’m trying to help her.
Light bursts from the center of Abaddon’s chest, which seems to momentarily startle her quiet.
She launches back from him the next moment. While she is still encrusted with blood, I’m satisfied to see that the gash in her forehead has closed over smoothly.
“Now tell us how you came to be on our land.” Abaddon’s barked-out command is spoken when Hannah-consort asks, “So what’s your name?”
A baby’s distant cry quickly takes her attention.
“Sorry,” Hannah says cheerfully. “That’s our baby, Raven. She must have woken up from her nap. She’ll be fussy if I don’t get in there and nurse her.” Hannah slips through the door at the opposite end of the room to attend to baby Raven.
The woman stares after her, gaze slightly askew, as if this is the most bewildering turn of events since she awoke in the castle.
But of course it is. She’s come to, surrounded by monsters. Abaddon is demanding answers, but we are the true anomaly here.
So again, I step forward. “I am sorry for my rude brother,” I say. “He is afraid of. . . outsiders. He worries for the safety of his baby daughter, you understand. There are always threats from the woods.”
The blonde woman’s bright blue eyes flick to me and then away, but for once, they are not full of terror. Maybe I am getting through to her. “Threats,” she echoes. Then her eyes slice back in my direction. “Let me go.”
