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A chill cuts down my spine. I grip the table harder to hide the tremor in my hands, then bend to right my chair, and sink into itquietly.Kill. Kill. He’s going to kill someone—for me. To protect me. Such a thing is so horrible, and so horrifying, that I can barely wrap my head around it. But at the same time…I can’t help but be moved, in a dark and twisted way. No one has ever gone so far for me. No one has ever done something like that for me.
I guess the question is…has he done anything because he cares for me? Or has it all been work, politics, vengeance? Has it all been a show of saving face?I don’t know.I don’t know, because even now, at the end of the day…I don’t know Aleksander Lukin. I don’t know yet if he’s a hero or a villain, a lover or a fighter. All I know is that I am afraid of him. Almost as much as I want him, I fear him.
I take a deep breath. He’s right. There’s no changing things now. We’re on a course that can’t be shifted. We’re locked in. And this can only really end one of two ways. I want my son, my friends, my family, safe and protected—so either I stand in the way, or I step aside.
I sigh, looking up at him. “What do you need from me?”
And Aleksander Lukin, to my complete surprise—smiles.
Chapter Sixteen
Aleks
I don’t feel good about it, any of it; Marya, or Kat’s family, or even the marriage. Yes, it has all been done to protect her. And yes, I can’t do much in the way of getting Marya back to Moscow. Not in the immediate sense, that is, though it’s certainly on my to-do list after her little outburst this morning.
No, I don’t feel good about it. The truth is that the marriage, now official, does give me some comfort. In more ways than one. Some less utilitarian than others. But just because we are locked in warfare doesn’t mean that every moment must be miserable; and for her side of things, though she’s been stubborn and put up a few good fights, Kat has been nothing but game. Quick, clever, fast on the uptake. She’s been loyal. She’s stood at my side, when I can’t say that I feel I’ve given her any good reason to.
I allow her to go down and shoot at her targets, not with Toma alone but a contingent of men, including Yuri. I tell them to take pains to keep word of what happened at the inn yesterday out of Kat’s knowledge—I know that she fears me. I think she’d be foolish if she didn’t. But by the same token, she’s seen more violence in these last few days than I’d have ever liked. I don’t need her to know, in visceral detail, what went down at Konstantin’s little hideaway. The number of men killed. The number of men thatIkilled. Or the way their bodies were cooked to being unidentifiable by the time the police and fire crews showed up.
I’ll be going back into town tonight, which isn’t my preference. I’d rather not leave Kat alone for even one night; this town is small, and I know that Konstantin is prowling,looking for her. I know he’ll be crafty in getting to her. As good as my defenses are, his offenses might be better.
But we have a clue as to where he might be tonight—and if there’s even a chance I can take him out and end things now, I am going to take it.
That doesn’t mean Kat has to be miserable. And it doesn’t mean she has to feel that this is all just purely convenience and utility; it’s not. I haven’t confessed as much, and likely I never will. To be loved by me is to be in constant danger, forever. But I can show her how I feel, I think. Without complicating things, I can give her something of me.
She comes in from the cold, windy evening, her nose and ears and cheeks pink from it. She’s wearing a baggy parka and jeans and boots, which she kicks off on the back porch. I dismiss Yuri and the others who deliver her safely there, and take her gun and replace it in her bedside table drawer.
“What?” She asks, suspiciously. “You’re being too nice.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet.” When I give her a smile, she sends it right back, her own bright with surprise. And unguarded. “Are you cold?”
“Yeah,” she admits.
“What would warm you up?”
She flushes, and I chuckle.
“I don’t meanthat,” I say, although the idea of climbing into bed with her and wasting away an hour or two doesn’t sound like a bad night, by any means. Still. I have other things in mind. Gentler, more relaxing things, which demand a bit less passion. “Come.”
She gives me another suspicious look, but when I reach for her hand, she lets me take it. I lead her upstairs, down the hall, to her room. It smells of the candle I lit, fir and sandalwood, and I see the soft dim light of the bedroom almost immediately puts her at ease. Her stiff shoulders soften, the tension in her facereleases, just a little. And she lets me lead her into the ensuite bathroom.
It’s one of the first things she restored after moving into the farmhouse, done in yellow and white marble. She hired a friend of a friend of James’ for the cheap rates, and did a lot of the design and decoration herself. The crowning glory of the otherwise modest bathroom is the huge bathtub, leftover from the last design. It’s perched up on a tier of steps, under a three-paned glass window that overlooks the forest.
And right now, it’s full up of steaming water, its surface dancing with bubbles and oil. Kat’s face lights up when she sees it, then falls just as quick. She looks at me, and I’m struck—first by the expression on her face, one of hurt and disbelief and surrender, and second by the way a sheen of tears quickly rises to gloss her pretty eyes. I can read her like she’s spoken the words aloud:You did this…for me? Do you know how long it’s been since someone did something like this for me?
But she says nothing, and I’m glad of it. I don’t want her to hurt. I want her to breathe easy, for a moment, for once. When I begin to undress her, she lets me, discreetly shrugging tears from her eyes. I say nothing of them. I give her the respect of a little privacy. And as tempted as I am to touch her, as I remove her clothing layer by layer, I do resist. This night isn’t about that. It’s just about her. Feeling safe. Feeling comforted.
She lets me guide her into the hot water, holding her hand as she steps in. The bliss that crosses her face as, slowly, she sinks into the hot, fragrant water has me paid back for the favor in dividends. She looks ten years younger in that instant, all the pain and torture and fear and sorrow cleansed right from her face. Her eyes flutter shut and her lips part, and immediately, her face and shoulders flush with the heat; at least for a moment, she is happy.
And I consider myself very lucky for that. I pour her a glass of wine. I place the book she had on her bedside table beside her. The window is cracked, and cool air comes in in a sweet draft, stirring her hair, which she has pinned messily at the nape of her neck. When she looks up at me, it’s with bare affection and gratitude.
“You’re going,” she says. “Aren’t you?”
“Yes. But not quite yet.” I was prepared for this, though I wasn’t sure if she’d want it. I can sense now that she does, and I can’t blame her for that. She hasn’t been allowed to feel safe in so long; since I came back to town. Hell, maybe even before that. “I’d like to sit with you, actually, for a while. If you don’t mind.”
Her eyes dance. They say everything that she doesn’t. Everything that, maybe, she doesn’t feel shecansay. I can’t say I’ve made her feel safe emotionally. I don’t know that I ever will. But I can try, nonetheless. When she looks at me like that, all I want to do is try for her; to be a better man for her, a good man.
I sit beside the bathtub. I’ve brought my own book, and I light another candle and set it between us, so we can read by its light. In a few hours, I will be hunting men. I will be spilling blood; getting my revenge. I will be setting things right. But right now, I’m not that Aleks, but a different one. A man with softer edges, and with a barer heart. For all the hell I put her through, Kat makesmefeel safe with her; I can’t say I’ve ever felt that way with another woman. Never.
