âWhat the fuck do you think youâre doing?â My voice is low and pleasant, my expression neutral as I address my sister in Russian. Across from me, Chloe has her head bent toward Slava, talking to him about the food on his plate as if he can understand her, and all I can think about is how much I want to reach across the table and rip that pendant off her smooth, slender throatâright after I throttle the person who gave it to her.
âYou asked me to help her get dressed.â Alinaâs tone matches mine, even as chilly amusement glitters in her eyes. âDonât you like the results?â
âWhere did you get it?â I drop my voice further as Slava glances at us curiously. Unlike his American teacher, he understands exactly what weâre saying, if not the context of it all. âI thought it was lost.â
âMomâs favorite necklace? Hardly.â Alinaâs smile is as icy bright as the diamond glittering on Chloeâs chest. âShe gave it to me for safekeeping. Right before⦠you know.â She waits for my response. Getting none, she flaps her lashes with exaggerated innocence. âDonât you like it on her? I thought it was just perfect for this dressâand for your pretty new toy.â
My molars squeeze together, but my outward demeanor remains calm. I now understand what game Alina is playing, and I donât intend to let her win. âYouâre right. It is perfect, and so is she. Thank you for being so helpful.â
Not waiting for her reaction, I turn my attention to Chloe, ignoring the white-hot rage streaking through my veins each time the glimmering stone catches my eye. That pendant is all Iâve been able to see since Chloe came to the table, so now I take in her actual appearanceâand as I do, the burning fury inside me transforms into scorching lust.
Sheâs beautiful. No, more than that. Sheâs breathtaking, a painting of a Grecian goddess come to life. Like in the picture I saw earlier, her hair tumbles down to her slender shoulders in a cascade of sun-streaked brown waves, and her smooth skin glows with a mysterious inner light. Whatever my sister has done has enhanced the radiance thatâs captured me from the beginning, emphasizing Chloeâs bright, tender beauty.
The kind of beauty that all but begs for a despoiling touch.
My gaze trails from her face to her fragile collarbones, then, determinedly skipping over the pendant, to the hint of shadow between her breasts, temptingly pushed up by the tight bodice of her dress. With vivid clarity, I imagine how her erect nipples will feel when I palm those small, delicious globes, how theyâll taste when I suck them. Sheâll moan, her head arching back and her slender arms rising toâ
I stop, the fantasy evaporating as I stare at the dark red scabs on her left bicep.
What the fuck?
They look like puncture wounds, deep ones.
âShe said she fell on some broken glass,â Alina murmurs in Russian, as uncannily tuned in to me as always. âInteresting, isnât it?â
It is indeed. While itâs theoretically possible to fall on broken glass and end up with puncture wounds, one is far more likely to get sliced upâand I donât see any marks of that kind on her arm.
âI wonder if she was stabbed or caught some shrapnel,â Alina continues, again echoing my thoughts. âWhat do you think? My bet is on the latter.â
I force myself to sound disinterested, bored by the topic. âI think she fell on some broken glass.â I havenât told my sister about the additional report I commissioned from Konstantinâs team, and Iâm not planning to do so.
Chloe is my mystery to unravel, mypuzzle to solve.
My pretty toy to play with.
Her eyes meet mine, and she quickly looks away, her hand tightening on her fork as her small chest rises and falls in a faster rhythm. I smile darkly, watching her. I unsettle her, make her nervous, and itâs not just the sexual tension that heats the air between us. I caught the way she looked at my banged-up knuckles during lunch, saw the questions in her eyes.
My zaychik is smart enough to be wary of me.
She knows, deep down, what kind of man I am.
I study her throughout the meal, feasting my eyes on her while she feasts on the fruits of Pavelâs kitchen labor. Sheâs still discreet and subtle about it, but at least three heaping portions of plov, Pavelâs Georgian rice pilaf specialty, disappear from her plate in short order, followed by a serving of every salad and side dish on the table, along with an entire plate of lamb kebab, tonightâs main dish.
Her off-the-charts appetite both amuses and upsets me because it reveals something important.
It tells me sheâs known real, true hunger in the recent past.
The realization adds to my frustration, as do the marks on her arm. Konstantin still hasnât come through with the report, and itâs driving me mad. I want to know what happened to her. I need to know it. Itâs fast becoming an obsessionâand so is she. This afternoon, when she went hiking with Slava, I found myself climbing walls because I couldnât watch her through the cameras. I want to know what sheâs doing every moment of every day, and no matter how hard I try to distract myself, sheâs all Iâm able to think about.
As the meal draws to a close, I contemplate getting her to stay for an digestif with me, but when I catch her covering a yawn, I decide against it. Alinaâs skill with makeup has hidden the outward signs of Chloeâs exhaustion, but sheâs still fragile, still breakable⦠too much so for all the dark, dirty things I want to do to her. Besides, I canât be certain of my self-control tonight.
The desire searing my veins feels too powerful, too savage for a smooth seduction.
Soon, I promise myself as I watch her walk out of the dining room and disappear up the stairs.
Soon Iâll get to the bottom of what makes Chloe Emmons tick, and appease this hunger.
Itâs nearly two a.m. when I admit defeat and get up to go for a run. After barely sleeping last night and working off much of my restless energy by sparring with the guards, I shouldâve been dead to the world. Instead, I lay awake for hours, my body burning with unfulfilled desire and my mind filled with restless thoughts. Each time Iâd come close to drifting off, Iâd see the fucking pendant dangling above me, and rage would flood my veins, jerking me awake.
My sister knew what she was doing when she hung that bauble around Chloeâs pretty neck.
The night sky is clear when I exit the house, the light from the half-moon illuminating my path as I begin jogging down the driveway. Not that I need itâI have excellent night vision. As the forest thickens around me, I speed up until Iâm sprinting down the road leading to the gate. Halfway there, I take a sharp right and enter into the woods, my sneakers crunching on leaves and twigs as I weave through the trees. Itâs darker here, more dangerous, with the uneven ground and fallen branches, but the challenge is what Iâm after. Running like this forces me to focus, to exert myself both mentally and physically. At the same time, something about the night forest soothes me. The quiet rustling of wild creatures in the bushes, the hooting of an owl above my head, the loamy scent of decomposing vegetationâitâs all part of the experience, part of what attracts me to this place.
I run until my lungs burn and my muscles feel like lead, until sweat runs down my face in rivulets. When my legs threaten to give out, I turn back and run up the mountain, pushing myself past the point of exhaustion, past the limitations of my body and the memories encroaching on my mind. I run until I canât think about anything, much less picture the heart-shaped pendant on Chloeâs chest.
Finally, I stop and walk the rest of the way, letting myself cool down. By the time I enter the dark, silent house, my breathing has calmed and my legs are starting to feel like theyâre attached to me. Toeing off my dirty shoes, I lock the front door and make my way up the stairs, the weight of sleep deprivation descending on me like a layer of bricks. I canât wait to fall into my bed andâ
A choked cry stops me short.
I freeze on top of the stairs, all my senses on high alert as I scan the dark hallway.
A moment later, I hear it again.
A muffled scream, coming from Chloeâs room.
Adrenaline blasts through my body. I donât stop to think, I just act. Soundlessly, I pad down the hallway, every muscle in my body coiled for battle. If someoneâs broken in, if theyâre hurting her⦠The mere thought of it paints my vision red. Only a lifetime of training keeps me from kicking down the door and rushing in. Instead, I stop three feet from her bedroom and press my palm against the wall, feeling for a tiny ridge. When I find it, I push in, and with a quiet whoosh, a small square of the wall slides away, revealing one of the mini arsenals Iâve hidden throughout the house.
Moving silently, I reach into the niche and grab a loaded Glock 17, then approach Chloeâs door.
All is quiet again, but I donât let it fool me.
Something isnât right. I know it. I feel it.
Clicking off the safety with my right thumb, I carefully twist the knob with my left hand and open the door a crack.
Another cry rings out, followed by a choked sob.
Fuck it.
I push the door wide open and charge inside, prepared to do battle.
Only no one attacks me.
There are no flying bullets, no movement of any sort.
The faint moonlight reveals no one in the dark bedroom besides me and a small bundle underneath the covers on the bedâa bundle that jerks suddenly, emitting another one of those muffled cries.
Of course.
I lower the gun, the worst of the tension draining from my muscles. This must be what Alina heard last night. No wonder Chloe looked so uncomfortable when my sister brought up the topic.
She has nightmares. Bad ones.
I should leave now that I know sheâs safe, but I remain rooted in place, staring at that bundle of covers as my heartbeat takes on a hard, thumping rhythm. Sheâs here, sleeping only a couple of meters away. The adrenaline in my veins transforms into a sharp, hot need, a hunger so fierce and potent I shake from the effort of containing it. I want to feel her smooth, warm skin under my fingers, smell her crisp, sweet wildflower scent⦠sink deep into her tight, wet heat⦠My pulse roars in my ears, my body so hard it hurts, and my legs move against my will, carrying me forward.
No. Fuck, no.
I stop half a meter from the bed, jaw clenched.
Move the fuck back. Now.
By some miracle, my feet obey.
One step.
Another.
A third.
Iâm halfway to the door when the bundle on the bed jerks again and begins thrashing wildly, filling the air with raw, heartrending cries.