Page 17 of Princess Claimed

I nod. “I think so.”

“And your captor?—”

“Was Rasputin,” I interject.

“I knew it!” Blade says, as if he’s just figured that part of it out.

“If your captor…” Crusher continues “…if Rasputin could take the form of your—of Timur—then…” His chest expands as he draws a deep breath, and his eyes open with wonder. “I don’t think that was Mariano at the meeting. I’d lay bets that Rasputin had already killed him and took Mariano’s form. That’s why he asked us to kidnap you at the last minute. It wasn’t Mariano, at all.”

I gasp. That would certainly explain why the mob boss refused to honor the deal points I’d already negotiated. Why he refused to negotiate at all.

“How could Rasputin still be alive after a hundred years?” Blade asks, his hand sliding up my cheek and turning my gaze toward his. “Was he some kind of supernatural creature?”

“There were rumors back then, but I don’t know.” I draw a long breath. “Today, he seemed to hear voices.”

“The first time I met with him in the bathhouse,” Crusher says. “He was arguing with someone who wasn’t there.”

“A demon possession.” Blade’s eyes widen. “That could explain it. History tells us that Rasputin mysteriously survived multiple attempts on his life. Perhaps?—”

“Ana needs sleep.” Giving my leg one final squeeze, Crusher rises from the bed.

Blade presses a soft kiss against my forehead. “While you’re sleeping, I’ll do some research.”

“I’ll stay with her.” Flame clears his throat. “To make sure she’s safe.”

“No fucking way,” Crusher says gruffly, but he has a slight smile on his face. “Ana will be safe in this room. And you’ve already proven that you can’t be trusted alone with her.”

Flame turns toward me, his blue eyes dancing with mischief and heat. He winks, and then leans forward to plant a quick kiss on my lips. “Sleep well, my darling. I’ll be right outside when you need me.” He licks his lips, removing any ambiguity as to what he means by need.

Chapter

Ten

Crusher

Blade drops a book to the floor. “Fuck this.” He crosses the room, leaving behind the large stack of books he’s been reading since Ana fell asleep nearly four hours ago. “You can’t keep me from having sex with her.” Blade glares at me, and a knife appears in his hand. “Our code isn’t relevant. Not anymore. She’s not our client.”

“You planning to use that thing?” I flick my eyes toward the knife in his hand, firming my stance just in case. “Hollow threats don’t work on me.”

Still looking directly at me, Blade tosses the knife to his right, and it lands with a thunk, impaled in the bullseye of a dart board, two hundred feet across the room.

I shake my head. The tension in the room is palpable and I need to squash it. All that reading hasn’t calmed Blade, and Flame hasn’t moved from the chair he planted outside her door. He didn’t even budge when he ran out of matches to light. No one has seen Phil since he stomped out of Ana’s room, four hours ago, and I hope he’s found a safe way to detonate whatever lit his outsized anger.

I’m worried about him, but no way am I leaving Flame and Blade alone anywhere near Ana again. Even when we had a pact that none of us could be alone with her, they proved they couldn’t keep each other in check, and it’s obvious they’re both desperate for another chance to fuck her. And Blade’s got a point. I have no right to stop them.

She does need to feed, and I can only hope that their years of training and discipline will keep my brothers’ obvious sexual attractions from growing into something more dangerous than lust. I can’t help but feel responsible.

If it weren’t for my actions—staking her blood partner and then taking her with us—she wouldn’t be here at all.

Another knife snaps into Blade’s hand. Seconds later, it lands in a bullseye even farther away. Blade’s impromptu knife tossing gives me an idea—a way we can distract each other without leaving the room.

“Target practice?” Shifting to a secret panel, I retrieve bandoliers of wooden stakes, and hand one to Blade. “Go grab the targets.”

He frowns, staring at the leather straps holding stakes.

“Or if you don’t want to get the targets, we can just stab the furniture,” I suggest, goading Flame.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Flame leaps to his feet. “If you want to toss stakes, go to the gym.” He gestures to the exit.

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