Page 133 of Vendetta Vows

"Pakhan?" she spits. "He's not even in line for succession! Vitaly made that clear."

"And I have reversed Vitaly's decision," Gregor replies calmly. "You stand here as an unwelcome guest. Leave now, before you force me to have you removed."

Tamara's eyes dart around the room, measuring the faces of the assembled pakhans. Finding no allies, her shoulders sag minutely.

"Fine." She backs toward the door, but stops halfway. "Before I go, don't you all want to know what Ruslan has actually married? Who she really is?"

Aurora's fingers dig into my arm.

"I know exactly who she is," I say, voice deadly quiet. "She's Aurora Dragunov, my wife."

"Aurora Dragunov! Ha!" Tamara laughs, the sound high and brittle. "Has she fooled you all so completely?"

She glares towards me, but I know where her fury is focused.

"Her name will never be Aurora Dragunov," she seethes. "Because her name is Jamie Fields."

34

AURORA

"Her name is Jamie Fields."

The words electrify the air and freeze everyone in place. My heart stops, then hammers wildly against my ribs like it's trying to punch its way out.

No. No no no.

Seven years of running. Seven years of hiding. Seven years of never speaking that name aloud. And now it echoes through the room like a death knell.

Tamara's triumphant smile cuts through me like a knife. My gaze darts around the reception, watching as confusion blooms on every face.

Every eye locked on me. Watching me. Seeing me.

Therealme.

I can't breathe. The wedding dress constricts around my chest like a python. The walls seem to close in, faces blur together, and suddenly I'm standing back there in my childhood home. The smell of blood is thick in the air.

And that awful message.

Look what you made me do.

Ruslan reaches for me. "Zarechka!"

I flinch away from his touch. How does Tamara know? Who told her? The only person who knows is Hannah, and she would never...

But someone did. Someone found me.

Which means Kristofer will find me too!

"I'm sorry," I choke out, gathering my skirts. "I can't!"

And then I'm running. Past the stunned guests. Past Gregor Belov's calculating stare. Past the armed guards who don't know which threat they're supposed to protect against.

The mansion swallows me whole as I rush through its winding corridors, the hem of my wedding dress catching on corners, trailing behind me like a ghost. I don't know where I'm running, just that I'm running away.

Away from their stares.

Away from the truth that's finally caught up to me.

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