Page 45 of Chain Me

She responds, arms wrapping around my neck, pulling me closer. The sheet falls, and I feel her skin against mine—heartbeat to heartbeat.

My training screams warnings in my head. Emotional attachment compromises the mission. Vulnerability creates weakness. The enemy exploits connection.

But she's not the enemy anymore. Not to me.

I deepen the kiss, one hand sliding into her hair, cradling her head like something precious. The thought stuns me. Nothing in my life has ever been precious. Everything—everyone—has been tactical. Assets. Liabilities. Objectives.

She makes a small sound against my mouth, and I'm lost. Completely lost.

This isn't supposed to happen. I'm an Ivanov. The enforcer. The weapon. I don't fall for captives—especially not Lebedev's daughter.

My brothers would see this as a betrayal. My loyalty has never wavered until now. Twenty years of unwavering serviceto family and one woman has cracked foundations I thought impenetrable.

I pull back slightly, looking into her eyes. What I see there terrifies me more than any battlefield—recognition. She sees me. Not the soldier. Not the monster. Me.

“This is madness,” I murmur, even as I lean in to kiss her again.

Madness. And I'm falling headlong into it.

19

KATARINA

Iturn another page of the Russian novel I found in the compound's library, more interested in the man across from me than the words on the page. Erik sits in the leather armchair, his large frame making it seem smaller than it is. The tablet in his hands bathes his face in a blue glow that accentuates the sharp angles of his jaw.

The compound is quiet tonight. Too quiet. I've grown accustomed to the background hum of voices and the occasional laughter from one of Erik's brothers. But tonight, there's just the sound of my page turning and Erik's finger occasionally tapping on the screen.

His brow furrows as he reviews what I assume are security protocols. I watch his fingers move across the tablet, the same fingers that have traced every inch of my body with surprising gentleness. His focus is mesmerizing, the way his entire being centers on the task at hand. I've experienced that focus firsthand and felt it burn through me like wildfire.

“Find something interesting in that book?” he asks without looking up.

I smile despite myself. “Not as interesting as watching you work.”

A small twitch at the corner of his mouth is the only indication he heard me. The scar on his eyebrow stands out more prominently when he concentrates like this.

The lights flicker once, then twice, before stabilizing. In an instant, Erik transforms. The relaxed man reviewing documents vanishes, replaced by the predator I first met. His tablet clatters to the floor as he springs to his feet, one hand reaching for the weapon at his hip. His eyes scan the room, no longer soft with concentration but sharp, cataloging threats.

“Stay where you are,” he commands.

I freeze, book forgotten in my lap. It's like watching a switch flip—from civilian to soldier in less than a heartbeat. His entire body language has shifted; his shoulders are tense, his stance is widened, and his center of gravity is lowered. I've never seen anything happen so fast.

The lights flicker again, and Erik moves toward me, placing himself between me and the door.

When he reaches me, his hand wraps around my arm—firm enough to convey urgency but gentle enough not to hurt. The contradiction is so perfectly Erik, that I almost smile despite the tension crackling in the air.

“We need to move. Now.” His voice is clipped and authoritative, all business in a way that would have infuriated me days ago. But when his eyes meet mine, I catch something different there—concern, maybe. Protectiveness. Something he doesn't verbalize but that softens the harsh edges of his command.

What surprises me most is my own reaction. I expected panic to flood my system—that fight-or-flight response that had been my constant companion during my first days here. Instead, a strange calm washes over me. I don't question him. I don't argue. I simply nod and place the book aside, rising to my feet.

I trust him. The realization should terrify me more than whatever unknown threat has him on alert, but it doesn't. Somehow, despite everything, I've come to trust this man's instincts. When had that happened? When had I started seeing him as my protector rather than my captor?

Erik's hand remains firm on my arm as he guides me through the darkened hallways of the compound. The emergency lights cast long shadows, transforming the familiar corridor into something alien and threatening. But my mind isn't focused on the danger—it's analyzing patterns.

“Stay close,” Erik murmurs, his voice barely audible as we move. His body shields mine, positioning himself between me and any potential threat.

However, my attention is caught by something different. The way the lights failed—sequential rather than simultaneous. The specific systems affected. The emergency lights came on exactly four seconds after the main power dropped. Not five. Not three.

Four.

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