Page 33 of You Only Love Twice
Red bloomed in the middle of her chest like the painted dot on a target. Hollis jerked back in surprise, her body backlit by the lights in the distance as her arms flung wide, a word on her painted red lips.
"Dmitri—"
Shock painted itself across her face, rippling through her.
She was falling backward. Vanishing right before his eyes. He lowered the smoking weapon, sound rushing back into the world as he blinked out of the semitrance he'd found himself in and realized she was gone.
Sprinting toward the edge of the canal, he gasped as time seemed to slam back into being. Ice slicked the surface of the river, covered in a faint layer of snow, except for the ragged hole right below him. Dark waters churned through the ice, but there was no sign of Hollis. His hand shook, the scent of gunpowder leaving an acrid scent in his nose.
I killed her.
His hands shook.
I shot her.
The pistol fell from nerveless hands, and then the world around him vanished as a harsh voice intruded.
Pain sheared through his knees. Obsidian blinked, and found himself on the floor in the turret room, blood dripping from his nose. What the hell was that? He'd never remembered that before.
"She was an enemy spy."
He knew that voice. Saw the light shining in his eyes as it swung from side to side, binding his gaze to it.
"She tried to kill you."
Those words, branded into his head. He punched the floor, tearing his gloves.
"She betrayed you."
No.
"She never loved you."
"Remember the fire, Dmitri?"
And he could smell it now, almost feel the heat on his skin as he woke to find the bed canopy alight and flames dripping down the walls, trapping him inside the room where he'd made love to her.
"She tried to kill you."
What the hell was the truth?
Because both images felt like actual memories, and suddenly he didn't know which one was real—and which was the lie.
Chapter 9
"If you think you can just kidnap me and leave me here to rot, then you have another think coming!" Gemma snapped, rattling the bars on the cell.
Silence.
Nothing.
"Dmitri?" she yelled.
There was no answer. That bloody rutting bastard. She pushed away from the bars, shaking with a combination of fear and fury. The chain around her ankle scraped over the slate floors, hauling her up just short of the sealed windows. She was still wearing her cursed corset, undergarments, and stockings, and her skin itched as if it wanted to be free of the confining garments. The heavy drape of the fur cloak protected her from the afternoon chill.
No sign of him. She'd spent yesterday calling out to him, but he'd never come. The only hint he hadn't abandoned her entirely was the flask of blood she'd found in her cell when she woke, which was somewhat disconcerting, because she thought she slept lightly.
Be patient, she'd told herself, though the wait grated on her nerves. Gemma knew she wasn't built for patience. She was built for action.
