Page 85 of Jewel of the Assassin
Then I destroy everything.
Bottle after bottle, I hurl them to the stone floor. Glass explodes. Wine runs like blood. And then he returns. His footsteps. His rage.
He forces me onto my knees. “Pick it up,” he growls. “Every goddamn piece.”
I cry as I gather the shards, blood spilling from my hands where the glass cuts deep. I need stitches. He doesn’t care.
I bleed. I bleed into the wine.
And then?—
“No, no—no, no, no!”
I jolt awake, the scream strangled in my throat. My whole body thrashes against the sheets, soaked in sweat and tangled around me like chains. My chest aches. My skin feels like it’s on fire.
Then Roman’s arms are around me. Strong. Sure. Unshakable. He wraps me up in that grounding grip of his—one leg hooked over both of mine, caging me against him. Holding me steady.
“Valya. Valya,” he murmurs into my hair, voice low and steady like a drum in the dark. “Ya zdes, moya lyubov’.I’m here.”
I gasp for air, holding onto him. Roman. My anchor. My husband. “R-Roman?” I whisper, voice breaking.
His eyes meet mine. “Ya zdes’, Valya. I’m here.”
My hands tremble as I clutch at his bare chest, grounding myself in his warmth, his scent. I can still taste the cellar. Still feel the sting of glass in my palms.
But Roman is the only thing real now. Not stitches. Not scars.Him.
He holds me together better than anything ever has.
It happened weeks ago, but longing pulses through me every time I remember. And whenever I think about searching the nameValentina Volkov, every time I feel the pull of the past—I remember this.
That night we crashed together.
Roman swore he would never let my father breathe my air again.
And I believe him.
I don’t want anything to do with my old life.Heis my life. The island and the manor are my life. And so are all the blessed people here.
“Is this for a little Halloween party tonight with the staff?”I wonder, wickedly pressing my pelvis closer until the prominent bulge in his black pants nudges my lower waist since he’s a good head taller than me.
“Not exactly.” A glint reflects in his emerald eyes. With his finger tracing the royal jewel brand on my chest, my husband shares, “I host a private ball twice a year. Christmas and Hallow’s Eve. Very exclusive. Verysecret,” he adds in a lower tone. “It is to maintain strong relations with my allies—and to remind the right people that power still answers to me.”
He dips his head, mouth brushing the shell of my ear as he adds with a sinful grin, “This year,youare the crowning jewel of the event. I want every man in that ballroom to look at you and know—you belong to me.”
My breath catches until he conveys, “But still masked, of course,” he murmurs, the pad of his finger dragging down the center of my corset. “Everyone arrives under a different name. At my masked balls, we all go as someone else. It’s safer. For everyone.”
“I assume everyone signs some sort of NDA, and payment would come in coinandblood?”
A muscle bounces in Roman’s jaw before he takes my wrist, kissing the inside. “Bloody God, what a woman I possess!” Then his voice drops, almost reverent: “For me, it’s tradition. The one night I invite devils to dance—and remind them who built their worlds from every assassination I carried out on their behalf.”
“Ahh. So, it’s not just a dress. It’s a weapon.”
“Mmm, Valya. And tonight—I intend to wield it. Now…” He cups my chin, adopting his dominant voice. “Take it off so we may transport it to the ball’s location.”
“The ball isn’t here?”
“No. As I said, this island is our sanctuary.”
