Page 182 of Blood & Snow
She weighs almost nothing, her body depleted by days of captivity, but she's alive, breathing against my neck as we move through the building we've transformed into a tomb.
"I love you," I tell her, the words foreign on my tongue but necessary.
"I should have said it sooner. Should've told you every day."
"I know," she whispers.
"I've always known."
We emerge into the street where our vehicles wait.
Sirens wail in the distance, approaching through streets that will soon flood with police.
The woman in my arms represents everything I never allowed myself to want—vulnerability, connection, the possibility of being more than a monster who kills for money.
She's seen the worst of what I am and somehow loves me anyway.
The Pakhan will demand answers I can't give, give punishment for disobedience I can't avoid.
Operating without authorization, risking valuable men for personal reasons—these are offenses that typically end with bullets and shallow graves.
But holding Nadya while she cries against my chest makes the consequences irrelevant.
Some things are worth dying for.
She's one of them.
30
NADYA
The apartment is warmer than I've felt in days, heat flooding through vents that chase away the chill clinging to my skin.
Xander guides me through the doorway with gentle hands, his touch careful as if I might shatter under too much pressure.
I'm not a fragile thing, but the past almost seventy two hours have worn me paper thin.
"Bath first," he says, leading me toward the bathroom.
"You need to warm up."
I don't argue.
Three days in the Sokolovs' custody left me filthy and exhausted, my body aching from restraints and abuse.
The promise of hot water sounds closer to heaven than anything I've experienced in months.
So I let him guide me again like he's herding a sheep or a small child, and I make no protest as he pulls out a towel and wash rag while I stare at my gaunt expression in the mirror.
I'm shocked by what I see, but I shouldn't be.
What I endured would be traumatic for anyone.
Xander starts the water, testing the temperature with his hand before adding bath salts.
When he straightens and turns to me I catch his expression in his reflection and feel sad that I've put him through so much.
"Can you undress yourself?" he asks, his pale eyes searching my face for signs of injury he might have missed.
