Page 32 of Blood Oath Christmas
KONSTANTIN
Isit in the living room with the lights off except for the ikon lamp burning on a corner table. The fire is banked low. Beeswax and pine are still in the air from earlier and the gold of theTheotokos, the Virgin Mary statue, glitters in the firelight.
These quiet moments are rare, and so I cherish them. It’s not often I can relax in silence and privacy, let my thoughts drift to more pleasant things instead of Mafia business. Like how Ivy looked in that wedding dress! Every part of my body had come screaming to life when she’d stepped out of that dressing room.
A floorboard creaks.
I know instantly that the footsteps belong to Ivy. I’d left her door unlocked since she’d decided to marry me, and I actually expected her to try to leave, so I’m not surprised. Guards have heavier, more confident footsteps. These are light, hesitant, and cautious.
I don’t move. I let the room stay dark and my outline remain part of the chair and turn my head enough to see the staircase without flashing a profile.
Ivy appears at the bend of the landing, a shadow inside a thicker shadow. She looks toward the front door, then the hall,then listens long enough to convince herself the house is still sleeping.
Ivy starts walking again. The ikon’s little flame is too dim to let her see me unless she looks really close. Which she doesn’t.
She reaches the bottom of the stairs and pauses. The hand on the newel tightens and loosens.
I let her pass and wait until the latch whispers shut, then rise from my chair. At the door, I grab my jacket, shrug it on, then quietly leave the house.
Outside, the cold night air stings my face. Ivy’s boot prints are clear in the snow, making it easy for me to follow past the Mary statue and the hedge, toward the service gate. Motion sensors are placed strategically around the estate. By now, she’s probably set off a dozen alarms, and Viktor is likely already in the security room viewing the monitors.
The security gate is meant to keep people out, not in, so she easily presses the button and the gate swings slowly open.
Beyond the wall, the ground slopes toward the river. A screen of pines blunts the wind and hides much of the moonlight, and the low sky threatens more snow. Ivy halts at the property line, scans right and left, then tips her face to the cold as if the air can tell her which way is safer.
To the right is town, where there’s light, traffic, and people who would notice a woman walking around in the middle of the night. To the left are fields and the old towpath behind the mills. She studies both, lifts her chin against the cold, and turns toward town.
I keep a safe distance behind her, using the tree line for cover. I’m close enough to get to her if she needs me, yet far enough for her to think she’s escaped and on her own.
The shoulder narrows to a strip of tire-packed snow. She keeps to it. Her breath shows in a steady rhythm, sending smallwhite clouds into the night air. Her shoulders ride high with anger or fear. Or both.
I keep to the trunks and brush, about twenty paces off the road. Old deer runs and the frozen crust under the needles take the sound out of my steps.
The old pump station sits to the right, its brick smoked dark from years of use and from sitting empty. The chain-link fence that should serve as security sags on a dead hinge. When the air shifts, I can smell old oil and ash.
At the low footbridge over the drainage creek, she pauses, watching slow water move under a thin skin of ice for a moment. Her gloved hands rest on the railing. She doesn’t pull out her phone to call the Feds. Or Frank. I’m only mildly surprised.
She stands there with her hood up, breath lifting in soft clouds, and the sight hits me harder than it should. The coat doesn’t hide the length of her legs or the lines of her narrow waist. A few strands of hair touch her jaw, and I want my hand there, my thumb under her chin and mouth on hers.
In a few days she’ll be my wife, just me and her locked in our bedroom, her back hitting my mattress, and my hands taking their time. I want that coat on the floor, her legs hooked over my hips, and my mouth on the places that make her forget what scares her. I want to learn the sounds she makes when I go slow, and the way she grabs on to me when I don’t.
A shudder of desire ripples through me. The image of taking Ivy burrows inside my brain and it’s all I can do not to go to her now, to throw her over my shoulder and haul her back to my estate. To my bed.
But Vadim is out there, somewhere, looking for her. Does he realize she’s with me now? Probably. He has law enforcement on his payroll just like I do, so I’m sure by now, they would have told him. So far, he hasn’t made a move since Ivy’s been under my protection. But I don’t know how long that will last.
My stomach churns suddenly, harshly. The thought of Vadim getting to her hits and my gut knots hard. My hands fist tightly and my jaw locks until I hear it click. The need to keep her safe consumes me, and it has nothing to do with the blood oath. It has everything to do with the feelings I’ve developed for Ivy over the years I’ve been watching out for her.
I’ve watched her grow from a gawky teen to a beautiful, confident, and caring woman. At the club, she’s always nice to customers. When they get out of hand, she gently but firmly puts them back into place. At night, I’ve watched her through her window, sitting at her kitchen table or small desk, studying and attending her online classes.
She wants to be a teacher, and from what I’ve seen when she’s around little kids, she’ll be great at it. Seeing Vadim kill David not only terrified her and put her in danger, but it also disrupted her life goals. Somehow, when all this mess is over, I’ve got to figure out a way to make it right.
Suddenly, Ivy leans over the railing, and for a breathless moment, I think she’s going to go over and fall into the icy water. But she just as quickly straightens, and I release the breath I didn’t even realize I’m holding.
After a few more minutes of my lusting after the woman who’s supposed to be my charge, Ivy finally moves away from the railing. What was she thinking all this time? Does she regret leaving the estate? Is she planning on seeking out the FBI? Frank?
I scowl. Even though I know she doesn’t love Frank, not the way a woman loves a man, she also doesn’t feel that way for me, either. Hell, I don’t even think she’s attracted to me. I’m not an idiot. I know she agreed to marry me just to save her own ass. She doesn’t know me like I know her. But then, that might be a good thing. She is an innocent, not used to our ways, and I’veseen the horror and disgust that flood her gaze whenever she hears about our deeds.
No matter. She will be protected, and even though she doesn’t know it, she will be loved. I can admit, at least to myself, that I do love Ivy Andreev. I probably have for a few years now, and I think Viktor’s been in love with her for years as well.
