Page 83 of Blood Oath Christmas
The sounds of fighting intensify—grunts of pain, the thuds of fists connecting with flesh, and more shouting. I press myself against the far wall, as far from the door as I can get in this tiny space. When Konstantin gets through those guards, when he gets that door open, I want to be ready to run straight into his arms.
The noise outside reaches a crescendo, then suddenly cuts off. Silence falls, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing and what might be someone groaning in pain. My pulse thunders in my ears as I wait, every muscle in my body coiled tight with anticipation.
Keys jangle outside the door. The lock clicks.
I hold my breath as the steel door swings open, revealing the silhouette of a tall, broad-shouldered man backlit by the hallwaylight. Even in shadow, I'd know that commanding presence anywhere.
"Konstantin," I breathe, taking a step forward.
But as he moves into the light, as another figure steps up beside him, my heart stops beating entirely.
Because standing there next to my husband, very much alive and looking exactly the way I remember him from eleven years ago, is myfather.
46
KONSTANTIN
The warehouse erupts in chaos, but all I can focus on is Ivy's pale face as her knees buckle. I lunge forward, catching her just before she hits the concrete floor, her body going completely limp in my arms. My heart hammers against my ribs as I pull her against my chest, one arm supporting her back, the other cradling her head.
"Ivy," I murmur, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face. Her skin is too pale, almost translucent, and for a terrifying moment, I think something's wrong beyond just the shock of seeing her supposedly dead father standing ten feet away.
Andrei Andreev hovers nearby, his weathered face a mask of uncertainty and longing. He takes a tentative step toward us, his hand reaching out as if to touch his daughter's face, then stops abruptly. The pain in his eyes is raw, devastating. All these years of watching from the shadows, of letting his little girl believe he was dead, and now he can't even comfort her when she needs it most.
"Is she—” he starts, his voice rough with emotion.
"She's fine," I snap, though I'm not entirely sure. My fingers find her pulse at her throat, steady but rapid. "Viktor, get the car.”
"What about the bodies?" Maksim asks, gesturing to the three Antonov soldiers we just eliminated.
"Dispose of them. Make it clean." I adjust my grip on Ivy, lifting her more securely against my chest. She's so damn small in my arms, so fragile. The thought of what could have happened if we'd arrived even five minutes later makes my blood run cold. "And sweep the place. I want to know everything about what they were planning."
Viktor's already moving toward the exit, his phone pressed to his ear as he coordinates with our backup teams. I follow, Andrei falling into step beside me, his gaze never leaving Ivy's unconscious form.
"She looks just like her mother did at that age," he says quietly, and there's so much regret in his voice, it's almost painful to hear.
"Save it," I growl, my protective instincts flaring. This man may have saved my life, may be the reason I'm honoring a blood oath by protecting his daughter, but right now, all I can think about is Ivy and what could have happened to her.
The fury building in my chest threatens to consume me as we reach the car. Vadim wasn't here. Dumb fucking luck. That could have solved all our problems. If that bastard had been in the warehouse, we could have ended this tonight. Ivy wouldn't have to testify next week, wouldn't have to relive the horror of watching David Volkov get executed. She could be free of this nightmare.
But no. According to the intel Viktor gathered from the soldiers before we put them down, Vadim is away on business, expected back within the hour. Probably off making deals withother families, building alliances to strengthen his position before the trial. The coward.
I know exactly what he was planning for Ivy. The sick fuck would have tortured her slowly, methodically, because she's my wife. Because hurting her would hurt me. He'd have made her suffer for hours, maybe days, extracting every ounce of pain he could before finally putting a bullet in her head to ensure she couldn't testify.
The thought makes my hands shake with rage as I slide into the back seat of the SUV, keeping Ivy cradled against my side. Andrei climbs in on her other side, his movements careful, reverent, like he's afraid she might disappear if he moves too quickly.
Viktor takes the driver's seat while Maksim settles into the passenger side, both of them maintaining the professional silence that comes with years of working together. Through the rear window, I can see our backup cars falling into formation behind us, a small convoy of protection surrounding my most precious cargo.
Ivy's head lolls against my shoulder as we pull away from the warehouse, her breathing soft and even. I press my lips to her hair, inhaling her familiar scent, and my chest tightens with possessiveness. She fits perfectly against me, like she was made to be in my arms.
"How long?" Andrei asks suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"How long what?"
"How long have you been married?"
I glance at him, noting the way his hands clench and unclench in his lap, the barely contained emotion in his weathered features. "Three weeks."
He nods slowly, his gaze fixed on Ivy's peaceful face. "She's happy?"
