10. Leni

Idon’t have my coat.

I don’t miss it. I can hardly see my hand in front of me for the darkness, and blissful, pulsing heat slides up my thighs to my shoulder.

It’s quiet. I’m warm. Nothing hurts. But I don’t have my coat.

And if I don’t have it … memories percolate at the back of my mind. Me, twirling on tiptoes in the hotel mirror, checking the delicate lace cups of the bustier, the sheer blush stockings, the light boning along the curve of my ribs.

Clothes for seduction. Clothes to entice a male.

Clothes that are not really clothes at all, but wires and straps and beading and lace, all of which, without my coat, are entirely on display, and soaking wet with seawater.

“Was it because I didn’t say please?” a smokey voice whispers against my ear. Warm water drips onto my neck and I can’t see him, but I know Cross is not smiling. Same as I know this is his warmth I’m stealing, his arms under my back and legs, his slogging heartbeat under my cheek.

His fingers sink into the exposed flesh of my hip. “I know you’re awake, Leni, don’t pretend otherwise.”

He sighs at my lack of response, raises me in his arms and dumps me back into his chest.

“They’re dead,” he informs. Blunt. Dark. Not at all remorseful. “They were dead the moment they touched you. Now, use your words and tell me how many more I need to hunt down and eliminate before we leave.”

We? “I—” My voice cracks and breaks off. Gritty salt scratches the back of my throat.

I’d been free, sinking in the enormous ocean, rid of males and their demands. Liberated. And he’d plucked me out like a confused guppy.

A shiver inducing sound bleeds from Cross, but he doesn’t push, as if my proof of life is enough.

Gradually, his shadows dissipate, revealing matte gray clouds and a narrow moon. We’re on the shore, leaving a lone set of large footprints in the gravel.

I’m cradled in Cross’s arms and bodies surround us. Mangled and dirty. Dead. The scent of blood and decay mingles with the dampness of the waterfront.

Up to his ankles in the surf, Lev’s bent over, disassembling a gun and discarding the pieces in the waves. “No IDs,” he tells the spymaster.

Cross responds with a slew of words I dislike. AKs and Sigs and bodies.

I tune it out.

The rain’s stopped. The blood, which should’ve diluted, forms amorphous shimmering pink pools under the fallen.

I feel like I’m watching a game of checkers. Black and red charge across a helpless board, slamming and crashing. Defiant, purposeful. I don’t care which side wins and yet, I’m fixated on every advancing move.

I should pick a side.

I should flip the board.

Cross exhales sharply, breath curling in the chilly early morning air as he and Lev shift the discussion to why the soldiers attacked.

In the nebulous of my mind, I have answers. Draven sent his most wretched sentries to collect me so I could go play obedient, braindead wife.

Cross and Lev, they were just collateral damage, obstacles to grabbing me. Non-players. And yet they killed everyone.

These are the sides I have to pick between?

The first glimmer of the sun kisses the horizon, casting a lonely golden hue over the rocky beach. We’re a handful of hours into the day.

How many have already died because of me?

“We could’ve fucking asked.” Lev shakes his head at Cross as he wipes his hands clean with his shirt. There isn’t a scratch on him thanks to the speed of immortal healing. “Drake likes leftovers. Hell, they probably would’ve talked at the mention of his involvement. You didn’t even consider what we could have gained with a hostage.”

“I did.”

Lev snorts, but Cross’s eyes drink me in and I’m surprised to find staunch resolve there. As though there is no realm in which his decision to leave no survivors could be considered wrong. As if it were the only conclusion he’d reach in every scenario.

No mercy for the males who hurt me.

I wonder if I’m still sinking in the ocean, holding on to my last breath as ice infiltrates my veins and the tide throws me. Surely that’s the only explanation for the shortage of revolt in my stomach, and the pull of liquid warmth down my spine.

Sirens scream in the distance.

Ambulances that have nobody to save. Police who will never find the killers.

The Russian groans. “You don’t think they heard the thousand gun salute over the storm?”

“Funny,” Cross fires back, dry as a bone. “I had to make a choice.”

“Next time shoot a flare gun directly at the station.” Lev returns to patting down bodies, emptying pockets, disarming weapons. “This is why I prefer fists. You’re too out of practice. What happens when you’re out of bullets? What then?”

Cross brushes a stray teal hair from my cheek. “I did run out.”

No arrogance, just truth.

Lev’s head pops up, one side of his wide mouth tilted higher.

Cross ends any admiring before it begins. “Scrub and dump the rest of them. My phone went for a swim, I’ll find a payphone and make arrangements.”

In a soft, wavering voice that makes me feel like an intruder, Lev says, “Don’t—Don’t go too far.” He clears his throat loudly. Looks at his feet. “Wouldn’t want to have to show you how to punch again.”

To match the Russian’s concern, Cross’s tone changes to that of an older brother when the little one has a nightmare. “You hardly touched me.” And even gentler still, he says, “I’ll stay close. I promise.”

Cross moves us away from the shore, and without Lev’s game of Search that Corpse! to distract me, a cold truth gnaws at me.

I’m hungry.

“Well?” Cross’s eyebrow arches. “What grade do we get, professor? How many answers are right?”

He’s upbeat.

I want a freshly baked scone. “Let me go.” My voice is tight with guilt.

The obsidian in his eyes darkens as they lower to mine. “Not a possibility. You only just stopped shaking. If I release you, you’ll turn to ice.”

“Please,” I beg weakly.

“Pretty manners to soothe the savage beast.” His laugh is weak and diffident. “Apologies, but I’m not that kind of monster. You’re stuck with me.”

“I’ll be—”

“You fell into the sea, Leni. You stopped breathing. You are no more fine than I am.“ Cross’s voice is gravelly and low, as if he’s just woken up from a long nap. The sound floats over me, pricking deliciously.

“I didn’t fall, I jumped.”

I did. I jumped into the ocean and I’m … absolutely fine. Wet but warm, half naked and salt sprayed but whole. Well. Verging on downright peachy.

Meanwhile, Cross is in tatters. Destroyed. Open wounds on his face and chest, a bad limp, his voice modulates in and out of broken. “Do not beg to be free of me right as I got you back,” he says with a teasing edge I don’t entirely believe. “Please.”

A straight shot of pleasure coils within me at the small growl in his plea.

“No.” He seems as surprised as I am when I struggle in his arms. “No let me go. Stop joking. Stop talking, just Stop.” Everything stop. Even me. Stop feeling okay with everything, stop focusing on the slight caress of Cross’s fingers in my hair.

It’s revolting, how close I’m holding him, how I’ve looped my arms around him, how my chin is buried in his neck, my body balanced on the crook of his arm. I clutch at him like a hero, like he’s a fairy tale come to rescue me.

He’s nothing of the sort.

“Those are bodies,” I snap, shaking with anger. “They’re dead. You killed them. I …” I killed them. I can’t say it.

“Ten more won’t tip the scales for my damnation.” Blackguard through and through, soiled and selfish.

I wriggle to get away again, and he relents, offering me help down. I shake him off, gut twisting in knots.

He reaches to steady me and I evade, stumbling backward. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

From the corner of my eye, I watch Lev drag dead creatures into the water, leaving winding pink trails for the waves to feast on, and my stomach launches into my throat. Finally.

“You’re in shock,” Cross says carefully, barely louder than the sirens now. “Breathe.”

“I’m not in shock, I’m repulsed. I …” I recoil from him farther, mortified at the idea of him touching me, of finding pleasure at a time like this. “You’re worse than what they said. Barbaric and heartless and ...”

He takes my elbow, breaking through the ice forming on my skin. “Calm. Down.”

“And cruel! And terrible!”

“We have a deal,” he snaps, winding me into him like a runaway kite. “And in light of recent events”—he makes a great show of sliding his eyes up and down my scantily clad form—“I very much intend to see it through. Regardless of how many insults fall off your sweet little tongue.”

A heavy stone drops into my stomach. Our deal feels like an eternity ago. An agreement I made with a different, better person.

“Deal’s off,” I declare through chattering teeth.

“It’s not. Whether you want it or not.”

He can’t mean—“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” It’s not challenging. It’s self-deprecating. As if reading the question in my head.

If he can thrust a knife through Odren’s heart without remorse, what won’t he do?

I misjudged this male. As poorly as I misjudged myself, overestimating my abilities.

Reckless. Dangerous.

“Good,” he says tightly, as if horror shines in my eyes.

I’m trapped in a cushion of warm muscle before I can call him reprehensible.

“Don’t look so scared, Leni.” His dark words curl around me, peel the fight from my blood. “One day, you’ll wake up and forget everything about me.”

He doesn’t know how right he is.