4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Z oya

Am I crying? As I mount the few steps to the doorway, I reach up to find my cheeks are slick with tears. When was the last time I cried? Not since that first night Max backhanded me and told me that if I didn’t please him he would turn me in to the authorities for exportation. It marked the end of my hopes and dreams that America—and Max—would provide a safe haven for me. A brighter future.

I’m not quite sure why my body decided to release tears now, especially since I’m in the presence of the scariest being I’ve ever known.

I follow him, my head down, partly because I don’t want him to see me cry, and partly because I don’t want him to think I’m uppity. Direct eye contact is something that makes Max irate and I certainly don’t want to make this wolven mad. I got enough of a glimpse of those huge fangs to know I’d do practically anything to keep them from tearing into me.

It’s dim in here, and nothing like the police stations I see on TV. It’s more like the programs they show where biker gangs hang out. There’s one room off each side of this hallway. Both are filled with couches and upholstered chairs so ancient they look worse than the furniture in Max’s apartment. A few of the couches face each other and seem designed to encourage conversation.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” He motions to a couch that looks like it was red velvet when it was manufactured. Now it’s a pale coral and all the nap seems to have been ground away over time.

Terror sizzles along my veins as I realize he’s probably going to sit down next to me. I know what happens when a man sits on a couch with a woman. Soon, the distance between us gets eaten up and we’re sitting thigh to thigh, and then…

He walks to an overstuffed chair, pushes it away from me until the back hits the far wall, and then sits. Instead of leaning forward, piercing me with his gaze—his eyes are silver, more otherworldly than even his wolf-like ears and tail—he sits back and rests his gaze on the wall above my head.

My insides heave as though shaken by an earthquake. It’s as though a long-forgotten puzzle piece locks into place deep in my mind… maybe my soul. By every action, every word, this male is showing me he wants me to be at ease. Is it true? Can I let down my guard, even a little, with this wolven?

When he asks, his voice calm and low, why I need help, words flow out of my mouth. I hadn’t thought I would tell him. As he led me here, I didn’t think I could manage it, but my tale spills out.

I left my parents’ farm outside Bakhmut, Ukraine to find work. My parents didn’t want me to go, but I was twenty-one and determined to be independent. I worked for several years in a restaurant making my way from dishwasher to waitress and helping the baker early in the mornings.

Although waiting tables made me more money, I loved baking more than anything. I was foolish enough to believe I might eventually make a living at it and perhaps one day afford a shop of my own.

The small second-floor apartment I rented was the size of my bedroom back home, but it was mine. The salary was minimal, but with tips and the leftovers the cook would save for me, I was housed and fed, and I was learning to bake.

Then the Russians attacked, and the restaurant closed. The owner was leaving the city but said I could stay in the apartment. There was no work. My meager savings weren’t going to last. I kept assuring my parents I was fine because the war had destroyed most of their crops and they had to feed themselves and my seven siblings.

Desperate to leave the country, I met Max online. He wooed me, filling me with hope and promises. I didn’t tell my parents until after Max bought my airplane ticket. They begged me not to go. We fought, but I was stupid and headstrong and didn’t listen.

Max met me at the airport with flowers, chocolates, hugs, and a quick kiss, then whisked me off to his apartment where the dream swiftly became a nightmare. He started hurting me only days after I arrived. He confiscated my phone and wouldn’t let me contact my parents unless he was monitoring the call. I became little more than a prisoner.

I tell Lash how I’m desperate, that I’m afraid of being detained or deported, that I have no one.

“I don’t know vhere to turn.” It’s only now that I’ve told him everything that I lift my gaze to him.

I’m not sure what I expected to find in his expression. Distaste? Irritation? Disbelief? Surprisingly, I find his eyebrows drawn together, his expression filled with compassion.

“It’s Friday night, Zoya. Not much we can do for you over the weekend with government offices closed. We have a few human allies. I imagine we can connect you with a lawyer on Monday. In the meantime, I’ll find you someone to stay with here in the Zone.”

For the first time since I sat down, my fear swirls again. A stranger? Someone who might hurt me? Betray me?

He must see my panic, because he leans back into his chair, puts his palms toward me in a manner I assume is meant to calm me, and says, “There are a few human women here in the Zone. Mated to Others. I’ll see if one of them can let you sleep on their couch. You’ll be safe, Zoya. I just want to help.”

“So I vould stay with human voman and her male mate?” My voice just betrayed me. I imagine my fear is obvious.

“These are good people. I’m sure once you meet them—”

“Lash! You back from patrol?”

Blin! Just when I’m getting comfortable, another male barges in, a red-haired male with piercing blue eyes. Terror flashes through me.

“Fang! Don’t come—”

I think Lash was trying to protect me, keep me from being terrified, but he was too late. The male called Fang has already burst into this room. Although I know I shouldn’t react like this, I can’t control my urge to push myself into the far edge of the couch, place my feet on the seat, hug my arms around my legs, and tuck myself into a little ball.

“Fang, this is Zoya. She’s come for protection. We’re going to give it to her.”