Page 16 of Malevolent King

“What doeslastochkamean?”

“Little swallow.”

“Like the bird?”

“Yes, like the bird. You look like a little bird who’s flown her cage tonight.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t hate the nickname, but was it so obvious that it was my first night out?

“I’ll have another old-fashioned,” I said, and then a pang of manners hit me. “Two,” I tacked on lamely.

The bartender moved away, leaving me in awkward silence with the man beside me.

“You drink two of these, and you’ll need to be carried out of here,” he said conversationally.

“The second one is for you. You said you don’t have any money, so…” God, why was talking to a handsome man so hard? Books and movies hadn’t prepared me for it.

I could feel his gaze on the side of my face and steeled myself to glance at him.

His lips were turned up in amusement again. “Two drinks? Are you trying to get me drunk? I warn you, I have a high tolerance for alcohol.”

“No, of course not! I just didn’t want to be rude, but I guess you know nothing about that,” I pointed out, my annoyance with the mysterious man growing as he put me on the back foot. “You stole my drink,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, I did, because you left it unattended in a bar. Anyone could have put something in it. You’re welcome.”

I turned to him fully, and my knees bumped his thigh. I considered his words, and blinked at him. “Huh.”

He grinned at me, suddenly transforming his already handsome face, hitting me with a smile that knocked my breath from my chest. I struggled to breathe as the bartender placed the fresh drinks on the bar and moved away, clearly remembering whose tab I was using.

“Who do you belong to?” the tattooed mystery man wondered, sending me back to reality with a thump.

“Excuse me?”

“Whose are you?” The guy twisted in his chair, looking at the room’s occupants.

“I don’t belong to anyone, thanks very much. I’m here with my cousin, Silvio De Sanctis,” I said primly.

He raised an eyebrow, but I couldn’t read how serious he was.

“Is that right? So, you’re a De Sanctis? What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?” I parried.

He studied me for a moment longer as though genuinely considering whether to tell me. “Nikolai. Nikolai Chernov. Most people call me Niko. And you are?”

“Sofia. Sofia De Sanctis.” Before I could question it, I stuck my hand out to shake his.

He smirked, taking my hand but not shaking it. He wrapped his fingers around mine and squeezed lightly. It felt oddly intimate. His pointer finger slid up my wrist and pressed against my pulse, sending it through the roof. No one touched me. No one except my father, and that was only for dispensing his measures of discipline. A kind touch? I couldn’t even remember the last time.

“Sofia,vieni qui,” Silvio called across the room, and the spell was broken.

Niko let go of my hand, and I turned to look at my cousin. He was focused on the game and tense as hell.

“Off you go. Your master is calling you,” Niko said, turning back to the bar.

I felt dismissed and disappointed, as well as stung.

I got up, forced my shoulders back, and held my head high.“He’s not my master, but thanks for the put-down,” I muttered.

---