Page 15 of Lethal Queen

“Yes,” Damien replied, squeezing my shoulder and stepping away from me. I felt his absence like a sudden chill.

“You’re arrested on suspicion of murdering Mark Ivanov. I need you to come with me to the station.”

Jonathan shook his head, but he didn’t look angry; he was dismissive. He thought the police had nothing on Damien, too.

“Is there a reason you couldn’t apprehend me when I was alone, instead of scaring my wife?” Damien asked calmly, striding towards the officers.

A lump formed in my throat, panic swelling again at the sight of them detaining him, snapping handcuffs on his wrists and wrenching him towards the door.

“Hey!” I yelled, my voice thick with unshed tears. “You hurt him and I’ll be filing my own charges.”

“Down, lioness,” Jonathan murmured, catching my elbow before I could follow them, keeping me in the gallery even when the police hauled Damien out of sight. My stomach cramped. I hated it. I couldn’t stand not being able to lay eyes on him.

When silence fell over the gallery again, all our guards crawled back out of the woodwork.

“What are we doing, boss?” a beefy woman asked, her face oddly reminiscent of Serenity’s. “Staying or going back to the house?”

“Your choice,” Jonathan said to me, nothing but unruffled calm on his stubbled face.

All the magic had drained from the paintings, the gallery tainted. “I can’t stay. I want to go home so I’m there when Damien gets back.”

“You wanna hold my hand like you held Saint’s?” he teased, giving me a sly look.

I rolled my eyes. “I can hold my own hand if I get desperate. But—Jonathan, I want a weapon.” I couldn’t wear my gun under this dress with so many sheer panels, but I needed its weight in my hand.

“Wait until we’re in the car and I’ll give you one of mine.”

“Thanks,” I said, losing fire rapidly, despair taking its place at an alarming rate. My husband was in the back of a police car, being taken to a station I had no guarantee he’d ever get out of.

“He’ll be out before you can miss that grumpy bastard,” Jonathan promised, leading us out of a back door instead of down the front steps.

“Too late for that,” I murmured.

CHAPTER 8

VASILISA

The twins and I sat on the balcony at home, watching the busy road below. Well, I watched the road; Sparrow and Serenity fought over a rope chew toy despite owning two each. It was Friday night in London and traffic was as loud and fearsome as ever, but I didn’t take my eyes off the road below, waiting for the sight of one car slowing.

What if Damien didn’t come back tonight? Jonathan promised he would, but I knew he could be held for two days in custody. I’d obsessively researched it as soon as I got home, so I knew they had to let him out in forty-eight hours.

“Or charge him,” I whispered, a lump in my throat. If they found enough evidence, they could charge him with murder.

“I think I’m a bad person,” I told Sparrow when she rested her head on my knee, the chew toy of victory in her mouth. “I care more about getting Damien back than I do about Mark being dead.”

She blinked her big, glossy eyes up at me.

Serenity whined when a tear dripped off my chin, nudging the table away to get closer to me.

“Thanks, girls,” I choked out, stroking their big heads and sniffling, letting the tears fall freely.

We all jumped to our feet when the front door slammed open. Apprehension dripped like ice down my spine. I had my fingers curled around my gun in a second, my back flattened to the wall in another. Artur had found me. I didn’t know how he’d got past the security in the basement car park or the guards on every level of the building. Oh god, what if he’d shot Jonathan like he did Lionel? I covered my mouth with my hand, trapping a strangled cry.

“Sit,” I whispered at the girls, my heart skipping when they sat in plain view of the house. What if Artur shot them? He was cruel and heartless, and sometimes I thoughthewas the one who killed my cat, not Dad, and—

“Vasilisa?” a musical voice called. Feminine. It sent shivers down my arms, preternatural instinct warning me that danger stalked closer.“Come out, come out, little lamb…”

“Jesus, Cameo,” another woman hissed, high heels clicking across the laminate floor. “You sound like a sadist.”

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