Page 91 of Ivory Ashes

I’m cradled in his arms, but his jaw is set and firm. He looks angry.

“Put me down,” I repeat.

He gives a quick shake of his head. His arms tighten around my body.

Mikhail carries me down the hall and into his room.

His comforter is thrown back like he got up in a hurry. When he lays me down, the mattress is still warm.

I’m on Mikhail’s side of the bed.

In Mikhail’s room.

I’m painfully aware that the large t-shirt I’m wearing barely reaches my thighs. But that doesn’t matter once I watch Mikhail walk across the room to close the door. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs. His body is broad and strong. Muscles ripple with every step. The poetry that could be written about his arms alone could fill several erotic collections.

Heat burns down my body. Both because of Mikhail and his body, but also because he scooped me out of bed and brought me to his room like I was a child. Desire and embarrassment twine together until I couldn’t pull them apart even if I wanted to.

Mikhail slides into bed next to me and I sit up. “I can go back to my room.”

“Stay.” It isn’t a question or a command. It’s some strange in-between space. The in-between space where Mikhail and I seem to always exist.

“Why?”

“I heard you crying in your sleep.” He cushions his head on his arm and looks over at me. “I couldn’t let you suffer alone.”

I want to tell him that I’m fine. I have bad dreams all the time. I don’t need anyone to save me. I can save myself.

Instead, tears burn hot and heavy down my cheeks. I have no idea where it’s all coming from, but the tap is on and I can’t turn it off.

Without a word, Mikhail grabs me by the waist and curls me against his body. He takes deep breaths and, slowly, my body responds. I inhale and exhale with him until my tears dry and my chest doesn’t ache.

Until it’s hard to tell where my body stops and his begins.

“Go to sleep, Viviana,” he whispers against my neck. “I’ll take care of you.”

I know it’s not true. Anatoly tried to convince me of the same thing and I built an argument against him.

But there is no argument in the world that could convince me not to sink into the warmth of Mikhail’s body.

It’s been so long since anyone took care of me. So long since there was someone I could count on. I want to count on Mikhail… even if it’s only for tonight.

His arms tighten around me, and I snuggle against him.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel safe. I close my eyes and drift to sleep.

33

MIKHAIL

“Is bacon made from chicken?” Dante asks as he slips his third strip from the plate at the center of the table.

Viviana plucks it out of his hand just as he tries to take a bite. “No, it comes from pigs. And you’ve had two strips already. Eat your fruit and then you can have some more.”

He grumbles, but stabs a strawberry with his fork. “Do pigs come from chickens?”

Viviana sighs and launches into an explanation on why interspecies births aren’t possible, and it’s all so… normal.

I can’t remember the last time I sat down at a table and had a meal. Since Viviana and Dante moved in, I’ve taken most meals in my office. Or I get home too late and eat leftovers at the island in the dark.

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