Page 1 of Ivory Oath

1

VIVIANA

It was all a dream.

Had to be, right? I’m back in an unfamiliar room with chains around my wrists. Dreaming is the only explanation.

I blink through the heaviness in my eyelids and try to come to quick grips with what is real.

I thought Mikhail saving me from Iakov’s prison was real, but… I’m still here. Pacing around a hotel room holding a positive pregnancy test and calculating my next moves felt real, but this drab, windowless room makes Motel 8 look like the Ritz-Carlton.

Iakov Novikov must have drugged me again and moved me to another cell in his maze-like underground prison. At least this cell has a bed. Small mercies.

I test the chains, yanking them against the metal footboard a few times. They’re heavier than the silver ones I had in the other room. They rattle loudly against the bed frame, the sound like an ice pick cleaving through my aching head.

My brain feels too big for my skull, the way it always does after some heavy-duty crying. Yet another reason why my dream feels so freaking real.

It must have been the drugs. Whatever he gave me made me hallucinate and now, I’m hungover.

I shrug my shoulders around my ears for some semblance of hearing protection and pull on the chains with all I have. They scream like the world is having labor contractions, but they hold fast. Even if they did break free, it’s not as if I could Incredible Hulk my way through the locked door to my cell. I’m sure there are half a dozen more locked doors between me and anything resembling freedom.

Panic constricts around my chest like a snake—a snake who really needs to read the vibe of the room. Is now a time to be worried about small spaces or should I instead be worried about the psychopath holding me captive who wants to torture and murder me for revenge? I think the answer to that is obvious. And yet I have to take deep breaths to stave off my oldest, most annoying friend: claustrophobia.

When I close my eyes, I’m right back in the dream. I can still see Mikhail standing in the door of my cell. I can feel the way his icy blue eyes scraped over me, assessing me for injuries even as he held himself back. I could tell he wanted me as much as I wanted him. Despite everything, the pull between us was still there.

Or, I dreamt it was there, anyway…

I shake my head and rub my fists into my eyes.

It was just a dream.

Or a nightmare, I suppose. I wouldn’t call being exiled from the mansion where your son is living by the man you are almost definitely in love with a dream. Add to that having no more than a few thousand dollars in your pocket while one of the most powerful, well-connected men in the city is after you and I’d say we’re firmly into “night terror” territory.

I breathe in and out, massaging my temples to manage the pain. Suddenly, a tidal wave of nausea crashes over me.

I barely have time to lean over the edge of the bed before my stomach is turning itself inside out. I heave over the concrete floor over and over again. Nothing comes up, but that doesn’t stop my body from trying a few more times, just for shits and giggles.

When my stomach finally settles, I fall back into bed, shivering and weak.

So the pregnancy is probably real.

Test or not, I’ve suspected it for a few days, anyway. Even while my life has been falling apart, it’s been hard to ignore the dizziness, nonstop nausea, and the way my nipples nudging against the inside of my t-shirt brings tears of genuine pain to my eyes. The tears of pain being additional to the tears of fear, sadness, anger, and every other human emotion. I’ve become an emotional water fountain, just like I was when I was pregnant with Dante.

The newest pregnancy symptom, apparently, is incredibly vivid nightmares.

When I close my eyes, I can relive it moment by moment as if it just happened. I can still smell the musty motel room. I can feel the weight of the pregnancy test against my palm.

When I picture opening the door to my room and finding Trofim on the other side, the same dart of panic sinks deep into my chest.

It’s wild to me that my brain even dreamed that up. Trofim is the last person on earth I’d ever expect to see standing outside my door. Mostly because he isn’t on Earth anymore.

Thanks to me.

It’s even more wild to me that, even in my shocked stupor, Dream Me was quick-thinking enough to shove the pregnancy test into my pocket as Trofim backed me into the hotel room.

Then he lunged for me and I… I woke up.

Here.

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