Page 27 of Ivory Oath

Worry etches a line between Mikhail’s brows for a second before he scoops me up effortlessly.

I know I shouldn’t enjoy being cradled against his body as much as I am. It will only hurt even worse later when he’s gone and I’m alone again. But I just had the worst week of my life and I’m only human. So I say to hell with it, lean my cheek against his warm chest, and loop my arms around his neck.

My eyes flutter closed without my permission. I should stay awake and make sure I know where Mikhail is taking me. Every cell in my body trusts him, but I’m not sure if I should. He’s still the man who kept my son and sent me out into the dark to fend for myself.

I manage to keep them open long enough to look around the main level of the house.

“This is…” I frown, peeking over Mikhail’s shoulder at the vaguely familiar oil portrait hanging above the marble fireplace. “My family owns this house.”

I’ve only been here twice before. Once, the weekend the purchase went through. The rooms were all empty and I got in trouble for sliding down the hallway in my stockings. The second time was after my mom’s funeral. I guess my crying was a distraction for my father. He sent me to Staten Island to “get over it.”

“He came to see me,” I whisper as the picture starts to take shape. “He’s working with Trofim.”

Mikhail’s arm tightens around my waist. “Your father is going to get what’s coming to him, too.”

I don’t even care. I lay my head on his shoulder again and close my eyes. As long as Mikhail is holding me like this, I can forget everything else.

For now.

I drift in and out of sleep. Voices break through my subconscious, but nothing alarming. When I hear Raoul, I know everything is fine. If it wasn’t, he’d still be fighting. It’s a relief because I can’t physically keep my eyes open anymore.

“The house is clear,” Raoul reports brusquely. “Men are looking for Trofim. I’ll let you know as soon as I know something.” His voice softens as he adds, “How is she?”

“Weak. Exhausted.” Mikhail spits the words like they make him angry.

“Have you asked her about?—”

“That can wait,” Mikhail growls. “Right now, I need to make sure she’s okay.”

Even half-asleep, my heart jolts.

He could mean a thousand different things. He might need me to be okay because the mass grave they’re digging for the men they killed tonight is already full. Or he might just want me to be fully cogent before he interrogates me about whatever Raoul was trying to mention before Mikhail cut him off.

Or—and I hold this thought loosely, afraid of what will happen if I cling to it—Mikhail might still care about me.

He settles me into the passenger seat of his car and I rest my forehead against the cool window. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” Mikhail’s warmth leeches into me as he buckles my seatbelt.

Alarm bells I don’t fully understand start going off.

“I’m tired,” I respond.

“I know.” The car starts and the vibration lulls me into even deeper relaxation. “But I need to make sure you’re okay, Viviana.”

There it is again. That vague sentence that could mean a million different things.

I’m so focused on what that means that it takes me a long time to consider what’s going to happen when the doctor finds out I’m pregnant.

But it’s too late to dwell on that. I’m already breathing deeply, giving into the rumble of the car. As I fade, I feel a warm hand spread across my thigh. I want to squeeze the hand, but I can’t.

I don’t dare to hope that it’s there for my sake.

12

VIVIANA

I’ve never been so happy to see a hospital gown.

The ride to the hospital couldn’t have been more than half an hour, but the power nap revived me. I woke up in the hospital parking lot with a head full of questions, half of which revolved around getting this godforsaken dress off of my body as soon as possible.

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