Page 11 of Twisted Cage

“Yes.” The word is a whisper on my lips. My skin is on fire, the blood rushing under it flowing to all the right places, leaving me throbbing and desperate to be touched by far more than just his hand. I squeeze my thighs together, the ache only growing with every passing second.

The grimace is swift and he yanks his hand away. I catch the glint of his knife in the candlelight before he fists the side of my bodice where it meets the slit above my hip and slices clean through. Gliding the tip under the straps, he slices them away too until the fabric sinks to the bottom of the tub under me.

“I hated that dress,” he mutters, sheathing the knife once again.

I sink down deeper in the water, craving the warmth on my skin. “No, you didn’t. You just hated that other men saw me in it.”

He doesn’t look at me. Keeping his eyes averted, the cords in his neck flex. “You’re lucky, Pcholka. If it wasn’t for your panic attack, I’d have you over my knee right now as punishment for what you’ve done tonight.”

“Your idea of punishment would only guarantee I’ll do it again.”

He freezes next to me, his fingers turning white with the force of gripping the edge of the tub, the air pulsing between us.

When I settle my fingers over his, tracing along his index finger, his fingers flex—but then he’s on his feet and walking away.

6

KONSTANTIN

Every minute she’s in that tub is sheer torture. I refuse to turn around. It’s bad enough I have her naked body burned in my mind.

I thought I could keep myself under control, but then I cut that fabric from her body and not even being right under the very church where I held her during her baptism could stop the lust flooding me.

She’s always been mine, but not like this. We were never supposed to be this. As soon as she’s safely under Nikolaj’s protection, I have to leave. I won’t risk stoking this new awareness between us. I won’t encourage her. And I won’t survive a lifetime of resisting her just to watch her with another man. I cannot bear witness to her having his children, loving him, building a life with him.

I’ve done it before. Her mother was everything in a woman. Beautiful, full of life, funny, kind, and I spent every day wondering how a person like her walked this world untouched.

Until Maksim broke her. Slowly, bit by bit, until that light in her eyes dimmed once and for all.

I thought Nikoletta’s mother was the love of my life.

Now—I have a terrible feeling I was wrong. I wanted her with everything I had, but that was the want of a man in his early twenties. A man who, despite the abuse he suffered, didn’t have one damn clue how dark this world could really be.

Twenty-six years have passed since she fell for my best friend—turned enemy. Never in all the years of watching them together did I feel an ounce of possession which takes hold of me now that I’m near Nikoletta again.

I want to punish all who desire her. The need to mark her as mine is a force sweeping through me. I want to spar with her in a way that’s loud and vicious but will be so satisfying when she succumbs.

Every bond born of a godfather and goddaughter withers away with the awareness growing between us. How appropriate that it dies in the confines of this fucking crypt. Fear—a feeling so unfamiliar—flourishes here. Not for me, but for her, for what will happen between us and the damage it will cause to her.

No—less than twenty-four hours and Nikolaj will be here. I won’t let it get any further than it already has. Once he has her, I’m gone.

The sound of water sloshing has me whipping around. Fucking hell, she’s standing there, shivering, water sluicing over her skin, every inch of her bared to me.

“A towel, Kostya.”

I mutter a curse and stalk over to the shelf just out of reach. “Here.” I hold it out without looking at her, but I don’t need to see her face to know what she’s thinking. Her amused laugh, the kind of knowing laughter women possess, it’s a part of her now and it is aimed at me.

“It’s just a body, Konstantin. You’ve seen them before.”

“Child, do not test me.”

“I’m not a child.”

This would all be a hell of a lot easier if she were. “You’re acting like one.”

With the towel tucked securely around her, she shakes back her wet hair and laughs. “No, Kostya. That’s you. You’re unbalanced. I kind of like this side of you.”

The way she reads me steals every thought from my head. So instead of saying anything, all that comes out is a grunt.

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