Page 40 of Little Blue

He curses low under his breath. “Let’s just get you to Ilya, yeah?”

My shoulders slump, even as my heart picks up speed. The organ is a traitorous one. “He’s a monster.”

“He’s—”

“See! Even you think he’s a monster.” He steadies me when I begin the bodily sway to pitch myself over the handrail. Oh, what a way to go.

“Ilya is,” he pulls in breath. “I think you would be surprised, if you gave him a chance. With you he’s…”

Suddenly, it’s like I can’t breathe. “With me he’s what?”

“Different. Softer.”

I snort a laugh that brings the amusement back to Luka’s brown eyes. “If this is soft, I’d hate to see what his normal hard is.”

Grave seriousness hardens the lines of Luka’s face. “You would.”

I heave a sigh as I look up the daunting climb of waving stairs. “Then you better get me to your master before it’s—” I cast my hands dramatically as I do my very best impersonation of the Queen of Hearts. “Off with your head!”

Luka’s brows lift high and his lips part in what can only be described as shock, before I hear a low, and somehow contradictorily thunderous voice my body would know anywhere.

“I’ll take it from here, Luka.”

Honestly, I could escape him tomorrow at dawn—never see him again—and my body would still know the distinct rumble of his impossibly deep voice, rich with power and thick with gravel, a thousand years from now.

Stiltedly, I shift to look up at the man. He’s glowering down at us, and he’s not wearing a shirt.

Holy. Muscles.

I snicker. I can’t help myself.

His blue eyes darken, and Luka stiffens beside me. “She only had one, boss.”

Ilya begins to close the distance between us, and I suddenly don’t feel so drunk anymore as I whisper, “If you’re going to take his head, I’d prefer not to watch.”

Luka makes a dry noise of amusement. Ilya’s eyes flash, but he says not one word to me as he lifts me into his arms, cradling me like a princess—or a bride.

Oh, jeez.

Then he’s leaving Luka—head intact—in the middle of the stairs.

I only attempt to wiggle from the prison of his arms once, before I give in with a huff as I settle against his warm, bare chest. He smells so, so good.

“You smell—” The word divine drifts off, and his brows slam in a frown.

“I just showered.”

Unbidden and unwelcome, an image of Ilya, naked, invades my mind like he invaded my life. Through sheer force.

I can’t help but wonder if the power he exudes extends to his naked form. If the bare chest I’m currently pressed against is any indication, I’m going to go with a big, fat, yes.

“I didn’t mean you smelled bad.” Why did I say that?

He makes a noise. “I thought you didn’t drink.”

“I didn’t.”

“But?”

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