Page 163 of Emerald Malice

Andrey points. “We have a location. Are you ready?”

Shura is already backing out of the room. “We leave in ten.”

He disappears and Leonty follows him out. I cling to Andrey’s arm, too many fears to choose from swirling in my head.

Andrey seems to know exactly what I’m thinking. “I will be careful, lastochka. You have nothing to fear.”

Oh, how wrong he is.

“Andrey, please…”

“I’ll get her back safely.”

“I need you to be safe, too.”

His eyes soften as he pulls me to him, pressing a tender kiss to my lips. “I’m still wearing your locket, little bird. How can I not be?”

With that, he’s gone, leaving me with nothing to do but wait.

I retreat back to the patio where Mila’s still sitting with Misha and Remi. Leonty must’ve filled her in before he left, because she’s ashen-faced and picking at her cuticles.

This time, I take her hand and pull it onto my lap. She gives me a distracted smile that betrays just how worried she is.

“Do you ever get used to this?” I ask. “Waiting here when you know the people you love are in danger?”

“I wouldn’t know. I never had anyone I cared about before now,” she admits softly. “I never had anyone to wait for.”

Her voice breaks on the last word. I squeeze her hand tighter.

Misha looks at the two of us, something unreadable crossing his face. Then he bolts to his feet. “I should’ve gone with them.”

“No!” Mila and I cry at the same time.

“It’s too dangerous, Misha,” I add. “And you’re?—”

“Don’t tell me I’m a child. I’m not like other kids my age.” His eyes flash defiantly and, despite the fact that I know he’s right, I can’t fathom letting him walk into any danger.

“But you’re still a kid. You deserve to be protected.”

From danger. From the realities of this world. Misha shouldn’t even know this kind of dark underbelly exists.

“I want to earn my place. I want to be the one protecting the people I care about.”

The frustration in his voice is obvious. And it terrifies me.

Nervous as I was to see Andrey go and scared as I am that he’ll be hurt—imagining Misha out there in the field, exposed to guns and enemies and death, hurts so much worse.

My hand curls protectively around my stomach. It’s the same feeling I get every time I consider that my child won’t be safe in this world.

I’ve never let myself really think about it.

But it’s here now.

And it isn’t going away.

“Maybe one day, you’ll get to,” I tell him slowly, mostly to keep my voice from shaking. “If that’s your choice. But not until you’re a man. Not until you’re old enough to understand the risk you’re taking.”

“I understand now.”

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