Page 194 of Emerald Malice

He’s looking at Yelena.

“Misha, please. Just trust me. Go to your room and get some proper rest. On a real bed. You’re dead on your feet.”

He shakes his head, looking from me to Yelena again and again. “Something is going on. You’re going to do something you shouldn’t be doing.”

“Prygat!” Yelena snaps. “This doesn’t concern you, boy.”

“Yelena!” I gasp at the venom in her voice.

She whirls towards me, spittle flying as she jabs a finger at Misha. “Don’t trust him, Natalia. The boy’s a spy! He’s been informing on you for months, I know it!”

“Yelena, that’s enough. Misha isn’t a spy.”

But she is backing away from him, glaring at him like he’s the devil himself. “You’re blinded by your kind heart, Natalia. The boy is Nikolai’s man.”

Misha hasn’t moved since she accused him. His face is pale and his hands are balled into fists. “Natalia, get away from her,” he spits.

“What in the—? Both of you, stop,” I beg. “This is what Nikolai does. He’s turning us against one another and he’s not even here. Don’t give him that kind of power.”

But I might as well be screaming into the void for all the good it does me. Yelena and Misha aren’t listening.

Misha’s eyes narrow, and he shifts closer to me. “Remi never liked Yelena. You remember that, right? He always growls whenever she’s close. Just like he did in the hospital when that ‘nurse’ showed up.”

He’s not lying. Remi and Yelena never warmed to each other.

“Misha,” I try again, “please, just trust?—”

“Enough of this!”

I glance back just in time to see Yelena swing something large and heavy towards us. I jump out of the way and Misha stumbles back, but the butt of the antique fire poker stabs him in the shoulder.

He lets out a strangled cry and drops to the floor, blood already bubbling up from the wound.

“Yelena!” I scream. “What the hell?!”

But Yelena isn’t listening. She’s advancing on Misha with the poker raised, ready to strike again.

I grab a hold of it and try to pry it out of her hands, but for an old woman, she’s fucking strong.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” I cry, no longer caring if we’re overheard. “He’s a child!”

“And you’re a fool!” Yelena shrieks. “If you don’t come with me now, all will be lost.” She drops the poker and snares my wrist again, fingers pressing down hard on the bruises she left there.

“Yelena, you’re hurting me?—”

“We don’t have time. We must?—”

But her words are cut off by the crack of ceramic as it splinters against the back of her head.

Yelena’s eyes roll backwards and she collapses to the ground, just as thundering footsteps echo down the hall.

Seconds later, Andrey, Shura, and Leonty flood into the living room. “What the fuck happened here?” Andrey demands, gawking at Yelena’s form with an unreadable look on his face.

I can barely make my lips form the words. “Misha cracked a vase over her head.”

Misha’s temples are slick with sweat. He’s shaking from head to toe, but he doesn’t look remotely apologetic. “Yeah,” he confesses. “And I’d do it again.”

Shura and Leonty scoop up Yelena’s limp form and move her to the sofa. Andrey’s face is pure wrath as he turns on Misha. He looks terrifying. If I were Misha, I’d be shitting my pants.

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