Page 24 of Vicious Knight

Except I can’t forget him as easily as Mom did.

My body feels heavy after that trip down memory lane, and tears well in my eyes.

I get off the bed and pull out my storage box from under it. I have a little trinket box I took from home. Inside is something that should have stayed in L.A. but I couldn’t part with it.

I pull out the little ring my father had made for me. He was going to give it to me on my sixteenth birthday.

At least Mom still honored him by giving it to me, but she gave it to me when we’d just gone to live with Levgen. It didn’t matter if she was doing so because she was trying to rid my father from her mind. I was happy to have it.

The ring has my father’s family crest embossed in the center, but on the inside is the inscription in Russian: To my daughter Annika, love you forever.

This is the only thing I have left of my father. I always feel close to him when I look at it. Always, even at two in the morning when I should be asleep in bed.

Who am I kidding? I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Not even the Sandman can help me.

Feeling frustrated, I sit on the fluffy white rug and stare at the ring.

I usually don’t keep it on me—or anywhere anyone can find it—but I feel like I need it now. Just for tonight.

I push to my feet and set the ring on the nightstand. Then I pull on a sweatshirt and yoga pants, and slip the ring into the inside pocket.

I’m going to do what I always do when I get like this—write music.

The library here is open twenty four seven and they have sections there for people like me who like to vocalize when they’re writing music.

They also have a café that’s open at this hour too, but that closes in fifteen minutes. If I hurry I can catch them open and grab a cappuccino.

It’s going to be a long night, so I need it.

Half an hour later I’m seated in a comfortable spot in the library.

There’s no one around but me, and it’s so quiet I can hear my heart beat and myself breathe.

I grab one of the worktables by the window. It offers a great view of the moonlight kissing the surface of the river. The trees in the backdrop look like an army of shadows.

I sip my cappuccino and lose myself in the scenery while musical notes bounce around in my mind.

There’s a stillness about the campus tonight with anticipation heavy in the air, like time is waiting for something to happen. It feels like a macabre precipice between worlds, between life and death.

I love it.

And I love being able to admire my surroundings when I’m working. My pieces are inspired by landscapes, moods, and atmosphere.

There was a melody teasing me on the flight from L.A. I wrote down the first verse in my notebook while I was on the plane. The melody came back to me yesterday when I was talking to Isabelle in the café.

I can hear it again now, but within the still silence and the dark beauty before me the melody deepens and grows the longer I stare.

I decide to write down what I can hear so I don’t lose it, but when I turn around I find Thorne Ivanov sitting right in front of me.

The fright that shoots through my body at the sudden sight of him devastates my nerves worse than the first night we met. It rips through me like a hurricane, sending a wild shudder over my skin.

It’s the type of fright that would make you scream, but I just about manage to stop myself.

Nevertheless, my coffee has slushed over the desk—thank God it was a small cup.

My free hand clutches my rapid beating heart, holding it in and my breath is lodged in my throat.

“Oh my God.” The words tumble out of my mouth through my panting.

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