Page 22 of Dark Promise

I turn to her, finding her standing unsteadily, her face pale, her eyes fierce. Her coat is splotched with blood.

“It’s over,” I say, my voice quieter now as I carefully pull the shard of glass from her grasp and toss it aside.

She doesn’t respond, just stares at me, her breath puffing white in the freezing air.

“There’s a cabin nearby,” I say. “We’ll be safe there.”

“Safe?” She throws me a glare that could cut steel. “Stellar job keeping me safe, Nikolai. Truly A-plus work. Kidnapped? Check. Shot at? Double check. Tossed around like a fucking rag doll? Absolutely. I feelsosafe right now. Really, it’s a dream come true.”

7

Sabina

Snow stings my cheeks,and the wind cuts through my coat as if it’s tissue paper. I wrap my arms tighter around myself, shivering uncontrollably. My legs, encased only in sheer stockings beneath my skirt, are already numb, and every step in these heels feels like a fight against the earth itself.

And we haven’t even started walking to the cabin yet.

“Nikolai,” I manage through chattering teeth. “Great plan…a casual stroll through the Arctic Circle.”

His sharp gaze rakes over me, taking in my shaking limbs, the too-thin coat, the useless heels. For a moment, he just stares, his expression unreadable, but there’s a hint of something there…displeasure, maybe even guilt. But Nikolai doesn’t do guilt, does he?

“You’re not dressed for the weather,” he says finally.

“No shit. I wasn’t planning on a wilderness expedition tonight,” I snap. “I live in Vegas, Nikolai.Vegas. This is not my natural habitat.”

His lips curve in a faint smile. “Glad to see your sense of humor survived the crash, goddess. I was starting to worry I’d have to carry your sharp tongue along with the rest of you.”

A startled laugh escapes me. Then I admit, “I can’t feel my toes.”

He nods and strides over to the nearest body. The shudder that moves through me has nothing to do with the cold.

My brothers are used to this side of the business, but I’m not. My world is glittering galas, charity auctions, and the occasional scandalous headline—not shootouts in the middle of nowhere.

Nikolai crouches beside one of the dead men. He pockets his gun, then goes through his pockets, taking anything he thinks might be of value. His movements are quick, methodical, unfeeling. Like he’s done this a thousand times. Like lives are just transactions.

“You’re not taking his phone?” I ask.

“Phones can be tracked. I have no intention of announcing our location to the enemy.”

He moves to the next body, takes the gun, yanks off the heavy, blood-streaked coat. He rises and shakes the snow from the coat with quick, efficient movements.

I take a step back, shaking my head.

“Oh, no. No way.”

“You’re freezing, Sabina,” he says. “Put this on.”

“There’s…blood,” I protest, hugging myself tighter. “And it’s—”

“Warm.” His voice cuts through mine, sharp and unyielding. He steps closer, holding the coat open. “Arms in. Now.”

I blink up at him, startled by the force of his tone. For a second, I wonder if I could refuse him, if I could hold on to that shred of defiance I know he both despises and admires. But another gust of wind rips through me, stealing what little fight I have left. With a glare, I slide my arms into the sleeves of the oversized coat. It’s bulky and smells of sweat and gunpowder, but it’s warm.

“It smells,” I mutter, hating how small my voice sounds.

“Better than frostbite. Or hypothermia,” he replies curtly, zipping up the coat with quick, efficient motions. His knuckles graze my jaw as he adjusts the collar. It’s a small touch, fleeting, but it ignites something warm and unwelcome in my chest. I force myself to look away.

Then he crouches again, this time pulling at the sleeves of another dead man’s coat. I watch as he slices through the fabric with his knife, cutting the sleeves free in clean, precise motions.

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