Page 107 of 10 Days to Ruin

I don’t know how to give that up.

The alternative swims before my eyes: a veil blurring the sight of Sasha before me.I do’s,murmured in the rasped baritone that sends shivers down my spine no matter how many times I hear it. That’s terrifying. So are all the things that would come after it. Blue-eyed babies and baptisms in cathedrals cold enough to mist your breath. A place at Sasha’s side as he waged war across the city.

Could I make that work? What would it take to accept that?

What if he looked at me like he did in the library when he said,Falling doesn’t have to hurt?

What if he touched me like he did in the spa, his hands slick with lotion, his hips flush with mine?

What if he cuddled me like he did on the mountainside, or groaned for me like he did in his office, or settled his weight behind me while I brought his son or daughter into the world?

Would that really be so bad?

My feet are carrying me automatically, so I don’t even realize I’m back on my block until I accidentally run headlong into someone right on the corner.

I grunt in shock and stumble backwards, but strong hands keep me from tumbling ass-over-teakettle on the frozen concrete.

“Whoa there!” an accented voice says, startled. “You came around that corner with some speed.”

“I’m so sorry,” I blurt as I orient myself. The cold is drawing up tears in my eyes, so I have to dig the heel of my hand into them until my vision clears up.

When it does, I see it’s a man I’ve collided with. Late forties, maybe—just a few years older than Sasha, if I had to guess. Black hair shot through with silver and a beard to match. He’s dressed nicely, in a long, camel hair jacket that sweeps just above his ankles, and his hands glisten with a set of silver rings. At his throat, through the gap in his black scarf, I see the upper half of a tattoo: a pair of eagle’s heads, joined at the neck.

“It’s quite alright, young lady.” His eyes sweep over me. They’re a dark espresso, almost black in the night. His nose bends left, then right, like it’s been broken and reset so many times that he just shrugged and gave up on it ever aligning again. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Er, home,” I say awkwardly. New York is full of weirdos, and you learn early on that it’s best to politely but firmly disengage at the early possible opportunity and be on your merry way. Nothing good ever comes from fanning the flames.

The man’s gaze flicks up to the building, then back down to me. “It’s a nice home. Very safe.”

The first prickles ofSomething is wrongstart to crop up in my belly. After all, how does he know that this is where I live? I could’ve just been passing through.

“Y-yeah,” I say. “It’s nice. I’ll just?—”

“Hold on.” His hands clamp on my shoulders, pinning me in place. “You look familiar.”

I look at him. The scarf is halfway over his mouth and his felt newsboy cap is tugged low over his forehead, but even with all those obstacles, I’m fairly certain I’ve never seen this man in my life.

“I don’t think we’ve ever met, sorry.”

“No, no, we have,” he insists. He’s still not letting go, and his grip is starting to hurt. “It was a long time ago. Fifteen years or so. You don’t remember me?”

Thud. Thud.My heartbeat is ratcheting up to concerning levels again. Those born-and-raised New Yorker Spidey senses are tingling that I should get the hell away from this creep, STAT.

“Nope. Sorry. And I really do need to go now, so if you could just?—”

I knock his hands off me, duck under his outstretched arm, and do my best to bolt for the doors of my apartment.

I don’t get far.

Before I even make it under the awning, a pair of hulking silhouettes separate from the shadows clustered in the nearby alleyway and scoop me up by the armpits. My feet pedal in the air like a toddler getting shunted into the bath against her will.

They carry me back and plop me down in front of the bearded man. He sighs and peels off his scarf. As he does, I see more of the tattoo on his chest and throat.

And with that, I remember.

Double-headed eagle inked across his torso. Silver rings. Eyes brown, no, black, no, blacker than black.

“I’m here for Jasmine.” Darkening the doorstep like the bad guy in one of Mama’s fairy tales.

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