Page 60 of Heritage of Fire

Flashes of Luna in that position claw at my mind, and I swerve, narrowly missing a tree.

My car creeps along until the warehouse comes into view. Two guards are pacing outside, keeping an eye on the perimeter. I quickly let them know what happened and ask them to inform their replacements at shift change, and then I’m taking the stairs two at a time and blowing through the door. Luna’s calming scent wafts through the apartment on a breeze from the cracked windows. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Hunting a liquor bottle from my designated shelf in the kitchen, I pour a triple shot of vodka. Taking a large sip, I loosen my tie and scan the apartment. The traces of Luna are subtle. The book on the side table by the sofa, the small mason jar of wildflowers next to the sink, her sneakers by the door. Little touches of her have infiltrated my apartment, and I can’t decide if I wantmoredisruption—or if I want to stomp it out altogether.

I tear my suit jacket off, letting it flop on the couch. Drifting over to the windows, I peer down. Twelve additional shipments arrived today, and the warehouse is stacked full. I take another swig of my drink, relishing the burn.

Damn it, Dmitry.

I unbutton my shirt. Goosebumps rise as cold air brushes my stomach. My gaze lingers on the bedroom door for a moment before I drag my feet in that direction.

Luna has the window open in here as well, and the temperature is perfect for sleeping. A moonbeam filters into the room, forming a perfect spotlight on the bed where she rests, the covers rising and falling with each peaceful breath.

I’m starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, and my foot bumps into a side table as I stumble my way over to my leather chair.

“Ouch,”I mutter to myself, even though I didn’t feel it. I don’t feel anything.

Sheets rustle, and I freeze midway to the chair. A moment later, Luna’s movements stop, her soft breaths filling the silence. I sink down into the seat, the leather creaking as it accommodates my large frame.

I think of Dmitry, and the rage seething underneath my skin causes me to fidget. Adrenaline courses through my body, along with a mix of liquor, anger, and—I look at Luna—desire.

I watch her and I want her. I tell myself it’s physical. That’s the reason my hands ache to skim her smooth skin. It’s merely because she’shere—it’s a natural reaction. That’s what I tell myself.

But I’m afraid it’s a lie.

Chapter 25

Luna

Acreaking noise startles me awake. Panic surges inside me and my heart begins to race. Could someone be in here?I open one eye, cautiously scanning the room. A man-shaped silhouette fills the leather chair over in the corner of the room near the window.

Nik.

The chilly air makes me shiver. I want to bury my head under the covers, but instead, I reach over to switch on the nightstand lamp. I freeze when I see him in the light.

He’s slouched back in the chair, a tumbler glass pressed to the side of his forehead. His hair is tousled, as if he’s dragged his hand through it too many times. His white shirt is unbuttoned, exposing his rigid muscles. Swirls of black ink run from his peck muscles to the lower left side of his neck.

“Nik, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

His nostrils flare, and his gaze travels down my torso. My eyes shift to my red silk cami and its matching bottoms; cringing, I quickly pull up the covers.

“Dmitry was killed tonight,” he answers, voice rough and gravelly. His jaw is clenched, and his eyes are black as night. It’s an expression I’ve never seen on him. Fist strangling his glass,he takes another sip of something. Probably liquor, based on his glazed eyes. And it looks like he’s had several.

“Are you okay?” I ask again.

“No.”

My gaze flits around the room, attempting to evade his intense stare. I’m at a loss for words, unsure how to console him. There’s anguish in his eyes, and I wish I could shoulder some of his pain. The typically witty and charming man is now overshadowed by an agony I can’t stomach.

“What can I do?”

My hope is he’ll put the liquor down and get some rest. His head tilts to the side as he studies me, a thumb coming up to flick his lower lip. His eyes seems to grow darker.

Anticipation roils in my gut as he stands and slowly moves closer to the bed, blocking the brisk air from the window. When he makes it to the edge of the platform, I hear his shoe hit against the wood. His proximity is palpable; he stands so close, his eyes wavering as they seem to struggle to decide where to focus.

“Luna,” Nik whispers.

Touch me.The words explode through my thoughts. Flirtatious statements from the bar in Russia slip to the forefront of my mind, and I fight the urge to yank him closer to me. Perhaps this is something we both need, I think as I move toward him, extending my hand and then grazing the one that isn’t holding his empty glass.

---