Page 7 of Nikolai Petrov

My lecherous mind holds to the fact I haven’t had a woman sleep in this wing since my wife died all those many years ago.

A guttural grunt works its way from my chest. “If there’s an emergency, my room is at the end of the hall. The servant’s quarters are at the end of the west hall.” I gesture back the way we came.

With a nod, she turns and pushes against the heavy door. The soft light reflects from her hair like a burning ember in the night.

I have a brief urge to touch it to see if it scorches my fingers, but manage to keep my hands to myself and head down to the master suite.

My life is going to be much more complicated, I can just feel it.

Chapter Four

Natalia

Myhandsshakeandmy stomach rolls. But, the relief of being able to stay the night is immeasurable.

This room is a little larger and more lavish than my own, but it’s comfortable. A large bathroom adjoins it where I slide my bag off my shoulder onto the floor.

I made it away.

Even if it’s for just tonight, I’m safe from her and the brutes she keeps.

Sadness creeps in thinking about Father, but he has lost all his love for me a long time ago.

Maybe Mr. Petrov can help me to escape. The spicy scent of his cologne still lingers in the air. For being the same age as my father, he certainly looks younger and in better health.

Seeing him with clear eyes, I’d have never guessed he was in his fifties without the gray in his beard.

A tremor in my hands catches my eye in the mirror as I sweep my hair back from my face. Why am I so anxious? I should feel relieved.

But, my heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest and my limbs feel as if ants are crawling on them.

Nerves, I’m sure.

Finishing in the bathroom doesn’t take long, then I slide the heavy dark hoodie onto the chair near the bed. The black khaki pants hit the floor before I crawl in bed with just my panties and a light tank top.

Cool silk sheets rub against my fevered skin and for a moment I’m comfortable.

Sweat soon soaks them. Kicking the cloying fabric from my legs, the darkness becomes suffocating.

A bedside lamp floods the room in a soft light that begins to burn into my eyes.

Panting to fight the dizzying spinning of the room, I try to cover my face with my elbow.

I get a brief respite from the rallying sensations and I think I doze off for a while.

Until, a binding pain rips through my stomach and curls me into a ball. Tight, stabbing pain turns to rolling nausea.

On teetering, unstable feet, I manage to make it to the bathroom before I’m vomiting nothing into the toilet.

Twice today I’ve hovered over a porcelain bowl. No little pills this time though.

For the first time in forever, I have a night without the drugged slumber.

No wonder I feel awful. Brushing my teeth to get rid of the awful taste, I struggle not to gag into the sink.

My legs are so weak, they give out on me and I crumple to the floor near the edge of the bed. Cold sweat sticks the cloth of my shirt to my back and it bunches awkwardly across my ribs.

Clawing at the slick sheets, I manage to pull myself back onto the mattress.

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