Page 1 of Dragon Bodyguard
Chapter 1 - Misha
In less than twenty-four hours, Misha Sidorov would be pulling his gun and firing it at a handful of men to protect a woman he had thought he’d never see again. He would do it without thinking and without knowing the changes it would bring, not only for him but for her too.
At that moment, however, he stood straight-backed on the stoop of his employer.
his eyes catching on the glint of the sun reflected off the darkened windows of a car pulling up the driveway. Another car followed, and a third. In them traveled honored guests of his employer, Dmitri Kuznetsov. They were Misha’s responsibility for the afternoon. He didn’t know it, but the woman he had thought he’d never see again was riding in the car up front.
What Misha did know was that Dmitri’s uncle Ilya Kuznetsov—occupying the middle car—wasn’t visiting for pleasure, but for business, which lent the stay extra weight. Misha knew how important it was for the household to make a good impression, for everything to run smoothly. Especially with someone whose temper was as fickle as Ilya’s.
The cars came to a halt on the gravel driveway and Ilya stepped out of the middle car. He was a lanky older dragon, with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and a thick head of black hair. His brown eyes were deceptively friendly, but Misha had the other man’s number. He knew precisely how much of a cutthroat Ilya was when it came to the family business. And most other things as well.
The door of the third car in the half-moon formation was flung open and a younger dragon climbed out. Ilya’s eldest son, Aleksander. Misha kept a smile of greeting down, wanting to stay professional even at the sight of his old friend. Aleksander had no such qualms, a big grin splitting his face. They hadn’t gotten the chance to catch up in over two years. Misha had no doubt this was going to be a grand reunion.
However, chances were he’d be kept busy and he knew he wouldn’t be assigned to Aleksander’s detail. As head bodyguard, he was expected to be available at the house at all times. Still, it was good to see his old friend.
As Ilya came up the steps, Misha reached out his hand.
“Ilya Kuznetsov, your nephew welcomes you to his home and regrets he couldn’t be here himself.”
Ilya took his hand in a forceful grip, squeezing hard to show his displeasure that Dmitri wasn’t there in person. Misha didn’t even blink. He’d expected no less.
Then a flash of blue made him turn his head to the person who had just exited the car at the front of the line. The world slowed and it was as though the air was sucked out of his lungs, slowly.
Kristina.
She was wearing a jumpsuit. One that he had no choice but conclude enhanced her delightful curves in all the right ways. Her dark hair lay in thick curls over one shoulder, her brown eyes hidden behind a pair of large sunglasses.
What the hell was she doing there? Had she been officially welcomed into the family? He’d never thought he’d see the day when Ilya embraced an illegitimate child, let alone brought them on an official trip such as this one. The dragon might enjoy keeping his offspring close, no matter their status, but to invite Kristina along he must have had a strong incentive. She was a shiftless, after all. A shifter born without a connection with her inner dragon. Scorned and shunned by most of polite society, and especially the types of people Ilya rolled with. He’d made a space for her in his home regardless, but this?
What must she have done to climb in his esteem?
She had to have proven herself somehow.
Misha didn’t want to be intrigued, but there was no denying that the born investigator in him immediately craved answers to each of his questions. He looked forward to the chance of grilling Aleksander for all the probably sordid details.
Had she gone so far as to organize a hit on someone?
For some reason the thought made his insides give a soft thrill.
He'd known her once, but he was getting the very real impression that the woman before him was a complete stranger. She even moved differently. She raised a hand, pulling her sunglasses off, starting up the steps with a walk that could only be described as sultry. Hips swaying, lips in a half pout. She must know what she was doing. Then again, hadn’t she always known what she was doing? She’d just never done it quite so forthright. She seemed completely different from the wallflower he had once befriended. And seduced.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, telling himself he was merely playing his part and that not looking at her as she approached him would be rude.
Wouldn’t it?
Misha had at least shown the wherewithal to let Ilya’s hand go. The reason for Kristina heading up the steps was evident, as Ilya and Aleksander had already headed in through the open front door. She was simply heading in their wake, no prompt needed. She knew the drill, what was expected of her. Was this not her first trip then?
With her sunglasses off, there was no mistaking how she was looking right through him. She walked past him without a second glance. The greeting he was about to give her remained on his lips, unspoken.
Her fragrance wafted into his nostrils, softly feminine with undernotes of a power he didn’t recognize on her. She’d always been off to the side, keeping to herself. It was decades ago since they last saw each other. Their brief fling had happened while he was still working for Dmitri’s father, and of course, people changed. But to change this much? To be unrecognizable?
No matter. It was no concern of his. Especially since she was the one who had ended it with him. She’d chosen her family, her life. He hadn’t been good enough for her, which was such a joke, but fine. He’d accepted it. And he’d moved on with his life. In fact, he’d worked hard for this life and her turning up wasn’t going to distract him from his responsibilities.
He forced himself to swallow the questions, turned and followed the other three into the spacious entrance hall.
Ilya was admiring a painting of his brother, Dmitri’s father Vasili, which had been damaged by a bullet during an insurrection a few years back. It had since been restored and moved into the most prominent place in the house. Misha knew it was meant to be a reminder to everyone working under its roof not to rise against its master—the master always won. Misha couldn’t keep a small smile down, knowing the role he’d played in securing the win.
He wasn’t one to brag, however, and so rather than regale those present with the reason for why the painting was hanging in its current position, he kept silent. He was waiting for the new head housekeeper Mrs. Barley to come show the guests to their assigned guest rooms, but something must be keeping her.
