Page 5 of Dragon Bodyguard
“He was dealt with,” Misha fittingly added to his statement. “His bones are still in the woods on the other side of the lake, if you’d like to see them.”
“No, I heard that he died by fire,” Ilya nodded. “That’s good enough for me.”
His face had hardened the way it did whenever he was displeased, but Kristina assumed his displeasure had to do with the fact that his brother had been forced to team up with Semyon Kumarin to defeat the renegade dragon. He didn’t want the details of the unexpected push for reconciliation between his brother and the man who was his and the Kuznetsov family’s ultimate rival. Ilya had heard them once and it was more than enough.
Though Vasili and Semyon had struck a shaky truce, the rest of the Kuznetsov family still held the kernel of a grudge against the Kumarins. They had humiliated one of their own by driving him out of his seat in the city, and by extension, they had humiliated the entire Kuznetsov name. That sort of thing wasn’t easily forgiven or forgotten.
Truth be told, Kristina had never truly understood why they embraced pride so willingly, as though it was worth dying for, when it was a primary killer in their line of business.
With that thought came another observation of how, next to her, stood a dragon fluent in pride since Misha’s ambition had always been his greatest asset. She’d been able to discern that as soon as she met him. He’d carried himself in a certain way, an effortless self-composure to his manner that had drawn her in because she’d had none of that back then.
She’d been small and insecure, scared to be seen or heard. She’d thought herself a charity case, living in a house to which she didn’t really belong. But her mother had insisted that she should go stay with her father. That it would be better for her, provide a life her mother couldn’t hope to give her. Kristina supposed that it had, but it had also isolated her. Misha had been one of the first people in that house to make her feel seen and appreciated just as she was. It had been intoxicating.
They’d not met when Misha started working for the family. He’d been a foot soldier then, not assigned to her father’s house itself but rather patrolling the city. Then he’d struck up a friendship with Aleksander and had begun to show up at the house more and more frequently. It had taken a good while for him to speak to her, but once he did, she was already somewhat lost in his overwhelming energy. His calm, his steadiness. She fed off it like a vampire. That he treated her with respect, listened to her attentively, asked her questions, all of it served to form a friendship that very suddenly flamed into more.
He'd been her first.
She glanced at him. At his jaw, as strong as it ever had been, now covered with a shade of dark stubble. He had a beautiful profile. His brows were thick, his hair the same. Wavy locks cut to be arranged with one hand dragged through them. His eyes were dark blue. His mouth full, and when he smiled his eyes crinkled attractively at the corners. She’d always loved that the most.
She sighed softly, looking back at the painting.
Why did she feel like he was going to reach out and take her hand? Why was his energy as overwhelming as it ever had been back then? Why had she been so convinced that this trip was going to be easy?
She’d thought she’d see him and finally know that she was over him. She’d thought she’d get closure, not this reopening of old wounds. Not this all too familiar pain.
Why the hell were they loitering in the entrance hall anyway?
“Oh, forgive me for keeping you waiting,” a woman said, clattering into the room on high heels, wearing a gorgeous smile.
Kristina could tell the woman’s beauty immediately put Ilya in a more forgiving mood for her not being there upon their arrival. Especially as he returned the smile, accepting the woman’s outstretched hand, placing his other one over it to enfold her fingers in his grasp completely.
Kristina kept the eye roll down.
Ilya was always flirting. As his daughter, it was rather painfully embarrassing how he seemed to think he could easily get any woman into bed. She didn’t want to think how he got half of them there. By ill-means, no doubt.
“I’m Mrs. Barley,” the woman introduced herself.
“Mrs is a bit formal, no?” Ilya asked, not letting go of her hand even as they headed for the arch leading into a broad hallway.
“Well, you may call me Irina, sir.”
“Only if you call me Ilya.”
They shared a laugh.
Kristina wanted to gag. She shared a look with Aleksander, who appeared as disgusted as she felt. It made her smile before widening her eyes meaningfully. He returned the smile, nodding before shaking his head, eyes on their father. Kristina didn’t mean for it to, but her gaze went to Misha, finding him observing her.
The simple truth this divulged to her of how she was capturing his attention, no matter how innocently, sent an unexpected thrill through her followed by a sensation not unlike a shock of ice water pouring itself through her stomach.
She turned her gaze from his as casually as possible, swallowing against her drying throat.
She’d not really expected to see him. At all. She’d thought Dmitri would be the one leading the welcoming committee and that Misha would be off somewhere doing his job. The Head bodyguard wasn’t a simple position. It meant working at all hours and being on constant call. She’d thought he’d be in the surveillance room or leading the patrols of the grounds and of the city. She’d pictured them meeting briefly while walking down opposite ends of a hallway. Possibly giving each other a curt nod, though most of the time she’d imagined herself simply ignoring him, the way she had when she walked up the steps to the front door after arriving.
This lingering closeness wasn’t what she’d anticipated. Not even a little bit.
Not that it was closeness. Not really. It was nothing, if she was completely honest with herself. He was still doing his job, wasn’t he? This was his assignment for the day. He hadn’t chosen to be here, hadn’t asked for it. If Dmitri could’ve tended to them, he would have, and Misha would probably have been no more than a ghost.
So, there was no meaning to his presence.
