Page 12 of Dance with Death

I hope it’s Anya.

God, I hope it’snotAnya.

Kostya appears first, holding the door open as he grips Anya’s elbow, supporting my injured, limping, blue-eyed girl as she hobbles forward into the room. She flinches with every other step. She limps on the ball of her foot across the traditional ivory and green rug that covers the hardwood floor. There’s a dullthudon the carpet each time she sets down the cane she uses to support her weight—the very cane she beat my ass with the first night I was brought to Mikhailov Manor.

The roaring thump of my racing heart stops. The tender organ falls into my gut with a crash that makes me sick. Anya does her best to stand straight, to keep her shoulders back and her chin held high in her usual powerful way, but the internal struggle is written all over her beautiful face.

My stomach rolls and heaves.

I feel sick seeing her this way, her ankle battered and her soul power-squeezed in a vice.

Kostya shuts the door behind her, and she moves on her own to the center of the room. She turns her head to look at me and she tells me a thousand words with her brilliant cobalt eyes.

I’m sorry.

I love you.

I have no regrets.

But…move on from me.

Stay strong and move on from me.

Her eyes say it so profoundly, it’s impossible to ignore.

Forget about me and move on.

It makes me gasp. She’s given up hope. It’s as clear as the spotless windowpanes in front of us that she’s given up hope.

My chest heaves with heavy breaths as she looks away from me. She stares straight ahead, facing the center of the wooden desk as Nikolai moves to sit behind it. Settling into the oversized chair, he resembles a king sitting on his throne, the master and ruler of everyone in this room.

“I do not know where to begin with you,rabynya,” he says with an edge to his tone. “I do not know which words are best to describe what your actions have made me feel.”

Bravely, my girl responds out of turn, “I’m never at a loss of words to describe the wayyouractions make me feel,khozyain.”

Perhaps I’ve rubbed off on her a bit. It makes me proud, though it also scares the shit out of me.

Nikolai slams his fist down on the desk and we all jump, startled by the sound and force of it.

Except for Vigo.

He doesn’t startle; no, instead helaughs, and my spine runs cold.

“I should have listened to my father,” Nikolai says through gritted teeth, spitting heat and fury at Anya. “He told me you would turn out like this. He warned me what would happen if I let a slave have as much freedom as I’ve granted you.”

Anya tilts her head. “Freedom?”

Nikolai stands, whipping around the desk, and he strikes like lightning. He wraps one large hand around her throat and lifts. I half-hope she’ll raise her cane and beat the shit out of him, but in her surprise, she drops it, her hands coming up to cover his.

“Get your hands off her!” I scream and writhe.

He lifts with force until she rises to her toes on her one good foot while the other foot hardly touches the floor at all. She’s nursing it carefully, even when she’s being attacked.

“I gave you a home,” he scolds as she claws at his hand. “I gave you food, shelter. I bought you clothing that other women would be jealous to have in their closets. I gave you space. I gave you a place to dance. I cared for you, and all I got in return was a slap in my face for letting you spend time alone with yourpet.”

Anya’s eyes widen as she swallows, fighting against his chokehold. But then, she forces her lids to droop, narrowing her gaze at him pointedly. Somehow, she’s found her strength to finally fight back against him, but for the life of me, I can’t understand why she’s fighting him now of all times.

Because she’s given up hope for a future.

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