Page 73 of Dance with Death

He smacks his palm against my cheek, not hard, but hard enough that it shoots a sting across my face and startles me.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Yes.”

His fingers move until both hands hold my face at my jawline. He holds me there as he leans in to kiss me, bruising my lips with his. He pulls his mouth from mine with a smack of his lips and rests his forehead against mine.

“You’re as inobservant as you are beautiful, Anya.”

He’s such a filthy, goddamn liar.

“You’ll have to try harder if you wish to seduce me into thinking you ever wanted more from me than unwavering obedience to bend to your sadistic will.”

A smirk tilts his lips. “I missed this version of you…the one that fought me.”

“How could you possibly miss it? You literally beat it out of me, Nikolai. I have the scars to show for it.”

“You don’t remember what happened the day after you came to me, do you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He licks his tongue across the flat line of my mouth, then bites my bottom lip, tugging it hard, causing me to whimper. Both of his hands move to grab me by the waist as he walks backward toward the bed, pulling me with him. He lowers to sit when he reaches the side and spreads his legs wide, dragging me in to stand between them.

My brow furrows as his fingers slip beneath the straps of my dress, sliding them off my shoulders. I wait for him to say more as he tugs on the dress, encouraging it to fall from my figure and tumble to the floor. I wait as his rough palms test the weight of my bare breasts, the tops of which are covered with my dried blood. I wait as his thumbs brush the peak of my nipples, coaxing them to harden, spreading warmth through my stomach. I wait as his eyes latch onto mine, sending me a look that burrows into my soul.

He sighs, uncharacteristically and dangerously calm. “It’s just as well you don’t remember.”

The sexuality he draws over my skin seeps into my pores and lights a flame of physical desire that I don’t want. I fan the flame, turning it toward my anger instead.

“Rememberwhat?Do you wish to pique my curiosity? You have it. So tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I sold you to Vigo. You’re not mine…not anymore.”

“Except that I’m here with you now and you’re behaving as if you still hold ownership over me.”

“You weren’t even mine when I had you.”

He says it smoothly, calmly, in a way that takes me completely off guard. Nikolai has never been smooth or calm with me; he’s been angry and jealous, lust-driven and violent. He’s been aggressive and hateful and unpredictably brutal. This is so off-character that the back of my neck prickles with baffled and cautious awareness.

I could almost believe his sincerity with the look of his eyes as they soften, but I’ve never known a soft side to him. Except for the day he mentioned when I came to him willingly—but that was years ago. It was all a rouse to study me. It might have felt sincere at the time, but I know him better now.

So, what happened the day after and why can’t I remember?

I have to know.

I drop to my knees between his wide-open legs and grip each of his muscular thighs. I slide my hands forward until they meet his hips, turning the tables on this seduction.

“Tell me what happened the day after.” I bring temptation to my tone. “Please,moy khozyain.”

I bring my hands together to meet at his buckle and his hands snap to mine in a flash, snatching them in both his large hands and leaning forward. He brings my hands to his lips to kiss my knuckles and nausea strikes in my belly.

He’s not allowed to be gentle with me.

Only Ezra has earned that right.

“If you don’t recall then there’s no point in telling you. No one else of importance knows. Don’t ask me again.”

I stare at him with ferocity as my brain works to go backward in time.

What happened the day after?

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