Page 22 of Tarnished Queen

Nikolai draws out of me all at once, leaving a hollow ache in my center. He moves to the dinner tray he brought for me and takes a long draw from the water bottle.

I’m shivering, suddenly cold without his body heat. When I sit on the edge of the bed, I almost reach for the comforter to draw around me. But then I look to the floor and notice the bulge in the pocket of Nikolai’s discarded jeans.

A gun.

He’s still standing by the nightstand a few feet away. I take a second to consider the geometry of the situation. The odds of me grabbing the gun and rounding on him before he catches me. A second is all I have, maybe less. Because he’s capping the water bottle and if I don’t act now—

Naked and with shaky legs, I lunge down to the floor and yank the gun out of his pants pocket. I lift the weapon towards Nikolai. I can’t bring myself to aim it directly at his heart, so I opt for slightly wide of his left shoulder.

“Let me out of here,” I whisper.

His expression is maddeningly neutral, but I see the slight rise of his brows. A flicker of surprise that is there and then gone again in an instant.

“So much for being sorry,” he remarks.

I swallow past all my nerves. It doesn’t help that I’m still naked. It’s hard to look dominant without a stitch of clothing. Hard for me, at least. Nikolai does it effortlessly.

“I meant it. I really did. But… Elise is out there alone. I have to get out of here and go to her. I have to. I’m sorry.”

He considers me for a second, his quicksilver eyes taking in my naked body as much as the gun in my hands.

Then he shrugs. “Fine.”

“Fine?” I can’t hide the shock from my face. “You’re going to let me go?”

He nods. “You aren’t worth the trouble.”

I ignore the stab of pain his words cause and focus on my escape. “I need clothes.”

“They’re outside the door.” My eyes narrow, and Nikolai sighs. “I was bringing you food and an outfit change. If you’d have let me make it through the damn door, I would have given them to you.”

Without turning my back on him, I back up to the door and then reach blindly around the frame until I find the plastic bag of clothes. Then I clumsily dress with one hand.

I’m worried Nikolai will use my distraction against me and lunge for the gun while I’m pulling on the jeans, but he doesn’t budge. He almost looks… bored.

My jeans are still unbuttoned and my shirt is bunched up around my waist, but I back out of the door and into the hallway. Nikolai is still standing by the bed.

More than ever before, this moment feels like a goodbye. But I can’t bring myself to say it. My throat is so tight that I can barely bring myself to say anything.

Just before I turn and run to the hallway, I manage to squeak out two words.

“I’m sorry.”

Then I run.

8

BELLE

By the time I make it to the police station—thanks to the reluctant help of several New Yorkers who point me in the right direction—I feel like I’m stumbling through a nightmare. The kind of dream where you try to run, but can’t pick up your feet. Or try to dial a number on your phone, but keep hitting the wrong buttons.

The orgasm Nikolai worked into me still has me feeling jittery, and I’m delirious with exhaustion and hunger. The world exists beyond a haze I can’t seem to clear.

Which is why the deep voice that sounds from the sidewalk behind me sends me jumping into the bushes.

“Ma’am? Do you need any help?”

I push myself out of the branches of the azalea bush and offer up my best semblance of a normal smile. “Hi. Yes, I’m here to—”

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