Page 67 of Wicked Vow

“See? I’ve looked into you a bit. I thought it would be worth getting to know you better, since I hadn’t given up on the idea of the two of us together.”

He leans in closer, close enough for me to smell the scents of his cologne and toothpaste, his eyes fixed on mine. “You need someone to take care of you, Natalia. I want to marry you, to provide for you–and your baby. It’s a good offer.”

“I don’t love you. I don’t think you love me. Why do you think I’m going to take you up on this?”

Erik laughs. “Natalia, don’t be silly. What does that have to do with anything? You were born into the same world I am. Marriage isn’t about love. It’s about what’s best for two people who need something from each other. That’s how it’s always been in our world, and it’s how it should continue to be.”

“And what do you need from me?” I tilt my chin up, daring him to give me the answer. “What could you possibly need?”

“Oh, Natalia.” He reaches up, tracing the edge of my jaw with his fingertip. “It has nothing to do with what I need–and everything to do with what I want.”

His mouth comes down onto mine, and for a brief second, I wish that it could make me feel something. As much of an asshole as he’s proved himself to be, he’s right about one thing–marriage would never have been about love for me before, and it still doesn’t have to be. If I could feel even a little bit of desire for him, it might not be so bad.

But I can’t. I don’t want him. It’s more than that–I can’t stand being near him. I want him away from me, out of this house, and I reach up, shoving him back as hard as I can with my hands planted against his chest.

“You need to go,” I say acidly, wiping at my mouth as I slip sideways away from the window before he can back me into it again. “We’re done with this conversation.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something, and I shake my head, holding up a hand.

“If you say anything, I’m going to scream, and then you’re going to have to deal with how Liam and Connor feel about you refusing to leave me alone in their house. Leave. I’m done having this conversation.”

I can tell that he doesn’t want to. I can tell that he wants to keep pushing, to force an answer out of me that I’m not going to give, no matter how hard he tries.

“I’ve had enough of overbearing, arrogant men,” I tell him sharply. “So get the fuck out. I don’t want to talk to you again.”

When he leaves, I feel as if all the energy has been drained out of me. I sink down against the windowsill, breathing deeply in an effort not to start crying. It won’t do any good, and I doubt it will make me feel any better.

Frustration wells up in me as I wipe at my eyes, listening for the sound of the door closing downstairs that will mean he’s actually left.

It feels like the life I want is so close and yet still out of reach. I want to stop feeling afraid, and he’s making me feel that way all over again. I don’t really believe that he won’t come back and try again. I’ll have no choice but to tell Liam and Connor that I don’t want him here and why, and deal with the inevitable fallout that will come from that and the responsibility of Viktor losing an important business contact.

That night, I get another of the texts.

You can’t keep me away forever.

It feels like a repeat of Moscow all over again. I’d been so sure that it was Mikhail sending the texts, that he hadn’t been able to keep his promises. But after what had happened in the library with Erik, I’m no longer so sure.

Once again, I feel like I’m questioning my sanity. I’d wanted more than anything for the fresh start, for this to be over.

Now it feels like it’s beginning all over again.

I consider telling someone about the texts–Sasha or Ana. But I know what Sasha would think–that it’s Mikhail, just as I had, and I can’t stand the thought of Viktor sending someone after him and killing him. I don’t want to tell Ana and worry her, after everything she’s done for me. Instead, I find excuses for us to stay at home, claiming that I’m tired, that the pregnancy is wearing me out–and it’s not entirely untrue.

It keeps me up at night, so that by the time my next doctor’s appointment rolls around–my second one since we’ve been in Boston–I’m as exhausted as I’ve been making myself out to be. I have a hard time paying attention to the questions they’re asking me, and I can see the concern on Sasha’s face.

“Will the father be coming to the next appointment?” the doctor asks, snapping me out of it for a moment. “We usually have some suggestions we like to give first-time fathers, and I–”

“No, he won’t,” I say quickly, a little harsher than I’d intended, but just saying it sends an ache through me that I know I should be getting past by now. I shouldn’t want Mikhail there with me, but I do. I want him holding my hand, answering questions with me, watching as all of this unfolds.

It makes me feel a sort of intense, specific loneliness that I never thought I’d feel–and it hurts.

“Can we stop and get something from the bakery down there?” I ask Sasha as we leave, nodding down the street. “I know you probably want to get back, but I’ve got a bit of a headache, and it usually helps–”

In the brief second, before I see her face going pale and her mouth opening to scream, I feel a hand on my shoulder from behind, just as we pass an alley. I have just enough time to scream, “Sasha, run!” before an arm goes around me, hauling me further back as something sharp pricks the skin on the side of my neck.

I know it’s a needle without having to look. I know what’s coming next. Mikhail has drugged me before, in Moscow. I know it’s him as I go limp in the attacker’s arms, tears filling my eyes at the sudden, overwhelming certainty that he’s lied to me all over again.

I catch a glimpse of a face above me, covered in black fabric. I hear a voice, deep and male, wobbling until I can’t make out what he’s saying. I see a car waiting at the end of the alley, and just before I lose consciousness, I know this is it.

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