Page 61 of Poisoned Vows

“Keep quiet, little rabbit,” he says in a low tone. “And tap me if you see anything out there.”

A hush descends over the small space, and normally I would be grateful for it, but right now, I’d give anything to drown out my racing thoughts. Everything is a tangle in my head, a web of confusion over how good it feels to fuck him, how different he’s been here, the theory I’d had that was so wrong, and the plan I’d started to tentatively form when I realized we were taking weapons deep into the woods.

This is my chance to get away. I don’t know how, exactly—at least, I don’t know how once I’ve gotten past Nikolai. I already ran out into the woods once, and I found out first-hand just how hard it will be to find my way out. To get away. But I can’t just let this go. I can’t just give up and let myself be caged.

Someone will be looking for me before long, if I succeed, and I don’t have identification or money or anything else. If I go back to the cabin, I might find some money in Nikolai’s things. I’ll almost certainly have to risk it. But without identification, I can’t buy a ticket anywhere. Not on a plane or train or anything else. I can’t rent a car.

I’ll figure it out,I tell myself quietly as I sit there, watching the snowy expanse beyond us with Nikolai. My rifle is close by, within reach, and I breathe through the nerves, waiting for the moment when Nikolai finally sees a deer, walking slowly through the snow.

Something in my chest clenches. It looks so innocent, so peaceful. It didn’t do anything to deserve this. It is being hunted, and it doesn’t even know it.

I want to grab Nikolai’s arm and tell him to stop. But I need him distracted. I need to escape more than the deer does.

So I don’t move. I don’t speak. I don’t do anything until I see his finger squeeze down on the trigger, the gunshot echoing, and I have no idea if he made his shot or not, because I’m already going for my own gun.

“Shit!” Nikolai exclaims, but he doesn’t sound angry. “That was a hell of a shot. Look,krolik—”

His voice trails off as he turns and sees that I have my rifle aimed directly at him.

Nikolai

For a moment, I can’t believe what I’m fucking seeing.

My pretty, innocent wife, Lilliana VasilevneeNarokovna, is holding me at fucking gunpoint. She has a rifle leveled at my chest, and while I’m not at all confident in her ability to effectively handle the thing, I think it would be hard to miss at this range.

“Lilliana.” I put every ounce of gravity into my voice that I can, making sure she hears just how fucking pissed off I am. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m getting out of here.” Her voice trembles, but I’m pretty fucking certain she’s not going to back down easily. This is what she’s been demanding from the moment I put together that dinner for us. “Let me go, and I won’t shoot you.”

“You won’t shoot me either way.” I’m not entirely confident about that; as a matter of fact, I think there’s a possibility she might shoot me just by accident.

“The fuck I won’t.” Her voice is a hiss through her teeth, and I can hear how angry she is. How desperate, how afraid.

Why can’t she understand what I’m trying to keep her safe from?

“Lilliana. Put the gun down.”

“Let me go, and I’ll take it with me. You can do whatever the fuck you want after that.”

“It’ll be coming after you; believe me on that. And you won’t get away.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Her voice trembles again. “Let me go.”

“No.” I stand there, staring her down, and I know that anything I’m going to do, I’ll have to do quickly. Her finger is near the trigger—notonit, thank god, I think she knows as well as I do how easily she could accidentally shoot—and if she manages to get to it, she could injure or kill me. Hell, she’ll probably hurt herself with the recoil.

I hope, for a moment more, that if I wait her out, she’ll give in. But it quickly becomes apparent that’s not going to happen.

I’ve disarmed men with more gun sense than Lilliana has. I just have to move fast, and I do. Before she can react, I’ve grabbed the barrel and twisted it away, and she’s not strong enough to hold onto the gun. I wrench it out of her hands, and she gasps, her eyes going wide and terrified.

“Nikolai—”

“No, we’re past that. Get out. Go down the ladder. I’ll follow you.” I nudge the gun in her direction, and she lets out a terrified squeak that’s more gratifying than it should be.

Good. She needs to be afraid. She needs to understand that this isn’t a game.

“Go,” I growl at her, and for once in her goddamned life, she obeys.

I hadn’t seen the day going like this—walking my wife out of a tree stand in the woods with a gun to her back. I glance regretfully at the dead deer in the snow—it’s a hell of a waste—but I can’t go and get it now, and there’s purposefully no one else at the house. It’ll just have to be left for nature to handle.

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