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"I can, and I will," he threatened. "In fact, I'll lock you in this room if I have to."

Charlie was seething inside, and she felt her body flush with heat. "I dare you."

"Don't tempt me. I rather liked seeing you handcuffed to the bed," he said with a gleam in his eye. "No, you'll stay here where I know it's safe."

"You don't even know if you're going to the right spot," she countered. "Do you really think Sokolov would make it that easy? This is a game to him. He likes to draw things out."

"We don't have anything else to go on, lass," he said mildly, but Charlie felt the sting of his disappointment. She had let him down by not sharing the details of her encounter with Sokolov.

She let the conversation drop. It was getting late and the rain had picked up. The energy in the room now strained and tense. "I think I'll shower."

He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "I don't want to fight," he said, kissing her neck.

Chills raced down her spine. She didn't want to fight, either. He had become more than a lover, he was the only person she could trust in the world right now, except for Gabriel. "Me either."

He turned her around to face him and kissed her, once again claiming what he deemed his. He rucked her dress up and his hand grabbed the curve of her bottom. "Go and take a bath," he said, deep and low as his hand came down hard on her bottom. The heat radiated throughout her entire body. "Soothe the selkie blood that flows in you."

She hurried to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. How was he able to bring her to her knees with a few words and his hand? She turned the water on in the tub, trying to slow down her breathing. The skin on her cheeks burned bright red, the mirror reflecting her darkest desires. Desires only Sin could fulfill. She removed her dress, averting her eyes away from her stomach. What exactly had Sokolov hidden in there? She glanced up quickly, catching the outside edge of the crest, as it blazed bright red against her pale skin, the points of a star patterned like the scales on a fish in tiny squares where her skin had been taken out. Are you selkie or rusalka? Sokolov had asked her. Pain shot through her stomach and she doubled over until she was curled into a ball on the ground. The sensation of her skin getting pulled away from her body was nauseating. She lay there until the feeling passed, trying to focus on anything but her stomach or Sokolov. Then she slowly got up and climbed into the tub. The water was hot, and she relished its sting as it washed away the vile stench of Sokolov's torment. Her head was the last thing she submerged, now safe in the soapy confines of her watery sanctuary. She stayed in until it turned cold and her fingers and toes resembled old, wrinkled grapes withered on a vine, never to be savored. Alex and Gabriel were wrong. The exchange was not at the abbey, it was a diversion. She knew it in her heart. If she was going to save Imogen's life, she was going to have to be the one to deliver Sokolov the print. She just needed to figure out where.

She got out of the tub and wrapped herself in her silk robe. Sin was nowhere to be found in the small apartment. It was steadily growing dark. The prints were lying on the coffee table. She checked the lock on the door, making sure it was secure, then she sat down on the couch and removed the original Klimt print. Rolling it up, she laid it on the table and replaced it with the fake one. Her heart beat madly in her chest. She had somehow sunk to a new level of ethics and morality. If she was wrong about Sokolov and the location, she will have turned a fifteen-million-pound picture over to a mobster. This made her more than an accomplice now.

The handle to the door jiggled as it was unlocked. Charlie sat back on the couch quickly, hoping she looked relaxed. Sin entered with a tray of food, followed by William who sniffed around then went and lay promptly in his bed. "I thought it would be better to eat in here rather than with everyone else," he said, setting it down on a side table. He moved the prints and handed her a plate of food. "Are you okay? You look pale."

"I'm fine." She gave him a weak smile. "The bath did help." She didn't want to deceive him but there was no other way. He opened a bottle of wine at the dry bar and poured them both a glass. The room had grown dark and he clicked on the lights before handing her a glass and sitting down next to her. The scent of roast beef and garlic mashed potatoes filled the air, her stomach giving out a loud growl. They ate in silence, both hungry and tired from the long travel.

When she was finished, Charlie set her plate down and tucked her legs up under her. "What's a rusalka?" she asked casually.

"Rusalka?" Sin cleared the plates from the table. Setting them on the tray, he put it outside their door on the floor. "That's a Russian word. I believe it's a mermaid or sea nymph." He poured them more wine. "Why? Where did you hear it?"

She looked down, unable to meet his gaze. "It was something Sokolov said to me." The crest on her stomach throbbed.

He loosened the tie around his neck, unbuttoning his collar. "How did he use it?"

"He asked me if I was selkie or rusalka."

"It will have been your eyes." He sat down next to her and patted his lap. "What did you say?"

"I asked him what he meant," she said, scooting over. He helped her onto his lap and she leaned against his chest, the solidness of him a comfort. "He said never mind."

"Did you remember this?" he asked gently.

She nodded. "Yes, when I was in the bathtub."

He ran his fingers through her hair, still damp, and kissed the top of her head. "Tomorrow, this will all be over, Charlotte," he said. "I promise."

"I hope so."

"Let's go to bed." He picked her up in his arms as he stood, carrying her into the bedroom, and put her on the bed. The pale light from the window turned his eyes a soft gray. He undressed. His body, shadowed by the dark, looked as if it had been chiseled from granite. She sucked in her breath. The heat from his hand earlier returned and settled deep within her. He pulled the sash around her waist, undoing it, and the thin robe fell open. "You look wanton," he said, his voice husky. "And eager."

"Mayb—"

He put his finger to her lips. "Shh," he whispered. "Not a word." He went to his rucksack and got out a pair of handcuffs. The same pair she assumed he used on her when he kidnapped her. There were slats in the headboard and he pushed her down on her back. Sliding the cuffs around one of the slats, he put both hands above her head and clicked them shut around her wrists, securing her to the bed. "I'm going to give you a lesson in obedience."

"I don't—"

He flipped her on her side and smacked her bottom. "I said not a word." She started to protest, but his hand came down a second time. "Remember what happens to little girls who don't obey?"

She nodded, afraid to speak. Her bottom burned from the mark of his hand, but it was the heat that settled in her sex, arousing her to new heights, which silenced her.

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