Penn shot out of his seat so quickly the solid oak chair tipped back, clattering to the floor. “You told me we had a handle on this.”
The council remained stock still.
“Get out!” Penn shrieked. “All of you, get out!”
Wood scraping across marble echoed in the vast hall as everyone hurried and shuffled out of the room.
Penn waited until the door closed before throwing his tumbler against the wall. Shattering glass exploded in the room, followed by an ominous silence.
Incompetent fools. All of them. First, the uprising in South America, which considerably slowed the Drahzda’s cocaine production. And now his Ana not being on her flight. Someone screwed up, and when he discovered who, there’d be hell to pay.
Penn looked at the hundreds of hand-painted scenes on the ceiling, which housed seven crystal chandeliers. The place was initially a grand ballroom, but his grandfather had declared this the “war room” during World War II. His father hadn’t had the balls to change it. Penn’s council said they were honored to keep the ridiculous tradition alive, but there were too many memories here—memories of being beat as a child during a meeting, or that dreadful day he and his mother had been brought from Ireland to face his father’s wrath. The only thing keeping him from taking the space down to the studs was a small, unassuming corner toward the back.
Penn was across the room before he realized what he was doing. He leaned against the wall, not wanting to get too close, lest he disturb anything. Cordoned off with a velvet rope, the curtains, chair, and sideboard held a thick layer of dust. An empty syringe lay under the chair, next to a tangle of shackles and chains.
His Ana had spent much of her first days here while his father questioned her. Penn missed her so. Had she not been taken, they would be getting ready to celebrate their fifth anniversary. By now, she would have come around, quit fighting her future. She would have enjoyed waking up with him, abiding by his rules and submitting to his will. They may even have found a way for her to carry his child—something he still hoped she would do one day.
God. It had been so long since he had felt her tremble beneath his touch. Most of those times she’d been tied down, either terrified or furious, but once, when they were still in Ireland, she trembled in a good way. It might take a while, but she would do it again.
Penn’s blood painfully coursed through his veins, but he closed his eyes anyway, allowing memories of the past to flood through.
Her hair felt like a river of black silk streaming between his fingers. Her eyes, blue as the Caribbean Sea. She had this scent about her, musky yet sweet, and the way she laughed resonated deep within him. He knew he loved her the first day they played together as children, and the night he almost took her was the defining moment in his life.
Memories of her flesh, firm yet soft as it filled his palm, and when he squeezed, she whimpered. God. That sound. In all his dark, twisted life, he’d never felt anything close to what that sound erupted in him. A feeling he could only define as hope.
“My Ana,” he muttered, running his nose along her jawline. “I love that I’m the only one who’s ever called you by that name.” His touch became sure as he slid his palm across her torso, finding the snap of her jeans. “And after tonight, you’ll always be mine ... forever.”
The gasoline pulsing through his veins exploded into white-hot agony, and his gaze flew open as he stared at the chair.
And then Ike Thalestris had shown up and ruined it all. If things had gone according to plan, Penn would have murdered his father before ever bringing his Ana into their world.
Heat screamed through his blood again. Every nerve became excruciating, and Penn finally turned his mind from the past. After he’d been injected, his father had chosen memories of Ireland as a trigger, creating a firestorm in his body.
He trembled as he took a pillbox from his pocket and snapped open the lid. He popped two tablets under his tongue. The pain eased.
Even though his men had failed to rescue Ana from that dreadful academy, it wouldn’t be much longer. Soon, she’d be forced to remember, and when she did, she’d come back to him.
And then Penn would spend the rest of his life atoning for all that had happened to his sweet girl. He would build a new empire for her, one where she submitted fully to him. And then he’d treat her like a queen, coddle and protect her. She would want for nothing. He’d rule the Drahzdan Empire, and together they would make history.
“Stephan.” He said the name as if the man were standing mere feet away.
The door across the room opened. “Is there something you need?”
“Ready the plane. It’s time we complete the renovation of our new home.”
The door quietly clicked closed, but Penn’s eyes never left the chair.
His suffering these past four years would all be worth it once his Ana was back in his arms.
“Hey, sleepyhead, quit mumbling and wake up.” Xari nudged Nya awake.
Sharp tingles of dread had Nya’s eyes flying open. “What did I say?”
Her friend bustled around their space picking up odds and ends and stuffing them in her bag. “I don’t know, something about Jax and a cub. We’ve just landed.”
“Wait ... what?” Nya yawned and tried to get her bearings. Her head ached, and chills ran through her body. “We’re here?”
“Yes. And Myrina’s already off the plane. They’re waiting for us.”
Nya reached for her bag and followed Xari to the front, her thigh throbbing with every step.
Didn’t take a genius to figure out she was in trouble here. Obviously, the wound was infected. She’d pull Cyrus aside and quietly ask for an antibiotic. If things got too bad, she’d pop open the stitches and debride it again. The first week was nothing more than meet-and-greets anyway.
They stopped at the small landing just outside the plane’s threshold, and the sun shone brightly as a cold wind whipped around them. Erik and Victor waited at the bottom of the stairs.
“Where’s Cyrus?” Nya asked, pulling her light jacket tighter.
“He left.”
“What do you mean, ‘he left’? Where the hell did he go?”
Xari raised an eyebrow. “Calm down, Ny. He took Myrina to the consulate. We’ll see him tonight.”
Nya tackled the stairs like an old lady, a death grip on the rail as she tottered down, one step at a time. Victor’s eyes held hers, his jaw set, determined.
And didn’t that just send her anxiety into a tailspin?
As soon as Xari stepped on even ground, Erik came forward. “You’re with me,” he grumbled, taking Xari’s arm and leading her to the back SUV.
Nya stayed in place, refusing to budge. “What’s going on?”
Victor gently took hold of her elbow, ignoring the fact that she stiffened at his touch. “Toxaris and Myrina are settling in at the consulate. And we, Anya, are going to a medical facility to get this wound straightened out.”
Relief washed through her, although she resented him taking charge.
“How did you know?”
Victor held up a plastic bag that contained her old bandage. “You left this in the bathroom. There’s quite a bit of drainage, which is concerning.”
Nya’s insides squirmed. Who the hell checked an airplane trashcan?
“Tell me.” He took off his coat and put it around her. “Do you always shiver, or are you running a fever?”
Nya flinched as his large hand palmed her shoulder. Her muscles relaxed as the body heat trapped in the coat warmed her.
Victor ignored the bizarre behavior and helped her into the SUV. “You should know, someone is waiting for you at the hospital.”
She groaned. “Oh, God. I told Cyrus not to call my parents unless there was an emergency.”
Victor raised a brow but didn’t say anything.
Nya stared out the window as they rode in stilted silence. She glanced at his profile. She couldn’t quite place it, but she had a feeling they’d a
lready met. “Have you ever worked with my father?”
Victor kept his eyes on the road. “I’ve worked with many warriors.”
“You’d remember him. Ike Thalestris. He’s the commander of the Fourth Generation division. Or maybe you’ve worked with my mother, Gia ...” Her voice trailed away as she rubbed her temples. “It’s more your voice. I know I’ve heard it somewhere before.”
Victor kept his expression neutral as he pulled up to a modern building surrounded by a tall chain-link fence.
“Where are we?” she asked, fear creeping in.
“Relax, Anya. We’re on Scythian soil. The doctor is waiting, and then we’ll join the others.” He stopped at the front entrance, went around the SUV, and opened her door.
“How come Xari couldn’t come with me?”
Victor took hold of her elbow again. She gritted her teeth.
“She wouldn’t have made it back in time to meet her official candidates. Speaking of which, I’ve called the council, and they’ve agreed to reschedule your introductions until you’ve been medically cleared.”
Her chest tightened at the thought of meeting strange males. And the media. Good Lord. They must be having a field day.
Victor glanced over, one brow raised. “Whether it’s tomorrow or a few days from now, you will meet them. You can’t avoid it forever.”
She hated that he read her so well. “I’m not avoiding anything.”
His perceptive eyes rested on her once more. “Of course not. Every champion that comes to Carpathia is exhausted and has the same empty hopelessness in their eyes.”
Nya glared ahead, ignoring him.
An attendant opened the door as they made their way up a short ramp. Victor spoke in Romanian to the other male, who then scrambled through a door and came back with a wheelchair.
Oh, hell no. All Nya needed was someone snapping a picture of her in that thing. The press would have a field day.
“No thanks. I’ll walk.”
“Hospital policy. You must ride.”
The attendant cleared his throat. “Is there anything else you need, Dr. Ramova?”
Dr. Ramova? Why did that sound familiar?
“No. I can handle things from here.”
Distracted, Nya looked out over the lot, her mind racing. A memory from a few days ago finally clicked into place as Jax’s voice echoed in her mind.
“... I think you’ll like Dr. Ramova.”
Nya froze. “You’re the one helping Jax? Is that why you’ve been touching me?”
She knew she sounded crazy, but at the moment she didn’t care.
Victor stepped forward, for the first time getting in her personal space. “No. Your therapy hasn’t started, and it’s common courtesy to help someone who’s injured. Enough of this. Either get in the chair, or I carry you. Your call.”
She crossed her arms, her head held high. “I’d like to see you try.”
His blue eyes sparked with the challenge, and before she could blink, one arm snaked around her waist as the other buckled the back of her knees. He jerked her hard to his chest.
Panic weighed on her like a ton of bricks, and she struggled to breathe. Familiarity washed over her. Pain. These arms holding her—a wisp of memory flooded her mind.
He was there. That night. On the docks. The night her father’s team died.
“You carried me ...” Her breath became nothing but short, shuddered puffs. “Why were you carrying me?”
Hot agony shot through her veins as black dots sparked her vision. Someone hollered in the distance, and the world went black.
Chapter Twelve
Sounds exploded as gunfire blazed over Nya’s head, the floor beneath her rocked and swayed. Weak and helpless, she strained to break free. Her body hurt like she’d been beaten for days. The stench of rotting fish hung heavy in the frigid air. Unbearable pain shot up her arm in runnels of white-hot agony.
She glanced down. The handle of a knife stuck out of the center of her palm, the blade running through flesh and bone, securely embedded in the floor beneath. Her fingers curled toward the ceiling, her palm drowning in blood. She strained, reaching with the other hand, trying to grab the handle, but a shackle braced that wrist, the chain just long enough so her fingertips grazed the top of the knife.
Screams came from a distance, growing louder, and Nya struggled to break free. The ship melted into a sterile hospital room, and Jax bolted through the door.
“Vtachi, wake up.” His large palm landed on her shoulder. Disoriented, her eyes darted from the door to the window and back. She couldn’t get her bearings. Which was the dream? Was she in this strange room or on a boat somewhere?
“Jax?”
He flipped on an overhead lamp. “I was at the nurse’s station when I heard you scream.”
“The room’s spinning.”
“That’s normal. You’ve just come from surgery.”
“Ugh. What? Why?” Nya tried to sit up.
Jax nudged her back down. “Stay put, or you’ll get sick. Your femur had part of a claw embedded in it, which is what caused the infection. They’re pumping you full of antibiotics now. You should be better by tomorrow.”
She groaned. “Everyone’s going to think I’m as weak as an Allos.”
“It’s not that bad.” He smiled. “The Madame Chancellor kept the media busy while we moved you to the consulate’s infirmary, which is where we are now. And you’re only missing the opening ceremonies. You’ll meet your official candidates tomorrow.”
Her head fell back. “Do my parents know?”
“I called them as soon as I talked to the surgeon.”
“That’s good.”
Jax’s eyes cooled as his expression became blank. “I know it’s late, but I’d like to hear about this dream.”
She turned away. God, she couldn’t take Jax’s shrink face. Not now. The pain, the trials, the memories—it was too much, too soon—she was too open. She needed to be alone, to regroup and think.
Jax’s calm voice drew her in. “Come on, Vtachi. Talk to me. It might help.”
Bile rose in her throat as raw emotions grated like sandpaper over burnt flesh. She sat up and brought her knees in tight, wrapping her arms around her shins, making her thigh burn like hell. She looked into his dark eyes, so sincere, and that empty place inside of her cracked.
“It wasn’t a dream,” she whispered. “It was a memory.”
“Oh?”
Her chest felt like someone had parked a car on it. Rocking back and forth, she kept her eyes cast downward, ignoring the tears blurring her vision. “When we first got here, I remembered Victor was there that night on the docks. And now this ...” her voice trailed off. “I think I’m going crazy, Jax. I really do.”
The bed dipped as he sidled in behind her, his broad chest covering her back. He bent his knees, his thick thighs swathing her in body heat. Jax ran his large palms down her arms until they encased her cold hands.
“You’re not crazy. Now breathe, Vtachi.”
Nya leaned back, turning her head so her ear rested over his heart. Feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest, she forced air in, held it, and let it out, matching his rhythm.
He kept quiet, grazing his thumbs over the backs of her hands, and the pressure eased.
“I was on a boat,” she whispered. “There must have been a storm or something because we were rocking back and forth. There was gunfire and shouting.”
His hands skated up her arms again, swirling around her shoulders and then back down. “Is that all you remember?”
“No. Before the boat, I remember feeling like a rat in a cage. They drugged me and then hurt me, charting how quickly my skin sealed back together. I was injected and then cut, over and over for days. They discovered the sedatives stayed in my system longer if I had to continually heal. I knew I was going to die—part of me wanted to give in so the pain would stop.”
“Tell me about your scar.”
Her breath became ragg
ed. “We were getting close to shore, but they didn’t trust I wouldn’t escape, so they ran a knife through my hand, pegging me to the ship like a damn insect to a board. When they shot me full of whatever juice they were using, I couldn’t move. I tried to pull the knife out with my other hand, but they had chained it to the rail. What sick bastard does something like that?”
Jax took a deep breath and let it out. “You were taken by the Drazhda.”
Nya’s eyes flew open. “Do you think they killed Penn? Is that what I can’t remember—that they made me watch him die?”
His arms tightened around hers. “Is that what you think happened?”
Her eyes squinted closed as she concentrated on the memory. “I’m not sure. But Penn would have died trying to save me, I know it.”
As soon as she mentioned Penn’s name, familiar panic surged through her. She became aware of Jax’s warm body, his thighs pressing on hers, his hands making their way up and down her arms.
It was wrong for a male to touch her in this way. No one touched her like that. Ever.
Jax’s fingertips grazed up her arm and back down, his breath steady beneath her ear.
But why, though? Why did Penn’s name make her freak out about someone touching her? What happened that night on the docks?
Her thoughts churned, and Jax waited patiently, stroking her softly, occasionally muttering the same soothing Dacian phrases he’d used since her first year.
Her heart slowed, but conflict boiled within. Trembling, she took a deep breath and tried to rein in the instinct to fight Jax off and bolt for the door.
“You want me to go?” His voice caressed her like warm honey.
Nya’s heart hammered as she leaned back. She allowed her weight to settle on his torso. Her head found a comfortable spot on his shoulder. “No, stay.”
“Whatever you need, Vtachi. Whatever you need.” His large palms slid down her arms, covering her hands again.
Sheer terror drained away, and something else seeped in—a tinge of something real, something warm and tingly and safe. Jax pulled her close, his palms tenderly circling over the rise of her knuckles. The feeling grew stronger, rushing through the emptiness she’d felt for so long.
The Scythian Trials Page 11
