The Assassin's Wife

by Nikita Slater

  She stood, after maneuvering her limbs in a series of warm-ups and removed the sweats that had kept her legs warm, revealing the tights underneath. Turning to her iPod port she flicked through the music until she found a particularly upbeat mix that included Daft Punk’s “Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger” and Jace Everett’s “Bad Things.” She danced to forget her worries, forget the past and forget the future. She leapt into the music and created steps that included a mix of ballet, modern and jazz that her old director, Sergei, would have nearly died of a heart attack at had he seen his prize principal creating.

  She whirled and flew her way around the room on the wings of her creative imagination until she was a mass of sweat and happy contentment. It wasn’t until she came to a complete stop in front of one of the floor to ceiling windows, the vent below it pumping warm air into her studio so she wouldn’t feel the chill from beyond, that she was forced back into reality. The snow was still drifting, but at a more leisurely pace than it had the evening before. David was in front of the shed chopping more wood for their fireplace.

  Her breath caught as she watched the deadly play of muscles rippling along his arms and shoulders each time he drew the axe back and then let it fall forward into the block of wood. His pants fit the tight muscles of his thighs to perfection. Covering his spectacular chest was a rough outdoors collared shirt left open over top of a tight thermal undershirt. The sleeves of the black and red checkered outer shirt were rolled up his veined forearms. She shivered, a ripple of apprehension combined with the warm rush of a woman who knew exactly how powerful her man was. It was a heady and frightening combination. She would be a fool to pretend she did not know what her husband was capable of with just his bare hands. Even worse with a weapon.

  As if sensing her perusal, he lifted his head to the wall of windows, his dark gaze sweeping the glass until he spotted her sleight, shadowed figure. She brought a hand up in a quick wave and stepped back, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest. There was no use pretending things could remain the same between them. As much as she wanted to simply go on the way they were, she knew, eventually, the call would come. And this comfortable world, this illusion, would come crashing down. She would rather face reality sooner than later.

  Tasha sat on the floor, pulled her toe-shoes off and massaged her sore feet absently, her thoughts entirely on the man outside and what he would do when she finally laid bare her thoughts and hopes. She did not know what he would say to her. She sighed and glanced around her studio. The man that had built this magnificent little treasure was a man that would lay his heart at the feet of his wife. Sacrifice anything for her happiness.

  But the reality of what her husband was willing to do for her was not quite so clear. Her eyes shifted to her feet and her brows pulled together in a frown as she took in their scraped and bloodied state. David was such a complex man. She doubted he even understood or acknowledged to himself why he’d built the dance studio and furnished it with Tasha’s favourite things. Or why he allowed her to download her favourite music. Why he stopped punishing her within weeks of finally having her within his grasp, despite spending years stalking her every footstep. Years where each time she eluded him, his cold fury would have increased.

  Tasha knew. After all this time, she finally figured out the key to her husband. Perhaps if she’d realized two years ago she might not have run away. But she’d been young and frightened. She had seen an atrocity that her mind simply could not reconcile with the man that doted on her. Now, she knew why David could kill virtually anyone else in cold blood, but not her. She was his. She belonged to him. He hadn’t followed her over oceans and across continents just to put a bullet in her, he’d done it because he couldn’t help himself. He would never kill the woman that held him in such enthrallment.

  This realization gave her power. And she needed to use that power to keep their life together safe. She rose gracefully from the floor and went to shower, determined to make the evening a good one so she could point their conversation in a positive direction. Nerves threatened her composure as she ran the loofah over her limbs and shampooed her hair. Finally, she hopped out of the shower after quickly rinsing the conditioner from her hair, peeked around the cabin to make sure David was still busy outside and rushed dripping to the cupboard for a wineglass.

  Grabbing up a bottle of VQA Mission Hill Shiraz and a bottle opener she made a beeline for the bedroom, nearly dropping the wineglass when David opened the front door before she could disappear completely. She turned on the spot, eyes wide, towel slipping precariously and mind spinning frantically. What should she save? She didn’t really want to have to explain why she was only half-dried off with a film of soap still coating parts of her body, but she probably shouldn’t let the wineglass or bottle hit the floor.

  So, she let the towel go and clutched the bottle and opener in one hand tight against her breasts, and the glass stiffly against her side, stem facing up. She gave him a tight smile as his hungry gaze swept every inch of her naked, pale body before giving her a probing look. “I-I… just feel like having a drink before supper,” she said breathlessly before whirling around, giving him a view of her bare ass and lunging for the bedroom.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she was safe behind the closed door. Her heart pounded as she half expected him to come after her. Instead, she heard him make his way into the washroom and turn on the shower. She wasn’t ready to face him yet. Though as soon as she tried to get the cork out of the bottle on her own she started having second thoughts.

  “Der’mo,” she sighed grumpily, rolling her eyes and then repeated the curse in English for extra emphasis, “Shit!”

  Finally, sitting on the bed, the bottle between her legs and her feet braced against the footboard she managed to get the cork out. She also managed to soak herself in rich, red liquid. Another Russian curse seemed appropriate as she used one of David’s discarded T-shirt’s to mop up the trickle that had spilled on her belly while pouring a generous glassful in the wine goblet.

  With a sigh of satisfaction at her partial win, she tilted the glass toward her lips, “Salut!” And took a healthy gulp.

  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand she began searching the closet for something to wear. It shouldn’t matter. David didn’t ever seem to care what she wore. He looked at her the same whether she wore a full on Canadian style snowsuit or a ballerina costume. She giggled a little as she chose a white dress with light grey lace trimming. Perhaps she should go to him in a snowsuit and explain what she wanted. He would be so distracted by her outfit choice that he maybe wouldn’t notice her manipulation of his feelings.

  She set the dress aside and sashayed over to their tall wooden dresser with her glass of wine, carefully twirling on her bare feet, avoiding the furniture with easy grace. The wine was beginning to loosen her nerves and she was starting to think her plan was a good one. What was the worst that could happen? He could say no to her. And she would… what? She hadn’t gotten that far, but she would think of something.

  She chose a pair of hip hugging blue and white striped boy-short panties to go with the dress. She decided she didn’t need a bra. Her breasts were not large, and though they had gotten a little plumper lately with her new curves, a bra would detract from the neckline of the dress. She took another generous gulp of wine, made sure there were no red smears on her hands or face that could transfer and set the glass down before pulling the clothes on.

  After she changed, she sat down at the pretty, ornate desk that David had set up for her, gruffly telling her it was for her hair and make-up things. Tasha hadn’t worn much make-up since arriving at the cabin, but decided to make an exception. She sipped the wine at a more leisurely pace as she applied a light coating of liquid foundation then bronzer, eye liner, eye shadow and nude lip gloss.

  Lastly, she brushed out her dark hair, pulling the drying locks down until they reached past her shoulder blades and then letting the waves bounce naturally back up to swirl a
round her shoulders. She decided to just leave it down since she usually had it up while she was dancing or doing housework around the cabin. She continued to brush her hair until it was smooth and well on its way to completely dry. She was nearly finished her glass of wine and decided she probably shouldn’t procrastinate any longer. David would be in any minute for a change of clothes and he was an extremely perceptive man. He would see the nerves written all over her face and body and demand an answer.

  She picked up her wineglass and the bottle and stepped toward the door just as David entered the bedroom. Her heart stopped for a second before thumping erratically in anticipation as he stood before, his bare chest glistening from his recent shower, droplets clinging to the bronze hairs over his sculpted muscles before dipping down toward the black trousers that barely clung to his lean hips because he hadn’t bothered to zip them up. Her eyes snapped up to his face. Oh god! He wasn’t wearing underwear. She could feel a tide of heat caressing her cheeks, making the bronzer she’d recently applied completely unnecessary.

  His dark eyes swept over her body, a crease appearing between his thick brows, crinkling the tiny scar that was there, as he took in every inch of her. She knew it wasn’t just her. He noticed everything about everything. But she couldn’t contain the hitch in her breathing as his gaze took in every aspect of her appearance.

  “Krasivaya, Natasha,” he said, his accented voice deep as he complimented her.

  “Spasibo,” she whispered in acknowledgment. She dropped her eyes when his seemed to demand an explanation for the rare care she’d taken in her dress. “I will make us something to eat,” she said quickly, attempting to slip past him into the main part of the cabin.

  He caught her elbow before she could take two steps away from him. Her glass sloshed a little, but she caught it in time and sent him a tiny glare. That had come very close to a red wine vs. white dress accident. She lowered her head though, refusing to engage. Now was not the time.

  “Why, Natasha?”

  She pretended innocence. “Why what, David?”

  His hand tightened and he growled a little, but he finally dropped her arm and let her go. She sighed in relief when he closed the door between them. She refilled her glass and gulped down another swallow of liquid courage before setting about making her specialty. Babushka’s famous rice meatballs. It took less than an hour before she’d set the food on a table with a smiling flourish. She ignored the speculative look in David’s eyes as he sat at the table, legs spread and arms crossed, watching her in brooding silence.

  Ordinarily he would have helped her cook, made the food himself, or engaged in some other task. But tonight, it was like he sensed her unease. Tonight, he sat watching her, much like a predator would watch its prey, trying to decide how and when was best to pounce. Tasha did what she could to keep up a constant stream of bright chatter so he wouldn’t suspect there was anything out of the ordinary on her mind, but, of course, David was the master at understanding how the prey mind worked. He probably knew there was something off the moment he saw her through the window of her dance studio while was chopping wood.

  “Spasibo, my love,” he thanked her as she filled a glass of wine for him after placing the last of the dishes on the table.

  The way his accent rolled over the words ‘my love’ never failed to send shivers down her spine ending in the base and flaring out until she was tingling in all the right places. Before she could move away from him, he captured her hand in his and placed his lips against the inside of her wrist, lightly caressing her. Though he held her hand trapped in his, and caged her sleight, curvy body between his spread legs, he sat lazily in his chair, like a resting lion, watchful, but ready. His obsidian eyes captured and held hers as he slid her hand along the length of his mouth until his lips touched her palm. His tongue flicked out, caressing the heat of her skin, tasting her.

  Something hot and wonderful exploded in her stomach. No… not her stomach… lower. She felt as though she would collapse on the spot. Luckily, he released her and reached for his wineglass, bringing it to his lips and taking a long sip, his eyes never leaving her flushed face. Tasha sucked air in as though it were in short supply and stumbled back reaching for her own chair. She was reminded sharply of his visit to the Bolshoi and the time he’d kissed her wrist, how she’d reacted then. How was it possible she could ever have thought this man cold?

  If his intention was to scramble her thoughts away from her previous path then mission accomplished. It took half the meal and some serious soul-searching just to remember her own name again. By the end of the meal she was once more a nervous wreck. She nearly dropped the ceramic platter that contained the leftover meatballs when she was clearing the table. David took the heavy dish from her hands and gave her a light push away from the counter.

  “I will take care of the dishes,” he said firmly.

  She hesitated. Normally she would go to the bedroom and begin getting ready for bed. She would put on her nightgown and curl up under a blanket with a book or the laptop in front of the fire. It had become one of her favourite things to do in the evening after their meal. Now, David stood with his back to her. He placed his hands on the counter. She could see the gradual stiffening of his shoulders. He knew she wanted to talk to him about something in particular… and he didn’t like it. He may be excellent at reading body language, but she was also very good at knowing her husband.

  “Out with it, Natasha,” he said quietly. “Say what you want to say.”

  “David…” she said softly.

  He turned and looked down at her. She could feel her heart sinking and had to take a deep breath to stop the tears from coming to the surface. His eyes were so cold now that she couldn’t believe the man standing in front of her was the same man she had just dined with, or the man that had made such passionate love to her the night before. The man that had smiled indulgently as she’d tried on silly hats and played with a stuffed moose. This man was the man that had pulled the trigger on another person’s life.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You are going to ask me for one of two things, Natasha,” he said evenly, ice dripping from every word. “And I will give you neither.”

  “W-what are those?” she whispered as bravely as she could, stumbling a little over the words.

  “You either want me to let you go,” he snarled, his voice rising ever so slightly, his body stiffening as he stepped slightly away from the counter toward her, looming closer.

  She shook her head, trying to assure him, frightened at what she saw in his eyes. Death, always the death. His heart and mind were drifting beyond her reach once more. “No, David!” she said quickly. “I wasn’t going to ask that!”

  He tilted his head slightly in a nod, his glacial gaze pinning her in place. She shivered in fear, wondering how this evening could have taken such a drastic turn. She had been determined to direct the conversation with an easy charm and grace, pulling him under her spell so he would have no choice but to acquiesce to her plea. Instead, she now felt as though she were being hunted, though there was only a tiny space separating them. He was in control of the direction of the conversation. It was the story of their marriage. He was her older husband, always the dominant one ready to swoop in and oppress his young wife when she became unruly. Tasha wanted to protest the injustice, but the look on his face denied any leeway.

  Any warmth that had previously suffused their cozy cabin was now absent. He took another step toward her. Unable to help herself, Tasha took a hurried step back, her ass bumping against the table. She glanced over her shoulder. Their half-filled wineglasses and a few dishes were still scattered across the surface. She raised fearful eyes toward David, gripping the table tightly, her knuckles whitening, giving away her nerves.

  “If you aren’t going to ask for your freedom, then you are going to ask me to quit working,” he said with quiet menace. He raised an eyebrow at her shock. “Da, am I not correct, Natasha? Is this not what has occupied your thou
ghts?”

  She gasped and jerked against the table when he reached for her. His hand paused midair before proceeding to brush the hair off her forehead. He was being gentle with her. Too gentle. She could feel the barely leashed violence within. Tension vibrated in the space between them, drawn out by the long silences as she tried to gather the courage to speak. She reminded herself that she was no longer that young inexperienced virgin he had plucked out of the Bolshoi and forced into a whirlwind relationship. She was a wife. She could demand things of her husband.

  The question was, could she demand things of an assassin?

  She licked her lips and raised her chin. “Da, David. You are correct. I-I wanted to ask you to find another career. To stop h-hurting people. We’re building a life here and it is wonderful.” She raised her eyes, forcing herself to meet his hard gaze without flinching. “Please, you must see as well as I the differences in our lives, then from now. We aren’t running around the world, hiding in the shadows. We’re… happy.”

  Her voice trailed off. She knew she was right. They had been happy this past month. Even when David was punishing her, they were still settling into some kind of domestic routine that was unlike anything they had previously known. If he continued to kill for a living, then everything in their current insulated little world would come crashing down. She had no doubt.

  But the look on his face, the set to his shoulders, told her more eloquently than words that her speech was a failure.

  “And what exactly am I supposed to do, little dancer?” he asked coldly, crossing his arms. “Chop wood all day?”

  Annoyance sparked her temper, giving her a brief reprieve from her fear. “Don’t be like that,” she pleaded sharply. “There are many things you can do. So many jobs you can apply for. And even if you can’t or aren’t interested, I’m sure you have more than enough money to keep us in groceries and fire wood for years and years. We lived in the lap of luxury when we were travelling the world… before. You bought me jewels and clothes, things I don’t even really care about. You know you could just settle down here and live a quiet life off your… proceeds.”