by M J Marstens
Instead, she lets my cum drip down her chin and onto the floor when she leans back to tentatively lick it off her lips. The sight of it against her skin, clearing away the dirt, makes me wish that I had come all over her face. Then, I would have gotten my wish to see it scrubbed clean—and in the sexiest way possible.
We sit there in silence for a few seconds staring deeply into one another’s eyes. It isn’t until I reach out and brush my thumb under her full bottom lip, wiping away the soot as I longed, that the spell around us breaks. And with it—Anya’s amenability. I watch as horror replaces the fascination and her face shuts down of all emotion. All emotion except one, that is.
Guilt.
Chapter Fourteen
Ilya
“It has been two weeks since that night and not a whisper of him has been spoken, nor a body recovered. I want to know what happened!”
I thump my fist down hard on the table, jarring its contents and the occupants in the room with my action, but I am beyond caring. Vadim has been missing for fourteen days and nights. My best friend just vanished into thin air, which means one of two things—the Beliye have captured him and are using him for information, or the Beliye have captured him and have outrightly killed him.
I refuse to even contemplate the latter option. My best friend is alive. This means I will have to do the detestable—broker an agreement with the Beliye in exchange for my best friend. The words leave a sour taste in my mouth as soon as I give the command. I swallow against the acrid regret and let it curdle in my stomach.
Even I will step over my pride1 for the return of Vadim.
It takes a few hours before I receive a response, but it seems that two Beliye representatives are willing to meet with me. I decide to go alone. My father scowls at my foolishness, but too much is at risk to bring anyone else—let alone him. Besides, our meeting place is on Krasnyye grounds. If the two Beliye do anything stupid, it will be their heads.
Again, a few more hours pass before it’s time for our rendezvous. I arrive at our designated meeting area in plenty of time and, now, pace impatiently. I feel like a caged tiger, waiting for its meal. These Beliye must tread carefully if they plan to walk away from this meeting alive. Only if my best friend is still breathing and not hurt will the Beliye leave unscathed.
At five minutes till seven, two men walk out from the dense foggy night that has enveloped the city. The Krasnyye control all the gas lamps and only one is lit—the one where we are meeting. They walk toward me slowly, but without hesitation. They know that eyes are watching their every move. Finally, they stand before me. Finally, I will get my answers.
“You requested our presence?” the one with dark hair asks calmly, as if not worried about his current predicament.
“Indeed,” I respond icily.
“Something about a missing person?” he prods and I try not to scoff at his fake ignorance.
“Yes. I want him back. Now.”
There’s an edge to my voice that only an idiot wouldn’t hear—and this man is no idiot.
“Fine. After you give us back her.”
I blink in confusion at the man.
Maybe he is an idiot.
“Her? Her who?”
“Don’t play games with me,” he snaps.
“Don’t play games with me!” I roar right back, frustrated beyond belief. “I don’t have any of your people hostage—let alone a woman.”
“And we don’t have any of your men or women hostage,” he denies.
I take a step forward, envisioning my hand wrapping around his throat with deadly force.
“Stop fucking around. Where is my first-in-command?!”
“Where is Anya?!” the man shouts.
“I don’t know this Anya! Hell—I don’t even know any woman in the Krasnyye named that.”
“You don’t know any Anyas?” the second man, a blond, drawls incredulously.
“Well, of course, I know Anyas. . .” I stop to think. “Actually, I only know of one—”
I stop before I announce that she was a lady-in-waiting at the palace. I don’t need these two assholes questioning why I know an imperial maid.
“Listen, I’m not lying. I don’t have any woman being held hostage, let alone one named Anya.”
This seems to take the wind out of the darker-haired man’s sails. His shoulders slump with defeat. The blond man rests a comforting hand on his shoulder before addressing me.
“And we sincerely don’t have your first-in-command. It would seem that we both came with the same plan—and assumptions.”
For some reason, his words ring true and I know that he’s not lying, which means. . .
My best friend is somewhere else.
Possibly wounded.
Most likely dead.
I feel nauseous at the thought.
“When was he last seen?” the dark-haired man suddenly asks.
I give him the night that Vadim came into the city alone two weeks ago to look for supplies. He exchanges a loaded look with the blond man.
“That’s when Anya arrived in the city,” he finally admits.
“Are you saying that she has something to do with his disappearance?” I query softly—dangerously.
The blond man looks down his nose at me and I know that I’m staring straight into the eyes of an Imperialist. Those bastards think that they are better than everyone.
“I highly doubt that Anya took him,” he snorts but, then, closes his mouth contemplatively.
“What do you think happened?” the dark-haired man asks me.
I shove my hands deep into my trouser pockets and rock on my heels before answering. I have zero reason to trust these two men, but I know that we are both on a quest to find someone special to us. Somehow—and I’m not sure how—Vadim and this Anya are connected.
“I think he’s injured, tied up, or dead.”
“Well, we already told you—we don’t have him, which leaves injured or dead.”
“If he were dead, we would have found the body already,” I counter.
“Then, he’s injured,” the blond concludes.
I hope so.
The alternatives are far worse.
“And what do you think happened to this Anya?”
Now, the two men hesitate.
“We’re not sure,” the blond admits.
I raise a sardonic brow at them.
“I think she has something to do with Vadim’s absence,” I offer.
The blond man shoots me another long-suffering look.
“Then, he is in the best hands since you think that he’s injured.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because Anya is a nurse. We found her on the night of the revolt at the Pokrovskaya Commune Hospital. We recruited her before the Krasnyye could.”
“So, you did send her as a spy.”
Again, the men share a loaded glance.
“Spit it out or I’ll have you shot in the back of the heads,” I growl. “Time is running out.”
“There’s something off about Anya. . .” the blond man starts and, then, trails off.
I give them a look that my patience is wearing thin, but they both seem genuinely perplexed.
“We don’t know,” the dark-haired man confesses, “but she was very keen to know about Lenin.”
I still at these words.
Many people are keen to get to know my father—the easier to kill him.
“If she’s harmed one hair on my first-in-command’s head, I’m—”
“Good to hear you’re still threatening people on my behalf,” a familiar voice jokes.
I spin around to stare at my best friend like he is an apparition.
“Vadim?” I croak before wrapping him up in a big bear hug.
“Ow, fuck. Careful, man.”
I immediately let go and step back. Vadim is one of the strongest people that I know, if he says ‘ow’, that means something is wrong.
“What happened?” I demand.
<
br /> “It’s a long story and we have guests,” he responds, indicating to the two Beliye.
“They are looking for a woman.”
“Anya?” Vadim asks in surprise and both men jump at the sound of her name.
“You know her?!”
“Where is she?!”
Vadim suddenly looks ill, his skin turning a sickly greenish hue.
“Who are you? Her brother and fiancé?”
The two men look confused.
“No,” the dark-haired one answers. “We. . . we’re her friends,” he finishes lamely.
Vadim curses under his breath.
“I already knew she was hiding something. . . I guess this is it.”
“Not necessarily,” the blond man corrects my friend. “We—I—think that she’s hiding something, too. I know how it seems, but Anya is not Beliye.”
I glance at Vadim and give him a nod.
“Then, let’s go ask this ‘Anya’ ourselves,” I suggest.
All three men nod and we follow Vadim back to Dr. Botkin’s house. I can sense the dark-haired man’s surprise. He might not have been questioning Anya before, but he is now.
Someone has a lot of explaining to do.
* * *
1 The Russian idiom ‘to swallow one’s pride’
Chapter Fifteen
Anastasia
I’m dozing when a noise startles me wide awake. It’s Vadim—and he’s gone. I get up and ease out of the hidden room to pad upstairs. It’s night again, but I cannot be sure of how much time has passed—something that upsets me greatly.
Time is precious right now, and I’ve wasted how much of it healing a stranger?
I try not to agonize too much on this. Mother would say that every life is worth saving; it’s just that I feel her life, and the lives of my father and siblings, are more important than Vadim’s. A small part of me calls me a liar and acknowledges that there is something more to my brief acquaintance with the man.
I snort.
Acquaintance—one did not call a man whom you touched intimately an ‘acquaintance’, I mentally scold myself.
I still blush when I remember my brazen actions. What had I been thinking? I hadn’t been—clearly. I let my curiosity get the better me. Father often lamented that it would only bring me hardship—and it frequently did. I am far too nosy and inquisitive to stay out of trouble.
The truth—if I’m just confessing it to myself—is that I had never touched, or truly seen, a kher. Although no longer a maiden, I never had time to explore my secret like I dreamed. Our clandestine meetings were too rushed for me to get to know my secret’s body like I wanted.
I haven’t touched Vadim since then. That is—I’ve cleaned and changed his dressings daily, but I’ve maintained the most professional façade possible. I try not to think of him as a man, even when his kher expands whenever I work on his thigh. He doesn’t say anything, but I can sense his hope that I might continue what we started that first night.
Our routine has become awkward, almost. The sexual tension is stifling and has created a giant elephant in the room. We wake, eat, relieve ourselves, I switch Vadim’s bandages, we make uncomfortable small talk, and, then, start over for lunch and dinner until we go to bed.
I try to say as little as possible because my big mouth is going to give me away—both my family and the desperate need that seems to be eating me alive. I can’t fathom why I am having this reaction to a stranger—and not the first one—to Zavid and even Maksim. It’s inappropriate and terribly ill-timed. My family needs me to save them. I must think with my head—not with my heart. . .
Or other parts.
I decide to go upstairs. Vadim must be there. I can use the lavatory and freshen up my ashy camouflage. But, when I get to Dr. Botkin’s main floor, it’s empty. There’s absolutely no sign of Vadim and I realize that he’s actually left the house.
I feel an overwhelming sense of unfair hurt. Vadim doesn’t owe me anything—but, a good-bye would have been nice. Maybe even a thank you. Of course, I owed him this in spades for saving my life. The truth is I’m irritated that he left because we never acknowledged what was between us. . .
Which is for the best, I firmly tell myself.
Nothing could have come of our instant attraction—he’s Krasnyye and I’m a Grand Duchess.
I don’t know what to do now. I still need to find where Lenin is hiding my family. Perhaps, if I head further southwest into the city, I can find my answers, but I’ll need to be careful. I have no idea if Vadim has alerted the Krasnyye of me—and I know he suspects something.
I get another knapsack ready with leftovers from the secret room. After Vadim’s and my time together, supplies are almost gone. Then, I return upstairs and smear more soot over my face, hair, and even hands. Better to appear like a little urchin than an imperial princess.
I’m blinking the ash out of my eyes and trying not to sneeze when I hear a sound behind me. I turn, expecting to see Vadim but, instead, find Zavid and Maksim.
“What are you two doing here?” I wonder.
“They’re looking for you,” a familiar voice answers.
Vadim.
“The question is—what are you doing? Were you going back into the city at night? Don’t you remember what happened the last time you did that?” he demands angrily.
“I. . .”
I don’t even know what to say.
What are the Beliye and Krasnyye even doing together?
“We’ve been searching for you for two weeks,” Zavid says softly. “You never came to meet Shusha.”
Two weeks?
That’s how much time has passed?
I mentally try to think—it must be February now.
“Why are you with him?” I ask Zavid, tipping my head towards Vadim.
“I’m told that you are searching for Lenin,” Vadim answers for Zavid, a cold smile on his face that has my heart racing. “Unfortunately, I can’t bring him here, but I do have his son. Maybe you can ask him your questions.”
My eyes widen in shock and fright.
“Y-y-you told him about us?” I whisper to Zavid.
He and Maksim look distinctly uneasy and their betrayal cuts into me like someone stabbing my stomach with a knife.
Quickly, I swallow the sickening sensation. I knew that I couldn’t trust anyone—only myself.
Acting braver than I feel, I stand tall and call upon my years of court training to make my voice commanding.
“Yes, please. Bring in Lenin’s son. I will ask him my questions.”
Vadim’s face relaxes at my announcement and the familiar ghost smile of amusement graces his lips briefly before he lets out an ear-piercing whistle. Instantly, Lenin’s son steps into the room. He’s tall, with light brown hair and deep brown eyes. There is an extraordinary grace and charisma that instantly draws you to him—the kind that makes you crave his approval, his words, his touch.
And I should know—I’ve certainly begged for it often enough—because standing before me is my secret.
Chapter Sixteen
I don’t even hesitate—I pivot on my heel and dash through Dr. Botkin’s house, out the back door, and into the night. Behind me, I can hear all four men chasing after me, but anger gives my feet wings. Ilya didn’t recognize me, but I surely know him—intimately, even.
Tears run freely down my face as I flee through the barren streets of St. Petersburg. I don’t even care about the dangers—all I can think about is my secret’s betrayal. This entire time, he was working for the Krasnyye. Worse—he’s my sworn enemy’s son! I gag, trying not to vomit at the thought of how he used me to get to my family—to gain access to the palace.
Everything has been a lie—a terrible lie—and it’s most likely cost my family their lives and my father’s throne.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, I berate myself as I run.
My grief lends me strength and, soon, I’m outside of the city limits, heading into the surrounding woods. Behind me,
I still hear the crunch of boots against the snow but, still, I run. It’s not until I come to a lake that I pause, but a glance over my shoulder spurs me into action and I dash across the frozen water.
Just as I reach the other side, I hear a sickening crack and, then, I plunge into the dark cold waters below. I kick with all my might and resurface, screaming for help from the very men that I was trying to escape. My nails rake the icy surface, seeking purchase, but there is none.
I desperately cling to the slippery topside of the ice, knowing that if I let go, I risk being sucked under and away from the hole. After all I’ve been through—I refuse to meet my Maker from a watery grave. My cries grow weaker, as do my efforts, expended by all my tears and running. That bastard has broken my heart and practically killed me.
Once I get rescued—if they rescue me—I’m going to shoot the traitor myself.
Right in the kher.
With that satisfying thought, I hang on for dear life and pray. I pray like I have never prayed before, even that night two weeks ago when I first arrived in St. Petersburg. I didn’t think anything could be scarier than being shot after by an unknown enemy, but this is a thousand times worse.
Vadim is the first to reach me, followed by Zavid. I can hear Maksim and Ilya yelling in the background. They are getting something for me to grab. The first two men cautiously approach the water’s edge. Ice is tricky—making it deadly and dangerous. Children in Russia are taught at a young age to test frozen surfaces before walking onto them.
In February, the bitter winter keeps everything solid, but near the water’s edge, ice is thinner from animals and humans testing it. I didn’t even consider my weight being an issue but, then again, I wasn’t even thinking when I ran across the frozen lake. I hear all the men talking quickly and, suddenly, Ilya appears with Maksim, dragging a large branch.
“Anya, grab this!” Zavid orders, his voice brimming with untold panic.
I reach out and try to grasp my wooden savior, but my fingers are too numb to hold onto anything any longer.
“I-I can’t!” I manage to gasp.
“Dammit, Anya, try!” Vadim roars, like he actually cares whether I live or die.
