Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Eric’s knees hit the floor and he winced as his captor pushed him down. Given there was still a bag over his head no one saw the grimace flash across his face.
It wasn’t his first time being black-bagged, and he calmly ran through a checklist of what he knew. The fact that he was calm was the first point to note. It was probably due to the remnants of whatever sedative they’d given him, not just experience making him nonchalant about kidnappings.
He’d been moved to a secondary, indoor location.
They’d transported him in some sort of large, wheeled cart.
He’d woken up crammed in a semi-reclined position in a space narrow enough his shoulders were forced forward, his back rounded, but there’d been space above his head.
He’d heard what he thought were elevator doors opening and closing, then a faint beep of an electronic lock before he was wheeled into this room.
On his knees, bent forward slightly to give the impression he wasn’t yet fully awake, he took stock of his body.
He was still shirtless and wearing the same pocketless pajama paints, based on the feel of the fabric on his legs.
He wasn’t seriously injured. They hadn’t beaten him or cut any pieces off while he was out.
He chewed on the gag and finished assessing. It was a DIY piece—knotted fabric, the knot shoved into his mouth, the rest tied tight enough his cheeks were compressed.
There was someone behind him, close enough to trigger his awareness but not close enough for him to do anything. There were at least two, probably three, other people in the room based on the faint sound of footsteps.
The room smelled like…
Eric straightened.
Closing his eyes, unnecessary though it may be with the bag over his head, he took a deep breath.
Now he was calm for an entirely different reason, because he knew that scent, faint though it may be.
When they yanked the bag off his head, he was smiling.
Nikolett sat in front of him, forearms resting on the arms of an elegant chair, one leg crossed over the other, chin held high.
She was wearing a dark-blue dress with thin straps that showed the curves of her shoulders and collarbones. Her hair was pulled back from her face, exposing that slim, delicate neck.
Her expression was hard. Imperial.
She sat in the chair like it was a throne, and she was the queen. No, queen wasn’t right. That title wasn’t enough.
She was an empress—powerful and merciless. Too primal for this modern age, instead meant to be a ruthless goddess descended to the pathetic mortal plane to rule and conquer.
Two men in urban camo flanked her, pulling off their balaclavas. Maxim and Iacob.
They’d hidden their faces to attack him, but apparently now, they didn’t have a problem with him knowing. Either Nikolett was going to have them kill him—a solid possibility—or she assumed that he wouldn’t retaliate against her people. Knew that all she had to do was ask him not to and he wouldn’t.
Nikolett’s gaze slid from the top of his head to where his knees pressed into the floor, expression never changing. Then she glanced over his head. “Undo the gag.”
The person behind him moved closer. Eric didn’t bother to turn and see who it was, because it didn’t matter. Only Nikolett mattered.
The gag went slack and Eric spit it out. He licked his lips, and Nikolett’s gaze traced the path of his tongue.
Eric tipped his head left, then right, cracking his neck.
Then he straightened his back, rolled his shoulders, and grinned.
Iacob and Maxim shifted uneasily.
He wasn’t sure what it said about him that it made people nervous when he smiled. He also wasn’t about to tell them that this smile was one of pure fucking joy, and maybe a little relief.
Nikolett had him kidnapped. That was a sign she cared.
She still wanted him.
He’d have to call Elijah and inform the good doctor that he’d been all wrong, and kidnapping really was the best option for him and Nikolett.
Nikolett studied his smile, her expression still unreadable.
“Leave us,” she said after a moment.
“Admiral, that seems stupid.”
Grigoris’ voice came from behind him. He was speaking Hungarian, and Eric wasn’t entirely sure about the translation of the last word.
“We are far past the point of any of this being wise,” Nikolett replied in English as she rose, stepping toward him until Eric had to crane his neck to look up at her.
This close, he could see that, as impassive as the rest of her expression was, her eyes burned with emotion.
His grin faded as he identified pain, fear, anger, and maybe delicate hope in her gaze.
He had a strange feeling that right now, they were both made of glass—strong and solid, born of fire and sand—yet fragile.
“He won’t hurt me.” Slowly, Nikolett traced the backs of her fingers down the side of his face, from temple to jaw.
Eric shivered, eyes sliding closed, every cell of his body responding to her touch.
“Go,” Nikolett said softly. “Victoire may need help running interference with the Spartan Guard.”
That answered that question at least. His people weren’t in on it.
He was fairly certain once Regina knew who’d taken him, she wouldn’t fight too hard to get him back. She would be pissed they’d managed to take him in the first place, but that was a later problem.
There was a pregnant pause, during which he leaned his head against her hand. She uncurled her fingers, cupping his cheek.
Acute relief flooded him, leaving him almost lightheaded.
Footsteps retreated, followed by the faint click of a door closing.
They were alone.
Nikolett’s hand dropped from his cheek.
Eric opened his eyes, watching as she returned to her seat, just as regal as a moment ago, though her expression was less guarded.
She crossed her legs.
Eric shuffled forward on his knees, hands still cuffed behind his back. He didn’t need his hands for this. He’d nudge her until she uncrossed her legs and—
Nikolett planted one foot against his pec, the tip of her stiletto heel digging in as she held him back.
Eric ran his gaze from her shiny black shoe up her ankle and calf to her knee. With her leg raised and bent, her skirt slid up enough for him to see the lacy top of the thigh-high stockings he hadn’t realized she was wearing.
Her skirt pooled and draped around her upper thighs, concealing things he very much wanted to see. And lick.
He started to twist, planning to force her leg to slide off his chest. Then he’d fit himself between her knees and—
“You broke my heart.”
Eric jerked his attention to her face. Gone was the fragile chaos in her gaze.
She was angry.
Royally, monumentally, angry.
Fuck.
Maybe she was going to kill him. And not have him killed, she might do it herself.
He scanned the rest of her and the chair for a gun. He hadn’t looked when she got up. It was very possible she had a gun tucked into cushions.
“Nothing to say?” she purred.
That tone of voice was a very bad sign.
“I’m checking for a gun.”
“If I kill you, it won’t be with a gun.”
“Are you going to kill me?” Something dark stirred in him, and Eric leaned into her foot, forcing her knee to bend. Her eyes narrowed and she pushed back, heel digging into his chest hard enough, he had to hide a wince.
He stilled and smirked, making sure she knew that she hadn’t stopped him, he’d chosen to stop leaning into her. She didn’t have the strength to push him away.
That statement rang a little too true, so he pushed the thought aside.
Some dark part of him needed her to know that though he may be on his knees and restrained, he could take control of this interaction at any point.
But Nikolett looked away, shoulders drooping just a little, and Eric realized he was fucking this up.
Nothing new there, but damn it, this time he was going to be the man she deserved.
“I’m sorry.” He sat back on his heels, shaking off the dark need to battle her for control. To jump ahead to the part where he had his mouth and hands on her.
“I’m sorry I broke your heart.”
The tension that tightened her shoulders relaxed at his words.
“I was an asshole to you. I knew I was doing it and I still did it because I was scared.”
Nikolett finally looked back at him, something fragile in her eyes.
“I did therapy.”
Now, her brows rose. She lifted her foot from his chest and recrossed her legs. “Is that code for you killed someone?”
“No.”
“Went and helped overthrow a dictator somewhere just for fun?”
“Regina wouldn’t let me, even if I wanted to.”
She didn’t laugh, merely studied him.
“I mean real therapy. Dr. Mata. He came to Triskelion, and he rewired my brain and made me talk about my feelings.”
“What do you mean he rewired your brain?” Nikolett’s gaze hardened, and she was back to being a dangerous empress. “Eric, did he hurt you?”
Her clear willingness to do unspeakable things to someone who’d hurt him was simultaneously sexy and heartwarming.
“No. Well. Making me talk about my feelings hurt.”
Nikolett snorted.
“But without him, I wouldn’t have figured out Zombie Nikolett.”
She blinked. Blinked again.
“Eric, if I die, please don’t fuck my corpse.”
“What? No! I have a lot of kinks but that’s not one of them.”
He didn’t miss her inhale at the word kinks.
He really, really wanted to follow that thread. To start listing kinks while watching her face so he could catalogue which ones they shared. Once he had internet access, he’d get a checklist for them to go over.
But that was the easy path, and she deserved more. She deserved the version of him brave enough to face, and explain, his own demons.
“You know my first trinity, my wives, died.”
Her expression shifted to wary and she nodded.
“They died. I survived. It was my duty to protect them—my wives, both as a knight and as their husband. For Josephine, as her brother and as the fleet admiral.”
He watched Nikolett swallow her comment or protest, and instead remain quiet so he could keep talking.