Chapter 5 Blood Bonds #2
“Ash asked you a question,” Stone said, his green eyes taunting as his trespassing touch teased at the hem of her sweater.
She looked at the blond he called Ash. “I...”
She struggled to see a safer option. There was so much risk attached to their request. She didn’t fully understand who they were and what—exactly—they wanted from her.
Hunter didn’t seem as eager as the others. But they didn’t seem to need his approval. His silent suspicion made her question her safety. None of these men pretended to be harmless, but Hunter seemed downright dangerous.
The blonde’s cold pragmatism hinted at depth. Perhaps he would be her safest ally. Though she would be a fool to trust any of them.
And the teasing one, Stone, he just looked like he wanted to devour her. “You’ll let me stay?”
“On our terms.”
“You have to agree,” Ash pushed. “Full consent.”
“For how long?”
“Until you change your mind. One whisper of the word stop, and it’s over. You leave, and we go back to our long winter of hibernating.”
“What about the police?”
“No loose ends,” Hunter, the lethal silent one, stated matter-of-factly.
It was as much a promise as it was a threat. They would allow her to stay, on their terms. The moment she disagreed, she was out the door.
“Have you ever surrendered to a man, printsessa? Truly surrendered?” Ash’s voice turned thick like honey. “Unburdened from choice to simply exist for his pleasure and yours.”
She’d surrendered more than she ever wanted to admit, but there had been no pleasure. “Choice isn’t a burden. It’s a privilege.”
“In some cases. But not in all. You have a choice, but if you choose to stay here under our protection, that will be the last one for a while.”
One and done. “I have to decide now?”
“Yes,” all three said at once.
The impossible decision they laid out positioned her like a chess piece already in check.
“She’s tired,” Stone murmured, his honeyed voice a mocking promise of safety. “Overwhelmed.”
Ash dragged a long finger up her leg. “Why don’t we start simple, printsessa?”
“Simple, how?”
His smile was soft around the edges, nothing like Stone’s sharp grin or the chilling expression of the grizzly giant, who she now knew was Hunter. “You’re sore. Exhausted. When’s the last time you had a real meal? A hot bath? A chance to simply... breathe?”
The kindness in his voice almost shattered her carefully constructed defenses. He lulled her closer to acceptance with the promise of creature comforts.
When was the last time someone had offered to see to her well-being without expecting payment in blood or silence? Not since before her mother died. Not since the world revealed its true face.
It was transactional safety, but safety all the same—If they spoke the truth and kept their word. “Will you hurt me?”
The silence stretched.
The fact that not a single one jumped up with assurance spoke volumes. She lowered her gaze. “I see.”
Ash patted her thigh as the way a coach might tap a player’s shoulder. “Food first. Then we’ll discuss the small print.” He stood and extended his hand with the grace of a prince. “Trust me, printsessa. We only bite when it’s deserved.”
She’d suffered the undeserved consequences of countless crimes she’d never committed. What if they found out about the things she’d done to survive? Would they bite then?
What if they turned on her when she least expected it?
Instinct warned, this was their nice side, despite her trespassing. As long as she was willing to work with them, give them what they wanted, she would be safe. Safer than she had been in some time. She didn’t want to find herself on the receiving end of their anger.
“Come on, printsessa.” Ash reached for her. “Let’s take a walk—just the two of us.”
As trusting as a lamb off to slaughter, she slipped her fingers into his warm grip and nodded. He firmly grasped her hand, gently pulling her to the edge of the bed. Stone and Hunter watched as she slid to her feet.
“There’s a good girl.” Ash tucked her hair behind her ear. “Looks like you could use some first aid, too. I have just the stuff.”
Her hand fluttered to her temple where his gaze focused, and she felt the crust of dried blood. He pulled her hand away from the sore spot.
“Careful. If it starts bleeding again, you might need a stitch.”
What the hell was happening? Why was he being so nice to her?
He wove his large fingers between hers and glanced back at the guys. “We’ll be back in a while.”
Silently, she let him lead her out of the room where she could breathe a little easier. She tested his honesty by cutting right to the point. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Turns out, I’m a nice guy.” His accent wasn’t as thick as the others’, and she wondered if Russian was his native tongue or something he’d learned through association.
“Are those men your brothers?”
“As far as you or anyone else is concerned, yes.”
That didn’t exactly answer her question. “You’re not Russian.”
“Very good, printsessa.”
“But your brothers are.”
“Correct.”
“And you’re not British.”
“Correct again.” He released her hand and pressed his large palm to the small of her back, urging her through the door of a dark room. “I’m a Volkov. End of story.”
His tone made it clear that the story was not a public one, but she imagined he’d paid his dues to adopt their last name and surrender his own. In some ways, bonds as loyal as theirs were far thicker than blood and water.
The lights flickered on, and she found herself standing in a large bathroom. “I’m afraid your sea adventures have left you a bit…odorous. There’s soap and toiletries in the drawer. You have five minutes.” He backed out of the room, and the door clicked.
She tested the gilded knob, only to find it locked. Wasting no time, she rushed to the standing shower and turned the golden handle to the highest setting of heat. Steam filled the room, and she quickly undressed.
The spray announced cuts and bruises she hadn’t catalogued.
Grime funneled down the drain, and her muscles unfurled under the warm water.
She didn’t have time to luxuriate, knowing Ash would be back in less than two minutes, so she quickly washed the dirt from her body and did her best to detangle her long curls—pausing briefly to appreciate the delicate citrus scent of the products.
But when she tried to read the labels, they were written in a different language, with an alphabet she didn’t recognize.
The door opened just as she was wrapping herself in a plush towel. She looked through the steam at Ash, nervously.
“Another sweater.” He handed over the folded wool and turned his back. “We’ll see about getting you some better-fitting clothes.”
His respect for her modesty surprised her. “Thank you.”
He turned just as the sweater fell down her thighs.
Taking a step closer, he inspected her clean face.
“You’ve had quite a journey.” He lifted her fingers, noting how her nails had chipped and broken.
He reached behind her and opened a drawer.
“For your hair.” He placed a wide-toothed comb in her hand.
Marigold had read stories about kidnappers showing kindness to their captives.
It was a sort of grooming meant to condition them for other things.
As she detangled her curls, she watched Ash’s reflection in the mirror, but his focus was elsewhere.
Only when she set down the comb did he meet her stare in the glass.
“Ready?”
Her mind screamed no, but she nodded anyway.
The kitchen was every bit as impressive in daylight as it had been during her desperate midnight raid.
Gleaming steel appliances caught morning light like mirrors, granite countertops reflected her uncertain face, and windows offered stunning views of the storm-ravaged landscape.
The world was buried in ice and snow, and she felt as if they were encased in time.
Ash moved through the space with proprietorial ease. “First, we play doctor.”
She let out a startled squeak as he surprised her by hoisting her onto the cold counter.
He chuckled. “That’ll teach you to run around bare-assed.” He pulled open a drawer and removed a bottle of disinfectant, some gauze, and a tube of ointment.
“Are you a doctor?”
He laughed, ripping open the plastic casing around the gauze. “No.”
Moving to the sink, he wet a folded dishcloth he found in another drawer. Gathering her hair, he twisted the damp strands securely behind her shoulders. “Hold still.”
She did as he commanded, taking the moment to study his face closely as he attended the gash. He was possibly the youngest of the three, but also the most pragmatic. There was a gentleness about him. A nurturer beneath the beast.
Though his appearance—now that she was less terrified—wasn’t beastly at all.
His body was thickly muscled, the kind of chiseled brawn honed from years of physical activity, but his eyes were soft and teasing when he watched her with that arctic blue stare.
All sharp cheekbones and sea-glass eyes, his face seemed carved for sin yet tempered by a softness that betrayed something human beneath the polish.
There was something playful about him that the others lacked. She bet he had dimples when he smiled. He was beautiful in a dangerous, quietly devastating way—refined but ruinous. His short, blond hair had a tendency to curl at the ends, underscoring his lightheartedness rather than rigidity.
“You’re not trembling anymore.” Even the way he smiled—lazy, knowing—felt like a secret meant only for her. “That’s good.”
Lost in thought, she could only silently stare, wondering how such angelic perfection could house a truly dangerous soul.
Magnetic, masculine, and utterly impossible to look away from, this one was going to require careful caution because he was already gentling her with a false sense of safety she was smart enough to know didn’t exist here.