Plaintive Vow (Splintered Empire #1)

Prologue

Blair

S omething clatters against the front door.

Instinct has me scrambling out of bed, reaching for the knife that’s stashed away in the bedside table before I can figure out if I’ve imagined it or not.

Daniil stowed weapons around the house when he helped me move in, but I figured they would be just as redundant as the rest of the precautions he put in place.

There are alarms on all the doors and windows, weapons hidden but easily accessible throughout the house, and he made sure I had his phone number memorized backward and forward. Not just his number, either, but his friend’s, too.

Thinking about Andrei is enough to send a shiver down my spine. If I was ever in a situation and needed his help, I’d be better off praying for divine intervention. That man hates me more than he has any right to, and I’m going to avoid ever seeing him again if I can help it.

I push aside the stack of notes that I tossed in the drawer before I finally crawled into bed and passed out last night. The only light streaming past the lace curtains that I love so much is from a streetlight, and it isn’t doing shit to make it any easier to see.

The last thing I need is to slice my own hand open before I even know what’s going on.

Frustrated, I grab my phone for a light, only distantly registering the time. I have to wake up for work in an hour, and with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, there’s no way I’ll be able to fall back asleep any time soon.

Another series of loud bangs echo from the front door, and suddenly all those safety measures don’t feel so ridiculous.

Why did this have to be the one night this week that Daniil had to work?

With my phone in one hand and the knife in the other, I creep toward the door, trying to keep my steps light as I do my best to maneuver around the stacks of unpacked boxes and scraps of bubble wrap, cursing myself for not cleaning up before I went to bed.

Tentatively, I push aside the curtain and peek out at the patio, nearly collapsing with relief when I take in the familiar silhouette leaning against the railing. I put the knife and phone down on the entryway table before I sigh, doing my best to bury the frustration and lingering adrenaline.

“I hate you,” I mutter under my breath as I disengage the alarm and undo all three of the locks. Cracking open the door, I glare at Daniil. “You have a key. Why are you knocking?”

“Hey, Blair,” he drawls. His voice sounds tired, which isn’t unusual considering it’s three in the morning, but I’ve never seen him be anything but energized and alert.

Daniil’s always ready for anything, and even after an all-nighter all he needs to keep going is a cup of coffee and a quick smoke break before he’s good to go.

Most of the time I envy him for that, but right now it makes me narrow my eyes as I try to figure out what’s going on. It’s dark, but his hair looks messier than normal, and when he sways slightly, I can make out sweat beading on his forehead.

“Are you okay?” I reach out to take his hand, but he flinches away. He twists to glance over his shoulder, the movement enough to reveal the dark red stain spreading across his shirt, barely concealed by his jacket. I nearly choke on the wave of panic that hits me. “Are you bleeding?”

Seemingly satisfied that no one’s behind him, he nods and stumbles through the door, slamming it shut behind him. “I might have been shot.” He stumbles over his feet, crashing into me. It takes a moment before I’m able to stabilize us both, my throat tight.

“You don’t maybe get shot, Daniil. You either were or you weren’t!” My voice is high, and he smiles at me weakly.

I won’t be able to hold him up for long. He’s too heavy, and my legs suddenly feel like rubber under our combined weights.

“Well, then I guess I got shot.”

Oh, shit.

I put his arm around my shoulder, trying to maneuver him to lie down on the floor. He smiles at me weakly, and as soon as his head is cradled against my thighs, his eyes flutter shut. I try to push his jacket back, but I can’t get it off his shoulders with him lying down.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

“Shit! ”

I might know how to talk someone through first aid for a gunshot wound, but now that I need it, all that knowledge is gone, never to be seen again. My hands shake as I press down on the spot on his arm where most of the blood seems to be coming from.

Daniil flinches, and I hiss out an apology I’m not sure he can hear.

I can’t call 9-1-1. That’s the only thing I do know.

Keeping one hand firmly pressed against his arm, I try to pat him down for his phone. Andrei will know what to do, and I hope like hell he’s awake.

It takes me three tries to get my fingers to cooperate and dial Andrei’s number, and the ringing sounds like both an alarm and a chorus of angels singing.

“Your ass better be bleeding out in a gutter. Do you know what time it is?” Andrei barks as he answers, and it’s the greatest sound I’ve ever heard.

“Yes,” I breathe, sniffling against tears that I refuse to let fall. “I’m going to text you an address, and I need you to come here. Right now.” I swallow thickly. “Please.”

There’s a brief pause, and then the sound of shuffling.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is he?”

I use two fingers to try to find a pulse in Daniil’s neck. It’s there, and it’s strong, but he isn’t awake, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that’s a problem.

“Please, just come.”

“Christ,” Andrei mutters, and I feel like I’m going to choke on my tears. I cradle the phone with my shoulder, using my other hand to press against Daniil’s wound. I can’t tell if the bleeding is getting worse or not.

“Andrei, please, I don’t know what to do.

” My voice cracks and, feeling a combination of terrified and useless, I let the tears fall, adding to the dark stains on Daniil’s coat.

Andrei grunts as he hangs up. I type out the address, trying not to think about the way Daniil’s blood is all over my hands, smearing across the phone screen.

“You better make it out of this, because we both know Andrei will never believe this isn’t my fault if you don’t.”

Apparently, Daniil’s regained consciousness, because he has the nerve to huff a laugh, as if he didn’t show up in the middle of the night, bleeding all over the new floors. We only moved in a week ago, and now I have to figure out how to get blood out of the pretty hardwood flooring.

He clenches his jaw, brows drawn together as he breathes through the pain.

“He likes you more than you think, you know. He’d probably help you bury me.”

“Yeah, right.”

Andrei’s never made his feelings for me a secret.

For fuck’s sake, the only time he ever even smiled at me was the first time we met, and that ended in him kidnapping me at gunpoint, keeping me hostage for three days, and threatening to kill me until I agreed to work as an informant for him.

It’s the kind of thing that’s hard to look back on fondly, and even if I could, it would probably be a hallucination that my brain makes up to compensate for what a giant idiot I was .

“I’d rather not talk about burying you any time soon,” I whisper, arms shaking from the effort of keeping pressure on the wound. “You’re going to be fine, and if you ever do this to me again, I’ll kill you myself, consequences be damned.”

Before our first date, Daniil promised me that he’s not one to put himself in harm’s way. He’s a lawyer, for crying out loud. He doesn’t deal with the nitty gritty details of working with the Bratva.

The whole reason he’s in Colorado in the first place is because Andrei’s supposed to be cleaning up some sort of mess in their drug smuggling business, and people keep ending up in jail. Daniil’s job is to help mop up the legalities for their men.

He told me that he doesn’t even carry a gun most of the time.

He rolls his eyes, managing to look handsome despite the fact his brown hair’s plastered to his forehead with sweat, his usually tanned skin pale.

Somehow, it only makes his dark eyes stand out even more.

If I wasn’t so fond of him, I’d hate him for how he’s able to look so put together all the time.

“No, you won’t. You love me.” He smirks, like the ass that I know he is. Confident, full of himself, and infuriating beyond words.

“No, I don’t. Not right now.”

He lets out a strained chuckle, and I want to slap him across the face. “Yes, you do.” His eyes slip from my face and down my body, like he’s just properly looking at me now, and he flashes a filthy grin. “You aren’t wearing a bra.”

Another tear slips free while I glare at him. I have never hated another person more than I hate Daniil Krutikov right now. He’s bleeding on my new floor, disturbing my precious sleep, and he has the wherewithal to notice whether I’m wearing a bra or not?

He’s lucky that Andrei’s on his way. If something happens to Daniil, Andrei will make me wish I was dead, but Daniil’s quickly burning away the good will my affection for him has bought.

“It’s three in the morning, and I have work in less than an hour, you ass.”

He shrugs, hissing with the movement. “You’re still pretty when you’re mad.”

“Shut up,” I seethe.

Fortunately, the door slams open before he gets a chance to dig himself a deeper hole.

I flinch away, looking up to see the barrel of a gun sweeping the room, Andrei’s broad shoulders block the doorway like he’s waiting for someone to rush past him.

His cold gray eyes take in the scene, observing the unpacked boxes and blood like they’re opponents to be conquered.

“There’s no one else here, just us,” I rush to explain. “He showed up like this.”

Andrei looks at us for a moment before putting his gun away. “Well, you didn’t tell me that on the phone, did you?” he practically growls, rolling his shoulders. “You hardly told me anything.” He pins me in place with a glare, and I glare right back. “Daniil, you good?”