66
CORA
No one ever told me how much punching someone would hurt.
It feels good for one split second to punch this smug asshole in the face, because my god, I’ve been waiting to do that for so long.
But that thrill is followed almost instantly by blistering pain in my knuckles. I’m still shaking out my hand when Mikhail turns back to me.
He turns slowly. Slowly. So, so slowly.
His cheek is barely red from the hit, but his eyes are blazing with rage. A vein in his neck throbs as he rises to his full height. “You little…fucking…bitch.”
He lunges for me. I throw my arms up to shield myself—from a blow that never comes.
Seconds that feel like minutes later, I crack my eyes open, just in time to see Mikhail thrown to the floor by a massive blur of black motion.
He’s crash-lands flat on his back. When his eyes refocus, he’s staring up at Ivan in unholy terror, who looms over him like the specter of death.
I stagger back against the wall. Relief and dread pulsing through me in equal measure.
Ivan is here. He’s going to save me. He’s going to end this.
Ivan is here. What will Mikhail tell him?
I press myself against the wall and try to catch my breath as Ivan swoops down and picks Mikhail up off of the floor. Apparently, he isn’t finished with him yet.
Mikhail is a stick figure compared to the rippling muscles of Ivan’s arms and legs. He wraps a hand around Ivan’s wrist, but he can’t pry it loose. Can’t escape. It’s nice to see the tables turned. To watch him squirm while he’s manhandled by someone else.
The music is so loud that I can’t hear much of anything. I have no clue what they’re saying to each other. But I don’t have to hear to know it’s heated.
Mikhail’s eyes are narrowed. His gaze cuts to me a couple times before Ivan twists him away.
“Don’t look at her!” he barks over the thumping bass. “Look at me.”
Before I can discern anything else, Yasha steps between me and the two men. Guilt is written all over his face.
“There was a threat detected outside,” he yells over the music. “I went to investigate. It was another fucking distraction. I’m…I’m sorry.”
My hand is still shaking when I lay it over his. “It’s not your fault. I’m fine.”
His frown twists. I can tell Yasha won’t forgive himself for this slip up anytime soon.
Then Ivan barks his name. “Yasha!”
Without hesitation, Yasha turns to his friend and leader. Towards his duty.
Ivan shoves Mikhail towards Yasha, who intercepts him. He grabs my ex-fiancé by the back of the shirt and drags him towards two waiting guards. The three of them escort him out.
When they’re gone, Ivan steps in front of me. Only now is the shock starting to wear off. I want to bury myself in his chest and cry. “Ivan, I—”
The words are ripped out of me when he grabs my arm and jerks me into the nearest alcove.
The space is dark. Even though the door stays wide open, the noise from the club softens inside the thick walls. The air is cool and damp. It feels like we’re in another world. I’m hit with another wave of gratitude that Mikhail did not get me alone in here.
I don’t even want to think about what could have happened if he’d succeeded. About what he would have done to me…
The entire time we were engaged, I knew Mikhail was an asshole. But he never scared me quite like this.
Not until tonight.
“Ivan,” I start again, my voice shaking. “Thank you for—”
“What in the hell were you thinking?”
The faint glow of the colored lights highlights his cheekbones and jawline on one side; the other side bleeds into shadows.
He shakes me hard. “You could have been killed. You shouldn’t have been alone with a motherfucker like him.”
Him. He says it with familiarity. Does he…does he know Mikhail?
This could be a test. Maybe Ivan already knows about my broken-off engagement. Maybe he’s giving me the opportunity to come clean.
But there is nothing for me to come clean about. I haven’t done anything wrong. There’s no need to tell him anything. The woman who was engaged to Mikhail doesn’t exist anymore.
Cordelia is dead.
“I didn’t want to be.”
His nostrils flare. “Could’ve fooled me.”
For the second time in as many minutes, I’m about to hit a man. “I punched him in the face!”
“Not soon enough.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I snort. “I didn’t realize I’m supposed to assault every man who even approaches me.”
“Not every man, no. But any man who corners you in a club. Any man who puts his hands on you. Any man who isn’t me.”
His amber eyes practically glow in the dark. I try to squirm away from him, if only to draw some more oxygen into my body. “I asked you to come with me. And I think punching him in the face made it perfectly clear I didn’t want to be here with him. I don’t know why you’re mad.”
“Because I wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight.” He bites his lower lip. When he looks at me, I don’t think he’s seeing me. He’s replaying the scene in his head—Mikhail cornering me against the wall, the shadows beckoning. “I’m mad because you were supposed to be safe here, but you always seem to find yourself in trouble.”
I swallow down angry words. Mostly because I don’t think I have the energy to speak to them. Not when it’s taking every ounce of strength just to keep from shivering. “I was taking care of it.”
But my voice sounds as weak as I feel. It isn’t true.
This altercation tonight isn’t like the night Ivan and I met at his party. That man, Stefanos whatever, was a drunk nuisance, but one I could handle. But tonight… with Mikhail…
I was in trouble.
I didn’t have a choice. He forced me away from everyone like it was easy. He made it look like we were dancing. Anyone who saw us together probably thought I wanted to be there.
I was helpless.
And then what? Would anyone have seen us leave? If I turned up missing, would Ivan think I ran away from him?
There are worse questions, too. Mikhail found me. I ran away. I changed my name. But he found me anyway.
Which means my stepfather won’t be far behind.
My head swims with fear. I’m split between the urge to sprint out of this room and run for the hills or collapse into a pile on the floor.
What am I supposed to do?
“Cora.” Ivan’s voice is firm. He plucks up my hands and places them flat on his chest. “Breathe.”
My inhale is raspy. I want to do it better, but I can’t. I can’t breathe. I’m going to suffocate here, drowning in uncertainty.
Who can I trust?
Will I ever be safe again?
“No one is going to hurt you,” he growls. “No one is going to lay a hand on you while I’m around.”
His hands on my body feel so right. So real. He is the only person I want near me right now. The only person I trust.
He ducks his head. “Tell me you’re alright.”
I can’t. I’m not alright. But I want to be. At least for a little while.
I grab his arm and arch against him. “Dance with me.”
His dark brows pinch together. Concern flickers across his face. But I pull him towards the alcove door and back into the main club. He comes willingly.
When we make it to the edge of the crowd, I turn around. I feel his body against my back. His breath on my neck. “Cora…”
It’s a question. A warning. A promise.
I reach back and hook my hand around his neck. “I just want to be here with you. For a little while.”
He hesitates for a second. Then he grabs my hand and twirls me around so we are face to face. “We can stay here as long as you like.”
Forever, I think. How about forever? Forever sounds nice.