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I won’t be Winter Cavanaugh anymore. My thoughts are reinforced when the Russian says, “From now on, you’re Lia Volkov. Wife of Adrian Volkov.”
“Jesus Christ. Loosen up a little.” “I’ll loosen up in death.” “I doubt it.”
as if she’s made a swan out of an ugly duckling. But that’s not the case. She was always a swan, only hidden.
What is this feeling? No one should be this chivalrous yet terrifyingly dangerous at the same time.
“She’s like a moon, this one.” Damien tilts his head to the side, watching me closely. “Tell me the truth. Is Adrian fattening you to offer you as a sacrifice to his demonic ancestors?”
“Shut up, Damien,” Rai scolds him. “I’m really curious.” He leans over, watching me as if I’m some mannequin in a store. “Why is he hiding you like you’re some fucked-up version of Sleeping Beauty? Does he do satanic rituals I need to know about?”
“How about me, Rai?” Damien takes her free hand in his and kisses the back of it. “When are you going to save me? All you have to do is divorce Kyle and then we can ride into the sunset—or the battlefield. Same result.”
“Only Kyle gets to touch me. Do it again and I will kick you in the balls.” I expect Damien to get offended, but he grins. “Kinky. I love it.” “Speaking of kinky.” Kirill faces me again. He hasn’t stopped watching me since I joined them. “Has Adrian picked up anything new lately?” “He’ll fucking kill you if he hears you talking to his wife about kink.” Damien squeezes Kirill’s shoulder. “Rest in pieces, motherfucker.”
“Coincidences happen.” Kirill throws his hands dismissively. “If it weren’t for coincidence, I wouldn’t have been born.” “I’ll drink to that. To Kirill’s coincidental fucking existence.” Damien raises his glass and everyone else follows.
After all, monsters can only birth monsters.
