Page 59

Swimming in the warm waters of the Mediterranean, our bodies intertwine as we float. There’s something so sensual about the way Ero moves through the water. Just like on land. He’s deadly, terrifying, yet I never feel safer than when I’m in his arms.

Because I know he would only ever use his deadly skills to protect me.

We spin in a circle, a spiral, the skies above us setting in the sun. Clouds streak overhead, fading out to the horizon.

Just …perfect.

How many months have we lived this impossible fantasy, fighting, saving one another, saving others, changing the world? I’d have it go on forever.

Ero’s eyes meet mine, and I smile.

I wish he would smile back, but I know him. I see the light in those dark eyes…

It fades suddenly, shifting to inky black. Ero’s mouth splits, not in a smile, but a toothy maw. His skin toughens, morphing beneath my fingertips. Dark blue, leathery and slick, he vanishes from my grasp, surging through the water.

A fin breaks the surface, arcing around me, circling closer. I catch a glimpse of one eye, glassy and hollow. Hungry.

He veers sharply in the churning froth of white spray, row after row of teeth flash toward me?—

I gasp, my eyes snapping open.

Sitting up, I throw my legs over the side of the bed. Moments pass, the panic fades.

But the dreams don’t. Ever since Marrakesh, neither of us have slept well. Ero tosses and turns in nightmares, fighting demons in his dreams. Me too. When I actually sleep.

The rest of the time I stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out what the fuck we saw in the basement of that palace. And how it relates to Ananke and her control over him. Over me.

A glance tells me I didn’t disturb Ero, lying next to me. Rising silently, I pad to the window, cracking it just enough to get a sliver of cold air. The glow of the city stretches up into the night sky.

Moscow. Another test. Another risk.

Our apartment is ridiculous, as usual. A suite in a high-rise. The perfect place to stay near to the rich, the elite. And our target, a delegate from the UN visiting Russia.

I turn back, watching my partner, my lover, sleep. He’s so different when he’s not awake. Not hyperaware, scowling at everything. Peaceful.

Knowing I won’t get another wink, I head to the shower, cranking the water to just shy of blistering. Stupid cold country. Always cold.

By the time I get out, Ero’s gone.

“Stupid ninja,” I grumble, putting on a pot of coffee. Somehow, I never hear him leave. It’s infuriating.

Part of me chastises myself for not keeping better tabs on him, but the man is a goddamned feline. He’s quiet. He moves even more quietly than I do. And for the past several days, he’s vanished every night to wander the streets of wherever we’ve been.

We left Marrakesh that same night. Stopped off in Spain. Caught the train from Madrid to Paris. That’s where I got our orders to head to Russia.

Which took us through Belgrade, Serbia. The only city with a direct flight.

Tracking our progress helps me calm down, settles my nerves. Just like following steps in a process helps me keep from spinning out.

I set about getting ready, changing my appearance, my hair. It’s therapeutic. And it lets me step away from myself for a time.

Never liked you with red hair.Artemis watches me in the mirror, sitting on the bed in the room behind me. She’s gaining substance. Appearing more often.

“You never liked anything that wasn’t six-foot something and built like a bear.”

Mmm…I do love a good beard. But I’d never kick a tall, thick, woman with tattoos out of bed, either.

“I thought you just did that to piss your parents off.”