Page 6 of An Heir to Blood and Power

The rough wall was itchy against the backs of my arms and legs sticking out of my ratty tee shirt and shorts.

Nicolai’s cold glower at where I was smashed against the wall ransacked my body, all buffeting hail and furious winds. When he looked back to Konstantin, the relief felt like the storm turning away from where I was crouching.

“I tried to keep you from leaving the Sanctuary,” Konstantin said, almost pleading.

Nicolai stood at the end of the bed and held his hand out to me, beckoning. “Yes, I remember.”

I peeled myself off the paint and inched around the end of the bed, ready to jump away in case they went at it again.

“You didn’t even call me to come to the church when you got married,” Kostya said.

That time, hurt flooded his voice.

Nicolai must have heard it, too, because his shoulders drooped, and he grimaced as he held his hand out to me. “Lexi tried to get me to talk to people last night, but I wouldn’t do it. I became rather....” He trailed off.

“Imperious?” Konstantin suggested.

Nicolai winced, his eyebrows flinching in. “Must we use that term?”

I reached where Nicolai was still holding his hand out, my fingers sliding into his, but I kept it light in case I needed to snatch my hand back and retreat.

Konstantin sighed. “Then don’t be such a tyrant.”

Nicolai rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you to be there. I should have.”

Kostya ran his hand through his dark hair, letting the thick, dark strands exactly like Nicolai’s fall like silk. “Just tell me what happened.”

Nicolai settled himself wearily on the foot of the bed, stretching his long legs. He gestured toward the other part of the room, a whole separate sitting area that held dark wood dressers and two leather chairs the color of whiskey. “Sit down, Kostya.”

Konstantin sauntered the few steps to a chair, lowering himself onto the edge of the seat and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped, a classic listening posture.

“Lexi.” Nicolai released my hand and patted the bed beside him.

Since the storm seemed to be over, I sat on the other half of the foot of the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress like I might leap up and run at any time.

Sitting next to a man on a bed in a hotel room was scandalous, even if we were supposedly married.

My nerves were frayed, raw strands quivering.

Konstantin’s bright blue eyes narrowed at us, judging.

Totally judging.

I knew that stare.

That stare had stared at me my whole life.

Even though I’d crashed in the same bed as Nicolai last night, ussittingon the bed,onthe one bed,together,with me hanging outright next to himwhile his brotherstaredat us, felt obscene.

But hey,we were married,supposedly after a two-year secret courtship, even though we’d actually met last night, right about twelve hours ago, when he’d fallen down drunk at my feet and proposed because he was wasted.

But weweremarried.

After a hurried Russian Orthodox church ceremony in the wee hours of the morning, we were married in the eyes of God.

And,legally,sure.We werelegallymarried. We’d signed and notarized the marriage license that morning.

So, yeah, we were married, legally and before the Deity, even though we were complete strangers.