Page 31 of Blood & Snow

Because I have a feeling that I would enjoy that far too much, and judging simply by the condition of his physique, I have no doubt he really would devour me, body, soul, and spirit.

And that's the last thing I need right now.

7

XANDER

Iwatch Nadya emerge from the metro station at Tverskaya, scanning the crowd for my location.

She wears the same threadbare coat and worn jeans she's had on during every encounter, clothes that mark her as someone who can't afford better.

Today that changes.

"Over here," I call from the back seat window when she passes my car without recognizing it.

She approaches cautiously, probably expecting another crime scene or medical emergency.

The confusion on her face when she sees me sitting in the back seat of a luxury sedan rather than inside a crime scene tells me she hasn't figured out my intentions yet.

"Get in," I order, opening the door.

"Where are we going?" she asks while settling into the leather seat.

She looks around nervously, as if getting into a car with me is inherently more dangerous than crawling on her hands and knees through evidence with a gun to her back.

"Shopping."

I shut the door and nod at my driver whopulls into Moscow traffic.

"You need appropriate clothing for the expanded role you'll be taking in my operations."

"Expanded role?"

"Some of my men require training in evidence disposal and scene management. You'll be teaching them proper techniques."

She seems tense, and I open my coat in front to show her I'm not carrying a weapon this time, hoping it puts her at ease.

"Can't have you looking out of place when you're working with senior personnel."

The explanation is partially true.

I do need someone to train my soldiers in cleanup procedures, and her forensic background makes her ideal for that responsibility.

But the real reason I'm taking her shopping has nothing to do with operational requirements.

I want to see her in clothes that showcase her body properly, want to dress her in expensive fabrics that highlight every curve I've been appreciating during our encounters.

I want to transform her from a desperate woman answering classified advertisements into someone who looks appropriate standing beside me.

"I don't need new clothes," Nadya protests.

"What I have works fine for cleaning… And I don’t think I can train?—"

"What you have works fine for scrubbing floors in abandoned buildings. It doesn't work for the environments you'll be entering now.”

My driver turns toward the parking garage.

We almost could’ve walked her from the station, but I can't have her risk being seen with me on the street openly.