Page 36 of Blood & Snow

I'm feeling possessive and protective.

I want to go back to that car and slit the driver’s throat.

"I feel scared," she admits, still clinging to me, but I feel like the danger is passed.

Whoever that was got tangled up in traffic and we're far enough away that she's safe, but they won't stop until they track her back to her roots.

That's how my world works.

And it means I have to step up my game.

If they think she's on my arm and not just an asset, it puts everything she knows at risk.

"You're safe,Ptichka," I tell her, and this time, instead of the predator stalking her, I feel like the man who will fight to death to protect her.

"I'm not letting them touch you."

NADYA

The warehouse reeks of bleach and death when we finish cleaning the latest scene.

Three bodies this time, all Brotherhood soldiers who thought they could ambush Xander.

They miscalculated his paranoia and paid for it with their lives—or at least that's the story he’s told me.

I watch his men practice the techniques I've been teaching them, noting how they miss the obvious blood spatter on the ceiling tiles.

These men excel at creating messes but struggle with eliminating evidence.

They just don't have the eye for detail, and if they were in charge of things, Xander would be caught in no time.

"You missed the overhead surfaces again," I tell Igor, pointing to the dark stains above the main kill zone.

"Blood travels upward during arterial spray. Always check above eye level."

He grunts acknowledgment and climbs onto a crate to reach the forgotten evidence.

Ivan continues scrubbing the floor too quickly, with too much moisture on the sponge.

It spreads the blood rather than cleaning it.

"Circular motions dilute the sample," I explain to him.

"Work from outside edges toward the center. Contain the area before you clean it."

These lessons feel surreal.

I'm teaching killers how to hide their crimes more effectively, using knowledge I should've put to use in a much better way.

The forensics program trained me to find evidence, not destroy it.

Every technique I demonstrate corrupts the purpose of my education and brings me shame upon shame.

Xander observes from the warehouse entrance, arms crossed over his chest while he evaluates his men's progress.

His gunshot wound has been healing cleanly over the past week, but I can still see how he favors the arm.