Page 57 of Shadow Waltz

“Why?” I asked, the question coming out smaller than I'd intended. “I know you don't do anything without a reason. What do you get out of this?”

“What makes you think I need to get something out of it?”

“Because that's how the world works. Everyone wants something.”

Luka was quiet for a moment, studying my face. “Maybe I want to see what you look like when someone keeps a promise to you.”

The answer caught me off guard, too honest and too gentle for someone with his reputation.

“Or maybe,” he continued, voice dropping to that register that made my pulse skip, “I want to give you something no one else ever could. Your past back. Your friend back. A piece of who you were before all this happened to you.”

“And if you can't find them?”

“Then at least you'll know I tried. At least you'll know someone cared enough to look.” His smile was sharp but not unkind. “You're mine now, Ash. And I take care of what belongs to me.”

The possessiveness in his voice should have made me angry, should have triggered every alarm bell I'd learned to trust. But instead it felt like the closest thing to care I was likely to get from someone like him.

“This isn't about ownership,” I said, testing the boundaries.

“No,” Luka agreed. “This is about the fact that seeing you hurt makes me want to fix things. Even things that happened before I knew you existed.”

The admission hung between us, more vulnerable than anything he'd shared before.

“You don't even know if Cass is worth finding,” I said.

“They matter to you,” Luka replied simply. “That makes them worth everything.”

I wandered backinto the suite, pulse still racing. The room was too quiet, the kind of silence that didn’t feel like safety. I was halfway to the minibar when the door opened, slow and deliberate, and someone new stepped in.

He was tall—built like a linebacker, but with a predator’s grace. Sharp blue eyes, close-cropped hair, the hard lines of his jaw shadowed with stubble. He wore black from neck to boots, everything about him precise, even the tattoo that curled above his collar. Not Troy. Not even close.

He didn’t introduce himself at first. He just stood there, gaze sweeping the room, taking it all in. When his eyes landed on me, I felt the weight of his attention as if he’d laid a hand on my throat.

“Problem?” I managed, even though it came out sharper than I meant.

He finally spoke, accent unmistakably Russian—cold, smooth, bored. “No problem. Just making myself at home.”

“You’re not Troy,” I said, more accusation than question.

He smirked—barely there, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “No. Dmitri.” He paused, taking a slow, assessing breath. “Troy’s got other business tonight. I’m your new shadow for the night.”

There was a glint of something in his eyes—not unkind, just unapologetically interested. He prowled deeper into the room, gaze dropping over my bare feet, up my legs, pausing at the collar. A slow smirk curled on his lips.

“Troy told me what you two did,” he said, voice low, a dark promise. “Every detail.”

My ears burned. I flashed back to last night—Troy’s mouth, his hands, the sounds I’d made when I came undone for him. Shame and heat tangled in my gut, but the look Dmitri gave me wasn’t mocking. If anything, it made things worse. I felt myself blush and hated it.

I tried to sound bored. “Did he tell you he cried my name, too?”

Dmitri’s eyes narrowed, lips quirking. “He told me everything. How you begged. How you wanted it. How you wore this—” his hand flicked lightly at the collar, just enough to make me shiver, “—like you were born for it.”

The honesty rattled me. I could feel the tension in the room changing shape, growing sharper. He stepped closer, heat radiating off him in waves. “You always this needy for attention, or is it just with us?”

I wanted to retreat. I didn’t. “Is that why you’re here? To compare notes?”

He grinned, teeth flashing. “No. I’m here to keep you safe. But Troy said you like to be watched.” His voice dropped lower, a rasp against my ear. “Said you made the prettiest sounds when you thought no one else was listening.”

Something inside me tightened. I hated how much I liked hearing it—hated how the memory of Troy’s hands was now tangled up with Dmitri’s presence, their voices overlapping in my mind. I realized, with a jolt, that my own cock was stirring, and I swallowed hard.