Page 17 of Twisted Proposal

He reached into his bag and pulled out a syringe. My heart rate doubled instantly.

"No," I said, scrambling backward on the bed. "No shots."

Dr. Petrov frowned. "This will help you sleep and manage the pain."

"I said no." Panic clawed at my chest. "I don't want to be drugged."

The doctor's frown deepened. "It is not 'drugging' you. It is medical treatment."

"I don't care what you call it," I snapped, reckless from the pain and exhaustion. "I'm not letting you inject me with something when I don't even know what it is!"

"Miss Zaitseva, please be reasonable?—"

"No!" My shout echoed off the cinder-block walls.

And then, like a nightmare materializing out of my darkest thoughts, a tall figure appeared in the doorway. Broad shoulders. Immaculate suit. Cold, steel-gray eyes.

Artem.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, deceptively soft.

My heart stuttered in my chest. I could see the stains on his crisp white shirt. Dark stains. Blood.

My father's blood.

He stepped into the room, and it instantly felt smaller, as if the walls were closing in. The air thickened with his presence, making it hard to breathe.

"No problem," Dr. Petrov said quickly. "Miss Zaitseva is reluctant to accept pain medication."

Artem's gaze shifted to me, his expression unreadable. "And why is that, princess?"

The endearment wasn't affectionate—not coming from him.

It was a claim.

A reminder that I was at his mercy now.

"I don't like needles," I lied, wrapping my good arm protectively around myself.

He studied me for a long moment, his eyes taking in my wet hair, my pale face, the way I tried to make myself small on the bed. Whatever he saw there shifted something in his expression. Not a softening, exactly, but a slight easing of the predatory intensity.

"Give her oral medication," he said to the doctor, his tone brooking no argument. "Make sure she understands exactly what it is and what it does."

Dr. Petrov nodded quickly, returning the syringe to his bag and pulling out a small bottle of pills instead.

Artem turned his attention back to me, and I struggled not to shrink under his gaze. "You should rest," he said. "My men will remain outside until further notice."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order.

"Why?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. "Why are you doing this?"

His expression darkened, something treacherous flickering in his eyes. “Because you're mine now, Viktoria. And I protect what's mine."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with promise and threat.

I wanted to argue, to tell him I belonged to no one, but exhaustion and fear stole the words from my lips.

He moved closer, until he was standing right before me. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and brushed a strand of wet hair from my face. His fingers barely grazed my skin, but I felt the touch like a brand.