The Darkest Temptation (Made Book 3)

borborygmi

(n.) the rumbling sounds your stomach makes

MILA

Just as I reached the kennel’s exit, the door opened to reveal a stern-faced Albert. I took a step back, hid my wrist in my coat sleeve, and forced an innocent expression. His suspicious gaze slid from mine to take in the room behind me.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked.

“Digging an escape hole into the woods.”

Albert was either used to my sarcasm or I was the most pathetic captive in town. He didn’t even consider the possibility I was trying to escape, his eyes narrowing on the only dog in the building.

“What are you doing here? I thought you left to go kill people in Moscow.” My stomach tipped when I realized if Albert was here, Ronan probably was too. They’d left the house together. I wondered if they forgot the keys to the underworld and turned back for them.

“So you wait to do the things you are not supposed to after we leave?”

I frowned in thought. “Yeah. That sounds about right.” He grumbled something in Russian, and I pushed past him. “Now, excuse me. That escape plan didn’t go very well considering the solid cement floor, so I need to go think of another.”

I only took two steps out the door before his voice drew me to a pause.

“Mila.” The word was a low warning against my back. “You are bleeding.”

Glancing down, I saw a few drops of crimson on the snow and then closed my eyes. Albert had warned me to stay away from Khaos. Anxiety tightened my stomach at the thought something could happen to him because I didn’t listen.

“What happened?”

“I fell,” I said blandly.

“You fell.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Turn around.”

I hesitated, sawing my lip between my teeth. Albert loved the dogs, even though he was prejudiced about the idea of them being fat and lazy. I could only hope he would understand and Khaos wouldn’t be punished.

Slowly, I turned and allowed Albert to push up my coat sleeve. I winced when he brushed the wound. He took in the bite mark on my wrist and sighed.

“I told you not to go near him, did I not?” The disappointment in his voice made my chest ache.

“He had something stuck in his paw,” I explained thickly. “I pulled it out. He didn’t mean to hurt me . . . He even let me pet him afterward.”

Albert shook his head. “You are lucky he did not take off fingers. The last man was not so lucky.”

I swallowed as I recalled seeing a guard with only three fingers on one hand. I liked all ten of mine right where they were, but it still wouldn’t have changed my mind about helping Khaos—especially now I’d gotten somewhere with him. He may look at me like he was doing me a favor by letting me pet him, but I knew he needed the attention. And dishing out affection was balm to my soul.

“Then you believe me? It was just a reflex. He didn’t mean to do it.”

“I believe you, but it does not change the fact you need stitches.” He sighed and released my arm. “Go to the house.”

“You won’t punish Khaos, will you?”

He gave me a long, significant look. “I will not.”

I trusted him, but Albert was suddenly not my concern. “Is Ronan here?”

“Da. In the house.”

The nervousness that twisted my gut manifested a flare of frustration. “Why of all days is this the one you had to return unexpectedly?” I asked. “Can’t a captive catch a break?”

His expression was dry. “Pavel hit a pothole and drove the car into the ditch.”

“Oh . . .” I could just imagine all the “fucks” Ronan had to say about the incident. “No one’s hurt, are they?”

“Nyet,” he answered, and then a small smile appeared. “Besides Pavel’s ego.”

Poor Pavel. Though I couldn’t focus on him for more than a second when the doubt intensified along with the throb in my wrist. While a part of me believed Ronan wouldn’t care about a little flesh wound, another told me Khaos might end up at the pound.

“You won’t tell Ronan what happened, right?”

Albert grunted. “Do not push your luck.”

Hope crashed and burned, and, with a budding sense of urgency, I turned and walked back to the house, slipping through the door onto the freshly cleaned floors Yulia was still mopping near the staircase. Ronan was probably in the library, so I made my way there to explain the situation before Albert got the chance.

“Stop!”

Freezing, I followed Yulia’s irate gaze to the mud I was tracking in as well as the blood dripping from my coat.

“Do not dare take another step!” she growled.

I kicked my ankle boots off toward the door, splattering more mud across the floor. Yulia sputtered in outrage. Again, I started toward my destination but halted at the next screech that reached my ears.

“And the coat, heathen!”

I glared and defiantly shrugged off the coat, letting it fall to a dirty heap on the marble. Before I could take another step, Ronan appeared from the hall that led to the library. Yulia went demurely quiet and began to mop the floor as if she wasn’t just shouting insults at me.

The touch of his stare stalled the beat of my heart, washing in heat and uncertainty. Trying to conceal the wound as if it would protect Khaos, I held my wrist to my chest, but I couldn’t hide the blood trailing down my arm. Ronan took in the sight, his eyes clouding over like a dark winter sky. I had a feeling he already knew what happened—no thanks to twenty-first century technology—and it was confirmed only a second later.

Coolly, he pulled the handgun from his waistband and headed past me and out the door.

My stomach plummeted. An icy sensation shocked me like an electric wire, freezing my feet to the floor. As soon as the knowledge of what he planned to do sank in, I turned and ran after him. In my haste, I almost collided with a guard on the porch, who bit out a curse, but it was lost to me as well as the chill of snow beneath my bare feet.

“No!” I reached Ronan and grabbed his arm, but he shook off my hand. “Don’t do this,” I begged. My heart beat so hard it stole my breath. I moved in front of him to block his way to the kennel, only for him to push past me.

“Just let me explain!”

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt at his waist, I forced myself between him and Khaos again. I was trying to restrain a brick wall, and it only worked because he let me.

Ronan paused, drew a hard gaze to mine, and pointed to the house with his gun. “Go back inside.”

I ignored him and blurted, “He was hurt!” My grip tightened on his shirt, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. “I knew there was a chance he would bite me, but I helped him anyway. It’s my fault, not his!”

Ronan wasn’t listening to me. He didn’t care about the reason.

A blanket of tension lay over the yard, all eyes on us.

“Go. Inside.” His voice was calm, but the edges were rough, commanding absolute obedience and twisting my resolve. His gaze penetrated my blood with ice. He would do this no matter how much I begged. He would destroy Khaos and stomp on my soft heart in the process. Because I was worthless to him. Just like I was to my papa, to The Moorings, and to Ivan. But now I’d experienced a tiny slice of belonging in getting through to Khaos, I refused to let Ronan steal it from me.

Contempt swallowed me whole, lighting a fire in my veins.

“You want my misery? Then take it!” I shoved his chest, the ache in my wrist shooting up my arm. “You can have all of it, but I won’t let you do this.”

His jaw clenched when I hit him again, but he didn’t budge from his spot.

“You don’t throw things away just because they hurt you!” My chest heaved, the force of my feelings sending my blood pressure diving again, and black spots swam in my blurred vision. A wave of dizziness dropped my gaze to his lips; to the thin scar through the bottom one. The chill biting at my skin kept me conscious even as my ears rang like I’d been sucked underwater. It reminded me of how I believed he’d gotten the scar.

A heaviness pooled in my chest, snuffing out the anger within. “You hurt me . . .” The quiet words disappeared in a gust of wind that sent snow whipping through the air. “And I still would have helped you. I would have saved you when you were a boy, even knowing what you would do to me . . .”

I was crying steadily, laying out my heart at Ronan’s feet in front of all of his men, while his expression conveyed he’d be more interested in reading the dull section of the newspaper. Though something obscure passed through his eyes before they slid to my wrist, which throbbed with my heartbeat. Then he looked at my bare feet, making me painfully aware of the snow burning my soles.

The high emotions dropped, leaving me drained and unsteady. When I swayed, he put the gun back in his waistband, wrapped an arm around my waist, and lifted me. The man could shoot an old woman’s pet Fluffy without remorse, and still, I felt comfort in his arms.

A shiver coasted through me, my chilled body absorbing the heat of his. “I’ll hate you forever if you hurt him,” I said numbly.

“Your dramatics are a bit much for a Tuesday morning.”

His words made me uncomfortably aware of all the eyes on us. As a little embarrassment arose, I turned my face into Ronan’s neck and murmured, “It was a great monologue.”

“Oscar-worthy,” he returned with a trace of dry humor. “The near-fainting really brought it home.”

When we entered the house, he spoke in Russian to Yulia on the way to the dining room, where he set me on my feet.

He held out his hand. “Let me see it.”

Knowing what he was asking for, I brought my wrist to my chest protectively. “It’s really not that bad.”

“Then let me fucking see it.”

I sighed and complied. Ronan’s eyes on the wound made it throb, and I bit my lip to hide a wince before saying, “I don’t suppose you have a Band-Aid around here?”

Ronan’s dark gaze met mine for a second with a sense of aggravation. “You need stitches.”

My stomach turned at the thought. I was already a strong breeze away from fainting; the pain of a needle sewing my skin back together would surely tip the scales.

“I want a second opinion,” I told him as if I’d just gotten bad news from a doctor.

He gave me a dry look, and when Yulia entered the room with a first-aid kit in hand, Ronan said something to her in Russian. She didn’t even glance at my wrist before announcing, “You need stitches, devushka.”

I glared at Ronan.

“Sit,” he demanded.

I plopped down in my chair.

Polina was next to join the party. She cast a curious glance at my wrist as if it was the most interesting thing to happen that morning. I didn’t see the cook often, but her Russian shouts after a loud clang of pots and pans were a daily occurrence.

When she set a filled plate in front of me, my stomach growled loudly. I was starving, though I was also made with two heaping cups of stubbornness. I thanked Polina but didn’t touch the food.

With a noise of frustration, Ronan grabbed my face and turned it to his. “You’re going to eat every goddamn crumb on that plate.”

I met his eyes. “I will if you promise you won’t do anything to Khaos.”

“I don’t have to promise you anything.”

Something told me he didn’t hand out promises often, and if I got one from him, he would uphold it.

“You don’t have to,” I said softly. “I’m asking you to.”

A long second passed, a muscle in his jaw ticking in thought. He was so close his eyes glimmered dark blue. I’d always thought he was insanely handsome, but now, the sight hit me like a blow to the chest, spreading warmth outward. Just the commanding pressure of his hand on my face dragged a hot net through my blood, sliding lower to the soreness between my legs. My lips parted, and his gaze dropped to my mouth before lifting back to my eyes.

“Your food strike is over,” he said harshly and waited for me to agree.

I nodded, my chest growing lighter with the realization he was compromising with me. His thumb brushed my cheek, and my body ached for him to draw the caress to my lips, which tingled in awareness.

“You’ll let Yulia stitch you up without a single complaint,” he continued.

Breathlessly, I nodded.

“And if I find out you’ve been anywhere near Khaos again”—his grip tightened—“not even a river of your tears will save him. Do you understand me?”

I pulled my lip between my teeth, liking that condition the least. Though keeping my distance from Khaos was better than the alternative. When I nodded, his hand slipped from my face, leaving a hot impression behind. I wanted a verbal promise, but the subtle look in his eyes seemed to be more than enough.

I just compromised with D’yavol.

My heart clenched with all kinds of naïve assumptions: Maybe this promise would open up another; maybe deep beneath Ronan’s hard shell, lay a wonderland made of chocolate; maybe I’d found his saving grace.

Though my hopeful musings nose-dived when he left with a parting word.

“Don’t ever fucking disobey me in front of my men again.”