Page 103 of Monstrous Urges
For the first time, I’m truly facing the world as Annika Brancovich. And it’s terrifying.
I shiver as Drazen’s hand goes to the small of my back. I glance at him, but he’s smiling cordially and waving graciously at various people outside the hotel that he seems to know. He keeps his hand on the small of my back as we walk up the red-carpeted steps to the hotel entrance. There, we pause.
My pulse skips as he leans close, his lips by my ear.
“Remember,” he murmurs. “This is?—”
“Important,” I mutter back. “Yes, I’m aware. Thanks so much for the pep talk.”
Drazen pulls back. His eyes stab into mine.
“It wasn’t a pep talk.”
“I’ll be fine, okay?—”
“Because you don’t need one.”
Wait, what?
“What I was going to say,” he murmurs. One hand slides to my hip. The other slides up my back, tangling a little in the back of my elaborately pinned-up hair. “Is that this is your moment.” His head cocks. “Try to enjoy it.”
One second, we’re standing there. The next, his mouth is descending to mine.
And the moment after that, my world shatters. Because for the first time, Drazen is kissing me.
The breath leaves my body. My heart stops. My skin lights on fire.
It’s not just a peck. It’s pure Drazen. His lips part, and my brain is still racing to catch up when his tongue pushes past my lips. His mouth sears to my mouth. His tongue duels with and conquers my tongue. He steals the very breath from my lungs and the thoughts from my head until all I know is the all-consuming, all-annihilating sensation of him devouring me.
It feels like it’s over almost before it starts. He pulls away, his eyes locking with mine for long, drawn out seconds. Then he’s turning, nodding to someone else he recognizes, and returning his hand to the small of my back as we walk inside.
Suddenly, I’m not so nervous anymore.
Weird…
It’s not hard to tell which of the Iron Table heads Drazen has his sights on. Not for me, anyway. I’m used to these sort of dynamics, these battles fought over cocktails or across boardroom tables with smiles on faces and knives hidden behind the backs.
He’s cordial enough to Yelizaveta Solovyova, who’s quite open about having met me already. He’s gruff but respectful to Kir Nikolayev, Pavel Nikitin, and Nikolai Antonov. But he’s all fucking smiles to Vadik Belov, even though it’s obvious the man is a hemorrhoidal asshole.
“So the prodigal wife returns,” Vadik sneers when we’re introduced. His eyes are firmly on my cleavage even though he’s got his arm around the lithe waist of some poor blonde girl who looks like she could be his daughter, if not granddaughter.
“Mne priyatno poznakomit’sya,” I say with a polite smile anyway.
It’s my pleasure to meet you.
No, I haven’t magically learned Russian. Just enough phrases to try and make a good impression. I mean, if I don’t, Drazen doesn’t get onto the Iron Table, and I don’t get my payout.
Vadik eyes me, sneering.
“Please, no more, Mrs. Krylov,” he chuckles roughly. “Your Russian is shit.”
“Well, at least her manners are better than yours, my friend.” Kir Nikolayev, a tall, handsome man with dark hair and eyes, directs a thin smile to the older Vadik. He turns to take my hand, shaking it politely. “A pleasure to meet you, Annika.” He beams. “Again.”
“Kir was at our wedding,” Drazen murmurs quietly into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. It’s not lost on me how aggressively and quickly he pulls my hand away from the other man’s.
“I’m so sorry to learn of your memory troubles,” Kir says, genuine concern in his tone. “That must be difficult.”
“Clearly,” Vadik chuckles. “Given that she slipped right back into the same bed she ran from before, when there’s plenty of room in mine.”