The Dark Duet by Kasonndra Leigh Page B

nine years old, I saw my parents die.” I say the words quickly. “Watched their SUV sink into a river, inch by agonizing inch, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. I screamed for help, but no one came. My only comfort was the sound of the wild animals in the woods. Why did I get to live? What makes me so special?”
    Turning my head to face him, Nikolai says, “You are special. Unique. Time has a way of branding those of us it has marked as a survivor. We either learn to accept this gift and wait for our calling, or we turn away from it and piss off something higher than we ever imagined could exist.” We both share a light laugh, locking gazes as the sound fades.
    “Which one did you choose?” I ask.
    “Patience has always been my crutch. She rewards those who choose to have faith in her skills.”
    “How much longer do I have to wait?” I croak out through my tears.
    “My eager little dove. Your moment to shine has arrived. Trust me. You only need to open your eyes and look around you.” We hold each other’s gazes, and I can’t help thinking of the kiss we shared and the way he makes me feel out of control. He’s sympathetic but withdrawn somehow. I wish I could make him feel as secure in my presence as he has done for me in his. I want Nikolai Belikov, maybe more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before. Sometimes, I don’t understand the power behind our attraction; the intensity of the way he makes me feel both scares and excites me.
    He stands and starts gathering a bunch of covers he has sitting on the chairs across from the bed. Long blond locks fall into his face, giving him an air of mystery, since I can no longer see his eyes. The thought of spending the night alone after suffering through yet another one of my nightmares triggers the anxiety in my chest.
    “I’ll sleep downstairs. On the couch,” he adds and steps toward the doorway. Make your move, Alese. Stop being a chicken shit. It’s now or never.
    “Wait,” I begin, trying not to sound too desperate, anyway. “I don’t want to be alone.”
    We stare each other down for a good thirty seconds before he breaks up the tension storming between us, the electricity I sense whenever Nikolai comes around me, a gut wrenching sensation that rips at my heart and swarms through my body, a longing getting harder to ignore each day.
    “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he mutters, but I can hear the indecision in his voice, can tell by the way he has kind of already started turning his body toward me that he’s torn between leaving or staying.
    “Why is it a bad idea? I don’t have the cooties,” I joke, failing miserably at lightening up the mood.
    “Cooties?” he asks in that hard Russian accent of his, making me remember he probably doesn’t neither get nor appreciate my American slang.
    “Never mind. This is your room. Your bed. Why should you have to leave it?” I ask, shrugging and hoping my eyes convey the words my lips won’t say.
    “It really is not a problem,” he almost whispers.
    Oh, what the hell. Just go for it. “I’d really like it if you stayed with me. Just until I fall asleep.”
    After staring me down for another ten seconds or so, he says, “All right, but only for a little while.” Yes! Success! I turn my head so he can’t see the grin forming on my lips.
    He shuffles onto the bed, gets situated, and lies beside me with his hands clasped together over his stomach as though someone might chop them off if he tries to touch me. I don’t get it. He can toss me on my ass during a sparring match, can pull the crap out of my hair just before he kisses me like a raging bull, can snap someone’s neck without blinking an eye—or so I’ve been told—yet lying in his bed with a woman turns him into a saint. We lie stiff as boards at first; that is, until I turn my body and snuggle up to him. In return, he places an arm around me and turns his body toward mine just the tiniest bit, so now we’re