Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Interesting.
She looked half dead and would likely be fully there by the time he reached her.
No one approached this island uninvited. No one possessed the technology or connections necessary to sneak past their security. And no one could cross the choppy seas on a night like this without proper nautical gear and equipment. Or so he thought.
His fingers danced across the console, switching to thermal imaging trained on the trespasser. She was a determined little thing.
A single heat signature climbed the hillside, stumbling through wind and sleet with the desperation of prey fleeing hunters. The figure moved too unsteadily, too frantically for the professional killers who occasionally tested their defenses.
How was she managing it? Her clothing was stiff and frozen, her balance off, and her feet were wrapped in cloth. Such determination had to spur from desperation. She was either running from something or aggressing toward something.
Stone reached for his phone to wake Hunter and Ash, but paused when the door camera captured the intruder’s face, and the thermal readings hadn’t prepared him for the reality of such desperate beauty.
She was vulnerability incarnate. Golden hair whipped around features that belonged in a museum. Those classical lines and ethereal beauty made his chest constrict with something he refused to acknowledge. Amber eyes looked up at the hidden camera, wide with desperation and flickering like precious stones held too close to a flame.
A woman. Young. Beautiful in a way that made dangerous men stupid and smart men reckless.
Stone set his vodka down with deliberate precision and leaned closer to the monitor, pale eyes tracking every nuance of her movements. She reached for the door handle, hands shaking so violently the tremor transmitted through the camera grain.
Taking pity on her the way one does a sacrificial lamb, he punched in the code. The other monitors showed the usual views—empty docks, silent forests, and in the distance, the glittering lights of the other isles. Even through the storm, he could make out the surroundings and saw no other incoming threats.
When the massive door opened, she stumbled across the threshold and practically collapsed on the polished floor. The foyer camera claimed her immediately. She stood, dripping, on marble that had witnessed centuries of Volkov power, her torn, stockinged feet wrapped in wet rags contrasting with her wet cashmere coat, marking her as either privileged or a thief.
“What the hell are you doing here, little one?” He zoomed in, noting the tremor of her eyes as her teeth noticeably chattered.
Their island was the furthest north, protected by fierce weather and bitter climates that devoured the unprepared. No way she made it here on that piece of shit boat.
Soaked to the bone, he wondered why she kept the wet clothes on. Perhaps she was sick in the head. Who knew how much time she’d been out there and how much she had left? He should help her, but instead, he merely watched her stagger from one room to the next, curious what she was looking for.
Maybe she was a decoy. A distraction.
His gaze quickly flicked to the other cameras, searching again for incoming threats.
Nothing.
Just her. She was either running from something or towards something. Maybe both.
He pulled his vodka closer and sipped, watching her discover the great hall with great satisfaction. “Ah, that’s what you were looking for.”
He reclined slightly, his mouth kicking up in a half smirk as he watched her search the hearth and nose around their private cabinets for kindling.
He chuckled. “Good girl. You’re resourceful when you need to be.” But despite finding the matches, her body shook so violently she couldn’t seem to get the kindling lit.
He read her frustration through the grainy screen, grinning at her determination. When she flung off the expensive coat, his eyes widened. Definitely not a child. Her wet clothes clung to her like threadbare rags, translucent enough that he could see every vertebra of her spine as she kneeled before the hearth, hunched over the scraps of bark, fighting with matches to get them lit.
She drew back and stilled as a tiny flame flickered to life, then she blew delicate breath over the bark, spreading her creation, and her face came alive with hope.
“Poor little lamb,” he said in a thick Russian accent as he studied her over the rim of his glass. “You nearly froze to death in the wild.”
He should have called Hunter and Ash by now, but he liked having a chance to observe her in her unhindered state, before she realized she’d stumbled into the bear’s den, before she understood she’d escaped death only to run into danger. And he liked having her all to himself.
“You should take off those wet clothes, little rabbit, before you freeze to death.”
She confronted the mammoth fireplace like David faced down Goliath. Something tender stirred in his chest at her unbreakable resolve. Even when her body betrayed her with evident exhaustion and hypothermic shuddering, she refused to give up until she had the fire lit.