Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Is he talking about chess?
I bite my lip, watching the pieces shift in his mind as he contemplates his next move. “Sounds like you’re always playing a game,” I say softly, tracing a finger along the edge of the board. “Even when it’s not chess.”
He gives me a faint smile. “Maybe life isn’t so different.”
I pretend to notice a speck of dust near the corner of the board and flick it away, casually nudging a piece. “Maybe you’re overthinking it,” I tease. “Sometimes the next move is simpler than you expect.”
His eyes dart to where my finger lingers near the knight, realization sparking in them. He shifts his position, his gaze snapping back to mine, bright with excitement. “Brilliant. You’re full of surprises,” he murmurs.
“Sometimes.” My cheeks warm under his steady gaze.
"Do you still play, Anya?"
"Not often. But yeah, I’ve been playing ever since you gifted me with a chessboard. I just never had the time or enough people interested in playing with me."
His eyes meet mine across the board. Wordlessly, he makes a move.
"Checkmate," I say softly.
I’m leaning closer to him. His eyes are on me. I want him to touch me. To kiss me. But this moment feels sacred, and I don’t know if I want to shatter it with the combustive energy that happens when we touch.
"I want to play with you," he says in a voice tinged with so much heat that I don’t know if he means my body or the chessboard.
"Is strip chess a thing?"
He laughs out loud. I jump, startled because I don’t know when the last time I heard him laugh out loud was. His whole face lights up—an absolute transformation—as his eyes dance, his mouth curves up, and he grins at me.
"Strip chess? It’s a thing now."
And that’s it.
The last trace of ice around my heart melts.
I made him laugh.
Maybe he isn’t cold—the Ice King everyone speaks of. Maybe he’s just broken.
Like me.
"You look troubled, Anya."
He looks down at the board as if trying to process my emotions.
“I’ve had…conflicting emotions.”
He blows out a breath, maintaining eye contact with me, and finally nods. "I know."
My heart aches. Semyon hasn’t.
I open my mouth to speak when suddenly the lights go out. We're cast into complete, utter darkness. I don't have my phone with me or a flashlight.
Semyon’s voice carries across the darkness. “Seems there's a power outage."
My chest constricts. I don't scare easily, but utter darkness triggers me.
"What do you mean?" My voice is shaky, trembling.
"Are you scared, Anya?" He sounds surprised.
"I don't like being in the dark,” I say in a whisper, not trusting my full voice. I might cry. "Stefan—"
"—is sleeping," he finishes for me, utterly calm. "He's fine. We'll go upstairs and check on him if it’ll make you feel better. But first, we're going to get a flashlight or candle,” he says in a quiet voice. I'm reminded of the older brother who shielded his sisters from so many things. "Before we check on your brother, we're going to secure all of our exits to make sure that this is not something intentional.”
If someone came here and cut the power—
"And then," he says calmly, rising. I can hear the way his clothes ruffle and feel warm fingers on my hand. “We're going to take a walk, check a few things, and go to bed—after I'm confident that we're not being sabotaged."
If I were home and the lights went out, I would light candles and put on a brave face for my brother. But I wouldn't ever have to worry about somebody coming into my house or being attacked.
But I’m Bratva now.
"I have candles in every room in this house and a power generator, but I'm not going to trigger the generator yet because it'll make it too easy for anyone who attacked us to disappear. So let's take a look."
He speaks so calmly, without question, as if it's just a matter of course. I don't know how he navigates the room in the dark, but it probably helps that it's unencumbered by clutter, and his memory is flawless.
I follow him, holding his hand. I hear the strike of a match, and candlelight flickers in front of him.
"You look like a ghost," I whisper to him.
"Maybe I am," he whispers back.
The corner of my lips quirks up. He takes the candle and rests it on a flat surface to cast light in the room before he takes out flashlights and hands me one.
We flick them on, and he methodically walks to the different exits. I half expect him to continue going room by room, but of course, he has a much simpler plan. He leads me over to a table, taps on a screen, and within ten seconds, twenty-five different views of access points to his estate pop up. He presses a button, and blue, yellow, and red zones appear.