I knew when we arrived back at Mistress’s house she’d take Zoya away. I’d been here before. I knew exactly how this scene would play out.

The back door to the van opened and a Wraith hit the side of the van with his fist. “Get out!” he ordered. He snapped the lock on the cage, and I crawled out first. I held my hand to Zoya, and she followed me out of the van toward the secluded country mansion.

Mistress was nowhere to be seen. The Wraith walked ahead of us, and I pulled Zoya along. She clung to my side, and needing to have her close, I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and pulled her into my side.

The Wraith led us to the back of the house and through a small door. A narrow hallway led down to a lower floor. A long hallway followed after that, several doors leading off to different rooms. The Wraith stopped at one and ordered, “Get inside!”

Resisting the urge to kill him where he stood, I ducked into the room first, Zoya following behind. The room was dark, with no windows. There wasn’t any furniture in the room, only a small dull light fixed to the far wall. The door to the room slammed shut, and Zoya jumped. I listened hard trying to detect sounds outside. I heard the Wraith walking away, another door slamming shut and locks bolting, trapping us down here.

Alone.

Exhaling, I turned and found Zoya’s face in the low light. Her brown eyes were huge as she stared up at me, and I could feel her legs shaking.

My heart sank on my seeing her so afraid.

“Come,” I said, and led her to the corner of the room, the corner farthest from light. I sat on the floor resting my back against the wall and pulled Zoya down to sit upon my lap.

She followed without argument and rested her head against my shoulder. Squinting my eyes, I searched the room for any cameras or microphones. I couldn’t see any obvious signs and relaxed some against the wall.

We stayed this way, silent and still, for a long time before Zoya asked, “Valentin?”

“Yes?”

“What will happen now?”

I closed my eyes and I could feel my heart racing in my chest. Truth was, I didn’t know. But I had an idea. Mistress would punish me for my failure. The female in my arms was the easiest means she had available.

I opened my mouth to say I didn’t know, but Zoya spoke up first. “She’ll drug you again, won’t she? She’ll drug me, too, do to me what she did to Inessa. She’ll use me to force you to kill for her, won’t she?”

I didn’t give a response. I didn’t need to. Zoya wasn’t stupid. Her entire life had been devoted to anticipating what her enemies might do.

She sighed and her small hands fisted in my sweatshirt. “I hate that woman,” she said. I felt her body shaking in rage. “My mama used to tell me you could see if someone had a dark soul just by looking into their eyes. I looked into hers, and I could tell that she was rotten to the core. Owned one of the darkest black souls I’ve ever come across.”

My teeth gritted together. I was too angry to respond.

Zoya leaned back into my chest. Minutes and minutes passed; nothing happened. I kept listening for the sound of Mistress’s heels on the hard floor outside, for the bolts of the door upstairs to unlock, but the place was deathly quiet.

When too much time had passed, I raised my hand and stroked it through Zoya’s long black hair. Lifting the soft strands to my nose, I breathed deep. I closed my eyes and committed her scent to memory.

Zoya shifted in my lap, and she lifted her head. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice quiet and timid.

Taking advantage of studying her beautiful face, I ran the pads of my fingers down her soft cheek, committing how she felt to memory. “I am remembering you. I am remembering how you feel, how you smell, how you look, so when I don’t have you anymore I can still remember it all. So I don’t confuse it with a dream.”

Zoya stared at me, then stared at me some more, until I saw her eyes glistening with tears. “Shh,” I rasped. But I was too late; big tears began rolling down her cheeks.

Using my thumbs, I wiped them away. Zoya grabbed my wrist, pushing my hand to cup her cheek, and she said, “I’ve just found you, and now she will take you away from me, won’t she?”

“Zoya—” I tried to soothe her, but she cut me off.

“Won’t she?” she pushed harder.

Sagging in defeat, I answered honestly, “Yes. She takes everything from me. It’s all she’s ever done. She lives to see me suffer.” Zoya’s head dropped and she stared at her lap.

I watched her, knowing I couldn’t offer any words of comfort. But then Zoya lifted her head and suddenly moved her legs to straddle my thighs.

I drew in a breath. “Kotyonok? What are you doing?”

Lifting her hand, she ran it over my head, my cheeks, and my neck, following the action with her gaze. “If this is all we have, if all we have is right now, then I want to explore you one final time. I want my memories of you to be as strong as the ones you will have of me.”

My heart kicked into a fast sprint at the flush building up Zoya’s neck. Unable to resist, I cupped the back of her neck and brought her to my lips.

Zoya moaned into my mouth, quiet and reserved, but it didn’t make the kiss any less intense. I told her how I felt in this kiss. I poured myself into this kiss, all of me, everything she had made me feel.

My tongue pushed through her lips to meet Zoya’s, and as I drank in her sweet taste Zoya’s hips rolled, her hot pussy pressing along my hardening dick.

Gasping at the feel, I broke away.

I tried to breathe, to calm myself down. But Zoya leaned forward and began kissing every inch of my face, my heart swelling when she began tracing the length of my longest scar with her soft mouth. She ran her lips down from my temple to my neck, only going off the scar’s path to kiss along the red band of leftover scarred tissue from my collar. I groaned and ran my hands over her thighs, trying to stop myself from doing what I was picturing in my mind. But then Zoya’s small hands landed on the zipper of my sweatshirt and she pulled it down.

Once my sweatshirt was open, she shifted down my legs and commenced kissing my scar from the bottom of my neck to my pecs. When she reached the end of the scar, she lifted her face, her cheeks red and her skin flushed with need.

“Zoya,” I whispered; then she rose from my lap and got to her feet. Never breaking my gaze, she kicked off her boots and snapped open the button of her black pants.