And she was weak as well. How else could she explain the wrenching wish she'd had that Nikolai might have taken her out of this place when he'd left today? She didn't often indulge in futile hopes, or waste time imagining things that could never come to pass. But there had been a moment...a brief, selfish moment when she pictured herself torn away from Sergei Yakut's unbreakable hold.
For one unfettered instant, she wondered what it might feel like to be free of him, free of everything that held her there...and it had been glorious.
Shamed by her thoughts, Renata swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. She couldn't lie there for another minute, not as long as her head was spinning with thoughts that would do her no good at all.
The fact of the matter was, this was her life. Yakut's world was her world, the lodge and its many ugly secrets her unshakable reality. She didn't feel sorry for herself; she never had. Not at the convent orphanage all those years as a child, nor the day she was tossed out of her home with the Sisters of Benevolent Mercy at the age of fourteen and forced to leave for good.
Not even on the night, just two summers before, when she'd been plucked off the streets in Montreal and brought with a group of other frightened humans to the locked holding pens of the barn on Sergei Yakut's property.
She hadn't shed a single self-pitying tear in all this time. She sure as hell wasn't about to start now.
Renata got up and left her modest room. The main lodge was quiet at this hour, the few windows in the place shuttered tight to banish the sun's lethal rays. Renata took the thick iron bar off the exterior door and walked out into a gloriously warm and bright summer afternoon.
She headed straight for the kennel outbuilding.
Amid all the drama that had occurred last night, both alone with Nikolai and in the time afterward, she'd completely forgotten her blades outside. The careless oversight bothered her. She never let the daggers out of her possession. They were a part of her now, as they had been the day she'd received them.
"Stupid, stupid," she whispered to herself as she entered the old kennel and looked to the post where she expected to find the embedded blade she'd thrown at Nikolai.
It wasn't there.
A cry slipped past her lips, disbelief and anguish.
Had the warrior taken her blades for himself? Had he fucking stolen them?
"Damn it. No."
Renata stormed across the center aisle of the building...then came to an abrupt halt as she reached the back of the place and her eyes settled on the stout bale of straw near the scarred wooden post.
Carefully folded atop it and placed neatly beside the pair of shoes she'd left behind last night as well was the silk-and-velvet wrapper that contained her treasured daggers. She picked it up, just to reassure herself that the fabric sheath wasn't empty. Its familiar weight settled into her palm and she couldn't hold back her smile.
Nikolai.
He'd taken care of the blades for her. Collected them, wrapped them up, and left them here for her as if he knew how much they meant to her.
Why would he do that? What did he expect his kindness to buy him? Did he actually think her trust might come so cheaply, or was he just hoping for another chance to force himself on her the way he had with that kiss?
She really didn't want to think about kissing Nikolai. If she thought about his mouth on hers, then she would have to admit to herself that as unexpected and uninvited as his kiss had been, force was hardly to blame for it happening.
The truth was, she'd enjoyed it.
Mother Mary, but just thinking on him now lit a slow, liquid heat in her core.
She'd wanted more of him, despite that every survival instinct in her body had been screaming for her to get away from him, and get away fast. She hungered for him - then and now. Burned for him, in a place she'd long thought to be frozen over and dead. And that little admission made what he'd said about Mira - the implication that whatever he'd seen in the child's eyes might somehow involve Renata and him intimately together - all the more unsettling.
Thank God he was gone.
Thank God he would likely never return after what he'd discovered here.
It had been a long time since Renata had gone down on her knees to pray. She knelt before no one anymore, not even Yakut at his terrifying worst, but she bowed her head now and begged heaven to keep Nikolai away from this place.
Away from her.
No longer in the mood for training, especially when memories of what had taken place here last night were still ripe and swimming in her head, Renata grabbed her shoes and walked back to the lodge. She went inside, replaced the bar on the door, then walked the hallway leading to her room and what she hoped might be at least a few hours' sleep.
She sensed something out of place even before she noticed Mira's door was unlatched.
No lights were on in the child's room, but she was awake. Renata heard her soft voice in the dark, complaining that she was sleepy and didn't want to get up. More nightmares? Renata wondered, feeling a pang of sympathy for the child. But then another voice hissed over Mira's groggy protests, this one cold and harsh, clipped with impatience.