Page 13 of Ruthless Vow
“It was a valiant attempt, Valkyrie.” He smirks. “I can’t wait to see what you try next.”
With that, he turns back to his control room and leaves me alone. I stare at the front door until two more shadows replace the smoker and the man I hit. In my father’s house, there would be consequences for attacking a guard, but Viktor says nothing about it at all. I glare at his back and hobble up the stairs to my room, prepared to lick my wounds.
7
VIKTOR
Idon’t leave her to stew in her anger very long. I watch on the camera as she rolls up one of her pantlegs and I see the blood forming on one of her knees. I almost feel bad about it, but then again, she did try to escape. A scraped knee is less than any of my men would get for such insubordination.
I sigh and head to the downstairs bathroom where I have a first aid kit stashed. She isn’t going to like it, but she has no other choice but to accept my help. I climb the stairs and hesitate for just a moment before filling the space in her doorway.
“That looks nasty,” I say from the hallway.
She glares up at me, her face stormy. “Some asshole tackled me to the ground,” she spits back.
I hold up the first aid kit like I’m waving a white flag. It isn’t surrender, exactly, but it is something of a peace offering. I really didn’t mean to hurt her.
“I can handle it myself,” she snaps, holding her hand out for the kit.
I could just give in to her demand, but that isn’t how things work around here. She needs to understand that she isn’t the one in charge and she never will be.
“That’s okay,” I say, entering her room without asking. “I’ll take care of it.”
She glares even harder, shooting daggers that I’m sure she wishes were literal. She hates me, and that’s fine. It’s safer for both of us that way.
“Let me look at it,” I say, sitting on the bed to her as close as I dare.
Very reluctantly, she angles her body toward mine, though she still maintains as much distance as she possibly can. He knee is pretty cut up. There are tiny little scrapes all over the surface, and the skin is an angry red where it isn’t broken. It isn’t bleeding profusely, but there are droplets pooling at the wounds.
I pull out a packet of gauze and gently press it against her knee, making sure the bleeding is stopped completely before I try to clean it. She says nothing and barely reacts. I don’t know if that’s a high tolerance of pain or her incessant need to prove her strength. Either way, she continues to glare at me while I take care of her injury.
Once I’m satisfied that the wound has properly clotted, I pull out an antiseptic pad and start gingerly cleaning around the edges. She hisses very lowly, probably hoping that I don’t notice. I do, of course. I notice everything about her.
For instance, I notice the rich shade of her brown hair, and how it seems to absorb light rather than reflect it. I notice that her eyes are an almond shape and the color is just as dark and rich as her hair.
She’s petite and curvy in all the right places, but she isn’t weak. Up close, I’m more aware of just how taut her muscles are. I’ve seen the evidence of her fighting, but seeing the way her feminine muscles ripple under her skin, I understand just how much she’s trained in her life. She was never going to be a damsel in distress if she could help it.
I grab a tube of ointment and cautiously rub it into her skin. This close to her, I feel like my body is on fire. The touch is completely innocent, but I don’t want it to be. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I come to terms with a dangerous truth. I want to ravage her. I want to feel every strain of her strong muscles and watch as she completely surrenders herself to the pleasure only I can bring her.
“I think that’s enough,” she says coolly, bringing me out of my thoughts.
I realize I’m still rubbing the ointment on her skin and nod, pulling out a Band Aid.
“What else?” I ask, staring at her.
She watches me with hesitation, not willing to budge. “That’s all,” she lies.
I know it’s a lie, because I see the scrape on her elbow as well. I grab her arm tentatively and hold it out, as if I’m presenting evidence to a jury of my peers.
“Don’t lie to me, Anya,” I warn. “Not about this or about anything else. I don’t take kindly to liars.”
“And I don’t take kindly to kidnappers,” she shoots back. “Or murderers for that matter.”
“You can levy every crime I’ve ever committed against me, Anya,” I tell her. “It won’t make any difference. I am who I am and I’ve come to terms with myself. It might be easier for you if you come to terms with your situation and accept it.”
“I’m never going to accept this,” she says, yanking her elbow out of my grasp.
She holds her arms to her chest and I can see the faint lines on her wrists where she was bound the other night. I reach for her hand, and then take it when she doesn’t offer it. I examine her wrists, taking in the angry red welts that encircle them.
