Page 66 of The King's Pawn
Something in Lev’s posture shifts, drawing my eyes from my window.
He tenses, his hands tightening around the wheel. When the drive opens up, my gaze lifts automatically out the windshield and then my breath catches.
Sasha is standing on the front steps.
Waiting.
13
ALINA
He’s still in a suit from wherever he’s come from.
The jacket hangs open, the tie loosened and pulled slightly askew like he yanked it down in irritation and never bothered to fix it. The first two buttons of his shirt are undone, exposing the pale column of his throat and the winding lines of his tattoos that ink his collarbone beneath.
His hair is a mess by his standards. Dark strands that are usually smoothed back with careful precision have been disturbed, pushed away from his forehead in uneven sweeps like he’s dragged a hand through it again and again.
But it’s his eyes that make my stomach drop.
Even through the windshield, even at this distance, I can feel them on me.
They aren’t blazing. They aren’t sharp with open fury or flashing with the kind of temper that explodes and burns out fast. That would almost be easier to face. No, this is something farworse. His gaze is dark and unreadable, the surface calm while something lethal smolders underneath.
Lev’s hands remain locked on the wheel, fingers white with tension, his jaw clenched so hard, I can see the muscle ticking beneath his skin.
I don’t wait for him to come around and let me out.
I can’t.
I shove the door open and step out into the cold before my courage has time to falter.
The air hits me immediately. The snow has melted into a fine, icy mist that clings to my lashes and bites at my cheeks, needling into my skin until I suck in a breath. The cold drags me fully back into my body, grounding me whether I want it to or not. My boots slip slightly on the slick stone as I straighten, the ground beneath me unsteady and treacherous, like everything else.
His gaze follows every step as I cross the gravel, the sound of it loud in my ears, each crunch a countdown I can’t stop. I climb the first stair, then the second, my fingers numb, my heart hammering so violently, it feels like it might crack my ribs from the inside.
I don’t look away. I refuse to.
He doesn’t say a word until I’m standing a few feet away from him, close enough to see the faint shadows under his eyes. Evidence of a night that didn’t grant him sleep, or perhaps a dozen nights stacked on top of one another.
“Where have you been?” he asks.
His voice is quiet.
It shouldn’t be frightening. Quiet voices never were when growing up in a house where shouting was reserved for closed doors and private meetings. But this quiet is different. This is restraint pulled taut. Calm means the storm is still inside him, contained and waiting.
“I needed answers,” I say. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. I don’t know where that strength comes from—shock, maybe… or exhaustion. Maybe even the simple fact that I have already lost too much to be afraid of losing his favor now.
His face doesn’t change. Not a single muscle gives me anything to work with on what he’s feeling. “From whom?”
“You already know, don’t you?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw.
Ah, there it is.
He does know. Of course he does. He always knows. There was never any chance of slipping past him without his having some idea of what I was up to. Maybe Lev underestimated him, or maybe I did. Or maybe some foolish part of me wanted to believe I could still make one choice in this world, damn the consequences.
He takes a slow step closer. “You had to risk disobeying me… to hear the truth from a liar?”
