Page 1 of Cruel Kiss

1

CALI

228.1 pounds of unknown male weighing in on your bathroom scale is scary, yes.

But it's kind of abstract. You don't really grasp all the implications of it right away.

228.1 pounds of shadow looming in your hallway, however, cutting off all escape routes?

That's very, very real.

I turn around.

He's big. Bigger than the number on the scale made me picture, all of it concentrated in the shoulders and the chest. He's on the step below me, close, so close I can smell him, cigarettes and musk, like he just came in from outside.

He reaches for me.

I don't think.

I just swing.

The knife catches him somewhere on the arm, I feel it drag and stick, and he grunts low in his throat, more surprise than pain. His hand closes on my wrist and squeezes harder than I ever thought possible. Instantly, my fingers go numb, and the knife almost drops, but I don't let it. I will not let it. Icannotlet it.

Because this man wants to hurt, kill, or capture me.

And if I let him do that…

What will happen to my children?

So no, I'm not fighting to win. As much of a warrior as I like to believe I am, there are some laws of physics that simply cannot be denied. This man, whoever he is, is twice my size and he does this for a living, whatever "this" is.

What I'm fighting for is to stay between him and the top of the stairs. That's the only thing left that matters. Keep him away from my kids.

I plant my feet on the landing and swipe at him with my free hand, nails extended like talons.

He yanks my wrist, but I go with it instead of against it. That shift of my weight is enough to surprise him, and we both stumble sideways into the wall. A picture frame comes off its nail and cracks on the floor. I cringe, wondering how long until the mayhem wakes Hayden or Isabella. It's the most terrifying thought of my life to picture them opening their bedroom door, sleepy-eyed and confused, only enough time for a brief, "Mama…?" before this stranger's dead eyes slide from me to them, and then he?—

No. Can't think that.

Just stay asleep, my babies.

Please stay asleep.

Please, God, let them stay asleep.

He hooks an arm across my chest and drives me back into the banister. The wood bites into my spine and all the air is punched out of my lungs. He's still clasping my knife-wielding wrist, so that's useless, and my other hand can't reach, so I fall back on my last resort.

I bite him.

I get a mouthful of his forearm through his sleeve and I clamp down like an animal. I rip hard, and I'm pretty sure I feel something give way, hot and wet. He swears—in Russian, I think—and his grip loosens for half a second.

Half a second is enough.

I bring the knife up blind, both hands on it now, and I shove it forward into the meat of him, his side, his stomach, I don't know.

I just push until it stops.

Whatever it is, it works.