Page 120 of Maksym

I shortened my stride to match hers.

She noticed.

“I can keep up,” she said.

“I know.”

“Then why are you walking slower?”

“Because I wish to.”

“That’s a bullshit answer.”

“It is the only one I am giving.”

She glanced up at me. Her eyes were bright and too intelligent for the comfort I wanted to offer.

“You Kozlov men are exhausting,” she said.

“Yes.”

“That was one syllable again.”

I held the door open for her, and we headed into the night air; she took my hand.

Chapter 16

Grace

By the time we reached Chestnut Hill, I had expected either panic or exhaustion to win.

Instead, the trees took custody of the road.

Ancient oaks flanked the drive, their black limbs laced over us against an evening sky fading toward iron-blue. Somewhere beyond the glass, the grounds held the deep hush of land that did not care what year it was.

Maksym sat beside me without speaking. His hand rested near mine on the seat.

When the vehicle stopped beneath the porte-cochère, I took his hand before he could offer it. His fingers closed around mine. Not tightly. His grip simply answered mine, cool and strong and steady enough that my bones noticed.

The stone driveway crunched under my boots when I stepped out. The sound was absurdly ordinary beneath the severe grandeur of the house. Gravel did not care about kings. It did what gravel had always done: shifted, ground, complained underfoot. The practicality of it settled me.

The iron-banded oak doors stood open ahead of us. Warm light spilled from within.

Behind me, another vehicle rolled to a stop, and I knew without turning that Taras was there. The man had a way of becoming an environmental fact. Like barometric pressure. Like a loaded gun on a table no one mentioned.

Maksym’s thumb moved once along the side of my hand.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “But I’m coming in anyway.”

“Good.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That was not a pep talk.”

“I am told my pep talks resemble troop deployments.”

“That checks out.”