Page 119 of Blood Code

Her attention flashed toward me, and the moment our gazes met, something inside me unraveled. Those pools of metallic purple mixed with an emerald green were hauntingly familiar.

They burned into me, carving the word not only into my arm but into my soul.

Traitor.

That was the moment I knew it deep down inside me—deep down in my soul.

That we had known each other.

This wasn’t a random attack. It was a love letter that had been burned, ripped apart, and thrown into the trash, only to be gathered up piece by piece and stitched back together.

This was personal.

“Why am I a traitor, Ghost?” I asked, my voice as raw as the wound she’d carved into my arm.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Xeniya Morozova

Age 35

Firelight danced across his face. It was warm and beautiful, and I was mesmerized, but it was getting late.

I turned my wrist and checked my watch.

I’d hit him with a fast-acting intramuscular tranquilizer dart, which was only supposed to keep him sedated for thirty minutes to an hour, but apparently, Severin wanted to sleep. We were already pushing an hour and a half.

Originally, I’d planned to take him to my torture chamber and kill him there. But if I wanted to do it quickly, get it over with, and move on with my life, bringing the torture to him seemed like a better idea.

So I’d attacked him in his own office, tied him up there, and prepared to interrogate him.

Then I would end him.

We were in his ornate Edwardian-style office, surrounded by a large, heavy wooden desk, an intricately carved fireplace, dark wallpaper, and gilded carvings. Of course, every detail was extravagant and over-the-top.

I’d tied him to his office chair. It was as elaborate as the room, with its high back, tufted green leather, and baroque dark-wood carvings.

Severin’s breathing remained steady, which was the telltale sign of unconsciousness.

Why not wake him with a little pain?

I crossed to the lit fireplace and retrieved the carving knife I’d placed there earlier. The tip glowed red. Ready to cut and cauterize. Perfect for a little branding.

Slowly, I rolled up his sleeves, exposing the tattoos covering his arms.

Young Severin had no tattoos on his arms, but this version was completely covered.

I froze when I exposed his left arm. A willow tree covered nearly the entire length, its roots stretching across the back of his hand and its branches curling toward his elbow.

My breath caught.

A willow.

The roots were pronounced, and beside one were the words: carved deep into my soul.

Words I’d once spoken to him.

My eyes ached, and my face tightened as I fought to hold back the emotions threatening to spill out.