Page 112 of Her Selfless Warrior (Omega Sky)
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Lark choked back a whimper.Instead, she kissed his cheek. “Why were you in the snow together?”
He opened his eyes and cleared his throat. “This is not an unusual story, Lark. Russia was a hard place back then. Bad things happened. People were killed. You just had to find a way to survive. You had to be strong.” His jaw tightened and he swallowed. “You had to be brave.”
She nodded, holding his head still so that he was forced to look her in the eyes. “I get it. But you were just seven years old, Honey.”
“Age didn’t matter, it was who you were. I was me. It was my job to take care of Irina and Roman. It. Was. My. Job.”
“Where were your parents?”
“That night they were killed. I didn’t understand at the time, but it was KGB. Mama was…”
She lost him. His eyes faded away to a long-ago time in a faraway land. Someplace that was filled with agony for a little boy named Kostya.
“Honey?” The one word could barely be heard.
“Lark.” His eyes focused on her. “My mother. There was so much blood, but I couldn’t go to her. I had to stay hidden. I had to stay with Roman and the baby.”
“Of course you did. Of course, you did.” She stroked his cheek, his jaw, his neck.
“The monsters dragged Papa away. When we were trying to sleep in the tent one night, Fedor told us the KGB had killed him.”
“Fedor?”
“A pig. He needed to die, but I needed him, and I didn’t know how to kill back then.”
Her fingers involuntarily tightened on his neck as she bit her lip. “Tell me more,” she urged. “How did you escape?”
He pulled her in for a hug, sucking in a deep breath. Lark knew that he was taking in her scent because she’d taken comfort from his smell often enough. “They seemed like monsters to me. They were dressed in black and had black ski masks. They set our home on fire after they killed Mama. They wanted to kill whoever was left. I made Roman take Irina out the window and wait at the church while I found grandmother’s diamond brooch in the mattress. We needed it to pay Fedor to take us across the border into Poland.”
“How old was Irina?”
“She was three. The snow was deep that winter, she had to be carried. Fedor guided two other people to Poland that month. It was a very old husband and wife. They could barely help themselves, they couldn’t help us. I had to carry Irina.”
“But surely this Fedor man could have helped.”
Lark managed not to squeak when Kostya tightened his hold on her—so hard she thought her ribs might break.
“Ublydudok!” Kostya roared. He started to rise from the couch, but Lark pushed down on his shoulders.
“No, stay with me. I need you to hold me,” she cried out, begging him to stay on the sofa. Kostya hovered over the cushions, then finally slumped back down.
“I’m sorry, Lark, did I hurt you?”
“No, Honey, of course you didn’t. But Fedor did, didn’t he?”
Kostya’s breaths became choppy. “I’d gotten all of the coats we had before I escaped from the burning house, but we were always cold. At night, Fedor would only build a very small fire to cook whatever rabbit or rat he’d caught during the day. Even deep in the forest, he said the soldiers might find us, so we had to be careful and a big fire might draw their attention He kept telling us how lucky we were to have tents, but the one we slept in had a tear in it, and snow came in at night. I made sure that I slept under that part, not Roman or Irina.”
Of course, you did.
He was breaking her heart; she didn’t know how much longer she could listen and not cry. But she had to keep it together.
“By the second week, Roman’s coughing got really bad. The old lady had brought medicine with her. She gave it to Roman, but it didn’t work. He kept getting sicker and sicker. He was having trouble walking. Fedor said we had to leave him behind.”
Lark knew that Kostya wasn’t aware of his tears.
“What happened?” Lark choked out the question.
