Page 43 of Savage Truce

Her eyes begin to shimmer with unshed tears, and turning her face to the side, she fights for control of her emotions. Lifting her arms, she places her hands on my biceps, then her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, and a hard tremor racks through her.

My voice is hoarse as I ask, “Will you have dinner with me at seven?”

A sob sputters from her, and moving closer, she presses her face to my chest. “I was so excited to go on that date with you.”

I lean down and press a kiss to her hair while holding her tighter. “Me too, moya krasavitsa.”

As my woman cries softly in my arms, every tear fills my heart. I keep kissing her golden blond strands, giving her the time she needs.

I’m just fucking thankful she’s starting to let me in.

CHAPTER 14

Anastasia

Weirdly, the medication I’ve been taking is helping a lot to keep the horrible memories from overwhelming me, but for some reason, it also makes me cry more easily.

Pulling away from Rodian, I reach up but stop when he beats me to it and wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs.

There’s a strange expression on his face as he looks down at me.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shakes his head. “I just realized how fucked I am.”

Not understanding, I give him a questioning look.

“I hate seeing you cry. One tear and I’ll do whatever you ask of me.”

The corners of my mouth lift, but then I hear female voices, and I glance at the back door.

“Come, let me introduce you to my mother and aunt.”

Instantly, nerves spin in my stomach, and as we walk toward the house, I hang back a step, partially moving behind Rodian. I know it’s cowardly, but damn, I don’t know if I can handle people giving me the stink eye right now.

That’s what made meeting Artem different. When he spotted me, he turned cautious, and I recognized the anxiety on his face. He didn’t look at me with malice or disgust, but as if I was the one who could hurt him.

And I hated it. A lot.

I never want to make another person feel the way I’ve felt.

The women are speaking Russian, their voices sounding tense, and it has me slowing down.

What if they’re unhappy with me being here?

What if they don’t like me?

What if they view me as the enemy?

Anxiety shoots through me so fast, my feet stop dead, refusing to take another step.

“It’s okay,” I hear a whisper to my left, and when I look and see Artem, he inches closer to me, his eyebrows drawn together. “They won’t hurt you.”

I notice how his fingers are moving and begin to do it as well, and it gives me something to focus on, instead of the anxiety eating away at me.

A smile tugs at his mouth, and when he comes even closer, it makes me feel a little safer, because if everyone is very protective of Artem, maybe they won’t attack me in front of him.

I’m grasping at straws, but I’m too desperate to care.