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“No!” Grisha roars. I turn to see him wipe blood from his lips with his fist, then drop into his fighting stance once more. “Again.”
“I said we are done,” I growl. “Do not make me repeat myself again.”
For one moment, I wonder if he’ll disobey me and force me to make an example of him. Then it occurs to him who he’s talking to. He drops his chin to his chest, humbled. “I apologize, my don. I forgot myself.”
I slap a hand on his shoulder as I move past the men towards Milana. She pushes herself off the wall and arches one golden-brown eyebrow. “You’re going to run out of foot soldiers if you keep beating them senseless.”
“Grisha is still standing.”
“Only because I showed up at the right time,” she says shrewdly. “I saved the kid’s ass. Or is it your ass I’m saving? I can’t keep up anymore.”
I clench my jaw. “I’m too tired for banter, Milana. What do you want?”
She gives me an innocent smile. “Nothing at all,” she says. “I’m just here to talk to you about our dear guest. Apparently, there’s new swelling around June’s ankle. Sara suspects that June is ignoring her recommendation to accept assistance with her daily activities. Showering, in particular, seems to be hands-off for the maids assigned to care for her.”
I grit my teeth. “Of course it is. Stubborn fuckingkiska.”
Milana smiles, as though this whole situation is amusing the shit out of her. When my dark gaze veers towards her however, she tries to wipe the smile off her face.
“Do you want me to go up and talk some sense into her?” Milana asks.
“No. I’ll handle it.”
I’m distantly aware that I’m using this little hiccup as an excuse to see her. But I figure I’ve stayed away for two and a half days.
A visit is overdue.
20
KOLYA
I find her lounging on the sofa in her bedroom. She’s wearing a thin silver slip and paging through a book in her lap.
She jerks upright when I walk in. The book tumbles to the floor. We just stare at each other for a moment, and the air starts to heat and thrum.
I close the door and walk over to her. She shrinks back into the cushions, her eyes turning small with wariness.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“Let me see your ankle.”
She instantly throws a blanket over her lower body. “It’s fine. It’s healing.”
Ignoring her, I step forward and rip the blanket away, then kneel and take her leg into my hands. It’s not the best move, considering her silver slip slides right up her leg, revealing an expanse of creamy thigh. But I make a decent pretense of keeping my eyes glued to her bandaged ankle.
The swelling is red and angry now. She tries to wrench her foot from my grip, but it must hurt worse than she’s letting on, because her lips fall open and her cheeks go pale.
I pretend to examine her leg a little longer, if only to keep my hands on her bare skin. If only to admire the slim beauty of her dancer’s muscles.
When I can’t justify holding onto her any longer, I place her foot back down on the cushion of the sofa. She seems taken aback with how gentle I’m being.
“You’re only hurting yourself with your stubbornness,” I say grimly. “Something I’m sure Dr. Calloway has already told you.”
“I have to move around. Sara said I don’t need crutches if I don’t want them. Anyway, why do you care? This has nothing to do with you.”
“This has everything to do with me. You’re carrying my niece or nephew. My heir.”
“My child willneverbe your heir,” she spits with conviction.
