Chapter 4 Fury to Love

Ivan

I shoved the door shut behind us and threw the locks, the heavy clicks echoing in the silence. Adriana stood in the middle of the room, still in her torn wedding dress, her hair falling loose around her face. She looked like a ghost - pale, furious, beautiful.

She turned on me the second I bolted the last lock.

"This is your fault," she spat.

I leaned back against the door, crossing my arms. "My fault?"

Her eyes blazed. "If I wasn't tied to you, I wouldn't be a target."

I laughed once, short and sharp. "Princess, you were a target the second you were born."

She flinched, just slightly. I saw it. She hated that I was right.

"I didn't ask for this," she said, her voice raw now, not angry - just tired.

Neither did I.

But I didn't say that.

I pushed off the door and walked past her, pulling off my jacket and tossing it onto the couch. Dust floated up in the stale air.

The room was small. One couch. One bed shoved against the wall. A tiny bathroom in the corner. No place to hide. No place to be alone.

Adriana watched me like a cat waiting for a dog to make a wrong move.

"You should change," I said, nodding at her ruined dress.

She lifted her chin. "I'm fine."

"You're not. You're shivering."

She opened her mouth - probably to argue - but then her body betrayed her.

A violent shiver ran through her, rattling her teeth.

I turned away before she could see the way it hit me.

I opened a duffel bag stashed in the corner and tossed her a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants.

"Put those on," I said. "I'll turn around."

She hesitated. I could feel her staring at me, weighing whether she trusted me not to look.

Finally, she moved. I heard the rustle of fabric. The soft grunt as she pulled the hoodie over her head.

When I turned back, she was swimming in my clothes. The sweatshirt hung down past her thighs. She hugged herself, trying to fold into the fabric.

Something twisted deep in my chest.

I shoved it down.

"We'll stay here for the night," I said, grabbing a blanket from the couch and tossing it onto the bed. "Tomorrow, we move."

"Where?"

"Somewhere they won't find us."

She didn't answer. Just sank down onto the edge of the bed, looking smaller than she ever had before.

I sat on the couch, keeping as much distance between us as the room allowed.

The silence stretched out, thick and heavy.

Finally, she broke it.

"Who do you think sent them?"

I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. "Could be anyone. Your enemies. Mine. Maybe both."

"You have that many enemies?"

I opened one eye to look at her. "You married a dangerous man, Adriana."

She laughed - a broken, bitter sound. "I didn't have a choice."

The words hung between us.

Neither did I.

But I didn't say it.

What good would it do?

She pulled her legs up onto the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. The hoodie sleeves slipped down, exposing her wrists. Thin. Fragile.

"I don't even know you," she said after a while. "And now I'm supposed to trust you with my life."

"You shouldn't," I said honestly.

Her eyes met mine across the room. Sharp. Searching.

"Then why haven't you killed me yet?"

I smiled, slow and dangerous. "Maybe I'm saving you for something worse."

Her mouth twisted into something almost like a smile. "At least you're honest."

I wasn't sure when it happened - when the fury bleeding out of her stopped feeling like a threat and started feeling like a challenge.

Something sparked between us.

Not soft.

Not sweet.

Something raw and crackling, like a wire stripped bare.

She dropped her feet to the floor and stood up, walking slowly toward me.

I stayed where I was, watching her come.

Her bare feet made no sound on the concrete.

When she stood in front of me, she crossed her arms, tilting her head to the side like she was studying a puzzle.

"You don't scare me," she said.

I smiled up at her. "You should."

Her eyes flicked down to my mouth, just for a second.

If she leaned in even an inch, I'd pull her into my lap and kiss the fight right out of her.

But she didn't lean in.

She just said, "You're not what I expected."

"And what did you expect?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Someone colder. Someone crueler."

"Give it time," I said. "I can still be those things."

She laughed again - not broken this time, but soft and real.

It hit me like a punch to the ribs.

I stood up fast, needing to put space between us before I did something stupid.

"Get some sleep," I said gruffly, moving toward the door. "I'll keep watch."

"You're not sleeping?"

"Not tonight."

Her eyes softened a little.

Sympathy.

It was more dangerous than her anger.

I turned my back on it and sat down in the rickety chair near the door, pulling a gun from the waistband of my pants and resting it in my lap.

I heard the bed creak as she lay down.

The blanket rustled.

A sigh.

The minutes dragged by.

I listened to every sound - the creak of the pipes, the groan of the wind outside, her breathing slowing as she slipped toward sleep.

I didn't let myself look at her.

Because if I did, I'd start thinking dangerous things.

Things about how beautiful she was even when she hated me.

Things about how I wanted to know what her laughter sounded like when it wasn't broken by pain.

Things about how maybe - just maybe - being tied to her wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to me.

The clock ticked.

The night stretched on.

And somewhere deep inside me, something I thought was long dead stirred.

Fury had brought us here.

But fascination...

Fascination might be the thing that kept us together.

Whether we wanted it or not.