Bravery’s Sin: Masters’ Admiralty, book 5, page 7
“I know you will.” Despite the physical cues telling him that she was fighting against a very powerful fear, her voice was steady, strong.
He moved directly behind her and slid his arms around her waist. Holding her in his arms felt every bit as good as he’d imagined it would.
“Now what?” she whispered.
“Your elbows are your power in this position. Bend slightly forward at the waist.”
Nyx complied, doing as he instructed. She moved carefully, and he knew she was being careful of her healing stomach.
“Then twist to one side, driving your elbow up toward my face. Then counterattack with the other elbow. Fast motions, quick thrusts. And keep doing it until you can break free of my grip. Try the motions a few times to get a feel for it.”
Nyx twisted and threw an elbow that, if she’d put any speed or force behind it, would have hurt. She moved quickly, throwing the left elbow, then the right, then the left again. She was a quick study. He should have realized.
Grigoris had to force himself to release her, to step away. He’d spent weeks longing to hold her. “Once you’ve broken free, you can spin around and try that knee or eye strike. You remember those moves and then—”
“Attack me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Theory is excellent. However, lessons are learned through practical application. Theoretical knowledge in this instance is not enough.”
“You want me to attack you?”
She nodded. “Yes. Unless you’re afraid I will hurt you.”
Grigoris was no stranger to fights and he’d lost count of how many fists to the face he’d taken in his lifetime. His concern wasn’t that she would hurt him. It was that he’d trigger some sort of PTSD and Nyx would fall apart. “That’s not what I’m afraid of.”
“You’re afraid you’ll hurt me.”
He didn’t hesitate to respond. “Absolutely.”
“Please.”
There was very little he would deny her, though he thought this request might be one of the no’s. Until that word.
“Nyx.”
Before he could finish, she turned her back to him once more.
“Stubborn fool,” he muttered, low and quiet.
She’d heard him. “‘The greatest lesson in life is to learn that even fools are right sometimes.’”
“Churchill,” he grumbled, not bothering to hide his growing grin. “I can play this game all day.”
His heart skipped a few extra beats when she gave him a genuine smile before turning back around, instructing him to “proceed.”
Grigoris took several deep breaths, trying to convince himself he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life. Nyx had asked for his help as she sought to heal the broken parts deep inside.
He wouldn’t let her down.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he moved toward her, grabbing her from behind, his arms wrapped around her waist like before. This time, he didn’t warn her, didn’t assure her he wouldn’t hurt her. He simply moved like a genuine attacker.
She didn’t hesitate, didn’t consider that he was a friend. Grigoris wasn’t entirely sure if she remembered that at this point.
He grabbed her and she reacted, exactly as he’d shown her. Her right elbow connected with his cheekbone painfully and, before he had a chance to even acknowledge how fucking bad that blow hurt, she delivered a second to the other side. And then the right side again.
His hands loosened, and she used that to her advantage, twisting out of his grip. He tried to reach for her again, but his eyes were watering like crazy and he wasn’t completely able to focus on where she was. She used that temporary blindness to her advantage, grabbing his upper arm to pull him forward while kicking out his leg.
One second she was in his arms, the next he was sprawled out on the concrete next to his pool, eyes clenched shut, while fighting to take a deep breath.
Grigoris was a trained fighter. He knew how to ward off blows, but Nyx had done exactly as he’d shown her, and on the first try. She’d taken him by surprise. He’d expected her fears to weaken her response.
A rookie mistake.
It was her terror of the situation that lent unexpected speed and strength to her movements.
He hated that he’d scared her, even if it had been done at her request.
He remained on his hands and knees for a few moments, not entirely sure Nyx wouldn’t continue the fight. When he’d gathered his wits—and felt somewhat certain she was finished—he pushed himself upright, kneeling on the ground.
He looked up to find her staring down at him. He expected to see her standing there, wild-eyed, crazy. That was certainly what her attack had felt like.
Instead, he saw Nyx, cool, calm, almost regal. It was the way she’d looked when they’d first met. If her breathing was a bit heavy, and there was a lingering trace of fading panic in the depths of her gaze, both of those were overshadowed by the satisfaction and relief he could sense.
Grigoris smiled, even as he reached up to touch his puffy cheeks. Jesus. He was probably going to have two black eyes. “I let you win,” he joked.
She laughed, reaching up to hold her cheek, to shield her smile, as she did. Regardless of that, it was an honest-to-God laugh. “Liar.”
Chapter Five
Nyx grew still and silent as Petro’s estate came into view. The admiral of Hungary’s helicopter had been waiting for them when their plane landed in Budapest. There would be no surprise arrival. Grigoris had cursed when they’d been greeted by two of Petro’s security officers at the airport exit and led to the helipad.
Her stomach twisted into knots, though she knew there would be no outward sign of her turmoil. She’d learned to draw everything deep inside—her feelings and reactions—leaving a cold but poised exterior. The last time she’d made the trip to Lake Balaton this way, she’d just finished boarding school, just turned eighteen. That flight had been different. She’d been full of youthful arrogance, certain in her ability to control her own destiny.
She’d been wrong.
Perhaps she would feel differently about this return if it had occurred prior to Ciril’s attack. Or perhaps not.
It had become her habit these last couple of months to attribute her fears and her waning self-confidence to the attack. But hadn’t she spent her entire adult life running and hiding from this man? She’d been offended when Grigoris said she was running, but was he right? Was it now adult adjuration that had her making excuses for her cowardice and for the fact that she couldn’t make her hands stop shaking?
Grigoris reached over and patted her hand covertly, then pulled it away. He couldn’t hold her hand as he had in Cyprus, not with the two security officers in the front of the helicopter. If they witnessed any act of affection between her and Grigoris, it could be reported back to the admiral. Did these two know she was technically married to Petro? Surely there were questions about who, and where, his third was.
Nyx didn’t want to consider what Petro would do to Grigoris if he thought she was having an affair with the janissary.
Grigoris didn’t look at her face. His gaze was glued to the scenery outside. She forced herself to look as well. If she were able to view the estate with an objective eye, she would admit it was probably one of the most beautiful places she’d ever seen.
Petro was one of the wealthiest men in Hungary, perhaps all of Europe. And it was important to him that everyone he came into contact with knew it.
His estate, Isten Palotája, was indicative of that. A huge French-style chateau, it was situated in the middle of a large vineyard. Petro loved to tell people that he made his own wine, though Nyx knew for a fact, he’d never so much as picked a grape.
Limestone terraces decorated with countless water features and fountains led to a large outdoor pool, surrounded by plush loungers. The terraces also led to an indoor pool and sauna. The three-story house had nine bedrooms, each with their own en suite bathroom, and a custom-designed master suite—a massive bedroom with an equally large bed. Off the central bedroom was Petro’s walk-in closet, a palatial bathroom with three sinks, and two “dressing rooms”—enlarged closets that also contained narrow daybeds and well-lit vanities. Those rooms, accessible only from the main bedroom, were for his wives. One of the rooms was hers. She’d seen it once, and only once.
She’d wondered, in her masochistic moments, if Petro had planned to force her to sleep on the daybed, only calling her into the main bedroom when he wanted to fuck her, or if he’d make her sleep beside him, sending her to sleep in the dressing room if she displeased him. She drew the rancid fear the memory caused deep into her core, rolling it up with all the other emotions and burying it deep.
The estate’s opulence was stifling. Not at all like Grigoris’ home, which Nyx loved. Petro’s home was meant to impress, rather than provide comfort.
As the helicopter landed, she turned to Grigoris. Neither of them had spoken during the trip from Budapest to Lake Balaton, unable to have a private conversation through the headphone connection shared by the security officers.
He gave her a quick wink that she knew was meant to be reassuring. Instead, it only drove home how much she wanted to be anywhere else. The last time she’d stepped foot in this house, she’d had the rug pulled out from under her. It had taught her never to underestimate the admiral of Hungary.
Once on the ground, one of the security officers helped her out as Grigoris and the other man retrieved their bags. She and Grigoris walked side by side, following the security officers after a brief, silent denouement at the landing pad. The officers had waited for her and Grigoris to precede them, but she shook her head, gesturing for them to lead. They were confused by her actions, but Grigoris stood steadfastly beside her, making it clear they weren’t moving until the officers did.
She simply couldn’t bear the thought of those men walking behind her.
A butler opened the grand front door as they reached the entrance, bowing to them in a solemn, respectful way. “Madam, welcome home.”
Home. The word made her feel sick.
“If you will both follow me to the living room, the admiral will join you in a moment,” the butler continued.
Nyx took a long, deep breath, holding the air in her lungs, fighting to keep the ball of fear deep inside, as they crossed the long, elegant foyer to the grand living room. She wondered if Petro, who typically received visitors in his office, had chosen the living room on purpose. It was the room where he’d listened to her arguments against the marriage, then claimed her and Hanna as his brides anyway.
If he expected that memory to rattle her, he was mistaken. One thing Petro would never have the satisfaction of seeing from her was fear. Her fingers twitched with the need to keep from reaching for Grigoris’ hand. She let a little tendril of anger escape the banked fire of her rage. It rose to the forefront of her emotions, a weapon she could grab if needed.
Grigoris, in the meantime, walked behind the butler as if he didn’t have a care in the world. She’d come to recognize that persona, realized that it was simply a mask meant to set people at ease. She also knew that if she quizzed him upon entering the living room, he would be able to tell her exactly how many doors and windows they’d passed, what portraits were hanging on the walls and where the defensive weaknesses in the foyer were. He’d probably catalogued every decoration, every lamp, every chair in his mind in terms of best potential weapon to least.
“If you will wait here, I will tell the admiral you have arrived.” With that, the butler left them alone in the living room, closing the double doors behind him.
Nyx watched Grigoris as he quickly scouted the perimeter of the room. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for or if he was merely familiarizing himself with the area in case of an emergency, but she let him do so in silence.
Small talk was beyond her realm of ability at the moment. She needed to concentrate on remaining calm and in control. Every meeting with Petro—though she’d done everything she could to make them few and far between—was a fencing match, as the two of them lunged and parried, opening small wounds. Death by a thousand cuts.
A door at the back of the living room opened and Petro stepped in. Nyx held her breath, waiting to see if her control held, or if she’d be overcome with some combination of rage and fear. Her emotions stayed safely balled up, except that small thread of anger, and she was able to objectively study the man who was, by the laws of their society, her husband.
Petro was of average height, but seemed shorter due to his stocky build. He was wearing most of a tuxedo—the custom-made inky black pants, crisp white shirt with onyx shirt studs and matching cuff links. His bowtie was draped around his neck and the top button of his shirt was undone. It was late afternoon, and it looked like he was getting ready to go out somewhere—that thought made Nyx want to sag with relief. If he was attending the opera in Budapest, he’d have to leave soon.
The relief was short-lived. Petro had known they were coming. He wouldn’t leave her and Grigoris alone, though she was sure the house was full of servants. Which meant the evening dress had something to do with them. Petro was a master strategist when needed, and a bulldozer when he wanted to be.
Petro started walking toward her, hands outstretched. He stopped midway across the room, his expression twisting into one of revulsion. “Your beautiful face!”
Nyx didn’t bother to hide the small smile his reaction elicited. She’d never been vain, and the stab wound in her stomach that had nearly killed her was of far more concern than her scarred face. “Hello, Petro.”
“I will fix your face. The best doctors in the world.” His lips were twisted in an expression best described as regret—the way someone regretted knocking over and cracking a pretty vase.
“There is nothing to fix. And speak English or French. Chorbaji Violaris doesn’t speak Hungarian.” For now, they would keep the fact that Grigoris understood some Hungarian a secret.
Petro sniffed, glanced at Grigoris, but then back to her, dismissing the janissary as unimportant.
A mistake. Good.
“I will take you to Korea in a few days. The best face surgeons are there.”
“I will not be going to Korea with you, Petro.”
His expression hardened for a moment. “Do not forget where you are, hitves.”
“Of course not, admirális.” She inclined her head in a shallow bow.
Nyx knew it would be easier for Petro if she were outwardly defiant, the way she had been when she was eighteen. Then he could play the patriarchal husband/master role. Instead, she remained civil if not polite.
“Admiral Sirko,” Grigoris said in English. “Thank you for providing transportation from the airport to your home.”
“It was my pleasure. I pride myself on knowing who is in, and taking care of those who enter my territory. Both people who are mine and those who are guests.”
The message was clear—I knew you were coming, this is my territory, tread lightly.
Grigoris’ easy smile didn’t change. “And I thank you for that.”
“Now that she is home,” Petro said smoothly, “one of the harcos will see to my Nyx’s safety.”
“I would appreciate any additional security they can provide, but I have given my word to personally guard Dr. Kata while she travels.”
“Ah, I understand. A penance for your failure in Bucharest?” Petro clucked like a disappointed father.
Nyx’s heart clenched for Grigoris. He hadn’t failed in Bucharest; the mission had been doomed because they’d set out to catch a serial killer. There’d been no way to know the mastermind had also recruited bombers.
Grigoris’ jaw clenched, but he said, “Of course.”
“I am surprised Hande let you take on this duty. Perhaps she doesn’t know?” Petro asked. “Or perhaps she isn’t aware of how vulnerable she’s made herself by allowing the leader of her knights to abandon his duties.”
This time Grigoris visibly stiffened. “I have not abandoned my duties.”
“Oh, of course not.” Petro shook his head in mock sadness. “My English isn’t always good.” Petro was fluent. He knew exactly what he’d said.
“My admiral knows where I am and allowed it, since I’m here at the request of the fleet admiral.”
Petro’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment he looked…satisfied? Dread coated the inside of Nyx’s mouth, but then the expression was gone.
It was in that moment she realized something—she wanted Petro to be the mastermind. She wanted him to be the villain because he was the antagonist of her personal story. She’d been sent here to investigate Petro, but she hated this man in a bone-deep way that meant she’d never be impartial.
She glanced at Grigoris, wishing she could talk to him. Grigoris was staring at the admiral, an amiable smile on his face. She wondered if Petro could see through that to the deadly predator beneath.
The door Petro had entered through opened once again, and Hanna stepped into the room. Hanna was gorgeous, and a near-perfect contrast to Nyx’s coloring. Her hair a brown so dark it was almost black, it fell in waves around her face and shoulders. She wore it loose and long, with a single jeweled clip holding it back from the side of her face, exposing one ear and the massive pear-cut diamond earring. Her skin was pale and flawless, her body sweetly curved, her impressive breasts on display, but not lewdly so, in the red off-the-shoulder mermaid-style gown she was wearing.
Petro was most definitely planning something. They’d flown commercial, so it was possible, probable even, that he had access to flight information, and had known the moment they—or more accurately, she—booked a ticket. Still, in less than twenty-four hours he’d orchestrated something.
“Nyx,” Hanna said softly. “It’s good to see you.”
Nyx met the other woman’s gaze and guilt made her stomach roll. She’d run, but Hanna had stayed. Hanna had obeyed their laws, accepted the marriage.
“You look well,” Nyx said quietly.
Hanna glided up to Petro, taking his hand and leaning into him. Petro raised their linked hands and kissed her fingers. There was real affection there. Nyx was shocked by the longing she felt, not to have Petro kiss her, but by the closeness she saw between them. It was the closeness and affection of spouses.
