“We met already,” she muttered.
Pav didn’t miss the way Konstantin’s gaze drifted between the woman—who hadn’t looked away from him since he walked into the room—and Pav standing near the doorway. “Is that so?”
“I was lost. He helped me.”
“Hmm.”
Konstantin didn’t sound surprised. Pav didn’t believe he was, either. Nothing happened in this place without one of the Boykov brothers knowing. If someone didn’t tell them what went on, they were capable of watching it all happen as it played out on one of the many security cameras.
Konstantin drummed his fingertips to the desk, bringing Viktoria’s attention back to him. “Pav, this is Viktoria. My sister. She’ll be doing your tattoos today.”
Pav didn’t miss the way Viktoria’s shoulders tensed at that statement. Just like earlier when she had run into him, her fear bloomed.
Visceral, again.
Thick, again.
If fear were a physical color someone could see on someone else, Pav swore Viktoria would have been covered in it in those moments. And yet, other than the tensing of her back and shoulders, one couldn’t tell simply by looking at her. Her delicate features—still pretty, but cold—remained like stone. Unmovable and telling nothing. She didn’t smile or scowl. The woman could be a doll.
Oh, a beautiful one, sure.
But a doll, nonetheless.
“Is this necessary?” Viktoria asked quietly.
“I don’t exactly have another choice. Pav needs some standard of protection just like the rest of us. The only way I can do that is to allow him the stars, and since he’s not exactly comfortable with leaving the Compound today, I figured it was better to bring someone to—”
“Then call someone else,” she hissed.
Konstantin’s gaze darted to his sister, fast and warning in a blink. “Vik.”
“You didn’t ask me if this was okay.”
“I’m here,” Konstantin replied at the same level. “What will happen with me here?”
If that helped to relax Viktoria, she didn’t show it. Pav was still interested in why the woman was scared of him at all. It wasn’t like she knew him, and hell, he hadn’t even known who she was. It wasn’t possible that she knew anything about him to be afraid of him, but he had a dozen reasons to give her if she really needed something to be scared of where he was concerned.
Was it just him, or everyone she was frightened of when alone with them?
“Can’t you just get someone else?” Viktoria asked.
Pav didn’t really care about the tattoos, or the protection they would give him. He’d gone this long without them on his chest, he was sure he would be fine to go a while more without them, too. But what he didn’t want … well, suddenly, he didn’t want this woman leaving here. He was more curious about her. He couldn’t learn anything about her if she was gone, could he?
He didn’t have a lot of experience with women—the few times he’d left the Compound with whatever companion had been designated to go with him for the night, he’d been taken to a handful of women who’d made it their missions to educate him. Those women had all been paid for their time, and although he was grateful, this woman was not the same.
She was not a whore.
She was not like them.
She was not even like him.
He brought fear.
She only felt it.
Pav’s mouth decided to work before his brain had even properly thought the comment through. Yet another thing that was so unlike him, but it seemed this woman—this, Viktoria—was bringing that out of him a lot.
Did he like it?
That was yet to be determined.
“Would it help if he held a gun to my head while you did the tattoos?” Pav asked.
Viktoria’s head swung around and her gaze landed on him. All wide, and cold again. Ice-blue, and deep like the sea. He bet she was as dangerous as the sea, too. Expansive and amazing, but just vicious and hazardous enough to kill him if he wasn’t careful.
He didn’t know what he expected her to say, then.
Her laugh shocked him. It was soft, sweet, and melodic. A complete contradiction to the carved-from-stone woman who had been staring at him only moments ago.
And, apparently, her brother was shocked, too, if Konstantin’s blinking expression was any indication as he stared at his sister, confused.
A small smile graced Viktoria’s mouth. If one could even call the ghost of a grin tilting up the edges of her lips a smile. He didn’t know if he would, but he liked it. Pav very rarely made someone else smile. He usually had them sobbing, crying, or begging—one of those things, or a mixture of them.
Never a smile, though.
He liked hers.
“Okay, Pav,” Viktoria said, “I’ll do your tattoos.”
Why did that feel like a battle won?
Whatever.
He’d take it.
• • •
Pav was hyperaware of Konstantin sitting in the corner of the office, surveying a newspaper he’d opened on his lap. Occasionally, the man would glance up from the paper and peek at what was happening across the room, but he never said anything to Pav or Viktoria, and he quickly went back to reading like he hadn’t looked at them in the first place.
Viktoria, on the other hand, was zoned in on her work as she wiped an ink-stained paper towel across Pav’s chest. She was almost done—he could tell not by the stars she was inking on his clavicles, because he hadn’t actually looked at them when he was too busy watching her—
but because of how long they had been sitting there now.
Three hours.
He was accustomed to doing nothing for long periods of time. Or rather, being told to shut up and stay still in a certain spot until someone was ready for him to step in and finish whatever business they wanted him to complete. He
