She felt the plane level out and knew they were high up in the sky. Moscow was behind her, and she was never going back. When her body stopped shaking, she became all too aware that she was still in the man’s arms. A very strong and gorgeous man.
I should be afraid. I should be screaming.
Yet she wasn’t. She looked up at his face. Those eyes were still unbearably tender, and his lips were fuller than most men’s. Soft and kissable. But she didn’t want to think about kissing anyone ever again. Even if she wanted a love life, she was certain she would never be able to have sex again. She had scars, both inside and out, and the thought of being with a man again sexually filled her mouth with a metallic taste.
“Please let go of me,” Elena said.
The man instantly obeyed. “Do you feel better?” he asked in a low voice.
She nodded. He studied her a long moment before he seemed to agree she was ready to go back to her seat. “Good, because the cabin crew will be very unhappy. Let me speak with them first.”
Again she nodded, happy to let him deal with the mess she had created. She was too tired to face it herself. He opened the door, and she peeped around his shoulder to see one of the cabin crew glaring at them. The man who had come to her rescue spoke quickly in Russian to the flight attendant, and his glare faded.
“Are you feeling better, miss? Can I get you anything?” the flight attendant asked in English.
“Thank you. Can I just have some water?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course.” He went to the drink cart, and she and the mystery man returned to their seats. Everyone was staring at her, but she was too tired to care. She was unable to deal with the exhaustion and simply collapsed in her chair and closed her eyes.
“Thank you,” she told the man beside her, who had remained silent. She was glad. He wasn’t a talker, and for that she was relieved. She couldn’t have handled trying to answer any questions he’d asked her just then.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. She drifted off to sleep a few seconds later.
Dimitri Razin held his breath as he watched Elena fall asleep. It was taking every ounce of control he possessed not to let his dominant side out. He knew about Elena’s trauma, about her kidnapping, rape, and torture. He had been one of the people working behind the scenes to free her. And just today, as he watched her from a distance at the airport, he’d received confirmation that the man who’d done this to her, Vadym Andreikiv, was dead, by Dimitri’s own command.
Elena was safe from all but herself now, and that would be the hardest battle. It took a warrior’s heart to conquer pain and trauma such as what she had survived, but it was a battle he would not let her face alone. She didn’t know him, didn’t know he was friends with the professor who had freed her from Vadym, but that was a good thing for now.
She needed to look forward, not back. Learning who he was would only delay her healing. So he would keep his involvement a secret for now.
The flight attendant returned with a bottle of water and saw that Elena was sleeping.
“How is she feeling?” the flight attendant asked in Russian.
“Better, but very tired. I’m sorry we frightened you,” Dimitri said. He knew it probably looked like he and Elena were having sex in the bathroom, so he’d explained that she had a terrible fear of flying and had suffered a panic attack.
“Let me know if either of you need anything.”
“Thank you.” Dimitri turned his gaze back to Elena. He’d pulled a few strings to get her seat changed to business class and had made sure his seat was next to hers. His foresight had been prudent. She had already needed him, and he had been there.
He curled his fingers on the lever of his seat as he remembered how soft and silky her hair had felt beneath his hand. She was beautiful inside and out. Her honey-blonde hair glowed in the soft overhead lights, and her pure green eyes had fascinated him. She was fierce and brave. Now it was his duty to protect her from harm. He had grown bored in Moscow. Fighting corruption and greed had become less and less inspiring as time had passed. Saving Elena had given him a new purpose in life.
Dimitri grasped the gold signet ring on his pinky finger and twisted the thick band, an old habit he had while thinking. On the ring’s surface was the emblem of a feathered bird rising from a flame. A phoenix. Inside the band was inscribed “Virtute et valare luceo non uro,” which was Latin for “By virtue and valor I shine, not burn.”
It was the motto of the White Army, a private army of men and women who still believed in protecting the memory of the dynasty of the Romanovs in Russia but also in the power of a Russia that allowed freedom and truly democratic ideas to reign. They had spent the last century fighting against the Communists and the Soviets, as well as the corruption that had thrived and now fed upon its carcass.
To live in the White Army was to live with danger. The government sought to wipe them out, but Dimitri and his closest friends were talented at playing the game of seeming corrupt when in reality they were far from it. It kept them off the Kremlin’s radar.
Dimitri set the water bottle in the cupholder between his and Elena’s seats and retrieved his tablet
