She stiffened.
He kissed the scars again, one by one, and then made his way to her ear with his lips. “You are beautiful.”
“I’m not,” she protested.
He growled softly against her ear. “You are.”
She started to shake her head no, but Rurik slid his hand into her hair and gave a gentle, yet firm, jerk. With the figurine and bear still between them, she stared up into his familiar blue gaze.
“Little Paw, I’m not a man known for false niceties. Hear me when I say this. You are the hottest fucking woman I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said in a low, harsh whisper. “If you knew how old I really am, you’d understand the weight of those words.”
“H-how old are you?” she asked, unsure she wanted to know.
He grinned. “How old do you think I am?”
She did the math in her head, trying to figure out how old he’d need to be to have been there for her twenty years ago. When she landed on a number, her brows lifted. “In your fifties maybe? How can that be?”
He dipped his head more, their lips nearly touching. “Today is my birthday…so that means I’m two hundred and sixty-five years old.”
She dropped the bear but managed to keep the Statue of Liberty pinned between them. It was hardly comfortable against her bare skin, but she didn’t care. All she could think about was what he was saying. “That’s not possible.”
“It is,” he confessed.
“How?”
He held her tighter. “I’m no more human than you are, Little Paw.”
“What am I?” she asked, her voice small.
“If I remember the report correctly, you have a good deal of Fae in you,” he said.
“W-what does that mean?”
His breathing increased as he stared at her lips. “Magik. But more importantly, it means you’re fair game.”
“Fair game?” she echoed.
“Mate material,” he said.
“Rurik, you’re not making sense,” she said before stiffening more. “Hold on, is your name Rurik or is it Boris?”
He licked his lips. “Rurik, or Jackass, depending on who you ask.”
She blushed. “Sorry about that.”
He winked. “You called me the same thing when you were but knee high.”
She couldn’t help but laugh and it chased away the tears.
He used his free hand to ease the figurine from between them. He stared at it. “You’ve had this all this time?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It and the bear are the only two things I’ve had all my life. Well, I have two stuffed bears now since I stole your birthday present today.”
He winked. “Consider it yours, Little Paw.”
“Thank you,” she said. “They’re all special to me.
“You’re special to me,” he said, pulling on her hair more before he kissed her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. By the time he was done with his sensual exploration of her mouth, she nearly forgot what they were talking about.
He broke the kiss. “We need to talk.”
She nodded.
He looked pained as he stared down at her breasts. “Uh, can we talk with our clothes on? My dick is interfering with my ability to think and having you naked isn’t helping.”
Liberty laughed as she went to her dresser and selected a pair of boy-cut panties and a tank top. The sleepwear of champions. She glanced over her shoulder only to find Rurik there, staring at her ass, all while stroking his cock. “Uh, I thought we were getting dressed?”
He blinked. “Right. What was I doing again?”
She pointed to his discarded jeans. “You wanted to talk to me with our clothes on.”
He frowned as he continued to stare at her while she held the panties and tank top. “That was a stupid idea. Ignore me.”
She snorted. “Rurik.”
He groaned and went for his jeans, putting his back to the bedroom door.
She slipped on the panties and then pulled the tank top over her head. By the time she was done, he had almost managed to get his cock tucked into his jeans. He did a slight hop-and-jerk movement before trying to zip up again. It didn’t quite work with as hard as he still was.
He cast her a pleading look. “The talk can wait an hour or so. We could fill the time with—”
Suddenly, men dressed in special ops gear burst into the bedroom, sending the door flying into Rurik’s back.
He staggered.
One of the men lifted his rifle and used the butt of it to hit Rurik in the back of the head. Another repeated the action, again and again, causing Rurik to go down.
He lay motionless on the floor.
One of the men pulled out a syringe full of fluid and jabbed it into Rurik’s neck.
Liberty barely had time to register what was happening as a scream tore free from her. On instinct, she tried to rush to Rurik, only to find three men there, aiming weapons at her, wearing black from head to toe. Only their eyes showed, and they were all glaring at her.
“Get down!” yelled one as another came at her with a syringe.
The temperature of the room dropped rapidly, and her arms began to tingle. Items started to shake as one of the men lurched forward and struck her in the face with the butt of his rifle, halting her curse from reacting.
Her legs crumbled out from under her, and she landed on the bedroom floor, next to Rurik, her hand touching his extended forearm. She didn’t care about the pain in her face and head; all she worried about was him.
She had a bond she couldn’t explain to Rurik. One that left her heart aching at the idea he might be seriously injured—that she might not ever see him again. Some could argue that she’d only just met him—that it was too early to be in love. Others
