Reckless Heir (Underworld Kings)

“Claudia,” I shouted. I could hear the words in my head, felt my lips move, but as everything came rushing back to me, I realized I wasn’t actually making any noise at all.

Sound faded away and all I heard was the whoosh-whoosh that filled my ears. Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh.

When did it become so cold? Why couldn’t I hear? Why couldn’t I speak?

I found myself on the ground and staring at the ceiling. I blinked, my focus going in and out. But then Nikolai’s face became clear. I saw the pure, stark terror on his face as he stared at something straight ahead, as his mouth moved but I heard no sound. He had this crazed look in his eyes, his face becoming red as he shouted something, as he lifted a hand and swung it wildly in front of him.

And then nothing else mattered as everything faded and I let the frigid hands that had a firm grip on me drag me down into the abyss.

Chapter

Twenty-Six

Amara

I was warm but it didn’t feel real, like when you’re staring into a television screen at a roaring fire and can imagine the heat moving to you, through you, yet it’s not your reality.

But as consciousness slowly altered through me, stronger and faster with each passing moment, I was aware of sounds and smells filtering through my nose, ears, and brain.

A crackling fire, the scent of real wood burning.

Something strong, stringent close to me. Antiseptic.

I felt a heavy weight on me, but it wasn’t suffocating, it didn't hold me down even though I couldn’t move.

“You won’t leave me.”

At first I didn’t know if I’d heard the words correctly, recognized the voice. But then I felt warmth—real heat—cover the side of my face.

A palm. Big and strong. Familiar.

“I forbid it.”

Nikolai.

I turned my head toward that hand, that warmth.

“That’s it, my good girl,” he crooned gently. “You’ll stay with me because there is no other option.” Nikolai started murmuring in Russian. Prayers maybe.

I wanted to tell him praying couldn’t stop death, and I felt like that’s where I was headed as the events leading up to right now came rushing back violently, painfully.

“Come on, my sweet, beautiful girl.” His words were whispered soft, his tone gentle. I’d never heard him sound like this before. “Open and let me see that gorgeous ocean color.”

And as if his words were what I needed to find that inner strength, to push past the pain and drugged sensation that tried to keep me under its spell, I opened my eyes.

I kept thinking about what had happened with Francesca. The gun, the shots I’d heard. I didn’t remember after that, after she’d looked at me with these wide eyes and this shocked expression on her face.

I blinked several times and stared at the ceiling. I looked around the room, seeing familiar things, items and fixtures from one of our guest rooms.

“I’m still here.” My voice was thick, my throat tight as I formed the words and pushed them out with a thick tongue.

There was a man who started speaking in Russian. Nikolai barked out something that sounded vile and dangerous. A threat.

He turned his head so he was screaming at something across the room, presumably the man who’d spoken. But I was still too heavy to follow his gaze. A muscle under his cheek ticked, his neck flexing as his face turned red as he continued to spit out angry words to the man.

But still he kept his hand on my cheek, his thumb gently sweeping right under my eyes.

“Do it all. Whatever it takes,” he responded in English. “Your life depends on hers.” The words were sharp and cold and hard. I was glad they weren’t directed at me. And then he was looking at me again.