Dirty Aristocrat

I was very frightened of him, because there was no doubt in my mind his plan was to hurt me. It was clear that he had brought me here to hurt me.

I opened my mouth and screamed for Ivan.

He suddenly strode towards me and cradled me in his arms. The gesture surprised me. He was the bad guy. What was he doing? I felt cold. So cold that my teeth were chattering. His body

was warm and though he was the enemy I snuggled up to his splendid warmth.

He said something and I knew it was urgent, but I could not make the words out. The edges of his face were blurred. I tried to form words, but even to my ears they sounded like the sound

of wind wailing in the distance.

‘Mommy,’ I yelled.

He said something else, but I still I couldn’t understand him.

‘I want my Mommy,’ I begged.

The stranger rocked me in his arms and crooned something, but the words ran into each other so I couldn’t understand a word he said.

‘Where is Ivan?’ I cried, clutching his shirt. ‘I’m not allowed to trust anyone else. You must find him for me.’

The man stilled as if I had said something shocking.

He pulled me even closer and continued rocking me while he stroked my hair as if I was a sick child. I let him. I knew that if I let him stay and rock me Rosalind could not get to me.

I don’t know how long he rocked me, that big, boulder-like stranger. Then another man came into the room and he was holding a black bag. I was certain he was the serial killer from the

movie Child 44, and I cringed away from him and clung desperately to the stranger.

‘Don’t let go of me,’ I sobbed. ‘Please. He wants to kill me.’

The gentle giant’s voice echoed in my head. I couldn’t understand him, but it was OK because he did not let go of me. The other man tried to touch me but, like a madwoman, I went into

spasms of fear and eventually he said something to the stranger and left. When I was alone with the stranger I began to sob loudly. I don’t know why I felt such grief that I wanted to

end my life. If he had given me a knife I would have stabbed myself.

‘Who are you?’ I asked him.

He told me but I could not understand him. His voice was faint like how fading flowers must sound if they could talk.

Every time he tried to extricate himself, I clung harder to him until eventually darkness came to take me.

‘I don’t know who you are, but please, please, I beg of you, don’t let go of me,’ I whispered as the darkness was taking me away.

Lord Greystoke

When she passed out from sheer exhaustion I put her to bed, and as the doctor had ordered I sat next to her all night. I never closed my eyes once. She was not walking out of any of my

windows. I stared at her the way a man stares at a thing that he craves even though it frightens the shit out of him.

Once she moaned in her sleep and thrashed her arms about, but I held her close, kissed her cheek and whispered, ‘Shhhh,’ until she became quiet and still.

Then I sat and planned how I would keep my distance from her, because the truth was she was not mine. And never would be. She belonged to no one. All this unfortunate incident had proved

was that I was fucking putty in her hands, and if she even suspected it she’d milk it for all it was worth.

I promised Robert I’d help her, but once she was firmly on her own two feet, I would have to let go pretty quick. She was dangerous the way heroin was dangerous to the ordinary human. I

knew a man who stepped over his dying girlfriend to get his fix.

It was not too late: she was not already in my blood calling to me. A cunning gold digger entwining herself into my soul.

CHAPTER 11

Tawny Maxwell

When I opened my eyes again, I seemed to be gazing at a different ceiling. This one was recessed with cream moldings and was much bigger. My head was fuzzy, my mouth tasted dry and

bitter, and I felt as weak as a kitten. I swiveled my eyes slowly around the room. It was large and masculine with glossy blue walls, gleaming walnut furniture, a large surreal oil

painting of a white castle floating in a blue sky, red suede bedside tables, and a large, dove-grey armchair by the bed in which was slumped … a sleeping Ivan!

I had to blink a few times to make sure he was real and not another hallucination like the squirrel. When did he get here and how long had he been sitting there?