The hair rose on her arms and neck. “Yes?”
“Thank you for saving him. He’s been my best friend for over five hundred years. I would’ve…well, we all would’ve been lost without him.”
Five hundred years? The idea of it made her light-headed. She shook off the sensation. “Anyone would’ve—”
“No. What you did was special, and I stand indebted to you.”
She watched him retreat down the hallway, looking every bit the warrior he was.
Kate turned again to the empty room, her hands trembling. Ridiculously, part of her felt so comfortable here, as if she belonged, and already felt the heartache of leaving them, of never seeing any of them again.
Never seeing Nikolai again.
Chapter Nine
Nikolai bumped fists with Leo and gave him a shove. “Good match.”
He chuckled. “You weren’t half bad, for an old man.”
The king barked out a laugh, the fighting having beaten some of the raging frustration out of him. “Says the two-hundred-and-twelve-year-old vampire.”
He flashed Nikolai a grin.
“Thanks for sparring, Leo,” he called as he reached the door.
“Yeah. Hey, my lord?” Twisting his shirt in his hands, Leo looked to the floor. “I didn’t mean to, but I hurt her. I knocked her to the ground too roughly, and she hit her head.”
Stomach clenching, heart pounding, Nikolai didn’t need to ask which “her” he was referring to. “Why are you telling me this?”
Leo lifted his gaze, met Nikolai’s head-on. “She really fought for you. Even got off a shot before I could disarm her. I’ve never seen anything like it. Well, except for mated—” He clamped his mouth shut. “Just thought you should know.”
Nikolai turned and wrenched the door open.
“Nikolai?”
Red flags waving in his mind, he froze but didn’t look back.
“I see the way you look at her. They would want you to be happy.”
He bolted from the room. No way he was having that conversation. Didn’t matter that Leo had been Kyril’s best friend—the two had been thick as goddamn thieves. Didn’t matter that he meant well. It only mattered that he got the hell out of there, away from that wary look on Leo’s face. Away from his encouragements that he go after something he could never have.
Down the hall, up two staircases, through the meandering turns of the main floor. He knew the house like the inside of his own mind, and could’ve navigated it blindfolded, which was good since all he could see was that look on Katherine’s face. As if he’d slapped her.
Well, hadn’t he? No doubt the coldness in his words and actions had stung just as much.
He pressed his hand into the ache that settled under the bare skin of his chest.
Nikolai turned the corner into the wing that housed his private quarters, a series of rooms that formed a virtual apartment. His brothers’ rooms had been in this part of Vasilievskoe, too, and their deaths had left the Vasilyev wing particularly still and quiet except for his own movements. Which was just fine by him.
Except…
Nearby, the plumbing whined. Someone was running the water. He backtracked and turned down an adjacent hallway. Light shined from under the door of the lone guest room in this part of the manor.
He was going to kill Mikhail.
Before he even thought to do it, he found himself standing in front of that door. Her door.
Oh, what the hell was he doing?
He should apologize. Rationale squarely in place, he rapped his knuckles against the heavy panel of wood. Again. No answer. “Katherine?”
He knocked his head against the door. Deep need rose within him, to lay eyes on her and reassure himself she was okay. She’d been attacked, bitten, kidnapped and imprisoned. Not goddamn likely she was okay. And that wasn’t even considering what had happened between them, which had been phenomenal until he acted like a son of a bitch. The urge to see her made it hard to breathe.
He pushed through the door and called her name again. Two things struck him simultaneously: soft splashes of water from the direction of the open bathroom door and a stack of clothes on her bed.
Inside the room, her sweet-blooded scent infused the air and reawakened his cock, reminding him of his unsated arousal from before. Each breath pulled more of her into him, until he ached to penetrate her in return, in any way she’d allow. In every way she’d allow. Prickles on the skin of his right palm made him fist his hand.
His breath coming faster, shallower, Nikolai stepped over her discarded clothing to the bed and quickly flipped through the pile of fabric—robe, T-shirt, sweatshirt, sweatpants. All Mikhail’s.