Leopard's Wrath (Leopard People 11)

Ania took a deep breath and let it out. Her stomach was tied up in knots and she was nauseous. She didn’t want to admit that he could be right, but she was afraid he spoke the truth. She glanced at Sevastyan. He had that same speculative look in his eyes she’d caught a couple of times. He even, if it was possible, looked compassionate.

“I’m all right,” she assured. She didn’t know who she was talking to, the two men or herself. She pressed a hand to her stomach and was grateful for Mitya walking in sync with her. She hadn’t realized she was trembling until that moment. She was a mess just being in the house.

Mitya seemed to understand her mixed feelings, the confusion ruling her mind. She loved her family home, and yet now, she could barely stand being inside it. She could barely breathe and recognized the beginnings of a panic attack.

“Ania, did you always live here with your grandparents?” Mitya asked suddenly.

She saw Sevastyan flick him a quick glance and something passed between the two men, but she had no idea what it was. She forced her mind to concentrate on the question. “Yes, they built the house with my parents and had their wing attached.”

He ran his hand along the polished banister. “I suppose that grandfather of yours would sit you on the banister and hold you while you slid down it as a little girl.”

She suddenly recalled the memory. Mitya was right. Her grandfather had done so, starting from when she was in diapers, and her mother would object, half laughing and half serious, a little scared that her adventurous baby girl would try it on her own. He’d continued to sit her on the banister until she was five and then he’d let her slide on her own with him running next to her. She told them the remembrance.

Sevastyan flashed her one of his rare smiles. “I’ll bet you loved that.”

She nodded, the memory adding to her warmth. “I did. As I got older, Mom always pretended not to see us, but we made way too much noise for her not to know.”

They had reached the top of the stairs. The long landing overlooked the first story. Mitya kept his arm around her as they walked to her bedroom.

“I love hearing the stories of your childhood, kotyonok. If we’re going to learn how to provide our children with such a thing, it will have to come from you and your experiences. Your grandparents and parents knew how to love.” He brushed a kiss on top of her head. “I’m thankful you do too.”

Sevastyan slid in front of them smoothly, so smoothly that Ania hadn’t realized Mitya had slowed their steps in order to allow his cousin the time to get around them so that he was the one in front of the door. Her heart clenched. Sevastyan was so willing to risk his life for Mitya—and now for her. She didn’t want that for him. She didn’t want him to feel as if his life wasn’t worth as much as theirs.

He opened the door cautiously, although his leopard had to have told him the room was empty. Still, when he stepped inside, he did so alone, sweeping the room and the impressive bank of windows Ania had always loved. She wasn’t certain how she felt about them now. Anyone could be lying up in the hills with a sniper rifle and easily see into the bedroom if the lights were on. Clearly, Sevastyan thought the same thing.

“You didn’t put blackout screens on the windows?” he inquired.

“The remote’s in the nightstand drawer,” Ania offered. “I rarely used the screens, so I almost forgot they were there.”

Sevastyan held up his hand to stop them from entering the room, stalked across it, found the remote and lowered the screens before beckoning them inside. Mitya went first, his hand in hers, tucking her close to him.

“Beautiful home, Ania,” Sevastyan said. “You can actually feel the joy here.”

It was the first time Ania had ever heard him with expression in his voice, other than command or reprimand. She glanced at him curiously. He was a difficult man to understand. All of the Amurovs were.

“I loved living here,” she admitted. “We laughed all the time. That’s what made it so difficult after I lost Mom and my grandparents. Then my father was shot, and he became bedridden. He could barely speak most of the time. Until we just now started talking about it, I think I’d pushed all the good memories aside and focused on losing them. Thank you both for giving those memories back to me.”

Mitya hugged her. “I think Sevastyan’s right, Ania. I think this house has so many good memories filling it, that when you go into each room, you can feel the happiness. I want that for our children, to fill our house with so much laughter that when anyone comes in, they can feel it.” He stood in the middle of the darkened room. “Sevastyan’s right. We need to keep the two properties together.”