The master suite was a cavernous expanse of dark velvet, polished obsidian, and the heavy scent of expensive cologne and old books. Mikhail had closed the double doors with a heavy thud that sounded far too much like a cell door locking, leaving Andrea alone in the silence of the fortress.
"Okay," she whispered, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. "Don't panic. You're in Russia. In a castle. With a wolf-mobster. This is just a very high-budget episode of a show you forgot you signed up for."
She looked at her hands. They were shaking. The adrenaline was finally leaching out of her system, leaving behind a cold, hollow terror that made her want to curl into a ball. Her scrubs were a disaster—torn, stiff with dried blood, and smelling of the damp alleyway and the metallic tang of the airstrip.
She needed to wash it off. All of it.
The bathroom was even more opulent than the bedroom, a sanctuary of white marble and gold fixtures. A massive, sunken tub sat in the center of the room, already filled with steaming water that smelled of sandalwood and some dark, citrusy oil.
She didn't stop to wonder how they knew she was coming or how the water was perfectly timed. She just stripped. She tore off the oversized leather jacket, the ruined scrubs, and her dirt-streaked underwear, dropping them in a heap on the marble floor.
Stepping into the water felt like a baptism. The heat was punishing, turning her skin a bright, angry pink, but she welcomed it. She sank beneath the surface, eyes closed, letting the water drown out the phantom sounds of bones snapping and the terrifying, celestial blue of Viktor's gaze.
She stayed under until her lungs burned, and when she finally broke the surface, gasping for air, she wasn't alone.
Viktor was leaning against the doorframe, his charcoal suit jacket gone and his white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He looked relaxed, a glass of dark amber liquid in one hand, but his blue eyes were fixed on her with a focus that made the water feel like ice.
"Get out," Andrea gasped, her hands instinctively crossing over her chest beneath the water's surface. "What is wrong with you? Don't they have doors in Russia? Knocking? Privacy? Any of those concepts ringing a bell?"
Viktor didn't move. He took a slow sip of his drink, his throat working as he swallowed. "This is my room, Andrea. Everything in it belongs to me. Including the woman in my tub."
"I am not a 'thing' in your room, Viktor!" She glared at him, her green eyes sparking with a mix of fury and the sudden, unwanted spike of heat she'd felt on the plane. "I saved your life. That makes you the one in my debt, not the other way around."
Viktor set his glass down on a marble vanity and walked toward the edge of the tub. Every step was deliberate, the movement of a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to run. He knelt by the edge, his shadow falling over her.
"You saved my life," he agreed, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating rasp. "And for that, I am giving you a life in return. A better one than the one you left behind in that gutter."
"A better one? I was going to be a nurse! I had a career! I had a cat!"
"You had a life of struggle and silence," Viktor countered. He reached out, his hand sliding into the water. Andrea flinched, but he didn't grab her. He just swirled the water, the ripples lapping against her collarbone. "Here, you have power. You have my protection. But it comes with a price."
"The 'Midnight Debt,'" Andrea whispered, remembering his words on the plane.
"Rule four," Viktor said. He stood up, towering over her, and reached for a thick, white towel. "The night belongs to me. From the moment the sun sets until the first light of dawn, you are mine. You eat when I say. You sleep where I say. And tonight... you sleep in my bed."
"No. Absolutely not." Andrea stood up, splashing water onto the marble. Her defiance outweighed her modesty for a split second until she realized she was standing completely naked in front of him.
She grabbed the towel from his hand, wrapping it around herself with shaking fingers. The steam from the bath clung to her skin, making her dark brown hair curl around her face.
Viktor didn't look away. His gaze swept over her, taking in the curve of her wet shoulders, the slope of her hips, and the dark, fading mark on her neck. His nostrils flared, his pupils blowing wide until his blue eyes were nearly black.
"You will follow the rules, Andrea," he said, his voice dropping to a lethal, velvet growl. "Or I will find ways to enforce them that you will find much less... comfortable."
"Is that a threat? Are you going to hit me?" She stepped closer, her chin tilted up, refusing to show him how much her knees were trembling.
Viktor let out a low, dark chuckle. He reached out, his hand sliding behind her neck, his thumb pressing into the sensitive skin behind her ear. He pulled her flush against his chest, the damp towel the only thing between her bare skin and his heated body.
"I do not hit what is mine," he whispered into her ear, his breath hot and smelling of expensive Scotch. "But I do punish. And I do discipline. If you fight me at the table, I will make you beg for your food. If you fight me in this room... I will make you beg for much more than that."
Andrea's breath hitched. She could feel him—the hard, heavy length of him pressing against her stomach through the fabric. Her pussy throbbed, a sudden, slick ache that made her toes curl against the marble. It was a betrayal she couldn't stop, a physical response to the raw, unadulterated dominance he radiated.
"You're a monster," she choked out, even as her hands clutched at his forearms.
"I am exactly what you saved," Viktor reminded her. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Now, dry yourself. There is a dress in the wardrobe. Put it on and meet me in the dining hall in ten minutes. If you are late, the 'Midnight Debt' begins early."
He let her go, stepping back with a cold, mocking smirk. He grabbed his drink and walked out of the bathroom without looking back, leaving Andrea standing in the steam, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her green eyes were wide, her face flushed, and her lips were parted in a silent gasp. She looked like a woman who had just survived a storm—or one who was about to walk right into the eye of it.
"Ten minutes," she whispered to the empty room, her jaw tightening. "Fine. You want a show, Viktor? I'll give you a fucking show."