“Now that the pleasantries are over, I am hungry. Tell me Carmelita is cooking.” Dmitry’s smooth-as-whiskey voice broke over Bone, and much as her sisters’ presence soothed her, so did his.
“She has indeed. A feast, I’d say. Shall we go eat?” Rand asked the group.
Everyone turned to walk into the house except for Bullet, who stayed where she was, staring at Bone. She wanted to warn Bone again, out of hearing range of her man, but Bone was having none of it.
Bone shook her head. “You cannot change what I am.” She drew in a rough breath. “What we all are.” Her gaze snagged on Rand who had stopped and turned back to them. “I am what Joseph made me and to venture too far from that makes me weak, sister. You are mine. Arrow and Blade are mine. I will not lose another one.”
Bullet nodded after long moments, which made the band around Bone’s chest ease somewhat. But still there were other truths that must reach the light and suddenly all she wanted was to fight the inevitability of it all.
How she hated Joseph Bombardier.
The others walked in and she was left with Dmitry. He stepped to her side, gazing down at her. “You want to fight, kostolomochka?”
He read her like a book. She had only ever had that connection with her sisters. Bone closed her eyes, unable to find her mind when she stared into his blue, blue eyes. “I do.”
“We will eat first. Then, if you still want to fight, we will,” he assured her.
Her response was immediate. “Not you.”
“You are too much for anyone else here. And since you gave me truths earlier, allow me to give you one in return,” he responded patiently.
She nodded—entranced by this man who had never ceased searching for his sister. What kind of love was that? To never stop searching? She would do the same for Bullet, Arrow and Blade. Was that then what she felt for her own sisters?
Love?
No. She could not claim that emotion. It wasn’t to be for Bone.
“Give me your truth, then Asinimov. But make it quick, my stomach is empty.”
He smiled and leaned down to her, his mouth a hair’s breadth from her lips, head angled as if he would kiss her. She licked her lips and tasted him. Want. It was a craven thing inside her.
“I do not like when anyone else touches you. And should anyone hurt you they will pay a thousand fold for it. There’s my truth, Etzem. As your sisters are yours, you are now mine.”
He raised his head, stepped around her and walked into the house.
She was left bereft, the afternoon sun shining down though dark clouds dotting the eastern skyline. She was not his. She was hers.
For both of their sakes, she had to remain that way.
?●?
They had given her a room in the west wing. It was Nodachi’s wing when he was in residence, Rand told her, but Dmitry was two doors down from her. She was similar in size to Bullet and when she’d come out of the shower, naked and ready to step into the unitard, she discovered yoga pants, a sports bra, and a T-shirt on the foot of the bed.
The room smelled of juniper and pine. As she put on the clothing she succumbed to more fancy. His hands had been on those clothes—the same clothes that now touched her body.
As with any other reaction she did not understand, she avoided looking too deep into it. Blade would mock her—tell her that without understanding the reaction she could not defeat it. Bone thought that to analyze it too much gave it power over you.
And Dmitry Asinimov, whether he knew it or not, already held too much of Bone in his hands.
So she dressed and walked the halls, taking the lay of the land and reminding herself of her reason for being here. When her sisters had attached themselves to the men of Trident, this house became a base of sorts for them as well. Out of everything they planned for these last years that had been unexpected. She walked the halls, noting every camera and door, every entrance and exit.
So here she was now, eating Trident’s food, wearing their clothes, breathing their air. Bone placed her spoon to the side, drank the obscenely sweet concoction Dmitry informed her was sweet tea, and glanced around the table.
Everyone stared. She raised an eyebrow at them as the woman named, Carmelita, the cook and housekeeper, began to dish more steak and potatoes onto her plate.
Bone held up a hand and the woman stopped, a huge smile on her face.
“Coma! Coma! Es bueno para tu alma, peque?a,” the woman enthused.
Bullet lowered her head but a smile hovered on her lips. Arrow said nothing but her face was soft, her mouth curving.
“No tengo alma, vieja,” Bone replied in a hard, mean tone.
The woman tsked and Bone was reminded of Juana. “Where is Juana?” she asked, not making a move to continue eating.
“She stays with the babies,” Bullet answered.
Bone shifted, reaching for the knife at her side and stroking the blade. “Does she still hum?”
“She does,” Arrow whispered. “And it is beautiful.”