Page 138 of Betrayal and Vows

I know she’s anxious. We all are.

She wanted to go for a walk, but it’s too dangerous.

I can’t let her leave the cabin.

Luda’s cabin is isolated and surrounded by woods, but that isn’t enough.

Dmitri’sbabushkaisn’t actually his grandmother. She took care of Dmitri before he found his way to the training center where we met.

It will take some serious digging before anyone connects Dmitri to her—if they ever do.

But this is temporary. We can’t stay. I will not put anyone else in danger.

Dmitri and Luda left at dawn for the village, promising to return with clothes and enough supplies to last us another week. Maybe two, if we're careful. But I know we don't have two weeks. Vadim's reach is long.

Mikhail is not going to stop hunting Lena.

And me.

It’s a personal insult. That’s the kind of thing that demands a slow, painful death.

I pour myself another cup of the bitter coffee Luda left warming on the stove and step outside.

Lena doesn't turn when the door closes behind me, but she shifts slightly, making room for me on the step.

"You're thinking too loud," she says softly.

"Am I?"

"I can practically hear the wheels turning." She glances at me sideways. "You're planning something."

It's not a question. I settle beside her, close enough that our thighs touch.

"We can't stay here forever," I say.

"I know." Her voice is quiet, resigned. "But can we stay here today?"

The simple request hits me harder than it should. When was the last time either of us had a day? Just one day without running, without fear, without blood on our hands?

"Today," I agree.

She leans against my shoulder.

"Tell me about your mother," she says. “What do you remember?”

"Lena—"

"Please. I want to know about her. About you as a little boy. The more you talk, the more you’ll remember. We’ll remember her together. I feel like she is a part of me even though I’ve never met her."

I'm quiet for so long she probably thinks I won't answer. It’s difficult. I’ve locked away her and the few memories for too long.

But I want Lena to know her.

"She sang constantly," I finally say. "Even when she was sad, which was often near the end. She'd hum while she cooked, sing lullabies when she thought I was sleeping." I pause, remembering. "She had this way of making everything feel safe, even when it wasn't."

"Like you do for me."

"I'm nothing like her."