Twist Me (31 page)

Lettie, the first-year nurse, was applying pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding. There were also two other men were standing nearby, but Kate paid them little attention, all her focus on the patient.

Quickly assessing the situation, Kate washed her hands and took charge. The patient’s pulse was strong, and he appeared to be breathing with no distress. Kate checked his pupils; they were normal and responded to light stimulation properly. There was an exit wound, which was lucky. Had the bullet remained inside the body, it could’ve caused additional damage and required surgery. A CT scan showed that the bullet had just missed the heart and other critical organs. Another inch, and the man would be occupying a body bag instead of this stretcher. As it was, the main challenge was getting the wound clean and stopping the bleeding.

Kate didn’t wonder how, why, or who had shot this man. That wasn’t her job. Her job was to save his life, to stabilize him until the doctor could get there. In cases like this—true life-threatening emergencies—the doctor would see the patient quickly. All other ER patients were typically in for a longer wait.

When Dr. Stevenson appeared, she filled him in, rattling off the patient’s vitals. Then she assisted him as he sutured and bandaged the wound.

Finally, the victim was stable and sedated. Barring any unforeseen complications, the man would live.

Stripping off the gloves, Kate walked over to the sink to wash her hands again. The habit was so deeply ingrained, she never had to think about it. Whenever she was in the hospital, she washed her hands compulsively every chance she got. Far too many deadly patient infections resulted from a healthcare professional’s lax approach to hygiene.

Letting the warm water run over her hands, she rolled her head side to side, trying to relieve the tension in her neck. As much as she loved her job, it was both physically and mentally exhausting, particularly when someone’s life was on the line. Kate had always thought full-body massages should be included as part of the benefit package for nurses. If anyone needed a rubdown at the end of a twelve-hour shift, it was surely a nurse.

Turning away from the sink, Kate looked back toward the gunshot man, automatically making sure everything was okay with him before she moved on to check on her other patients.

And as she glanced in his direction, she caught a pair of steely blue eyes looking directly at her.

It was one of the other men who had been standing near the victim—likely one of the wounded’s relatives. Visitors were generally not allowed in the hospital at night, but the ER was an exception.

Instead of looking away—as most people would when caught staring—the man continued studying Kate.

So she studied him back, both intrigued and slightly annoyed.

He was tall, well over six feet in height, and broad-shouldered. He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense; that would’ve been too weak of a word to describe him. Instead, he was . . . magnetic.

Power. That’s what she thought of when she looked at him. It was there in the arrogant tilt of his head, in the way he looked at her so calmly, utterly sure of himself and his ability to control all around him. Kate didn’t know who he was or what he did, but she doubted he was a pencil pusher in some office. No, this was a man used to issuing orders and having them obeyed.

His clothes fit him well and looked expensive. Maybe even custom-made. He was wearing a grey trench coat, dark grey pants with a subtle pinstripe, and a pair of black Italian leather shoes.

His brown hair was cut short, almost military style. The simple haircut suited his face, revealing hard, symmetric features. He had high cheekbones and a blade of a nose with a slight bump, as though it had been broken once.

Kate had no idea how old he was. His face was unlined, but there was no boyishness to it. No softness whatsoever, not even in the curve of his mouth. She guessed his age to be in the early thirties, but he could’ve just as easily been twenty-five or forty.

He didn’t fidget or look uncomfortable in any way as their staring contest continued. He just stood there quietly, completely still, his blue gaze trained on her.

To her shock, Kate could feel her heart rate picking up as a tingle of heat ran down her spine. It was as though temperature in the room had jumped ten degrees. All of a sudden, the atmosphere became intensely sexual, making Kate aware of herself as a woman in a way that she’d never experienced before. She could feel the silky material of her matched underwear set brushing between her legs, against her breasts. Her entire body seemed flushed, sensitized, her nipples pebbling underneath her layers of clothing.

Holy shit.

So that’s what it felt like to be truly attracted to someone. It wasn’t rational and logical. There was no meeting of minds and hearts involved. No, the urge was basic and primitive; her body had sensed his on some animal level, and it wanted to mate.

And he felt it, too. It was there in the way his blue eyes had darkened, lids partially lowering. In the way his nostrils flared, as though trying to catch her scent. His fingers twitched, curled into fists, and she somehow knew he was trying to control himself, to avoid reaching for her right then and there.

If they had been alone right now, Kate had no doubt he would be on her already.

Still staring at the stranger, Kate started to back away. The strength of her response to him was frightening, unsettling. They were in the middle of the ER, surrounded by people, and all she could think about was hot, sheet-twisting sex. She had no idea who he was, whether he was married or single. For all she knew, he could be a criminal or a total asshole.

Or he could be a cheating scumbag like Tony. If anyone had taught her to think twice before trusting a man, it was her ex-boyfriend. She didn’t want that kind of complication in her life again—didn’t want to get involved with a man so soon after her last disastrous relationship.

But the tall stranger clearly had other ideas.

At her cautious retreat, his eyes narrowed, his gaze becoming sharper, more focused.

And then he began walking toward her, his stride oddly graceful for such a large man. There was something panther-ish in his leisurely movements. For a second, Kate felt like a mouse getting stalked by a big cat. Instinctively, she took another step back . . . and watched his hard mouth tighten with displeasure.

Realizing she was acting like a coward, Kate stopped backing away and stood her ground instead, straightening to her full 5’7” height. She was always the calm and capable one, handling high-stress situations with ease—and here she was, behaving like a silly schoolgirl confronted with her first crush. Yes, the man made her uncomfortable, but there was nothing to be afraid of. What was the worst he could do? Ask her out on a date?

Nevertheless, her hands shook slightly as he approached, stopping less than two feet away. This close, he was even taller than she’d originally thought, probably a couple of inches over six feet. She was not a short woman, but she felt tiny standing next to him. It was not a feeling she enjoyed.

“You are very good at your job.” His voice was deep and a little rough, heavy with some Eastern European accent. Just hearing it made her insides shiver in a strangely pleasurable way.

“Um, thank you,” Kate said, a bit uncertainly. She knew she was a good nurse, of course, but somehow she hadn’t expected this stranger to acknowledge that fact.

“You took care of Igor well. Thank you for that.”

Igor had to be the gunshot patient. It was a foreign-sounding name, maybe Russian. That explained the stranger’s accent. Although he spoke English fluently, it was obvious he wasn’t a native speaker.

“Of course. I hope he recovers quickly. Is he your relative?” Kate was proud of the casual steadiness of her tone. Hopefully, the man wouldn’t realize how he affected her.

“My bodyguard.”

Kate’s eyes widened. So she’d been right—this man was a big fish. Bodyguard? Did that mean— “Was he shot in the course of duty?” she asked, holding her breath.

“He took a bullet meant for me, yes.” The man’s tone was matter-of-fact, but Kate got a sense of tightly suppressed rage underneath those words.

Holy shit
. “Did you already speak to the police?”

“I gave them a brief statement. I will talk to them in more detail once Igor is stabilized and regains consciousness.”

Kate nodded, not knowing what to say to that. The man standing in front of her had been shot at today. What was he? Some Mafia boss? A political figure?

If she’d had any doubts about the wisdom of exploring this strange attraction between them, they were now gone. This stranger was bad news, and she needed to stay as far away from him as possible.

“Well, I wish your bodyguard a speedy recovery,” Kate said in a falsely cheerful tone. “Barring any complications, he should be fine—”

“Thanks to you.”

Kate nodded again, gave him a half-smile, and took a step to the side, hoping to walk around the man and go to her next patient.

But he shifted his stance, blocking her way. “I’m Alex Volkov,” he said quietly, looking down on her. “And you are?”

Kate’s pulse picked up. She could feel the male intent in his question, and it made her nervous. “Just a nurse working here,” she said, hoping he would get the hint.

He didn’t—or he pretended not to. “What’s your name?”

Kate took a deep breath. He was certainly persistent. “I’m Katherine Morrell. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Katherine,” he repeated, his accent lending the familiar syllables an exotic edge. His eyes gleamed with some unknown emotion, and his hard mouth softened a bit. “Katerina. It’s a beautiful name.”

“Thank you. I really have to go . . .” Kate was feeling increasingly anxious to get away. He was so large, standing there in front of her. She needed some space, needed a little room to breathe. His nearness was overpowering, making her edgy and restless, leaving her craving something she knew would be bad for her.

“You have your job to do. I understand,” he said, looking vaguely amused.

And he still didn’t move out of her way. Instead, as she watched in shock, he raised one large hand and lightly brushed his knuckles down her left cheek.

Kate froze, even as a wave of heat moved through her body. His touch had been casual, but she felt branded by it, shaken to the core.

“I would like to see you again, Katerina,” he said softly. “When does your shift end tonight?”

Kate stared at him, feeling like she was losing control of the situation. “I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

“Why not?” His blue eyes narrowed, and his mouth tightened again. “Are you married?”

For a second, Kate was tempted to lie and tell him that she was. But honesty won out. “No. But I’m not interested in dating right now—”

“Who said anything about dating?”

Kate blinked. She had assumed—

He lifted his hand again, stopping her mid-thought. This time, he picked up a strand of her long brown hair, rubbing it between his fingers as though enjoying its texture.

“I don’t date, Katerina,” he murmured, his accented voice oddly mesmerizing. “But I would like to take you to bed. And I think you would like that, too.”

* * *

If you’d like to know when
White Nights
comes out, please visit my website at
www.annazaires.com
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Excerpt from 
The Krinar Captive
 

Author’s Note
: This is a prequel to the Krinar Chronicles. You don’t have to have read Mia & Korum’s story in order to read this book. It takes place approximately five years earlier, right before and during the Krinar invasion. The excerpt and the description are unedited and subject to change.

* * *

Emily Ross never expected to survive her deadly fall in the Costa Rican jungle—and she certainly never thought she’d wake up in a strangely futuristic dwelling, held captive by the most beautiful man she had ever seen. A man who seems to be more than human . . .

Zaron is on Earth to facilitate the Krinar invasion—and to forget the terrible tragedy that ripped apart his life. Yet when he finds the broken body of a human girl, everything changes. For the first time in years, he feels something more than rage and grief . . . and Emily is the reason for that. Letting her go would compromise his mission, but keeping her could destroy him all over again.

* * *

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. Please, please, please, I don’t want to die.

The words kept repeating over and over in her mind, a hopeless prayer that would never be heard. Her fingers slipped another inch on the rough wooden board, her nails breaking as she tried to maintain her grip.

Emily Ross was hanging by her fingernails—literally—off a broken old bridge. Hundreds of feet below, water rushed over the rocks, the mountain stream full from recent rains.