Bargains and Betrayals Read Free Page A

interpretation.
    In the time it took to blink an eye, the heated discussion had fallen to the wayside and they had returned to what they did best together—flirting and teasing. It seemed years were added to his life just being around her.
    He said something. Stupid, no doubt, and she slapped him playfully—how did she phrase it?— upside the head . I would have gladly helped put words in Max’s mouth, but it was always awkward fitting them around his foot.
    He sputtered, seizing her wrist to drag her hand slowly across his stubbled jawline. In that singular moment, that heartbeat when she shivered and he straightened ever so slightly to watch her reaction, in that moment alone was more intimacy and passion than in all the flings and one-night stands he’d ever reveled in.
    Priding myself a scientist of sorts, I watched their body language: her leaning toward him, falling into the shadow he cast, him rolling his shoulders forward to envelop her more completely without even raising his arms. A subtle slide of movement, a gentle curve to her posture and the rays and angles—the lines their bodies drew—the very math that existed between their two separate figures, spoke more accurately than any words in either of our first languages.
    This was something stronger than anything he’d ever known—ever felt—before. Something deeper. Something new to both of them. It was love, made clear in geometric terms.
    Once, in Moscow, I had been able to measure the distance from a girl’s heart to mine simply by noting the few degrees of separation between our forms, the dimensions devising our expressions. I loved that girl.
    And I realized this might yet be the death of us. Not the werewolves—neither the mafiosos who called themselves werewolves nor the oboroten, living the abbreviated and violent life span that would eventually kill my siblings. Nyet . It has never truly been about werewolves, has it?
    It has always been about life and death. About choices. About love and loss.
    I made my choice and left Moscow. Left Nadezhda. My brothers have made theirs, so we stay in Junction.
    Someday soon all our most dangerous decisions, all these choices, will catch up to us and we will drink what we have brewed—reaping and sowing not being nearly as fashionable.
    Clutching the dry comfort of the cigarettes nestled in their box, my hands trembled and the doorknob squeaked.
    Without even turning to face the door, Max rolled out words underpinned with the growl that had become his normal tone when mentioning or addressing me. “He’s watching us again.”
    Amy peered over his shoulder and winked at me as I stepped past them on the porch and headed down the stairs to light up. “Then let’s give him something to watch,” she suggested.
    Behind me, I heard him growl. She giggled when he pounced.
    Perhaps leaving Nadezhda in Moscow had been a bigger mistake than I’d ever imagined. Time would surely tell, as it did in all things.

CHAPTER TWO
    Jessie
    Trapped in Dr. Jones’s office at Pecan Place for another session, being asked the same questions and getting none of mine answered, I was becoming frantic.
    “What does it matter?” she asked. Leaning back in her leather chair she watched me from behind her wide desk. “You are here . Safe. You’re already making progress with your therapy.”
    It might have been congratulations, but it rolled out of her mouth through a sneer.
    “Just tell me,” I whispered— implored— bending forward to narrow the distance between us. “Tell me how he is.”
    “No.”
    My eyes pressed shut and I clamped my teeth together to bite back a shout. Three days and no word about Pietr. No message from Dad. Nothing from beyond Pecan Place. Nothing to anchor me to my past or to the people I loved. “Damn it.” The words squeezed out from between my lips.
    Dr. Jones pitched forward and jotted a note on her clipboard. “You need to stay in control. Remember our facility’s rules against