Darkness closed in; the last thing I saw was Zoya’s limp arm hanging loose from the blanket.

And I smiled.

I smiled knowing she was safe.

Knowing that she was back where she belonged—with her family and her blood.

But as I stared at her hand I wished I could hold it in mine.

Hold her hand as I finally passed.

Just one last time.

20

ZOYA

I woke, an incredible heat setting my body alight. Deep confusion and a thick fog clogged my mind. My heart raced as I tried to think where I was. Opening my eyes, I was met with near darkness; the only illumination came from a lightly draped window at the far side of the room.

I tried to push myself from the plush soft bed in which I lay, but as I did my teeth gritted together at the aching in my limbs. I exhaled a long breath through my nostrils as I racked my brain. Where was I? What had happened? No matter how hard I tried, the fog wouldn’t clear.

Panting through my discomfort, I managed to slide to the end of the bed and swing my feet over the side. Hardwood floor; I jumped at the cold feeling. My hair hung over my shoulders and I ran my fingers through the silky strands. I frowned. My hair smelled of coconut. It was soft to the touch like it had been washed and carefully dried.

As I stared down at my body, I saw I was dressed in a long black nightdress. I couldn’t remember if this was mine, but as my hands felt the silk I knew it was expensive. Somehow I knew it wasn’t mine.

Needing to find out where I was, I pushed myself to stand up. As I scanned the room, I walked toward the window. I stayed to the side of the large pane but took a peek through the drape to see a busy street below me. I was up high; the building I was in stood tall compared to its surroundings.

Dropping the drape, I stood back. In front of me, across the room was a door, light spilling out underneath.

My feet moved me across the hardwood floor. I opened the door, making sure I did it silently. A large ornate hallway lay beyond the door. I stepped out, immediately searching left to right.

I listened for any sign of life; to my left I heard the murmur of low voices. Running my fingers through my hair to calm my nerves, I slowly walked forward, my eyes widening at the tall ceilings and old pictures hanging on the walls.

My skin crawled at the unfamiliarity of such richness. I pushed my mind again to remember something, an ache at the back of my head telling me that I had to remember something important. But no matter how hard I tried, nothing sprang into my mind.

I reached a room; the door was open and voices came through. My heart initially raced when I realized the people were speaking Russian. Fear spiked down my spine, and I spun on my heel to flee, but I heard a deep voice that froze me mid-motion.

My head cocked to the side to listen harder. The voice was speaking in Russian, but it held an accent, an accent that sounded familiar to me. I couldn’t place the person, but instinct and a lightness in my heart prompted me to walk to the doorway.

I peered down at my hand, only to see it shaking. Tears pricked in my eyes, and I squeezed them shut, unsure why I was overcome with such emotion. The voices grew louder, many people contributing to the conversation. On a deep inhale, I edged through the door. This room was massive, dripping with expensive decoration. I padded silently along the floor, until the room turned to feature a living area. I stopped dead when I saw four people sitting on couches—the source of the conversation. All seemed young. One couch faced a huge roaring fireplace; a large blond man with his arm around a brown-haired woman at on its plush cushions. My pulse quickened, but no recognition came.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move when my eyes fell upon the couple with their backs to me. A blond woman rested her head on an olive-skinned man’s arm. His large back was covered in a white T-shirt the material of which was severely tested by his muscles. His black hair was tied back in a messy bun at the top of his head. For some reason my lungs ceased to function as I stared at him.

My body was rooted to the spot. I feared I would never be able to move. Perhaps sensing me, the blond woman leaning on the dark man turned her head. Brown eyes collided with mine. She froze. I stared at her and she stared at me. Something inside of me cooled as her lips parted. I couldn’t remember why, but something inside told me I was not meant to like her. My mind was filled with a thick fog. I was struggling to organize my thoughts, to put anything into the correct place.

The man beside her turned to the blonde. The blonde, seeing him move, laid her hand on his arm. The man stared at her, his sharply defined profile coming into view. But he didn’t look back toward me. The blond woman rubbed at his arm and his back stiffened. His head fell forward and his hands ran through his hair. I watched his every movement; the burning in my chest increased, nerves racked my body, as I waited for him to look my way.

I blew out a shaky breath, but that was cut off when the man suddenly launched to his feet. My eyes widened at his sheer height and massive build. His hands opened and closed at his sides. Then, as if in slow motion, he turned. I watched with bated breath as he finally faced me.

His eyes were down, long black lashes pressed to his cheek. On another breath, his eyes fluttered open, his bright green gaze immediately slamming into mine.

The reaction was instant. The recognition was immediate, penetrating through the fog. Images flashed before my eyes at the sight of that powerful green gaze; it flicked by, like a show reel of my youth—my little legs running in the field through high grass, two boys chasing me. A green-eyed boy scooping me into his arms, me laughing as I kissed him on the cheek and pointed at three moles on the side of his left cheek. Two boys, identical looks but for their different-colored eyes. Two boys lying by the river, laughing and smiling with me tucked safely by their side. A green-eyed boy kissing me on my cheek good night and telling me that he loved me …

As I gasped, my trembling hand flew to my mouth. Tears built in my eyes and began pouring down my cheeks. My hand fell away at the sight of this man, once my best friend in the entire world, my protector, looking so fierce and strong, no longer a young boy.

I breathed, fighting to gain my voice, and whispered, “Sykhaara…”

The stern expression on his face fell into one of returned love. The aching in my legs was instantly forgotten as I ran forward to throw myself into his embrace.

My arms wrapped around his thick neck, and I sobbed when I felt familiar arms holding me around my waist. The world around us fell away as I sobbed and sobbed, tucking my face into his neck. Zaal’s face tucked into my neck, and I could feel tears tracking down the skin on my back.