The Cold Night

Leonariz lay in the empty room, just a bed in the otherwise bare space. After the previous night's events, one of the maids had bathed and dressed her—Psyke's orders. He'd left afterward, and she had no idea where he'd gone.

Leonariz touched her growling stomach. Hunger gnawed at her, making her feel weak and dizzy. Sitting in the corner, hugging her knees, she looked around the large room. It was spacious, but the emptiness was unsettling. She thought of their simple huts in the forest, their beds of straw and leaves, and a pang of longing hit her.

She stood, moving weakly toward the bed. The room was dimly lit, the brown light above casting long shadows. It didn't bother her; she was used to the dark, to the fireflies that lit their nights in the forest.

Touching the bed, she whispered, "It's soft," in Greek, her eyes widening in surprise. She'd never felt anything like it. The man had been right; there were things outside the forest they couldn't imagine.

She whispered "We… weich…Ein... drucksvoll." ("So... soft... ama... zing") in German, then stopped abruptly, clenching her fist. She reminded herself not to speak the languages the man had taught them casually.

Sighing, she sat on the bed, sinking into its softness. A small smile touched her lips as she lay down. She was happy to experience something she'd only heard about.

The world really does have so much to offer, she thought.

She curled into a ball, hugging her knees. A chill ran through her. It wasn't raining, the windows were closed, and it wasn't snowing. Back in the forest, they'd handled the winter cold with thick animal skins. But this… this was different.

—

"Wake me in two hours, Sebastian," Psyke said, stepping out of his car.

"Sure, boss," Sebastian replied.

It was three in the morning; the mansion was quiet. Psyke and Sebastian had just returned from cleaning up a mess for the Romanov family. The job had been easy, but the news they'd learned wasn't good.

Psyke stopped, noticing a silhouette on the sofa. Even from a distance, he recognized her—her curvy form, her boldness in venturing out of her room, unfamiliar with the mansion's rules.

"Why are you still—oh…" Sebastian's words trailed off as he saw what Psyke was looking at.

He switched on the lights. Leonariz lay on the sofa, curled into a ball.

"Check her room," Psyke ordered. Sebastian obeyed immediately.

Psyke approached Leonariz, stopping before her, gazing down at her sleeping face. She looks like a calm tiger, he thought. My tiger.

"I really should train you well," he murmured, leaning down to lift her.

He lifted her effortlessly in a bridal style. She didn't stir. But then, he paused.

"Hmm… interesting. I'd put that down if I were you," Psyke said, his voice serious.

Her fingers were almost touching his eye. He felt it—her wild hunting instinct, even in her sleep. He hadn't wasted his money. She could be used in many ways.

Sebastian laughed, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "What a nice master-pet relationship you've got there."

"She should act like a tamed tiger if she doesn't want her arms cut off," Psyke said coldly, in Russian.

Leonariz's eyes flickered open at his words. She slowly lowered her hand, staring at him.

"Wow, she sensed your dangerous aura," Sebastian said, impressed.

"As she should," Psyke replied coldly, starting to walk.

Leonariz didn't know whether to pull away or not. But she was still in his arms as he carried her back to her room. Instinctively, she hugged him, bracing herself for the deadly cold she'd felt earlier.

"The aircon was set to the lowest degree, Psyke. It's a miracle she survived a few hours in there," Sebastian explained, following them.

Psyke frowned. He looked down at Leonariz, almost clinging to him. Now he understood her earlier actions. Who could survive that temperature? That room was used for torture.

"Who the fuck opened it?" Psyke said coldly, setting Leonariz on the bed.

She looked down, making her intentions clear.

"Nevermind, leave now. I'll sleep here for a bit."

Sebastian chuckled softly, throwing a comforter onto the bed before leaving and closing the door.

Psyke took off his bloodstained coat, lying down on the bed, wrapping himself in the comforter.

"Come here," he said, patting the space beside him.

Leonariz immediately lay down beside him, her back to him.

Psyke let out a deep sigh. "Fuck…" he whispered, feeling his arousal stir.