2

Aurora

Oh my God.

I hit someone.

Out here, in the middle of nowhere on this forest road where no one should be.

I hit someone.

Everything around me slows down. The large snowflakes falling from the sky seem to hang in the air, suspended. The broken windshield wipers make a squeaky noise that seems frozen in place, as if the cold has made them stick. It’s only when my own blonde hair whips across my face that I realize the rising wind is causing this. February snowstorms can be harsh. My surroundings shift from eerily quiet to painfully loud. The wind howls and lashes at my hair, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the figure lying a few feet away.

How did this happen? I was driving carefully, watching the road and my—

No.

I looked away. I glance down through the tears forming in my eyes, seeing my phone still clutched tightly in my hand.

I was distracted. I caused this.

Have I killed someone?

“Get up,” I whisper, but the wind carries my words away before they even reach me. “Get up!”

As soon as I move, the cold hits me with a sharp sting, like a razor blade, and there’s no escaping it. Despite the chill, my focus remains on the body, which is slowly being covered by heavy snow and battered by the wind. Snow crunches under my feet as I walk, trying to keep my legs steady to reach the person I’ve hurt.

He lies there, face down and completely still, wearing a tattered white shirt that would be as clean as the snow if not for the dark red stains soaking it. His right arm is stretched out at an odd angle, making my stomach churn and heat rise in the back of my throat.

Did I do that?

Is he dead?

“Sir?” The painful impact of my knees landing in the snow next to him barely breaches the shock soaking into my veins. “Sir?”

Reaching out to touch him, I cannot tell if his body is really as cold as ice or if my numb fingers are unable to detect even the slightest lick of warmth. The world around me blurs as tears flood my eyes and catch on my lower lashes.

“Sir?” I gasp, leaning forward and shaking him with what little strength seeps into my arms. “Please wake up, please wake up. Please, please. Oh my God…” The slightest movement sends a wave of bright red blood seeping through the snow between us and bile rises in my throat.

I’ve killed him, haven’t I?

I have to get help.

The police. I need the police.

Glancing down at my phone, tears land on the screen when I blink and bring the screen to life. Despite seeing the missed calls and texts from my mother, they don’t fully register as I tap at the screen, but nothing happens. My fingers are too cold for my touchscreen to register input and panic begins to rise.

What if I can’t get in touch with anyone?

What if he dies here because I can’t even work my phone?

“Siri,” I gasp out, bringing my phone as close to my frozen lips as I can. “Siri, call 911.”

The sweetest, smallest bubble of relief rises in my chest when my phone lights up with acknowledgment, even as Siri’s voice is snatched away in the wind. As the number dials, I lean forward and gently touch the man’s chin, turning his face toward me.

Barely three rings into the call and I speak again. “Siri, hang up!”

She does so and my screen goes dark once more as panic stabs through me, the strongest sensation to make it through the cold numbness swallowing me whole.

I know him.

What the fuck is Cassian Chernykh doing all the way out here in the middle of Hawthorne property?

I’ve never met Cassian personally, but he was a late addition to the teachings from my mother. Ever since I was a little girl, my mother made sure I learned all the prominent members of the Russian Bratva inside and out so I knew who not to trust. If memory serves, Cassian only took over control of his family a year or two ago after the surprising death of his father, Oleg.

My knowledge of the Russian Bratva is a closely guarded secret, and I’ve worked hard to keep that secret as per my mother’s guidance while working as a nanny for Lucian Hawthorne—one of, if not the most prominent families in the Bratva.

The irony is not lost on me now as I kneel in the snow and face a terrible decision. My cover as just a regular person serving as a nanny would be blown the instant anyone knew I recognized this man. Calling the police would be the best and most natural thing to do, especially if I feigned ignorance.

It’s what any regular person would do in this kind of emergency.

But I’m not a regular person and neither is he.

While Lucian has hidden the fact that he is Bratva from me and has done an incredible job of acting like just a fixer for companies in trouble, I know he would hate any kind of police involvement on his property. It would be the one way the police could get a foothold into his life, and there’s no telling how awful that would be.

Never mind the terrible implications of a Bratva leader out here in the wilderness like this. Accusations would fly not just from the cops but every other family too. I’m pretty sure my mother would enjoy that if she wasn’t so set on her own revenge.

Police involvement would also put a wrench in my mother’s plan, and somehow, her fury scares me even more than the consequences of Lucian finding out who I am and what I know.

Fuck.

A sudden sob escapes me as tears turn to crystals and scrape down my face. The world is as dead and as silent as the body in front of me and for one panicked, cold moment, I consider leaving him here.

It’s a single intrusive thought that forces me to turn and puke a foot away, coughing and gagging as the only warmth to reach me comes from the burning bile up my own throat.

I can’t leave him.

Turning back to Cassian, I delicately place two fingers on his bruised neck and seek out a pulse point, telling myself that I’ll make my decision once I know if he’s alive.

Nothing breaches the numbness.

“Fuck.”

I need to warm them up. I shove my fingers into my mouth and start sucking on them with all my strength, attempting to chase away the cold long enough to feel something. Anything. After a few long seconds, numbness gives way to an aching throb in my fingertips.

That’ll do.

Pressing my two fingers back to his neck, his cold skin shocks me and I nearly pull away. What stops me is the weak tremor fluttering against my fingertips. A heartbeat. He’s alive.

I focus on that flutter for as long as I can until the cold once again takes away my sensation.

I have to call the cops.

Suddenly, Cassian stirs to life, and pale lashes flutter open, revealing a pair of fogged blue-green eyes. He gasps wetly and blood spots his lower lip, causing me to jump in fright. A painfully haggard breath comes from him, a sound so loud that it cuts through the storm.

“Sir?”

His eyes sluggishly dart back and forth, then they land on me and widen.

Does he know? Can he tell that I’m the one that did this to him?

“I’m—I’m going to get you help, okay? It’s going to be okay, I promise. I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” It’s surreal to feel my mouth move and yet no sound reaches me. Words of apology swept away in the storm, leaving me desperately hoping that he would hear some of it.

His lips move, pressing together and then parting, and the sudden touch of his frozen left hand against my thigh makes me jump. His touch alerts me to how violently I’m shivering, yet Cassian’s hand is calm and unwavering. Never have I seen someone in so much pain. Guilt carves me up on the inside. Is he past the point of freezing?

His lips move again. And again, making the same shape, but his words suffer the same fate as mine. I lean down as close as I dare, desperate to hear what he’s saying. The last plea of a dying man.

Breath with the barest hint of warmth ghosts across my frozen cheek. Then, one word catches my ear.

“Lucian,” Cassian croaks so brokenly that the word almost just sounds like a whimper of pain.

Lucian? Is he asking for Lucian? The only person I’ve ever heard call Lucian Lucian is Selene because she can’t say his name correctly.

Leaning back up, Cassian’s eyes close and his lips fall still.

I bring my phone close, and my decision is made.

“Siri? Call Lucian.”