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Chapter 3
Aurora
This is all too surreal for me to even try and process. My heart is beating out of my chest, my mouth is bone dry, and I feel almost delirious from just having him so close to me.
Staring at me as if I’m the only woman on the planet that matters to him.
I’ve never had a man look at me this way, and as his head lowers, it feels as if a magnetic force is pushing me toward him.
My heart pounds faster and faster, my breath stalls in my throat, and the moment our lips touch, the world shudders around me.
Wow.
I’ve never experienced such an intense moment. Certainly not with a man.
Attending a private boarding school for girls ensured I’ve remained a virgin. This moment is everything I hoped my first kiss would be. It’s a dream come true.
Everything shudders again, his mouth leaves mine, and a second later, I’m slammed into the wall, pain streaking through my head.
I’m so startled, and I don’t have time to gather myself before I’m yanked behind him.
It takes another couple of seconds before I hear the panicked screams and feel the air tensing with fear.
What’s happening?
My lips part to ask a question, what I’m not sure of, then a deafening blast shudders through the air, robbing me of my ability to speak.
There’s a hissing sound in my ears as he turns to me, wraps his arms around me, and forces me deeper down the hallway. My feet don’t even touch the floor, and I can’t see anything as his body blocks my line of sight.
I turn my head and see the wall quake as jagged cracks rip through the plaster.
A scream builds in my chest, but it never makes its escape past my lips. His arms tighten around me, then we’re falling. The drop feels endless,
and with debris and chaos crashing around us, I hear him curse, “Blyadʹ.”
I’m enveloped in darkness, and dust scratches the back of my throat right before I slam into something hard and unforgiving.
Pain streaks through my side, then it feels as if my body is torn apart.
I’m so shocked I can’t even scream.
Fear engulfs me, popping the protective bubble I’ve known all my life. It’s so intense my mind scrambles to block the horror from sinking its claws into my sanity.
I try to blink, the dust irritating my eyes. I can’t focus on anything as I’m yanked to the side just as there’s a loud crashing sound where I was lying moments ago.
I’m dragged beneath his body, and my head is pressed against his chest.
With hell raining down around us, my mind is dazed, but one thought shines like a bright light – this man is something straight out of my most romantic fantasies – he’s not only deadly attractive but also protective.
Mio principe.
That’s what it feels like. He’s a prince that’s come to rescue me, to sweep me off my feet with a life-saving kiss.
It’s a stupid thing to think when you’re being crushed by tons of concrete. Right now my life should be flashing before my eyes. I should be drowning in fear and saying my last prayer.
Instead, I cling to him as if he has the power to stop a building from burying us alive.
The collapsed structure rumbles and groans as it settles around us, and I only realize I’m shivering from the intense shock when his chest feels steady against my palms. His heartbeat is fast but nothing like my thundering one. He’s calm in comparison to me.
I suck in a sharp breath, and seconds tick by before he slowly pushes his body up, giving me some space to breathe.
I don’t want to breathe. I want his body pressing against mine so nothing can hurt me. I want his warmth to chase the chill that’s creeping deep into my bones.
Slowly, the daze lifts from my mind, only for the shock to pour into me.
I hear nothing but the groaning and grinding of concrete, a popping sound jarring me every couple of seconds.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice sounding dangerous and enraged.
“I…” I try to take a deep breath, but it ends with a coughing fit that sends my chest up in an inferno of flames.
Tears jump to my eyes, and when they spill over my cheeks, they feel warm on my icy skin.
Suddenly the darkness is broken by a red light that starts to flicker. It’s bright enough for me to get glimpses of him.
Mio principe.
Somehow with a thick layer of dust covering him, he looks even more devastatingly handsome, and the blue of his eyes is brighter than any light I’ve ever seen. It’s almost blinding.
He must be able to see me as well because he shifts, then his hand cups my cheek, and his thumb swipes a tear away.
“Where does it hurt?” he demands, his expression murderous.
“Everywhere,” I groan, unable to speak above a whisper because I’m too scared it will make something fall on us.
His hand leaves my face, and he starts to push himself completely off
me.
My fingers grip his jacket that’s no longer blue but coated with gray and
brown dust.
“Don’t!” Panic laces the word, stretching it until it’s threadbare and vulnerable. “Don’t get up.”
“Shh.” The sound is comforting but not nearly enough to calm me down. “I’m not going anywhere.” I watch as he glances around us. “Not until they dig us out.”
I start blinking faster and faster, and it becomes super hard to breathe. Shakily I turn my head, and as the red light flickers ominously, I take in the wall of broken concrete around us.
We’ve been buried alive.
No.
My breaths speed up until I hear them loudly in my ears.
NoNoNoNoNo.
Concrete. Everywhere. “Hey,” he barks.
No.
A firm hand grips my jaw, and I’m forced to look at him. “Panicking won’t help. Calm down.”
No.
My breaths keep coming faster until no air reaches my lungs. It feels as if I’m being strangled.
Positioning a forearm on either side of my head, he leans so close to me, I can feel his breath on my lips. “Breathe with me, malen’kiy olen’.”
My face crumbles, and hot tears spiral across my temples. “I…can’t.”
My heart thunders in my chest, feeling like it’s going to explode. The pressure causes the pain in my ribs to increase tenfold until it feels like I’m spiraling into the very pits of hell.
He presses his mouth to mine. “Breathe.” I feel his warm air blow into me, and instinctively, I suck it into my lungs.
My eyes lock with his, and I try to focus on the dark blue ring around the much lighter blue.
With every breath he exhales, I inhale, and somehow he manages to calm me down until it no longer feels like my heart is trying to claw its way free from my chest.
“I’m… claustrophobic,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with fear. “Being buried alive is my worst fear.”
I’ve never admitted that out loud. Not even to Abbie. She just knows I’m terrified of small spaces.
When I was younger, I was playing hide and seek with my cousin, and I thought hiding in the laundry chute would be a good place. I got stuck halfway down to the laundry room, and it took them endless hours to get me out.
“You’re not buried alive. We’ll be rescued soon.” There’s so much strength in his eyes it makes me feel a little better.
Trying to gather my bearings and not freak out again, I ask, “How do you know?”
“I have people who should already know what happened, and they know we’re here. They’ll come for us.”
His accent is thicker, and I latch onto it. “Are you Russian?” He nods, his attention on the concrete around us.
“Traveling?” I ask as if now is the time to get to know him. But at least it’s giving me something else to focus on.
“You could say so.” His eyes lock on mine again, and the bubbling chaos in my chest simmers down a little. “I’m going to get up so I can check your wounds.”
I nod, but still, my fingers tighten on his jacket until he’s forced to wrap his hand over mine so he can pull them away from his clothing.
“I’m right here,” he reassures me as he pushes himself up to his hands and knees. Moving onto his haunches, he glances around us, taking in the small space.
My eyes flit from one broken concrete block to the other, then I see a piece of silver fabric hanging from a busted steel rod.
His eyes drop to my body, starting at my bare feet. I have no idea where my Jimmy Choo heels are.
When his gaze stops on my side, he leans down, his fingers brushing over my icy skin.
I move my hand to press on the floor so I can push myself up, but he snaps, “Don’t move.”
Before I can ask why, he shrugs out of his jacket, and not bothering with the buttons of his dress shirt, he rips his shirt open, buttons flying all over the place.
There’s an intricate tattoo on his left arm. The wings of an eagle are inked over his shoulder, then snakes make their way down his bicep to
frame a cross with praying hands. His right arm is covered in stars. Some have Russian writing in them, but most are empty.
As hot as his tattoos and bare chest look, the severity of the moment hits me hard. It feels like lead is filling my veins.
He rips the sleeves off his shirt, and folding the remaining fabric, he presses it to my side, using the sleeves to tie it around my waist.
“How…” I swallow hard on the question. “How bad is it?”
He makes sure the makeshift bandage is tight, then looks me dead in the eyes and lies, “It’s not bad at all.”
“You’re lying,” I whisper, my throat closing up with panic.
Leaning closer, his right hand brushes over my cheek. The touch almost feels loving.
“You’re not going to die down here. Got it?”
Every fiber of my being wants to believe him, but as much as he looks like a god, he isn’t all-powerful.
With absolute surety shining from his eyes, his voice is low and demanding when he says, “I’ve survived much worse. That’s how I know you’re not going to die. Trust me, malen’kiy olen’.”
I nod, praying to all that’s holy he’s right.
Needing a distraction, I ask, “What do those words mean?”
The corner of his mouth lifts in a hot smirk that seems so out of place while we’re surrounded by debris and concrete.
“Little deer.”
A frown line forms between my eyes. “Why?” “Because you’re skittish like one.”
My lips threaten to smile, but another popping sound has me cringing, and the fear is pushed back to the foreground.
“I have a name for you, too,” I admit with a shaky voice. There’s no hiding my anxiety and horror, but talking to him is helping me not to have a total breakdown.
He pushes his hand beneath my head, and lifting it, he places his rolled- up jacket under me so I can use it as a pillow. Gently, as if he’s afraid I’ll break, he lies me back down.
“What?” he asks, as he lies down beside me, resting his head on his arm.
“Mio principe.”
His eyes lock with mine. “You think I’m a prince?”
“I know it sounds stupid.” It takes another second before I realize. “Wait. You speak Italian?”
He nods.
With my mind still foggy, I only now think to ask, “Did you get hurt?” He shakes his head. “Just a couple of bumps and bruises.”
I believe him because he hasn’t shown any signs that he’s in pain.
As if he remembers something, he leans closer, and lifting my head, his fingers inspect the back.
“My head is fine,” I assure him so he won’t worry.
His eyes find mine again. “Do you have pain anywhere else?”
Deciding it’s best that I’m honest, I admit, “My chest. It hurts when I breathe.”
He lowers a hand to my ribs and checks my chest.
Glancing down, I see there’s nothing left of my Dolce and Gabbana sequined crop top. At least my black bra covers my breasts and I didn’t lose that as well during the fall.
“You could have broken ribs.” He brings his attention back to my face. “Tell me the moment it gets difficult to breathe.”
I nod. “It just hurts, but I can breathe.”
He surprises me by wrapping a hand around the side of my head and pressing a kiss to my forehead.
Even though it feels like hours have passed, it’s probably only been ten minutes.
My mind clears a little, but it’s instantly bombarded with new worries. “My friend!”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” he says.
Abbie was with his friend. Hopefully, they’re together.
Maybe they even managed to get out before the building collapsed.
God, I hope so. She’ll call for help.
“What do you think happened?” I ask. “An explosion.”
My eyes widen at him. “Like a bomb?”
When he nods, my body grows heavy with fear.
Was it an attempt to kill Abbie and me?
Crap, if I survive this ordeal, my parents will probably kill me.
Carefully he pushes his arm beneath my neck. I try to shift closer to him, and when his arms are wrapped around me and my temple is pressed to his warm chest, I close my eyes.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he warns me.
“Okay.” Opening my eyes, I stare at the defined ridges of his abs. “Do you work out?”
“Yes.”
I let out a humorless chuckle that makes tiny flames of pain lick at my ribcage. I wait for the pain to pass, then murmur, “I hate exercise. I don’t like sweating.”
“Mmh…” The rumble comes from deep in his chest. “Are you going to tell me all your secrets?”
I glance at the broken concrete, and a relentless hopelessness settles heavily in my heart. “I might as well tell one person before I die.”
He presses his lips to my hair, then murmurs, “I promise you won’t die.
Not on my watch.”
Tilting my head back, I look deep into his eyes, the flashing red light breaking our connection every couple of seconds.
I don’t know his name, and honestly, I prefer it that way. Not knowing who he is makes everything easier somehow.
I’ll be his little deer, and he can be my prince because weaving a fantasy in the middle of all the horror makes me believe we’ll get out of this alive.
Because let’s face it, the bitter reality is that we can both die here tonight, and I can’t deal with the terrible fact.
So, instead of facing the harsh truth, I latch onto the fantasy. My prince is strong, and he’ll keep me from dying.