Page 97 of Blood Code

“Come on, Xenny, you need to return to human form, or I can't get you out of here.” I knelt beside her. “Please.”

With another moan and considerable effort, she solidified into her physical form.

I gasped.

She was in terrible shape. Blood dripped from both her mouth and nose. She’d clearly moved between forms too many times, but it was more than that. That was shocking, but it wasn’t why I gasped.

A streak of brown hair framed the left side of her face.

BROWN.

Furies only had white hair, as if death had leached every trace of color from it.

I stroked her cheek. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she croaked. “I failed. The Russians captured her to move her somewhere else. They’re working for the Order.”

Fuck. My throat tightened.

“I’m sorry, Xen.”

A broken sob escaped her lips. “I’m a failure.” Bloody tears streaked down her face.

Fuck.

She hadn’t been this bad in a long time. I didn’t know what to do, so I made a terrible joke. Xeniya had a dark sense of humor, so maybe she would be able to appreciate it.

“I am no Blackwood, but I can be your daddy today, and I take care of you like he used to,” I said with a crooked smile.

“That's…” She coughed, blood staining her lips. “Somewhat funny. But this feels worse than what the Man in Black did to me before he killed me.” A sob caught in her throat. “The girl is going to die now. Damon gave me a month, and he was Aleksandr's enforcer.”

Her eyelids drooped, then closed.

“Don't be so dramatic. We'll get her back, I promise.”

I wasn't sure Xeniya heard me. It didn't matter. Right now, my job was to make her feel better, even if she couldn't believe a word of it. That's what friends were for.

But knew she wouldn’t believe me. I shuddered because these men were dangerous, and she’d mentioned the Man in Black, and what I knew about him frightened me.

He reminded me of the serial killer who'd promised to kill me during my captivity.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Xeniya Morozova

Age 24

Eleven Years Ago

“Run, little dove, fly away as far and fast as you can, because when I catch you, I will damage you.”

I wore a loose, diaphanous blue gown that fell to my knees. My feet were bare, and the night frost pebbled my skin. Five men surrounded me as I faced a vast forest.

The Man in Black was back, and as usual, every stitch of clothing he wore was midnight black—boots, pants, gloves. Everything.

He stood behind me, radiating smooth, lethal charm.

“Why?” I asked, turning toward him. “I won’t get away. You’ll never let me get away. So why bother?”