"Maxim has her pinned up against the wall and seat. She's not going anywhere," Cyreck said. "The storm came in fast."
"Just our luck," Roman snapped.
Already the wind had died down, much more slowly and naturally than Airiana would have thought, and she knew Maxim was responsible.
"Are you crazy?" Maxim hissed in her ear, his breath coming from between strong, white teeth. "You'll kill us."
Her arm hurt so bad she couldn't think for a moment. He had her pinned tightly against the wall of the craft, so that she hadn't moved at all when the force of the wind hit. She hadn't been thrown around like the men, but her entire body felt bruised and battered.
"That was the point," she hissed back, not certain why she continued with their private conversation.
Her body had begun to shiver uncontrollably, stress and pain taking their toll. Maxim sighed softly and eased his weight off of her, but was careful not to give her any room.
"Don't do it again or I'll knock you out. Do you understand me?"
She forced herself to turn her head and look at him. Straight into his eyes. Their gazes collided. She was caught there. Held there. A prisoner of his sheer iron will. If anything, his eyes were colder than ever. Like beautiful, untouchable glaciers. A startling blue, like a great pool of ice she fell into and froze there, unable to get out. The shivering increased until her teeth chattered, but she couldn't look away from him.
"I asked you if you understood?" he persisted, each word distinct.
Airiana nodded her head. If she tried to speak she knew she would cry. No one could defeat this man. No one. He was a born killer. She could see it in the cold, dispassionate expression on his face and the deadly quiet of his eyes. He would hit her if she tried anything else and knock her out and not think twice about it.
There was temptation in the idea. She might not wake up. If she provoked him . . . he had a temper. A really dangerous one. But he hadn't lost control.
"Whatever is going on in that brilliant mind of yours, just stop now."
Her stomach lurched. Brilliant mind. He knew. They had come after her for that horrible project she'd conceived when she was a child. It wouldn't go away, no matter how hard she tried to make it.
"Airiana, just for a few minutes, trust me. Nothing is going to happen to you."
Somehow the way he said her name, almost as if he was familiar with her, twisted her up more inside. Of course he knew her name. He had to know whom to kidnap, didn't he? But calling her by name made her resistance seem even more futile than ever.
She detested that he used that low, almost velvet voice, as if he brushed his fingers over her skin to soothe her--or caress her. There was no way not to be affected. She was absolutely certain this was the most lethal man she'd ever come across--and that included both Levi and Thomas.
Tears burned in spite of her violent blinking to prevent them. Her lashes grew wet and spiky just before she managed to pull her gaze away from his.
"I need to take a look at your arm," he said, reaching for her.
There was not a single soft note in his voice, yet he still managed to send her the strange sensation of brushstrokes over her skin. He sounded commanding, clearly not asking, but his touch was gentle when he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged.
She bit her lip hard, suppressing a cry of pain as he straightened her arm. He hadn't hit her in the shoulder, but just above her elbow, a short, straight blow with the heel of his hand that packed a lethal dose of power. She shook her head but didn't attempt to pull away from him. Instinctively she knew he didn't much care what she wanted, and she also was very aware that any movement hurt.
Tears tracked down her cheeks, but at least she remained steadfastly silent, not giving him the satisfaction of having her fall apart. What was all the crap about her father, anyway? Some new psychological warfare to make her think he was on her side? If he'd been on her side, he wouldn't have kidnapped her for these men.
It was difficult, so close to him, not to let his scent surround her. He smelled surprisingly good. Worse, he had gorgeous hair. Thick and black, and it fell around his face in a shaggy cut as if he'd taken scissors to it himself, and she found herself totally caught up in the patterns she saw there.
Her breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes briefly, resolutely turning her face away from Maxim to stare out the open doorway of the helicopter. They were headed out to sea. Helicopters didn't get far without fuel, so there had to be a boat, a ship, a yacht, something big waiting. Her heart pounded harder than ever at the thought. There would be no escaping, not this far from land with no boat, even if she did manage to slip away from them. She would drown before she got to shore.
"I have to take off your sweater," Maxim said. He touched her wild hair, brushing silken strands from her face. "It's going to hurt for just a moment, but then I can help take the pain away. Do you understand?"
That just plain irritated her. "Of course I understand. I'm brilliant, remember?" It would have been a lovely comeback but for the hiccup in her voice.
"You have the mind of your father. You know that's why they want you, right? To force him to give them what they want." He slipped the sweater from her arm as he gave the piece of information.
Her heart jerked. She turned her head to stare at him. Shook it. He nodded as he pulled the sleeve from her arm. It hurt, but she was so distracted by his revelation she barely noticed.
"He is a great man, brilliant beyond any other in my country. He was attacked some time ago for his work. They were able to steal a microchip but it was taken from them, apparently sat in oil for five years and all the data was destroyed. Theodotus told everyone it didn't matter, just as long as no one else could get the information off of it. Theodotus believes the only way they have a chance of persuading him to do their bidding is to take you prisoner. You're the only Achilles' heel he has."
Hope flared for the first time. They didn't know. If what Maxim was telling her was true, they didn't know anything at all about her project. This kidnapping had to do with her birth father--a man she'd never met in her life. She still didn't altogether believe Maxim, but what could he possibly get out of lying to her?
His fingers touched her bare skin. Heat flared. Sparks bit at her arm, like little fireflies lighting all over her and leaping away. The air crackled between them. He gasped and removed his hands from her skin, leaning back away from her, his eyes glittering with menace.
She couldn't look away, not even if her life depended on it. His eyes were a clear deep blue, and so icy she should have been shivering with both fear and cold, but instead her blood had caught fire and rushed through her veins with the searing heat of a fireball.
"You're Maxim Prakenskii, aren't you?" she whispered, shocked. Horrified. Terrified. She touched her tongue to suddenly dry lips in an effort to moisten them, to get some balance.
Of course he was one of the Prakenskii brothers. She should have known by those eyes. She was more afraid than when she thought he was a stranger kidnapping her. Of course he was a stranger . . . but . . . he was Prakenskii. She knew three of his brothers, and every one of them was dangerous. Potentially he could be dangerous on a personal level as well.
His fingers tightened hard around her arm--her injured arm--to the point of bruising. "Don't use that name. Do you hear me? Anyone who knows that name doesn't live very long. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"
"That you'll kill me if I reveal your true identity." She didn't look away.
"You've never heard of me or my family. Especially my family."
The grip on her arm was fierce and it was beginning to draw the attention of some of the other passengers.
"Is she giving you trouble, Maxim?" Cyreck called. "I'll be glad to come and help you tame that little wildcat."
The man who had nearly fallen from the helicopter, Istvan, laughed nervously, but the other one, Deke, looked down at the ground. That told her a lot about Maxim Prakenskii. He
was considered a man not to mess with. Cyreck had been careful to use a playful tone, one he hoped to garner an atmosphere of camaraderie with.
Airiana nodded her head ever so slightly. Prakenskii was clearly not part of this group, yet they wanted him to be. Like his brothers, he'd been taken at birth and trained to be used as a tool for the government--and she knew the brothers were highly skilled in weapons, hand-to-hand combat, even sexual practices. More, they were all gifted with psychic abilities.
She knew the brothers were used for assassinations and undercover work. They all spoke multiple languages. Maxim wasn't hiding the fact that he was Russian, so whatever cover he had included his own nationality. The Prakenskiis were true operatives, able to shed one skin and easily slip into another.