What he would have felt in that moment. I had never killed anyone before, and Jon was the only one I had ever wanted to.
Well, Ilsa’s husband, Roman, once upon a time, when I thought he was no good for my friend.
“Naomi?”
Pulling myself out of my troubled thoughts, I looked at him. Gavril would never cause any harm to his child. He was trying to help me, not harm me.
I could trust Gavril.
So I drew in a deep breath, cleansing my lungs and purging my thoughts for now. “Okay, let’s try it.”
Gavril took a step toward me, his eyes intense. “I’m not going to hurt you, just apply the briefest hint of pressure, okay? You can tell me to stop at any time.”
“I got it,” I answered, just ready to get through this one move so I could put it behind me.
Gavril looked a bit apprehensive himself, but he turned me around, placing his arm around my neck loosely before instructing me on how to get out of the move. I tamped down my anxiety and tried to listen, but the moment he applied pressure to my throat, all my good intentions fled and fear took hold.
Gavril was talking, but I wasn’t hearing him, only feeling the pressure on my throat and my body frozen in fear as to how to get out of it.
“Naomi?”
I heard the worry in his voice. “Let me go!”
He let me go immediately and I stumbled away, catching my breath. There was no pain in my throat, but I felt like there was.
Gavril’s hand touched my shoulder, and I shuddered. “You’re fine,” he murmured, rubbing the area. “You aren’t harmed, Naomi. You are fine.”
I took several deep breaths before I felt some of the anxiety start to fade away to the point that I could turn around and look at him. Concern still flickered in his eyes and his jaw was set, clearly ready to deal with whatever I was going to say. “I’m fine,” I forced out, even if I didn’t feel completely there. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” he interrupted. “You shouldn’t ever apologize for your reactions, not to me.”
What I really wanted to do was run into his arms and have him shelter me from the fear that ate me up inside, but I forced myself to remain rooted in my spot. Gavril couldn’t be there twenty-four-seven, nor was he my protector. He was my husband, but I wasn’t sure what else he was to me.
It was better if I started to learn how to stand on my own two feet instead of relying on him or anyone. I had even used Ilsa as a crutch at times. “You said something about knives?”
He arched a brow. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I’m very sure.”
Later, after a few rounds of learning how to throw the sharp knives, I watched as Gavril practiced himself, aiming for the target repeatedly and never missing. He was a sight to behold, throwing the silver handles confidently where I had fumbled a little. The way he flicked them toward the target was both a turn on and a reminder about how dangerous Gavril truly was. “Where did you learn?”
He threw another, the solid thunk on the wooden target echoing in the small alcove. There were two lanes set up identical to each other with the same gouges in the wooden targets down the lanes. I couldn’t help but wonder how many times Gavril had come down here, perhaps with his second, Anatoly, and thrown knives at these targets. Maybe it was cathartic for him, the same way I felt about reading a good book or completing a hard workout.
“Actually, my mother taught me,” he replied after a moment, choosing another knife from his stash and throwing it with a little spin move that took my breath away.
“Really?” I asked. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. His mother was a force to be reckoned with.
He nodded, walking down the lane to pull the knives out of the target. “She learned from her mother and so forth. Apparently, it was a family tradition that was passed down from generations. She taught me and then my sisters, though they prefer not to use them if they don’t have to.”
I tried and failed to see his sisters throwing the very knives he was handling right now. What other secrets was he keeping about his family?
Gavril placed the knives back into the velvet pouch and rolled them up, tying them tightly. “She used to tell us that if we were going to handle something sharp, then we needed to know how it felt when we launched them at our enemies.”
I took a sharp inhale. “The scars.” I couldn’t go any further. Surely not.
Gavril’s eyes found mine, and I saw the truth there. “A few of them, yes, until I learned how to dodge her knives. She never wanted to harm us permanently, only to teach us a valuable lesson not to miss.”
My heart ached for him. His mother had treated him horribly, and the love of his life had betrayed him. He was never going to trust me, to see me as his equal.
Fortunately, my stomach rumbled, and Gavril tucked the pouch under his arm as he walked over to me. “It is past lunchtime now. Let’s go upstairs and see what Vera has prepared for us.”
I cupped his face with my hand, wishing I had the right words to say to him. Nothing sounded right. Nothing I could say or do would give him any peace. Gavril leaned down and brushed his lips over mine tenderly, causing me to melt all over again. “It’s fine, Naomi,” he mumbled against my lips. “It was a long time ago.”
“It doesn’t mean I don’t ache for you,” I answered softly. “I always will.”
Gavril straightened and took a few steps back, surprise flickering across his expression. “You should be fucking frightened after what you saw down here today.”
I should be. I was, but it wasn’t because of him. It was because I still had this ball of fear inside me that Jon had created, and his return had only compounded that fear. “Maybe,” I admitted, deciding to be honest. “But I know you would never hurt me.”
Gavril looked at me for a moment before he strode to the door and opened it, disappearing from my view. I waited for him to return, but when he didn’t, I wondered what chord I had struck in Gavril with that statement. Did he think that he could hurt me physically?
Was he just as haunted as I was by those that had hurt us?