1
ANNIKA
There’s someone out there.
Or someones.
The sound of their harsh breathing slips from outside the room, going up and up in staccato, resembling a trapped injured animal.
A feral animal.
My eyes fly open and I stumble out of bed, smoothing my hair so it falls to my lower back. Then I tug down on my purple sleep shirt that barely covers my ass.
Shadows linger in the corner, twisting and groaning like starved beasts. The only light comes from the balcony bulb that I always leave on. I don’t reach out to the lamp’s switch or even attempt to touch it.
Something tells me that if I shed light on whatever animal is lurking out there, the situation will diverge in an ugly direction.
My steps are inaudible, which comes naturally to me. But the remaining calm part doesn’t.
It’s impossible to control the tremors that slash through my limbs or the sweat that trickles down my back, making my shirt stick to my overheated skin.
This isn’t right.
My brother’s mansion should be the safest place on campus and the second safest on earth after our home back in New York.
It’s why he insists I spendcertainnights here. I don’t meddle in his business, but I know what those nights entail—mayhem, chaos, the butchering of poor souls.
So the best place to keep me protected is right under his wing with a dozen guards watching me.
You know that ivory tower Rapunzel stayed in? My room in the Heathens’ compound—my brother's anarchy-infested club—is the personification of that.
Hell, there are even guards beneath the balcony, so even if I actually attempted to climb down the tree, they’d be the ones to catch me. They’d scowl, grunt, and report my actions to both my brother and my father.
Yikes.
On the bright side, however, I’m protected. I’ve been protected since the day I was born into the Volkov family.
And Iama Volkov.
I nearly laugh at the shiver of fear that refuses to be purged from my system. I don’t know about anywhere else, but I’m safe here.
Okay, whatever is lurking out there, you better be some injured bird or something trivial. Otherwise, be ready to die.
The balcony curtains flap inside, the white material soaked in the color of the night and the dim light.
I pause once I’m a few steps away. Did I open the balcony door last night?
No. No, I didn’t.
The logical approach would be to turn around and run to the door, call for my brother or any of his men, and hide in my gilded cage.
But here’s the thing.
My toxic trait is curiosity, like I really can’t sleep at night if I don’t satisfy that thirst for knowledge.
The spacious room with its fluffy pillows, purple sheets, glittery wallpaper, and everything glam and pretty slowly fades to the background.
The soft light from the balcony is my only compass as I take a step forward.