Ravage

Inessa whimpered against my chest, so I put my finger over her lips, desperate for her to not make a sound.

I watched the floor for any sign of shadows, and my stomach fell when I saw the door open and several boots fill the room. Their voices were low as they talked to one another. They were Georgian, some words in their language unfamiliar. I held Inessa tighter, watching like a hawk as the boots walked around the room, stopping at each bed.

Then on a sharp turn, two sets of boots made their way from the room to the hallway outside. My wide eyes focused on the two pairs of boots left, two pair of boots that slowly, painstakingly slowly, began approaching this bed.

I held my breath, too scared to even exhale as the boots came to a stop. Tears built in my eyes and I knew this was it.

The Wraiths had found us.

And it all happened so quickly.

In a flash the bed we were hiding under was overturned and the lights were flicked on, blanketing the room in a blinding white light. I flinched as Inessa screamed in my arms, the sudden flare of light blinding her, too.

I blinked, and blinked again, until the faces of the Wraiths came into view. There was a man, a huge dark man, and next to him was a woman. The woman was dressed all in black—as all of the Wraiths did—like a military uniform, her hair tied back in a bun. And her narrowed dark eyes were watching us, mainly focusing on the back of Inessa’s head. I tried to keep my sister close, to keep her face hidden, but as if feeling the woman’s stare, Inessa lifted her head and looked round. And I watched as the female Wraith smiled. A smile spread on her thin lips. Looking up to the man who stood by her side, she nodded her head.

Immediately understanding what that meant, I jumped to my feet, Inessa still in my arms. I ran. I ran forward as hard as I could, but as I got to the door the two guards I thought had left reached out and grabbed me by my hair. I gritted my teeth as pain shot through my head. Then, as I was unable to keep hold, a huge male Wraith ripped Inessa from my arms. Inessa screamed, her little arms stretching out for me. My body filled with red-hot rage; I punched out, my fist hitting the Wraith in the stomach.

I didn’t stop. I kept hitting and hitting until he let go. My eyes were focused on Inessa, who was being backed away farther into the room. I lurched forward, but as I did, a pain slammed across my stomach. My legs gave way at the power of the blow, all breath leaving my body.

But I still didn’t stop. Inessa was a statue in the Wraith’s arms, her blue eyes wide and watching. As a tear fell down her cheek, I forced myself to move. Using my arms, I dragged myself toward my sister, teeth gritting at the pain in my stomach. Suddenly another blow hit me, this time across my back. My body slumped to the cold floor and blood trickled out of my mouth, the tinny taste coating my lips. But with one look at Inessa, I forced myself forward.

In the back of mind, I could hear the Wraiths talking to one another in hushed tones, but when Inessa reached out her hand I redoubled my efforts. I crawled and crawled toward my sister. Just as I was about to touch her hand, I was whipped off the floor. I fought and fought, struggling to get free, but the man who held me was too strong. My body was too weak from the blows.

“Let me go,” I hissed in my native Russian. “You won’t take her from me.”

The woman moved into my line of sight. Her small dark eyes stared at me, a smirk pulled on her thin lips. My eyes flared and I snapped, “Let me go!”

That smirk then turned into a smile, and a man came over to stand beside her. It was the man who had flipped the bed to find us. His dark eyes watched me, his large arms folded over his chest.

The woman stepped back toward Inessa, her eyes never moving from mine. I watched her all the way. When she reached Inessa, my sister shrank back in fear. The woman lifted her hand, as if to strike.

I thundered out a shout.

I roared. I kicked and punched to get free. The woman dropped her hand, and I could see some kind of understanding flash across her face. She took four steps back to me—I counted each one—before lifting her hand to my face.

“You will do anything to protect this one, won’t you?” she said in Russian, her thick Georgian accent coming through with each word.

My jaw clenched, but I said nothing. She laughed and the man next to her tipped his head to the side. The woman looked up at him and said, “We take both. She is a beauty. And he is unlike any other I’ve ever seen. So loyal and fierce.”

The man nodded his head. My blood turned to ice. The woman lifted her hand and snapped her fingers. Immediately the man holding Inessa began carrying her out of the room, the man holding me moving, too. I never took my eyes off my sister as we were carried past the rows of lined-up boys and girls. I didn’t move my eyes from my sister as they led us to a van. And I didn’t take my eyes off my sister as the female Wraith moved her mouth to my ear and said, “If you want to keep her alive, you will learn to do anything we say. You will become one of us. You will become a Night Wraith, as this place calls us. You will become an unseen killer. You will become one with the night. You will be my prized Ubiytsa, my most effective assassin.”

And I did.

As the years passed, I became a ghost in the night.

I became the deliverer of death.

I was torture.

I was pain.

I was the fucking nightmare that no one ever saw coming …

… until it was too late.

1

ZOYA

Manhattan, New York

Present day …

“Sykhaara,” I murmured in shock, my chest cracking open with hope, a hope that I hadn’t dare let myself feel in the twenty years since the massacre. The hope that my brother was alive. Now, after all these years, he was alive.

“Miss?” Avto, my protector and minder, pushed, but I was frozen on the spot. My legs were numbed in shock. Zaal, my Zaal, was alive.

Water blurred my eyes as I looked to Avto once more. “And Anri? Is there news of Anri?”

Avto’s face fell with disappointment. “No, miss. There is no word of Anri. But our source got word of a Kostava arriving in the city. They watched him; they watched him and watched him. And—”

“And what?” I interrupted, hanging on every word Avto said.

“And it is Zaal, miss.”

A sob ripped from my throat and my hand covered my mouth. I pictured Zaal in my mind. His eight-year-old face looking at me as he held me in his arms, walking us from our estate’s forest toward the house. His smile was wide as he looked at me counting the three moles on his left cheek, “One, two, three.” I remembered long black hair hanging down his back and his green eyes bright with life. And I remembered Anri walking beside us, his frame and hair the exact replica of Zaal’s, but his eyes were a dark brown, like mine.