Like the proverbial princess locked in the tower, I had been hidden and treated like a goddess my entire life. We had moved around a lot, until I feared I would go crazy from the suffocating seclusion my life had become. I was treated more like a prized jewel than a human, too precious to lose to our enemy. The last pillar of hope for the Tbilisi Kostava dynasty.

Until now.

Jumping to my feet, I rushed to the heavy black curtains that were always drawn in my apartment. Pushing the curtains aside just a fraction, I stared out into the cold dark night, searching for any signs of life. People were walking past, going about their business, but other than that, I could see no danger.

Dropping the curtains, I closed my eyes. “There is no more danger,” I said aloud, convincing myself that the threat to my life was no longer there.

Moving to the closet, I took out my long hooded dark coat and slipped it over my black slacks and black silk blouse. Tucking my long black hair down my back, I clutched the paper with the addresses on and headed toward the door. I needed to do this, alone. And after twenty years of waiting for this news, I could not wait one more second to see my brother.

I rarely left the apartment, yet I knew the territory like the back of my hand. Years ago, when Avto brought me to New York, he had made sure I memorized every road, every subway station. I had to be prepared, in case I had to flee alone. I was trained to sink into the shadows.

Opening the door to the Manhattan street, the snow falling down painting the darkened concrete roads in white, I pulled my hood up, and made my way down the steps of my apartment building, immediately becoming one of the people on the street. With my head down, I arrived at the subway and entered the busy station. Sitting down on a spare seat, I allowed myself to pull out the photo and stare at the happy couple.

The long journey to Brighton Beach was much quicker than I imagined it would be. My focus was on the brother I’d thought I’d lost forever, mixed with the heady anticipation that within the hour I would meet him again.

The train pulled to a stop, and I hurried out of the station. I had never been to Brighton Beach before, and when I stepped out onto the street I gasped at my surroundings. I felt like I was in another world. The gray buildings were empty and falling apart. The streets were dark and dingy. Cold wind whistled through the boarded-up houses and half-standing restaurants and shops. It was nothing when compared to the opulence and beauty of Manhattan.

Ignoring the icy chill racing down my spine, I forced my feet to move, the soles of my black boots crunching on the snow beneath. I stayed in the dark of the unlit streets, becoming one with the night, until I arrived at a row of brownstones. The center house stood proudly in this place of dilapidation. Its upkeep clearly showing the owners had money.

My heart raced.

The House of Tolstoi.

The windows were high and wide, and anyone could see that the people residing in this house were a cut above the rest. Then my heart stilled when shadows moved past the window. I squinted my eyes, focusing through the petals of falling snow. There was a tall man, with a broad chest, holding on to a woman with long brown hair. I held my breath when a blond woman moved into center stage. Her hands were on her hips as she joked and laughed with the brunette.

Talia Tolstaia.

I searched for lost breath as I stared at my brother’s fiancée; then I ceased to breathe at all when two large arms threaded around her shoulders from behind. The arms were olive skinned and tattooed, and I knew I was staring at Zaal.

I prayed for him to move into the view of the window, but his face never came into view.

I needed to see him.

Wrapping my arms around my waist, my hood firmly in place, I took a deep breath and stepped out onto the silent street.

It was time he knew I was here.

That his bloodline had survived.

2

194

“Get up.”

Coldness ripped me from my sleep. My body was drenched with ice-cold water and shot off the floor where I was laid. I roared as I lurched to my feet, my naked body jerking at the feel of the cold air lapping my skin.

My hands tightened as I turned to the Gvardii, the Georgian guard of my cage. He was nothing more than svin’ya to me, a pig. All of them were pathetic pigs dressed in Wraith uniforms, trying to act tough. One strike from me would bring them nothing but death.

They acted like death.

I was death.

The guard backed away from the metal bars of the cage when I approached. “Stand to attention, Beast!” he ordered, trying to act tough. “She’ll be here soon.”

Then he smiled at me, and I braced for the serum. He pressed the button on his remote; the metal collar around my neck immediately tightened, the needles inside the collar slicing into my neck. My teeth gritted with the pain of the serum injecting into my veins.

Then came the heat. The serum burned as it ran through my muscles, my head snapping back as the poison took its hold. Like being ripped back from my body, a bystander forced to watch, I felt my free will drift away. The need to kill soon became the only thing in my head. The only thing I could feel. The only thing I was—a killer.

Footsteps sounded on the long corridor, the sound of those feet taking me back to before, to that night, the night when they took me.

When they took her.

In a flash the memory left and I shouted, rage pulsing from within. Seeing the guard smiling from behind the bars, I charged forward, slamming my shoulder into the metal. The cage door creaked; he stepped back in fear. The collar tightened even more, my veins throbbing with the pressure.

I stood back, then braced myself to charge again. Just as I moved my feet to charge, a voice made me freeze where I stood.

“Halt!” the female voice snapped, the serum in my body caused my body to stiffen at the voice of my Mistress.

My Mistress that I had to obey.

My eyes stayed focused on the floor and I watched her black boots come into view. My skin pricked as her hand lifted through the cage bars and ran down my chest.

“Leave!” Mistress ordered the guard. I heard him scurry away, leaving us alone. Mistress opened the cage door, and I felt her step inside, slamming the cage door shut behind her.

Her fingers landed on my arm and ran up until they drifted over the black metal collar I forever had to wear. “194,” she whispered, and her fingers ran to my cheek. I wanted to rip her arms from her sockets, snap her thin neck, but the serum kept me still; the serum kept me from disobeying Mistress.

“Lift your eyes and look at me!” she ordered in Russian, and on command my eyes snapped up. I watched her. My eyes bored into hers. Her dark hair was slicked back in a tight bun, and her hard face glared at mine.

Then she smirked. That same smirk I hated so much.

“You have been out for a few days, 194. We had to move locations. You have a new hit.” My blood pumped faster as I knew I was to kill. The serum made me want to kill. When I killed I’d get relief. She wouldn’t know I got relief. This bitch would never know that for me the serum only worked temporarily. She would never know I didn’t become 100 percent obedient, like some of the other test subjects had.

Mistress moved in closer, her tits pressing up against my bare chest. Her mouth went to my ear, as her hand drifted down my stomach, to land on my cock, her warm hand wrapping around my flesh. She began stroking me, my dick hardening with the serum. “You will kill, 194, you will kill, or she will pay.”

My teeth gritted together in anger at her threat. Mistress moved back and, staring at my expression, began to laugh. But her hand never left my cock, her tight grasp hard and increasing in speed, causing my breath to come in short hard pants.

Mistress watched me, her eyes shining with power, until she edged closer still and whispered, “Fuck me. Hard. Take me like the beast that you are.” Her tongue licked around the shell of my ear. “Take me like the ugly beast I made you into!”

Sheer anger washed over me as I practically felt the long scars on my face and head burning from her words, but her command saw my body lurching forward and grabbing Mistress by her hair. Using my strength, I slammed her front against the wall and wrenched up her dress. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath—she never did—so I kicked her legs apart and slammed myself inside.

I was as rough and as hard as I could be—I wanted her to suffer—but the scream from Mistress’s mouth wasn’t from pain. The bitch loved it. She loved pain. Torture. She loved making me bend to her will. She loved to own me.