A False Heiress's Guide to Love and Power

A sigh escaped her lips, but even so, Alessia knew she still had to get the job done–and do it well. She glanced around, only now remembering she was no longer at the Tate family’s manor. Of course there wouldn’t be any art supplies here. The last time she’d asked Cole to help, he’d brought her a small box of paints, but she’d given them all to Ivan–hadn’t kept a single tube for herself.

Resigned, Alessia stood up. She’d have to borrow some paint from Ivan. She knocked on the cabinet door; the curtain hanging nearby fluttered gently in the breeze, but the room remained silent. Alessia was used to this–she figured Ivan was probably lost in his painting again–so she simply pulled the curtain aside.

But the little studio was empty.

She was about to let the curtain fall back into place when a painting by the window. caught her eye. The canvas was a mass of black, streaked with deep, unsettling reds, the whole image twisted into something almost grotesque. Even though the summer air outside was thick and stifling, this painting seemed to leech the warmth from the room, sending a chill through her.

Almost without thinking, Alessia stepped closer. The moment she reached out, Ivan burst out from who–knows–where and clamped his teeth onto her outstretched hand. Pain shot through her–she could feel his teeth sinking into her skin, sharp and desperate, as if he wouldn’t let go until he’d bitten out a piece of her.

She sucked in a breath. As she started to pull away, Ivan suddenly trembled, his eyes wild with terror, his grip tightening instead of loosening.

Alessia was quick to pick up on emotions–sometimes more than she wa d to be. A thought flashed through her mind, one she instinctively wanted to reject. Her hand throbbed, but instead of pulling away, she reached over and gently patted Ivan’s head, soothing him with a calm that belied her pain.

was as if she’d been

no screaming, no flailing–none of the panic she’d braced herself for. Ivan stilled, sensing her steady presence

the fear draining away as he met Alessia’s gaze. There was no anger there, just a helpless kind

down so she was eye–level with him. “I shouldn’t have barged in. I just wanted to borrow some paint.”

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Chapter 42

honest–putting herself on his

Besides, it was her own fault for startling him, and

and curled up against the wall, arms wrapped tight around his knees. He was so small, drawn in on himself, that she felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. Alessia wasn’t the sentimental type, but seeing Ivan like this