Free Bone Deep by Lea Griffith

squeezed. He did not fight her.
    “Do not do this, kostolomochka ,” Dmitry said at her side.
    She turned her head, sure she’d imagined his deep, soothing voice. But no, there he was, dripping wet, steam rising from his head, his face hard, his words even harder.
    “Poshel ti na huj,” she spat at him.
    His face hardened and his eyes, those alluring blue, blue eyes that reminded her of Arequipa and Ninka, burned.
    “Perhaps,” he murmured. “But not here and not now. Let him go. He is at Joseph’s mercy. Let the monster have his creation.”
    She almost broke at his words—almost splintered apart. Would he do that to her if it came down it? Just let Joseph have her so she would be no more?
    She didn’t release the assassin in her grip and his breathing slowed, wheezing in and out of his mouth in a death rattle. She raised her face to the star-shrouded sky and yelled, “I will not break!”
    Dmitry grabbed her hand, a foolhardy move if she’d ever known one. One by one he released her fingers from the man’s throat and she allowed it.
    She fucking allowed it. What was he doing to her?
    “I will not break,” she vowed again, this time in a brittle whisper that scraped against her vocal cords.
    He nodded as the man fell to the ground gasping. Then he looked at her, on his face a promise given life by his words. “I will not let you.”
    The dogs had returned, their incessant barks and howls growing closer. Dmitry took her hand, the same one she’d been about to kill with and lifted it to his face pressing it against his cheek.
    “Feel me,” he urged.
    She cupped his face in her hand, the beginnings of his beard soft against her palm. Bone knew then what it was to want. The fight left her. As quickly as it had come upon her, the need to kill dissipated.
    She swallowed hard. “I can’t.”
    “You will,” he said and it was a promise.
    The dogs entered the clearing and the man at her feet, gasped, “Leave, sister.”
    She gazed at the man she’d almost killed. A man much like her. “Was Azrael yours?”
    “He was and he was not,” the man responded.
    He even spoke like she and her sisters…always it was riddles. They’d learned early to wrap their meaning in words that delivered everything but nothing.
    “Joseph will punish you,” she told him. Had he been one of Azrael’s team she would have killed him. She made a promise to the other assassin before she took him and she would keep her word above all things.
    He nodded slowly. “He will try. But you can’t kill what you can’t see.” His lips curved as he gave her words back to her. “Next we meet, I will not hold back. Death stalks us all and for First Team it is closer than it has ever been. Run, sister, while you can. The devil is not far behind.”
    His threat did not move her. He’d done nothing more than speak the truth. “We will kill him first and free you all. Stay alive until then, brother, and know we are all killers at heart.”
    Dmitry did not speak, just took her hand in his and started to run. She released his hand as soon as he grabbed it and followed him. Fatigue pulled at her but she was in much better shape than he.
    When they made it to the banks of the river, he sighed. “I really fucking hate water.”
    “So does Bullet,” she mused.
    He laughed, the sound rusty but rising above the trees. The dogs began to bark again.
    “We must swim, Asinimov. Can you do it?”
    “I said I didn’t swim, not that I couldn’t .”
    “Ah, doublespeak. Perhaps if I stick around you long enough I can learn this art form you excel at?”
    He grinned and for some reason her heart unclenched in her chest. She carried the weight of the deaths she was responsible for this night and yet a simple smile from the big man made her burden… lighter .
    “Perhaps,” he answered. “Though I think you’re already a master at it.”
    He dove into the river and she followed, stroking hard for the middle currents before she rose and searched