Dawn to Dusk: The Awaken Saga, #2

Prologue

Y ou are certain you do not need medical assistance? Mr. Amsel set a glass of water on his desk and settled into his plush chair. I am able to call an ambulance, he said, situating his spectacles.

No, no. Just… give me a moment. I reached for the water. Pain pinched at my shoulder blade—same spot where I’d been hit by shrapnel—and my hand trembled as I lifted the glass.

This injury wasn’t the only reason I felt weak. After talking and verifying and signing paperwork, Mr. Amsel—the bank president—had finally disclosed how much money I’d inherited.

And I had nearly fainted.

It is such a pleasure to have you as a friend of this institution, Fräulein Barrett. His mouth stretched wide, revealing sparkly white teeth. I could practically see euro signs glittering in the smile. You can take your business anywhere. We here at Kopernikus-Bank understand this, and we thank you for entrusting us with your sizable assets.

Uh-huh. I reached for the water again but thought better of it. And when will the funds be available?

We are able to release twenty thousand euros today. He swiped several pieces of paper from a sleek printer. After you have signed these forms, I will issue your girocard—debit card—and those funds will be available immediately. He hesitated. Unless this amount is insufficient for you, Fräulein?

I gave a swift shake of my head. Maybe too swift.

Maksim had warned me that my funds wouldn’t be accessible all at once. There were processes, checks, transfers that had to happen. The employees may appear relaxed, he’d said, as if this is an everyday type of transaction. I can assure you it’s not. Don’t do anything that may prompt them to call the police.

What would make them do that?

Appearing frazzled, rushed. Not playing the part. You’re the granddaughter of a billionaire. You’ll have to act like it.

I peeked down at my black slacks and dressy blouse. I never wore stuff like this, and the frumpy heels rubbing blisters on my feet reminded me why. But at least I looked the part.

I signed the papers and returned them to Mr. Amsel.

Thank you, Fräulein. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a business card. Please do contact me should you have any questions.

That’s awe— I mean, thank you very much. I’d been about to say that’s awesome but decided on something more proper. Billionaires said thank you very much, didn’t they? I’d have to check next time I googled things rich people say.

I tucked the business card in my purse and showed myself out of the office. My heels thumped as I followed the staircase down to the foyer. The building opened up, and sunlight poured inside through the vaulted glass ceiling.

A receptionist manned the front desk, taking calls and typing on her keyboard. She peered around her computer and smiled. Goodbye. Be careful. She didn’t sound German. Actually, she sounded… French?

I offered a halfhearted wave. Thanks. You, too.

But you should be very careful.

My feet stalled. I turned away from the revolving door and stared at the woman. "S-sorry. Did you say very careful?"

She focused on her screen, seemingly unaware that her words had affected me.

Probably a translation issue. That was possible. She could have meant something different.

Fräulein Barrett!

I wheeled around. Mr. Amsel was hurrying down the staircase. Fräulein, he called. You forgot your girocard.

Mr. Amsel. I placed a hand to my chest, heart thumping full speed. You startled me.

Forgive me, Fräulein. He stepped off the staircase and crossed the foyer. His dress shoes clacked over the sleek tiles. His tie glistened in the sunlight.

He closed the gap and held the card toward me. I reached for it, planning to put it in my purse—but I couldn’t pry the card out of his grasp.

I tugged again. He wouldn’t let go.

Mr. Amsel?

Be careful, Fräulein. His bright mood turned stone-cold sober. There is danger.

My attention snapped to the receptionist. She was working away, her fingers clicking across the keyboard. That was the only sound. There were no other customers or employees in the lobby.

Did you need something from Lilian?

I focused on Mr. Amsel.

"She is our Empfangsdame. Receptionist. His smile returned, and he released the debit card. Do you need something from her, Fräulein?"

N-no.

Then… is there anything else I may do for you?

I’m good. I think. Thanks.

Thank you, Fräulein. Goodbye. He waved as I turned away.

What in the actual hell?

The revolving door was big, wide, and I didn’t recall it being so heavy. I grunted, pushing.

The enclosed space opened up, and I finally reached the sidewalk. Glass towers climbed into the sky. Exhaust fumes blended with the stench of hot pavement. The hum of motors created a backdrop of white noise.

I trekked up the sidewalk, heading for a nearby café—aka the meetup spot. Something brought me to a dead stop. I glanced around.

Dusty purple twilight settled on the city, but… there was no way it could’ve been this late. Could it? Had I been in the bank all day?

I pulled out my phone, planning to check the time. The screen stayed black.

Crap. The phone was dead.

I stuffed the device in my purse and hurried up the sidewalk. Maksim had been teaching me his rules of survival, and I tried to think of the one that’d be best for navigating this situation.

I couldn’t, and a burst of panic fluttered.

You’re fine, I told myself. You don’t need a rule. Just get to the café.

That was probably true, but as I continued up the sidewalk, I realized just how dark my surroundings had grown. My attention trailed up the nearest skyscraper. Not a single speck of light glowed, and the top of the building disappeared into thick shadows.

The same was true for the building next door. And the buildings across the street. My only source of light was a lamppost that cast dim yellow over the sidewalk.

But… what about the cars in the traffic jam? Shouldn’t they have their headlights on?

They should have—in theory—but the traffic jam had vanished. Silence crashed into me. A shiver dragged up my spine. Something was very, very wrong.

Bonsoir.

The familiar voice slid into my ears and twisted through my psyche. Oh, no. No. Please.

"Did you miss me, ma petite belle? A pause. A chuckle. I think you did."

The urge to scream swelled.

Émilien stood beneath a lamppost, directly across the street, and he was smirking. Light glinted off something in his hand.

Cuffs.

No, I whimpered, taking a measured step back. Stay away from me.

"Au contraire, ma chérie. You—he held up the cuffs—are mine."

I whipped around, legs exploding in a sprint. Warm air rushed over my face. Flat pavement stretched beneath my feet.

I staggered, despite the smooth sidewalk, and nearly face-planted. Stupid heels. Why the hell had I worn these?

The bank building appeared on my right. I ran that way.

Help! My hands slammed against the revolving door. I pushed, expecting it to move.

It didn’t.

Mr. Amsel? I pressed my face to the glass. Shadows encased the foyer. Mr. Amsel and the receptionist were nowhere to be seen.

I banged on the glass, screaming, begging for someone to let me in. There was no movement inside the foyer. And no matter how hard I pushed, the door wouldn’t budge.

Émilien tore across the street, head down, arms pumping. His face morphed into something vicious, animalistic.

I abandoned the bank building.

Help! Someone help me! My legs carried me up the sidewalk. I was heading in the opposite direction of where I needed to go. Away from the café.

Maksim! Tears blurred my vision. Maksim, I need help! My cries were frantic yet strangely hopeful, as if my voice might reach all the way to the meetup spot.

That hope fizzled the farther I ran. Still, I screamed for him. "Maksim! Maksim!"

My feet thrashed, longing to go faster, when a dark chuckle penetrated my senses. Émilien didn’t sound like he was struggling or out of breath. Actually, he sounded like he was pacing me.

Because he was. He’d caught up easily, and now he was hanging back. Why?

He’s enjoying this.

The epiphany rocked me. He wasn’t chasing me to catch me. He wanted to mess with me first—a predator toying with its prey.

A circle and slash glowed red at the next crosswalk. Don’t cross. That was the message, but there were no cars coming.

I barreled across the street.

A blast shuddered the air, and gray pavement erupted. I screamed and dove, rolling. Chunks of cement rained down.

I jumped up and kept going.

The ground rumbled. Cement exploded. I covered my head, running. Still running.

The explosions continued as Émilien closed the gap. His fingers brushed my neck before clamping down.

I stumbled and hit the ground. My arm and shoulder scraped. My body rolled.

I skidded over a bump in the pavement, and a burst of light flared. An explosion barreled into me. My back slammed against something, and pain seared every part of my body…

I sucked in a breath and shot upright. Stale heat greeted me. My heart thudded as I took in my surroundings.

Silky sheets in bright, blazing white tangled my legs. Wooden posts stretched up from the bed, connecting to metal rods, and sheer curtains fell in long, flowing panels.

Relief swelled. I was at the rental house.

The first rays of dawn spilled through the windows, creating a natural nightlight in the otherwise dark room. Maksim?

There was no answer, and my panic ticked up. This was what happened in the dream. I’d been alone, and Émilien had been waiting for me.

But Émilien didn’t know we were here. Maksim had taken precautions to ensure that.

I untangled my legs and drew the bed-curtains aside. Metal scraped metal as the rings slid across the rod.

I padded to a leather chair and reached for my robe. Maksim? I donned the lump of velour. The supersoft material slid over my arms and rested against my tank top and shorts.

I gathered my hair, pulling it from beneath the collar, and crossed the room. I reached for the door and hesitated. What if something happened to Maksim?

You’re being ridiculous. The words escaped as a shaky whisper. Clearly, I didn’t believe myself.

I cracked open the door and poked my head outside. Shadows greeted me, and the flow of running water reached my ears.

I exhaled a laugh. Maksim was in the bathroom.

Scaredy-cat, I muttered at myself.

I padded down the hall and stopped in front of the bathroom. Light leaked under the door. Hello? A quick double-knock. Maksim?

The water stopped, and the door eased open. I peered inside.

Maksim stood at the sink, shirtless, a razor in his hand and slivers of shaving cream on his face. His jeans hung loose, revealing carved abs and V-shaped hip lines.

My attention moved to the scars from his motorcycle accident. They covered the right side of his body—arm, shoulder, back, even down to his hip and leg. The scar tissue looked dull under the bathroom lights, the skin pale and crinkly.

I gravitated to him. He tensed at my touch, my fingers gliding along the tough, uneven skin.

Something’s wrong. He cast a questioning glance over his shoulder.

I slid my hands around his lean waist, hugging him. Bad dream. Just making sure it’s you in here and not⁠—

When I didn’t go on, he said, Not someone from your dream?

I peered out from behind him. My blue eyes and puffy black hair appeared in the mirror. I nodded.

He lowered the razor. Who was it?

I gripped my robe, pulling it tighter, and averted my eyes. Émilien, I whispered. You think he’s still in jail? What if Vladimir got him out?

Maksim stripped a hand towel from the sink and wiped his face. Bits of cream remained, but his skin was otherwise clean.

He tossed the towel and wrapped me in a hug. My emotions swelled as he rubbed a gentle hand over my back, steering clear of my shoulder blade. The bruises had yellowed, and the stitches were gone. Still, the six-week-old injury was tender.

Do you remember what I said before we came here? Maksim’s deep voice reverberated against my cheek. The promise I made to you?

I peeked up at him. That you wouldn’t let anything happen to me.

That’s right. He cupped my face, drawing my focus to his eyes. The fluorescents highlighted the many shades of brown—from gold to dark chocolate—layered into his irises. Have you been following the guidelines I’ve laid out?

I nodded.

No hints to Brandy about where you are? No pictures or audio?

None.

And you’ve been using the double VPN I set up?

I nodded again. Every time I email her or go online.

What about spending? He tucked a frizzy curl behind my ear. You’re using cash only? Not the debit card you received from the bank?

Only the cash you’ve given me. I haven’t touched the card since Germany. That was a month ago.

Then it was only a bad dream, and we have nothing to worry about. His eyes twinkled. Kat, nobody knows you’re here.

I exhaled my worry. You’re right. Nobody knows— I hesitated. Nobody knew I was here. That was by design, of course, but I had never said it out loud.

Something about it sounded… wrong.

Nobody knows you’re here. Maksim sang the words, the hard edge of his Balkan accent smoothing into a silky blade. His hands moved to my waist, and I found myself walking backward. Isn’t that convenient?

I stared at him. His features, so familiar to me, suddenly looked different. His eyes held a new glint I hadn’t seen before.

A sinister glint.

The bathroom lights flickered—once, twice. Each time, his irises flashed a whole different color, going from brown to…

No, I whispered.

Flick, flicker. Flick-flick.

The lights kept struggling as Maksim backed me against the wall. Everything about him shifted—his height, build, hair.

I grabbed his arm, expecting scar tissue. There was none, and fear choked me.

I lunged for the door. He caught my robe and hauled me back. Oh que non, ma chérie. He sang the words, and they weren’t Romanian.

They were French.

I threw a punch. He caught my fist and laughed. The lights kept flickering, kept threatening to dump me in darkness, and panic tore through me.

He’s not real, my darling. Dad’s voice coaxed me from somewhere in the depths. This isn’t real.

This isn’t real, I repeated. Y-you’re not real.

But I am. Émilien—not Maksim—leaned in until the tips of our noses touched. He redoubled his grip, fingers wrapped around my wrists, and pressed his full weight against me.

My bad shoulder jammed the wall. I whimpered.

The bathroom lights flashed, casting a sheen over Émilien’s raven hair. His silver eyes burned with more than desire or lust.

They burned with vengeance.

I will find you—he placed his mouth by my ear—"and you will be mine."

Begur

1. Hiding Place

THURSDAY, JULY 11

D on’t let him take me! Maksim! The screams burned in my chest and scraped at my throat. My eyes burst open to darkness.

A shadowy figure stood over me.

No! I scrambled to get away.

Shh, shh. It’s all right. The baritone voice came softly, urgently, as the figure caught my hands. Sunt aici. I’m here.

Maksim?

Da. The Romanian for yes reached my ears, and his strong arms closed around me. Eu sunt, drăguță. It’s me, sweetie.

I buried my face in his chest. Tears poured into the soft fabric of his undershirt. Those were the kinds of shirts he always slept in. Because of his scars.

He whispered to me, rubbing my back and holding me close, until the first rays of dawn peeked inside the room.

I peered up. Slivers of pink daylight fell across him, highlighting his broad shoulders and chiseled arms. I eased closer. My feet slid beneath the sheets, aching to connect with his.

He wasn’t under the covers.

I glanced across the room, and my midsection tightened. The door was open, as if he’d just come through it. Did you sleep on the couch again?

I was reading last night. Fell asleep while I was out there.

I squinted, trying to read his expression. The room was too dark.

What was the dream? His matter-of-factness hit me like a baseball bat. Who was in it?

My eyes widened. That was what he asked me in the dream. Right before he morphed into⁠—

Kat?

Émilien. Tension wound around my heart and squeezed. I-I was in Germany, at the bank, and he was waiting for me. Landmines started exploding. Then I woke up and⁠—

Realization dawned. I gasped.

He sat straight. What?

Are you... real? I groped in the dark. My fingers settled on his chest.

He tensed and grabbed my wrist.

Maksim?

Yes. I’m real.

But you felt real in the dream, too. I scooted closer and searched for his other hand. When I found it, I lifted it to my cheek and nuzzled his palm.

His hold on my wrist loosened.

My fingers found their way to his arm and bumped along the rough surface until they disappeared beneath his sleeve. I wasn’t always allowed to touch his scars. The nerve damage was extensive, and some days he couldn’t bear the pain. Other days, he handled it fine.

I wondered if he’d tell me to stop now.

My fingertips glided over the uneven surface, along his biceps, around to his triceps.

He made a funny noise, something between a grunt and a moan, and swallowed. Why do you do this?

It’s hard to explain. I kept exploring, fingertips brushing over his shoulder. Somehow, it always feels brand new, like I’m discovering fresh patterns in the scar tissue or… I don’t know.

I drew a line along the border of his undamaged flesh. Silky softness grazed one side of my finger; roughness grazed the other.

I paused. Does it hurt today?

No. His answer seemed to catch.

He cleared his throat and dragged himself out of my grasp. Disappointment slinked through me. We need to get up. It’s time to begin the next phase of your training.

He padded across the room. The overhead light doused me, and Maksim entered the closet.

I squinted. I’m not up for training today.

Maksim reemerged wearing black workout shorts and a gray sleeveless shirt. He crossed the room and slid the bed-curtains aside.

Metal scraped metal like it had in the dream. I cringed.

Think about your father’s old saying, the one you told me about. He extended a hand. ‘Desperate times make for desperate people, and desperate people are capable of anything.’ Vladimir is desperate to find you. Your desperation must rival his.

Okay, but… I’m so tired. I flopped over and hugged my pillow. Can’t we be desperate tomorrow?

He hooked my torso and hauled me out of the bed.

Hey! I kicked, searching for the floor. I’m serious. I’m really tired.

And what will you do if you’re tired while you’re being pursued? He set me down. Rest? Take a nap?

I’m not being pursued. Not right at this moment.

His expression fell grim.

Wait a second. We haven’t been discovered, have we?

He broke eye contact and crossed the room.

I chased after him and pulled him to a stop. Is there something you’re not telling me?

There was chatter on the Dark Web last week. Someone mentioned Émilien. Maksim’s gaze wandered the room, first to the window, then to the door. I think we’re fine, but I’d like to make sure he’s still in custody in Romania, especially after your dream.

You can do that?

I can ask Daniel to do it. I’ll be able to call him from Barçelona.

Barçelona? My mouth popped open. You’re going back to that hacker girl’s apartment?

Ivy. Yes. He returned to the closet.

Can I go with you?

He emerged, carrying his running shoes. No, he said, brushing past me.

I tugged on his shirt until he stopped. "You promised I could call Brandy. I’ve only been able to send messages and emails so far. Maksim, I need to talk to her. Like, talk talk."

You’ll have to wait a little longer.

But why? My voice fractured. You get to talk to Daniel every time you go over there.

Do you think we’re chitchatting? He squared up to me. Ivy is a high-level hacker. I’m in her good graces only because of the lucrative jobs I’ve secured for her in the past. It’s the reason I’m permitted to go over there.

I opened my mouth. He held up a finger.

"Hackers want privacy. Hackers like her want extreme privacy. She can’t afford to be compromised."

But I’d be with you. Tears leaked into my voice. Can’t you at least ask?

I’ve mentioned you. She did not extend an invitation. He reached for my hands. "I will try again tonight, dragă. That’s the most I can offer. He gave my hands a squeeze. You’ve been very good about trusting me. Will you continue to do so?"

My head gave a slight down and up, but my heart wasn’t in it.

It took a few minutes to find clean workout clothes and brush my teeth. By the time I finished, Maksim had rearranged every piece of furniture in the living room. The sofa rested against the opposite wall. The side tables and dehumidifier sat in the dining area.

Blue mats carpeted the floor.

Where did you get these? My gaze traveled to Maksim. He was barefoot, stretching, with one arm pulled across him. Is there a gymnastics center around here?

Boxing gym. The owner sold them to me.

My gaze fell to my shoes, which were laced up. I take it we’re not going for a run?

We’re going to practice the defensive techniques I’ve been teaching you. He nodded toward my shoes. Keep those nearby. We’ll be going for our run after.

I peeled off my shoes and socks and tossed them.

As soon as my feet touched blue, Maksim started toward me. I’m the attacker. What are you going to do? He snatched my wrist and then stood there, waiting. Kat.

Oh. Right. I cleared my throat. Stop! Back up! I widened my stance. I was supposed to put my hands up, but he already had possession of my wrist.

I tugged and twisted. He exerted zero effort and still managed to hold on.

Can we start over? I-I wasn’t ready.

"You must be ready. At all times." That was a reference to Rule Five: Always be ready.

He hauled me forward. I was about to collide with him when he stepped to the side, allowing me to stumble past. Then he chained me from behind with both arms.

Ow!

What’s your move?

I tried to remember. My mind blanked.

Rule Three, he said. What is it?

It’s— Crap.

Think logically, he said, answering his own question. Don’t panic, but you’re losing precious time. He walked me forward. We’re moving. Now you need to worry about Rule Ten.

I squirmed, struggling. My feet slid off the mats and onto the stone tile.

"Imagine there’s a vehicle in the dining room. That’s where I’m taking you. That is the rule you’re forgetting."

Rule Ten: Never, ever reach the second location.

The second location was a place that offered isolation and more control to the criminal. The chances of getting away dropped by the time a victim arrived—the reason it was so much more dangerous than the initial encounter.

What do you do? Maksim jabbed the back of my knee. It buckled, and I cried out. Focus! He pulled me up. What do you do?

I-I have to escape before we get there.

Do it.

I locked my knees and extended my legs, bracing myself. The effort slowed Maksim down—until he picked me up and carried me across the living room.

He set me down by the dining room table.

I cringed. Whoops.

Kat, come on. You’re not taking this seriously.

I am. I swear. It’s just that⁠—

No. He held up a finger. You have been actively learning these moves for a month. We began watching self-defense videos five weeks ago. Six. While you were still in the hospital. You said everything made sense.

It’s different when it’s happening in real life.

You’ve experienced this in real life. He tilted his head. Remember?

My stomach bottomed out. Ștefan had done this very thing in Romania—grabbed me from behind, pinned my arms, all while pushing me toward a helicopter.

That was how the crime boss planned to kidnap me. The helicopter had been the second location.

The epiphany plowed into me. I slumped forward.

Maksim caught me.

I-I was almost kidnapped. Maksim⁠—

"I know, dragă." He guided me to the couch and eased me onto the cushions. Dizziness spun through me. I swallowed bile, lips clamped together, and held my head.

Had you known these moves, Maksim began slowly, you could have broken Ștefan’s hold much sooner. Do you understand why this is important?

I nodded.

Good. We’ll come back to it. The cushions jostled as he moved from the couch. A moment later, he placed my running shoes next to me.

My attention traveled to him. I really don’t feel so good.

You can walk if you’re not up for jogging. He held out his hand. It can be an easy day, but we’re not going to stray from our routine. We can’t afford to.

2. Silent Tempest

Pale daylight greeted us outside. Maksim plodded down the colorful tile steps and headed for the stone path that led to the street.

I lagged behind.

The rental house overlooked rolling hills. In the distance, a bit to the right, the Mediterranean sparkled silver, filling the air with a salty tang I could taste from our doorstep.

My mind rewound to a few weeks ago. We had just arrived in Begur and had decided to walk to that beach. The views were amazing, but the sand had been brutal, slicing into my feet and toes.

Maksim had offered to carry me. I liked the idea—in theory—but he’d been beaten up pretty badly in Romania. Most of the blows had been focused on his right arm—same one he’d injured in a motorcycle accident. That was his Achilles heel, so to speak, and our captors had exploited the weakness.

I’m much better, he’d insisted. As good as new. See? He took my hand and placed it on his biceps. The muscles flexed. Let me carry you.

I’d hopped onto his back, and he had indeed carried me… straight into the sea. With all our clothes on.

That was the first time he’d kissed me in this beautiful, magical place. My lips tingled as I remembered.

Let’s go. Maksim’s voice boomed, intruding on the memory. He waited at the entrance to the property, his attention on me while he held the gate.

I followed the path he’d taken—down the stone walkway, past the pool—until I reached street level. Sorry, I was⁠—

Distracted. I know. He pulled the gate shut, and the hinges groaned. Shake it off. We’re already behind.

I’d been planning to share that sweet memory, to ask if he remembered it, too. His coldness plunged a knife straight into my heart. Why was he acting like this?

I started to ask, but… I knew why.

Seven weeks ago, I’d been traveling in Romania, trying to solve a scavenger hunt my dad made before he died. That scavenger hunt took me on a crazy journey that led to Maksim, a crime syndicate, and the