Chapter Fourteen

Yassen was pissed off. There was no other word for it. Just when he'd started to think that he would be able to relax, when he was gathering his thoughts and getting into his normal cool, calm frame of mind, Lightfoot had broken the spell.

The butler waiting at the doorway had been a dubious sign, when Yassen returned from his walk in the early afternoon.

"Mr. Gregorovich?" The butler's tone was one of easy subservience; he probably had no idea what any of his houseguests got up to in their everyday lives. He didn't fear Yassen one bit, and that made Yassen like Redwood. Here, he felt normal. Affluent and privileged, but normal.

"Yes?" he had replied, something inside him sinking.

"A call for you, urgent. They said to call back as soon as you returned"

Scorpia, then.

Yassen had followed the butler into a small sitting room where a telephone was waiting. The butler even dialled the number, leaving discreetly as the line rang. It was answered promptly, by Lightfoot himself.

"Yassen?"

So he had been expected. Lightfoot was one of a very few people who called him by his first name.

"Yes" Yassen kept his voice low and controlled. He was the picture of calm, readiness. Inside he wanted to laugh, or shout. Anything but pretend that he wasn't affected by what was sure to come. There was only one reason to be contacted so soon; something had gone wrong and he would have to pick up the pieces. Or limit damage.

Yassen hated damage limitation. No, hate was a strong word. Yassen didn't feel hatred towards anything; such a strong emotion was alien to him. He disliked damage limitation. Found it distasteful. Below him. He was a man of action, not reaction.

But now he was being asked to react to something out of his control.

"They are searching for her" Lightfoot had said. "They know we are involved. It's only a matter of time before they work out she's still alive, and that we have her. They will want her dead"

And then, those most fateful of words;

"You must protect her"

Why me? Yassen said in his head. It was with some discomfort he realised he'd spoken out loud.

"Well, old man, because you're there…" Lightfoot's answer sounded obvious from the older man's mouth. Yassen was there. He knew Kalina, as far as it was possible to know someone in just a few days. He was more responsible for her than anyone else. She was his charge now, like it or not.

Unlike the last time he'd taken her under her wing, this time he was being ordered to do it. And Yassen didn't much like it.

He followed orders, always. Sometimes he didn't like what he had to do, but he knew that he worked for Scorpia, and Scorpia's goals were worth his distaste, or revulsion, or whatever unpleasant emotion he happened to be feeling. Now, he didn't feel unpleasant, exactly. He felt…

Discomfited.

Like the rug is being pulled from beneath my feet…

It was rare Yassen Gregorovich analysed himself. Now he did it tentatively, but believingly. He knew his own findings were correct. He felt lost on a sea partly of his own making. Like he'd launched himself into the depths only to regret it, but dragged further down by undercurrents and whirlpools.

Replacing the telephone gently, Yassen fought the urge to put his head in his hands.

The universe is conspiring against me! A rare exclamation of futility rose to the surface. He groaned out loud and brushed his face with his hands, rubbing out… what? Despair? Dejection?

Resistance was futile. Yassen had been given orders, and he had no choice but to carry them through. He sighed, stood, and left the small room to enquire after the girl and Charles. He knew they would be safe together; it was incredibly unlikely anything would happen within the next few hours, but as soon as they returned he'd have to let them know the change in circumstances.

As much as Yassen wanted to palm Kalina off onto Charles, he wouldn't trust Charles with her life. As he waited patiently in the hallway for them to return, he wondered why he would even trust himself.

And when she'd returned, looking at him with those blue-grey eyes, the smile Charles had put on her face fading when she saw him. Making his own emerging attempt at a pleasant facial expression wither like a dead flower. She was defiant, angry. She felt exactly like he did when he saw her. But knowing that it would achieve nothing, Yassen had to take the higher ground.

Be reasonable he told himself. Stay calm…

But it was difficult. She was accusing, almost as if he'd engineered the whole thing just to annoy her.

Well, Miss. Moon… I don't exactly relish your company either he wanted to say. To shout. To grab her by the arms and shake her out of that disdain… That disdain that had come from nowhere.

What have I ever done to you? Opened myself to you, misread the signs and now I'm what? An annoyance? Something you'd rather forget?

Well tough.

And the ways he spoke to him. Sarcastic. Challenging.

Would he like to join her in the shower?

…

He knew some primeval part of himself said yes, emphatically yes, and it only made things worse.

She is not worth the effort… the universe is playing a cosmic joke and all I can do is endure it. Endurance…I should know.

As the girl left the room…stalked from the room, Yassen glared after her. He recognised pique in himself, a childish desire to play games to annoy her as much as she'd annoyed him, and just hated himself all the more for losing control. What the hell was wrong with him anyway?

It was a question he wanted to ignore.

A/N: Sorry for the shortness. My last update until after i've moved into my new flat. I'm moving to London in two days, it's going to be hectic for a while until i get sorted out...don't even have the internet installed yet! Private sector renting is always so much fun... Anyway, that was a little bit of Yassen's psyche... more to come!