The Blood Code by Misty Evans

the suite’s door might stop her. Might wake the monster.
    How would she get back to her suite without passing the guards?
    The czarina’s Golden Chambers were next to Ivanov’s personal quarters. She’d noticed a hidden door in the bedroom the day she’d arrived. The door itself was part of the wall, a pocket door, which slid back and forth on a rail. There was no lock on her side, but she hadn’t been able to open it, which meant it was locked from the other side.
    Kings and queens, czars and czarinas, had kept separate quarters throughout history, and yet they could come and go from each other’s rooms without being seen by the rest of the Palace. If Anya’s bedchamber had a secret pocket door, odds were it led to the presidential bedchambers.
    Tiptoeing to the sofa, Anya scooped up her shoes and made sure Ivanov continued to sleep. She crept past him and the fireplace, remembering the layout of her suite and where it had to be connected to his.
    A few steps later, she stood inside his bedchamber. Soft light emanated from half a dozen wall sconces, spotlighting a massive bed, draped on all sides by heavy blue curtains. Anya ignored the dark premonition that rolled through her at the thought of Ivanov’s plans.
    While the connecting door on his side was also a pocket door, it was much easier to find amidst the furniture, oil paintings, and elaborate wallpaper, because his door had an obvious lock. An ornate gold one that stood out like a neon sign. Czars could apparently visit czarinas at will; wives, however, could only visit their husbands if invited.
    Holding her shoes by the straps in one hand, Anya slowly turned the lock. She was pleased to hear the click of the bolt sliding free.
    Almost home.
    Funny how even the smallest amount of freedom felt good. She slid the door back with a small smile. The smile fell off her face when the door made a high-pitched squeak.
    She froze in place, listening for the rasp of Ivanov’s snores. The edges of the stolen documents scratched the skin under her breast as her chest heaved.
    Her body demanded she fling herself across the connecting hallway to the door of her own suite, but she held still. She’d come this far, avoiding Ivanov’s advances, snooping through his official papers and stealing secret documents. She would not blow her chance of making an escape to her own room by panicking.
    No shouts erupted from behind her. No sounds of marching feet coming for her. With trembling limbs, she stepped out of Ivanov’s bedchamber, and with slow, protracted movements, slid the door closed. This time the squeak was minimal.
    There was no way to relock the door from the other side, so she left it.
    Sconces dotted the hallway between the rooms, casting dim light and eerie shadows. Anya reached out and found the small lever to her suite. As suspected, there was a lock on this side, but a twist of her hand released it.
    Anya slipped inside her dark bedchamber, closed the door, and leaned against it, pulse racing. As her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she dropped the shoes and collapsed onto the four-poster bed.
    Two seconds later, she got off the bed and pushed a short, fat dresser in front of the secret door. The dresser—made out of seventeenth-century Italian mahogany—outweighed her and she grunted with the effort. Once it was in place, however, a sense of calm pervaded her mind and body. She may not have been able to lock Ivanov out, but by God, she wouldn’t be a sitting duck in case he decided to sneak into her room. He hadn’t tried it yet, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.
    She grabbed the bedside table lamp and several ornate silver candlestick holders, stacking them on top of the dresser for good measure.
    Her muscles trembled from utter exhaustion. She had no intention of sleeping in the blue satin dress, but the bed called to her and she once more sank into the soft silk bedspread, drawing the white gauze curtains around the sides. While they were no real