by Anna Abner
He’d caught her, saved her from the horde, so she could be free to go home and be with her son.
Home.
Fayetteville, North Carolina had never felt like home and the longer she stayed away, the less she wanted to return. Jackson was her home now.
In the unfamiliar bed, Violet lay still and listened, not sure yet where she was or who possessed her. Just because Maks had been there, didn’t mean he still was. Finally, hunger won out. Her stomach growling, Violet pulled the covers down and opened her eyes.
She lay on a king-sized bed in a French-themed bedroom with the drapes pulled tight. The air smelled like a hotel—industrial cleanser and air freshener.
Garbled murmurs sounded from beyond the closed bedroom door. At least one female voice. There had been no other females in Sergei’s group when she’d been held by the Four Sons. Just bloodthirsty, rough-fingered men. Things couldn’t be too bad if they’d put her in a nice, comfortable bed. She hadn’t enjoyed a real bed since Oleksander had stolen her right off the Strip. It had been nothing but cold concrete and dirt floors since then.
She sat up, realized someone had dressed her in clean pajamas and felt overwhelmed by confusion. Frowning, she slipped from the bed, steadied herself against a wave of dizziness, and took a step toward the en suite bathroom with the intention of locking herself inside until she could determine who held her, but the door to the bedroom swung open and a giant of a man loomed in the doorway.
Violet squeaked and backed against the bed, not sure where to flee or how to defend herself, but she was damned tired of feeling small and afraid.
“Stop scaring her,” a female scolded in a British accent, swatting the big man away and sweeping into the bedroom. She flipped a switch, and warm light cascaded down upon them. Even the soft lighting burned Violet’s eyes, and she shielded her face.
“Where am I?” Violet demanded. “Who are you?”
“And what do we want?” the woman guessed Violet’s next words. “Don’t worry. We’re on your side. I’m Ali Rusenko. The lunkhead behind me is Lukas Larsson. There are others hanging around, but no one is going to hurt you. We’ve been taking care of you for about,” she checked her smart watch, “nineteen hours.”
This was new. And not completely reassuring.
Vi touched her chest. “Violet Russell. Now, where are we? Why am I not in a police station?” People with shady motives kept people away from authorities. If they were decent human beings, wouldn’t they have at least called 911?
Ali bit at her lower lip, and the giant behind her grumbled something low and menacing. “To be honest, we didn’t take you to a police station for our own protection,” Ali said. “No one here is what you’d strictly call normal.”
“You’re vampires,” Violet guessed. Of course they were. Just another group of sadomasochists.
“Not all of us,” Ali said, jabbing her thumb in the giant’s direction. “Lukas is a shapeshifter. My friend Roz is a witch. Our doctor is immune to the infection.”
A tiny bud of hope blossomed. “You’re not with the horde?”
“Nope. We’re sort of in a war with them.”
Violet sighed as her body shook off nine weeks’ worth of dread. “Oh, thank God. So, I’m not a prisoner? Sergei’s not here? Ivan? Ilya? Maks?”
“Maksim Volk?” Ali clarified, sharing a knowing look with Lukas. “You know him?”
Violet merely snorted in answer. Yeah, she knew him. The beautiful idiot had both kept her hostage and saved her life.
Ali said, “He’s here. Is that going to be a problem for you?”
For a moment, Violet bowed to the old, ever-present fear. It mixed with the relief Maks had caught her to become shiny new hope.
“I don’t know how to answer that,” Violet admitted.
“Can I ask,” Ali ventured further into the room, “what your relationship with him is? Because he was delirious for weeks and kept repeating your name, and then today he caught you out of the air. He wouldn’t let go of you until I swore I’d protect you.”
That didn’t sound like Maks. The Maks she knew hardly spoke except to spin lies. He didn’t go out of his way for anyone unless it profited him.
Except once.
“Are you sure he wasn’t manipulating you?” Violet asked.
Without hesitation, Ali answered, “It was no act. He was terrified.”
Violet let go of a derisive laugh. It felt good. Like a release. “Olek gave me to him, and I was his blood donor. In all that time, I never saw any emotion from him.” Except when he suffered nightmares. Only then did he shed the mask he consistently wore and show genuine emotions.
Ali’s expression grew even more confused. “He’s your captor?”
“It’s hard to explain.” He was the man who’d saved her from going splat on the sidewalk, but he was also the man who’d kept her away from her son for nine weeks.
“You don’t have to see him,” Ali assured. “He’s laid up in another room.”
That caught Violet’s attention. The soft spot she kept for him pulsed. “He’s injured?”
“He went after Sergei and was thrown out the same window. He hasn’t regained consciousness.”
Violet wilted a little against the wall. Had he really gone up against Sergei? He was such a dummy.
“Hey,” Ali said, fluttering her hands at her waist, “you’ll feel better after a shower and a hot meal. We can talk later.”
The mere idea of a shower exhausted her, but Violet agreed.
“I’ll set clean clothes and toiletries on your bed,” Ali continued, “and I’ll order one of everything off the room service menu. When you’re done, the doctor can check you out.”
“You have a doctor?” Violet queried. Every bit of information she learned set her further at ease. Sergei never would have sent for a doctor.
“Oddly enough, you’re not the first person who’s needed medical attention here.” She headed for the door to give Violet privacy, but hesitated with her hand on the knob. “You can use the phone, but please, for our safety, don’t call the police. If you bring the authorities into our home, it could mean big trouble for us. You see, I’m Maks’ sort-of daughter and my boyfriend’s a vampire.” With a faint smile, Ali closed the door behind her.
For a moment, Violet was totally bewildered. She blinked once, and unshed tears obscured her vision. There weren’t supernaturals in North Carolina where she’d grown up. Confronted with more paranormal creatures than she’d dreamed of, Violet didn’t know how to digest her current situation, but the thought of being free made her legs quake. She went immediately to the bedside table, lifted the phone, and dialed her mom’s cell number.
“Hello?”
Violet’s knees gave out, and she sank onto the bed. It took her three tries to say, “Mom, it’s me.”
After a beat, her mother exclaimed, “Violet Jade, where are you?”
Her voice reverberated through her mind, through her very bones. Violet closed her eyes briefly, soaking in the familiar sound.
“I’m safe,” Violet promised. “Is Jackson okay?”
“Jackson’s fine, honey. He’s just fine.”
Relief swamped her until she found it hard to breathe straight. Her baby, her sweet little boy. He was safe and healthy.
Her mother audibly choked up. “Vi, where are you? Are you coming home? What happened?”
“I’ll call again soon, mama,” she promised. “Take care of Jackson. I’ll be home as soon as I can. I’m sorry. I have to go.”
Scrubbing her eyes, Violet stumbled into the bathroom and caught her reflection for the first time in days. Her face was so pale and drawn, blue veins were visible along her hairline and down her throat. Bruises bloomed like lavender flower petals around both eyes and down both arms. Dried blood had crusted along her collarbone and wrists. A mop of auburn hair cascaded onto skeletal shoulders.
She was a zombie.
“I’m still alive,” she reminded herself. “They tried
to crush me, but they didn’t…” Her reflection stared back—a stranger’s haunted face.
Turning away, Violet relished the kind of shower homeless people take after being on the streets for years. She tried every shampoo, conditioner, and body wash available, shaved, and lathered up with expensive soap from head to toe. Twice. By the time she stepped out and wrapped herself in a fluffy terrycloth robe, she was exhausted.
And then she heard him, and the weariness took a back seat to her worry over the stupid, beautiful vampire who couldn’t stop getting his ass kicked. He should be a professional fight loser, he was so good at it.
Was this post-traumatic stress disorder? Had she lost her mind?
Probably.
Violet shimmied into borrowed pajamas and hurried out the bedroom door, not concerned with the strange men and women—suddenly silent at her appearance—congregating in the living room. Ignoring them, she followed the sobbing noises coming from behind a closed door. The same sounds of pain and grief she’d listened to every night for weeks.
No one attempted to stop her as she slipped into his room, another luxurious bedroom with its own bathroom and a view of downtown Las Vegas. The familiar shape on the king-sized bed in the center of the room drew her like bait.
She stood over him for a moment, watching, remembering. Asleep and weak, he was easy prey. The lamp on the bedside table, once shattered, could be used to cut his throat. With a little extra effort, she could use a shard to cut out his heart.
The moment of her fall stretched inside her memory until it seemed like hours worth of terror. She’d seen Maks below her on the sidewalk, and she hadn’t felt fear or anger. At the sight of him, she’d felt sweet, drunken relief.
She’d felt safe.
He may be an asshole, but he was a familiar asshole in a suite of strangers, and she was tired.
Violet heard footsteps behind her, but they didn’t deter her from crawling onto the bed and flopping beside Maks. Flat on his back, he tilted his face toward her. Ignoring the pang of starvation, exhausted in a way she’d rarely experienced, she threw an arm over his chest and fell asleep.
Chapter Three
Ali stood in the doorway and watched Violet—the little ragamuffin they’d carried into the suite, and held their noses while doing so because she smelled so bad—crawl into Maks’ bed and snuggle up. It was a little disconcerting. Was this a Stockholm syndrome type of thing? Or a ploy for vengeance?
Would Violet hurt him? More importantly, did he deserve her retribution?
Should Ali feel skeevy over their nighttime cuddles?
Well, she did. For sure. When they woke up, she needed to have a serious talk with both of them. What were Maks’ intentions? Because, if Violet had been his captive, the best thing for him to do was let her go. And Violet, if she had half a brain, should run screaming for the nearest police station. Maksim Volk was a monster. He was a killer. He may very well be a psychopath.
But the way he’d cried in his sleep had twisted something deep inside Ali. His ability to control pain was legendary, and she’d never heard Maks complain. He never screamed. Never whimpered. But when his control slipped late at night, he cried. Was he aware of it?
And whom did he cry for?
Maybe he was more than a warlord. Maybe he was just as broken and abused as Violet.
The very possibility made her nauseous.
Ali closed the door and returned to Connor’s room where Roz kept watch.
“Have you eaten anything?” Roz asked her as Ali perched on the edge of the mattress. “You should drink some water too.”
“I’m fine.” Ali waved off the other woman’s concerns. “Do we know what the hell happened back there? Where did she come from? By the way, search Violet Russell. See if there’s a missing persons report on her.”
“I’m guessing she’s our little stowaway?”
“Yep. The same one who’s cuddled up in Maks’ bed as we speak.”
Roz pulled a face. “Oh, goodie. Nothing like a little Harley and the Joker action to put everything else in perspective.”
Ali huffed a sympathetic laugh, but she wasn’t feeling very humorous. Connor was still having trouble breathing on his own and hadn’t twitched an eyelid since they’d rescued him from the hospital the day before. Maks, on the other hand, was already having sleepovers.
“That was fast,” Roz said, squinting into her laptop. “I got hits right away. Violet Russell went missing over two months ago, a couple weeks before we killed Olek and lost Maks. She’s a single mom and a waitress. According to local news, her disappearance was chalked up to increased crime on the Strip. A couple of known sex offenders were investigated, but nothing panned out.”
“That’s awful,” Ali murmured. To think the girl in there had suffered under the horde’s rule for so long. “We need to support her as much as we can.”
“She’ll be going through stuff,” Roz agreed, her gaze on her screen. “Fucking vampires.”
“You know when Connor wakes up,” Ali said, “he’s going to try to lock Maks up again.”
“And you’re not?” Roz quirked a single eyebrow.
“I don’t know.” Ali wilted upon the mattress, setting her elbows on her knees. “I wish Connor would wake up. If Maks wakes up first and causes any trouble…”
“Lukas will back you up,” Roz assured.
But Ali really hoped backup wasn’t necessary. If only she could trust her pseudo-father to behave himself, but he’d done so many awful things—killing her cousin Stefan, infecting her mother, attacking Connor, and participating in Oleksander’s cruel plots—she couldn’t.
Maks better behave himself in her home, especially around Violet. Ali didn’t want any more pain for the poor woman. As soon as humanly possible, they needed to whisk Violet out of the hotel and back to her family.
“Here’s an article from Virginia.” Roz passed her the laptop.
Local Mother Missing After Weekend in Vegas
Violet Russell, a graduate of Fayetteville High School, is missing from a girls’ weekend in Las Vegas, NV. Her cousin Lexi Rubio claims they were at the Farce Club until two AM. As they were leaving, Miss Russell went missing in the crowd. Mrs. Rubio has no information about Miss Russell’s whereabouts. Police have been combing both the city and surrounding areas, but as of press time, there has been no sign of her.
When last seen, Miss Russell was wearing a pale blue dress, a silver locket pendant, and black high heels. She has auburn hair and gold-colored eyes. She is five feet four and one hundred twenty pounds. Her mother Barbara Russell and her son Jackson hope if you have any information you will contact the LVPD. A crowd-funding page has been set up to aid the search.
Ali thought of the disheveled girl with shredded tatters for clothes. Had those rags once been a blue party dress? Quite possibly. Shaking herself, Ali passed the laptop back.
“She has a son. God, what a mess.”
Roz tucked her laptop under an arm. “By the way, I combed social media for any video or pictures from the incident. Anyone who posted about it, I hacked their passwords, deleted their post histories, and then deactivated their accounts. Hopefully, by the time they get reinstated, our little drama will be the last thing on their minds.”
“Thank you. That makes me feel a little better.”
“Lukas?” Roz called.
“Hm?” The hulking Scandinavian appeared in the doorway with a turkey leg in one hand, his blond hair tousled, but his light eyes sharp.
“Want to take a walk?”
His eyes lit up. “Can we call it a hunt?”
Roz smiled with great affection, and her expression softened. “You bet.” Glancing at Ali, she said, “Since our home is sorta occupied, we might as well patrol the Strip. Maybe we’ll stumble upon the vampires who like to see if people can fly.”
“Sergei, Ivan, and Ilya,” Ali agreed. “Please, be safe. Call if you need a big bang. I’ll be there ASAP.” She may not be strong and fast like Connor or Luk
as. She may not have magic like Roz. But Ali possessed special skills all her own. When she pushed her emotions over the edge, she blew like a neon pink bomb, incinerating everything—living and nonliving—within a six-foot sphere around her body. If pushed, she could be lethal. “Oh, and check on the pit vampires, will you? Make sure they haven’t murdered anyone.”
“Yep.” Holding hands, Roz and Lukas hurried off.
As soon as she was alone in the room, Ali climbed into bed beside Connor and laid her head against his chest. It rose and fell in a steady, comforting rhythm. Later, she would worry about the severed hand in her shoulder bag, Maks’ instability, and Violet Russell’s questionable behavior.
“You ready to wake up yet?” she whispered.
He made no reply, but his left foot flexed at the ankle. Slowly, Connor was healing—too slowly for Ali’s taste—but making progress. She glanced up at the blood bag connected to an IV in his left arm. Still three-quarters full. Satisfied, she re-settled against him.
“Ali?” he grumbled. Slowly, as if swimming through warm tar, he turned his head in her direction and brushed her arm with the backs of his knuckles. “Is that you?”
“It’s me,” she assured, peppering his face with soft kisses. “Baby, how do you feel?”
After a beat, he answered, “Numb. What happened?”
“Olek’s little brother,” she told him. “He threw you out a window and crushed your spine.”
He murmured something incoherent, his eyes fluttering closed.
“It’s okay, my love,” she whispered, sweeping a stray lock of hair from his forehead, “go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” And she would, no matter how long he slumbered. She’d be there.
#
Maksim Volk felt pain, and a lot of it. He hadn’t woken to so much hurt since he’d been a guinea pig of the US Army. Twenty years of being drugged, burned, drowned, bled, and dissected had felt like an eternity in hell. A punishment he probably deserved, to be honest. He’d done horrible things. He’d stood by while Olek hurt people for his own pleasure. He hadn’t lifted a finger when Olek raped and pillaged from one end of the Ukraine to the other.