Not where the man she loved and the dragon she had mated with was involved.
A lump clogged her throat, and she simply nodded.
“Good,” the king boomed. “My personal security detail is flying in as we speak to escort us back. In a few hours, we shall be on our way.”
Too fast. Everything was happening way too fast.
“Kiki?” Djibril said. “We should have a word.”
Her mouth went dry. “I … Later. This is all catching up with me, and I better go rest for the trip back home.”
She dropped a curtsy, then turned on her heel to exit the room with rapid steps.
Once in the corridor, she stopped, recalling she still needed to impart Vadim’s memories to Sera. The young woman might not be awake for a few more hours. But they had to leave, as Elena had to be dealt with fast, before she caused more trouble and put other people in danger.
She registered a presence behind her, and turned to find Des standing in the hallway a few feet from her. He was a very tall man, and even at her height, she found herself having to tilt her head back to stare into his face. No wonder tiny Adri stalked around everywhere in such sky-high heels.
A smile touched her lips at the thought.
“She can cause a lot of damage with those shoes,” he said with a wink.
Yep, he could read minds.
He tore himself from where he’d been leaning against the wall. “I apologize for that, Kseniya. It’s, shall we say, second nature to me.”
She smiled wider and waved her hand as if to dismiss his words.
“It’s nothing, really.” Frankly, what else could she say to the actual effing General of Heaven’s Army?
“Something is troubling you,” he stated as he stopped less than a foot from her. “Do you require the services of a Healer?”
She bit her lip and shook her head, doubting even angel power could heal heartbreak and emotional turmoil.
But there was also another thing bothering her.
“Vadim,” she said, staring up at him. “He entrusted some memories to me, of how he met the woman he’d loved and the birth of their daughter. I don’t know how to convey those to her. She’s already been through so much, and the spell—”
“You can go through me if you wish.”
She blinked. “Can I?”
He smiled, and it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.
“May I?” he asked.
Her lips parted on a hitched breath, and she nodded.
Gently, he touched the tips of his fingers to her forehead. Across her mind’s eye, she could see the memories duplicating themselves in her psyche to then travel to him. When the last image had been conveyed, he pulled away.
As she blinked up at him, a question nagged her—she had to ask it.
“It was you, wasn’t it? The one who saved her.”
Sadness befell his face then. “Yes.” He visibly swallowed. “But I couldn’t this time.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have no power to restore the soul back to her body. Only a blood relative can.”
She gasped. So that was it then. “So her father …”
“Yes,” he said grimly, nodding. “That or nothing.”
He made a gesture as if he wished to touch her forehead again. She acquiesced. This time, images flew from him to her. She could see him standing over the crib of baby Sera in what seemed to be an old French castle. Playing hide and seek with a chubby red-haired girl in what appeared to be rolling English gardens. A teenage Sera flinging herself on her bed and crying her eyes out, then, in a blink, Des punching the daylights out of a young man who’d probably been the reason for the tears. Then stills of him with a grown Sera—watching her paint on a large canvas in an artist’s studio, which looked also like a warm, lived-in cottage. Them sitting on a park bench and feeding the ducks. Sera crying as she rushed into his embrace, in the cavernous room of a stone castle that had been modernized somewhat.
All through the succession of images, she could feel the love radiating both ways between these two people. It was almost as if …
He removed his hand, and she opened her eyes.
“You’ve been her father, in the place of the one who died to save her,” she said in a hushed tone.
He smiled and nodded. “Except where it mattered this time, in blood … but thank you.” For saving her, he intoned in her head, his tone infused with both pain and gratitude.
She inclined her head in silent acknowledgement. This had been their mission, and they’d fulfilled it successfully.
Too bad she’d lost her heart, her best friend, her trust, and her job in the process.
10
There had been effusive thanks from Adri before they’d left. The immortal had all but fallen over herself in her gratitude, and Kseniya had understood where it came from—they had saved the life of her child when all hope had been lost. Sera might not have been of her blood, but Adri was as much her mother as Danira had been. The love of a parent came from the heart—it didn’t require genetics and other such ties.
And speaking of that, she threw a quick glance in front of her as they flew away from Shadow Bridge. Her gaze skipped ahead of Djibril’s shimmering scales with their silver tips and narrowed in on the blazing ruby entity flying ahead of them all, flanked by two enormous, less red dragons. The king. He had sought her out in one of the many enclosed gardens of the castle, apologizing for disturbing her, but he’d needed to personally come thank her for saving his son’s life and then delivering swift justice. Her allegiance was with their family as the royals, but this, he said, had gone above and beyond what had been expected of her. As such, she would have the eternal gratitude, favor, and ear of the Fire Island Royals.
She travelled her attention to Djibril next, flying right in front of her, flanked by two guard dragons, as well. Only one more flew behind her, closing their delegation. Truth be told, this was a courtesy they were doing her—she wasn’t a Royal, so she didn’t require the protection detail.
But this consideration, it was the only thing she had left. The last vestige she could cling to. Everything as she knew it was over; she had no clue what life awaited her on Fire Island. It would be Hell for her in her own family once she ratted Elena out. Never mind what her cousin had done—her grandmother would expect her to stick to kin and no one else. Would she even have a place left in the Sokolov compound once all was said and done?
She’d continue travelling, of course. Without a real purpose now, as she wouldn’t be working behind the scenes for the Corpus. Maybe, with the indulgence of the king, she could be some sort of envoy between fire dragons and her ice kind. No, she couldn’t do that. It would mean being close to Djibril, with nothing between them. The king had told her he would annul the binding he’d made between them in the presence of Konstantin Marek at the palace, protocol demanding that the one who had requested their services be present to certify that they had indeed fulfilled their side of the bargain. Whatever existed between her and Gabe—no, Djibril. She had to remember he was nothing but the Crown Prince to her now—it would all be over. Just a figment of memory by then …
The air hitched in her nostrils, and she fought not to erupt into a bout of sneezing that would rain ice crystals all over the land they flew across. Way to draw attention to them flying incognito high up above.
Soon, they would be home, where all would really be lost.
“Kiki.”
She blinked. Djibril was reaching out to her. Yeah, that … The mating—it had happened, whether they wanted to acknowledge it or not. But these things surely weren’t binding, right? Like, why else would a mating ceremony need to be conducted to actually solidify that bond? This must mean that before said ceremony, the link was transient, something that could be broken.
It shattered her heart to even imagine severing that link, but what choice did she have? If they stayed this way, she could actually die when he’d mate with another dragon th
rough the mating ceremony—no one had tested those bonds before, too scared to try. She might love him, yes, but she wasn’t ready to become a martyr and die away in a wash of froth on the water’s surface like the forlorn little mermaid when the prince had left her. Okay, they were dragons—she would literally turn into a block of ice, but the concept was the same. She might not have much of a life left, but drat, she’d live it!
“Not now. Your father …”
She left the words pending, and he didn’t attempt to contact her again. Soon after, the distinctive air of their homeland tickled her nostrils, and she breathed in deep. Exile—how she hated that word, but it was probably the only option that would be left to her after this whole thing was over.
She refused to think of that in the few hours she had left on the island.
They all touched down in the same field where Konstantin Marek had bid them farewell prior to their trip to Shadow Bridge. It had been mere days since then, but it also felt like a lifetime ago. The field lay an equal distance from her family home and the royal palace, and she didn’t know where to go from here. An SUV waited a few feet away, and she knew from experience that it was here to spirit the royals away, as well as to bring actual tactical weapons to the guards—glamor hardly made for effective guns.
As she shrugged her beast off and glamored her clothing on, grabbing her phone when it materialized into the air when she uncloaked it, she then glanced up as everyone took human shape around her. The king had chosen a bespoke suit, Djibril in his preferred jeans and sweater look. The guards had all fallen on the universal uniform of their kind—black suits and skinny ties with snow-white shirts and dark glasses. While she … well, let’s just say she looked every inch the famous model in her thigh-high boots and short wool wrap dress. True, maybe her intention was to look as little royal and conservative as possible, but it backfired for Djibril’s gaze roved over her with appreciation obvious on his face. To think he would’ve looked at her with pure contempt upon seeing her in such a getup previously. When had things changed between them? And more importantly, how?
Drat. That thing called love? What a bloody nuisance!
“So, what now?” he asked as he turned to his father.
Yes, she’d like to know the answer to that, too.
King Anton sighed. “Well, no use putting off the inevitable, don’t you think?”
No, he was right. Elena. They had to bring her in.
“I … I would like to be the one to bring her in, Your Majesty,” she heard herself saying.
This mess had happened because of her, because she’d been involved in this mission. Djibril had been collateral damage caught in the crosshairs. She was fairly certain her cousin would not have set out anytime to make an attempt on the life of the Crown Prince.
“I should come with you,” Djibril said.
She turned narrowed eyes to him. “Actually, that’s not a good idea.”
“Why not? I’m not letting you go in alone—”
She bristled at those words. “I can take care of myself, thank you, in case you hadn’t noticed in London.”
“She’s dangerous, a fucking lunatic. You’d be out of your mind going against her.”
“Oh, so I’m the crazy female in the story now? The one who needs a male to protect her?”
It hurt her to say the words, but he had given her an in on a silver platter—she had to shatter whatever might remain between them so they could make a clean break from that whole transient mating business. He’d thank her later, though she’d berate herself for the rest of what remained of her life.
“I never said—”
“No, you didn’t have to!” she snapped. “She’s my kin. My responsibility.”
He threw his hands in the air. “Bloody hell, Kiki. She’s a deranged sociopath. Make her see sense, will you?” he said, turning to his father.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty—”
“Son, she is right. We don’t have to make this more painful that it will already be.”
“But—”
“Enough, Djibril. I am sending three guards with her, and that is non-negotiable,” he said as he pinpointed his wizened emerald green eyes onto her.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she mumbled, gaze lowered.
“Djibril?”
“Yeah,” he replied, dragging the word as if saying it only half-heartedly.
“We shall meet back at the palace, Kseniya Dmitriievich.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Go,” he said. “And may strength and valor be with you.”
She nodded and dropped a quick curtsy. The king turned and started toward the SUV. Djibril remained there, staring at her, but she couldn’t stand his worried and forlorn gaze, so she swiveled on her heel and nodded at the three guards who had stayed behind. She took the first step toward her family home, and the three fell into a protective triangle around her.
Her hand itched as she drew closer to the compound. What she wouldn’t give for the albeit false sense of security a gun would give her right then. But this wasn’t the human world, where guns could scare assailants and be used to protect oneself. Unless she had bullets dipped in brimstone, this would be useless here. So she made do with the naked weapon approach. More than the guards, she was trained to bring down the toughest opponent. The palace guards were all taught like the Russian Spetsnaz Alfa group attached to the FSB, and her own training with the Corpus had put her on level with the even more rigorous Spetsnaz Vympel CTU unit of the foreign intelligence SVR. They could take this on as a team.
All too soon, she stood in front of the main gate of the compound. She could no longer call the extensive building a castle, not after having been to Shadow Bridge and walked the halls of a real-life one. Here go you, Kiki. It’s crunch time.
On a deep breath, she opened the gate and stepped inside the main courtyard, the guards on her heels. She paused once inside. They had offered her a comms link on the way here, and she’d glamored on stretchy black jeans, turtleneck, steel-toed combat black boots, and a leather jacket, in case things got a little hairy. A few members of the team which had been posted on lookouts had informed them that Elena was in the main sitting room with the rest of her family. Perfect. She had her work cut out for her.
Another exhale, then she started into the house. Kseniya forced her mind to focus, to blank out everything else but this mission she was carrying out. Not only that, but the TAC team was under her command—she also had to consider them in the parameters.
In the hallway leading to the sitting room, she paused and motioned for the men to stay put. A touch on her comms link made the snipers outside chime in with their status reports. She had the all clear to proceed.
Steeling her spine, she entered the sitting room, startling everyone seated there. The animated chatter of her sisters stopped, before they all jumped like one to come launch themselves onto her in welcome. A little ball of energy beat them to it, though, as her little brother, Pyotr, got to her first and threw his chubby little body into her arms. Reflex made her hug him to her and not lose her balance in the process—after all, she’d been trained to receive a bullet center mass in her bullet-proof vest and not lose a second over the debilitating pain and loss of breath from the impact during combat conditions.
A quick glance around the place showed her the occupants in the room. Her mother on a far high-back chair, her eternal embroidery loom in her hands. Her father, at the window, reading a book. Her grandmother, regal and poised on the central three-seater sofa, and her siblings all over the room. Her grandfather, as usual, would be in his study, away from the cackling of the females, as he said, but given how said study was just a wall away from the sitting room, its door opening at the far end, she’d always known he grumbled more for show and actually loved having this cackling brood close by.
And then, Elena, sitting on the rug at their grandmother’s feet, looking like the picture of innocence with her sweater falling off a shoulder and
a pencil poking out of her messy bun.
But Kseniya stared hard at her, and had she not known what to look for, she wouldn’t have noticed the look of utter dismay that passed on her cousin’s face like a fleeting dark cloud.
“You’re home!” Elena said as she got to her feet.
Kseniya put Pyotr down and absently hugged her little sisters, her gaze never leaving Elena.
“The mission we had to fulfil for this quest has been successfully completed,” she said. She couldn’t add more details given how the others weren’t privy to the state of affairs in Shadow Bridge, but she was looking more for Elena’s reaction.
“It mustn’t have been too hard, then,” her mother quipped as she put her embroidery down and stood. “It’s been what, just days since you left.”
“Don’t let the small timeframe fool you. It’s been a wild ride. I even got shot once.”
Gasps filled the room, her father even tearing himself from his seat and book to stare at her.
“But, wait. Bullets can’t kill us,” one of her sisters said. “We just did that in school the other day.”
“One laced in brimstone can,” Kseniya replied, gaze still on Elena to gauge her reaction.
She was rewarded by a slice of alarm narrowing the wide amber eyes.
“Brimstone!” her grandmother exclaimed. “What is this? Biblical times?”
Given that the Apocalypse was right behind the door, the old woman wasn’t far off the mark.
“But you’re okay?” her mother wailed, suddenly flitting around her like a butterfly on crack.
“I made it. Rather easily, at that. But the same can’t be said of the Crown Prince.”
“Oh, dear me,” her mother said. “Is he okay?”
“Yes, he—”
“Don’t you dare show any concern for that so-called prince,” her grandmother intoned. “He and his kind have no respect for us, calling us birds of prey behind our backs.”
Well, it was true that Sokolov derived from Sokol, which actually meant a species of fast birds of prey in Russian. But there was the matter of taking sides here, and she would be going against her own. No matter how she sliced it, her ethical and moral compass told her she had to side with the wronged party here, and that meant the royals and not her kin.
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