by Julie Kenner
She joined him, pressing her hands against the counter. “You didn’t deserve to die.”
Eve rubbed her face, and the circles beneath her eyes seemed darker than before. She’d done nothing to deserve this angst, but he needed her help. She’d free him. Could she do more? Or would he merely haunt her forever? Haunt this house, the scene of his release? Would he cross into the Otherworld? Or would he simply fade away?
None of those options was acceptable. He wanted to live again and Eve might be the key. He knew it. She could speak to the dead. When she’d called his name, he’d escaped. Perhaps if she did more than call his name, he could live again. This sort of magic was not unheard of in his culture. He’d been taught that women possessed powers men simply could not fully understand.
He turned to speak to her, but her gaze was lost in the bucolic scene outside, her brow scrunched in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why did she kill you? Why didn’t she just use her magic to control you?”
Again, his hands ached to reach out and touch the woman beside him. Her allure was powerful, beyond physical lust, as much as he hated to admit that, even to himself. She fascinated him. So intelligent, sensual and sensitive. So open to accepting his pain as her own. So compliant to the realities of the magic that flowed through this world like the water of the oceans—timeless and beautiful, yet brimming with potential for disaster. Evonne Baptiste was precisely the kind of woman he might have finally chosen for himself a century ago—if he’d lived long enough.
Finally, she turned her weary eyes on him. “What did you mean when you told Iliana that she had the power to kill you, but nothing more?”
“I hadn’t practiced shamanism for years,” he explained, impressed that she’d picked up on the nuance. “But I was, thanks to the blood of my ancestors, too powerful for her spells and charms. Only in death, only with my own blood woven into the hex, could she truly punish me.”
For a moment, Viktor thought he spied disbelief in Evonne’s honey-gold eyes. She likely never thought anything so hellish was possible, she of her “civilized” gaujo ways. When her mouth curved into a frown, Viktor knew her doubts would not waylay her belief. After all, there was no reason not to believe him—a ghost standing beside her in her kitchen, showing her scenes from his past like flashbacks in a film, opening his heart and for the first time, telling a woman the entire truth that resided there.
“Punish you for what? Charming her? Treating her like a woman that men would desire? She didn’t look so innocent and gullible to me, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
He chuckled. One flash of memory and Eve had understood Iliana completely.
“The Dulas clan was marked with evil. None of the other families would marry their women or take their men as husbands. They were dying out. I mistakenly believed the cohesiveness of the Dulas would help my family, but I was wrong.”
“Would they have denounced the black arts?” she asked.
He shook his head. “It had been their way for too long.”
“Why’d you even think of promising her to Yuri, then?”
Viktor suppressed a growl, an animalistic protest to his own outrageous pride. “I never should have accepted the offer of the Dulas to wed their daughter to my cousin. But I thought if any woman possessed the power to seal my hold over the clan, it was Iliana.”
“But you changed your mind?”
Viktor nodded. Yes, he’d finally come to reconsider his dark plan, but too little, too late. “Yuri came to me the night before my murder with a young girl on his arm. He asked for my permission to wed her. He not only finally acknowledged my sovereignty over the clan, but he asked for my blessing.”
Eve scratched her cheek absently. “Yuri appealed to your pride.”
“He was a smart man.”
“So you broke your word to the Dulas on his behalf. And Iliana was pissed.”
He’d heard the phrase before, but the vulgarity didn’t begin to describe the wrath of the Dulas witch. “Enough to kill.”
“And now you want revenge?”
Viktor couldn’t control the deep laughter that burst from his chest and mouth. “Revenge? For a crime over a hundred years old? No, I only want to reclaim what was stolen from me.”
Eve licked her lips and her lids seemed even heavier than before. “Your life.”
“Yes.”
“And you think I can help you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you freed me from the bottle. Because by letting me into your bed, you strengthened me.” He spun toward her and clutched her arms. He could feel her, but not feel her. The sensations wavered, as they should, between the realities of two distinct worlds—the world of the living and the world of the dead. “When we touch, a power surges through me. Sometimes, it weakens me. Sometimes, strengthens. The fact remains that magic is at work—because of you.”
In response to his dramatic claim, she yawned. Long and wide and only as an afterthought did she lift her hand to her mouth. He nearly laughed again. Here he was, laying out the plan for his ultimate reentry into the world of the living and she was falling asleep.
“Sorry,” she said, hardly sheepish.
He chuckled, genuinely. Warmth pooled where his belly should have been. He released her. “No apologies. Your lack of rest is entirely my doing.”
She nodded. “You’re right. I need a nap.”
She pushed away from the counter and shuffled toward the door that led to her bedroom. Viktor moved to follow, but she stopped him with a flat palm and a stern look.
“Oh, no. I need sleep. I need to think. But mostly, I need to be alone. I don’t think you’re going anywhere you don’t want to go, at least for a few hours.”
Viktor grinned. He recognized her need for rest, for space. Besides, he longed to explore his new boundaries, if there were any, of his transitional existence. Perhaps he could find the old woman or the companions she spoke of.
“I will not come to you until you call.”
With that, he closed his eyes and with a forceful push, disappeared from her sight.
EVE STOOD IN THE KITCHEN, her entire body growing heavier by the minute. If she didn’t retreat to her bedroom soon, she feared she’d collapse right there. Never before had she found communicating with the dead so exhausting, but the minute she flopped onto her bare mattress, she fell instantly asleep.
She didn’t dream. When she woke, the sun was beginning its descent into sunset. Her head ached, but despite the discomfort, she turned toward the clock. Five o’clock. Her stomach growled. With care, she sat up, and after a few lungfuls of air, life and energy seeped back into her bones, veins and muscles. She showered and washed her hair. She fixed a peanut butter sandwich with chocolate milk, which she ate while staring out the window onto her garden. She thought she spied shadows flitting near the edge of her property, but in the twilight, she couldn’t be sure.
She also couldn’t believe that Viktor Savitch was here and he needed her help. He claimed the touching strengthened him, but did that mean if they had sex all night, he’d be solid in the morning? She shook her head and snickered. As delicious as the prospect sounded to her and her starved libido, she doubted if even she could be so lucky.
Still. Would it kill her to try?
The possibility snaked through her like a forbidden whisper. Biting her lip, she washed her dish and glass and considered one downside. Both times that she’d tangled with Viktor, in her dream and then today in the kitchen, she’d left the experience weakened and exhausted. Communicating with the dead had always been somewhat draining, but never to this extent. If she strengthened him, did he do the opposite to her?
She didn’t think so. Now that she’d rested, she fairly tingled with vibrancy, as if she’d just worked out at the gym. Her skin prickled with life and her heart beat steady and strong.
She had no proof that tangling with Viktor wouldn’t hurt her, but she only had one way to truly find out. For years, h
is legend had piqued her interest. She’d listened to the lurid tales of his prowess and charm with unabashed interest. Now, she’d met him and had experienced his skill firsthand. She wanted more. She wanted whatever he could give. She had nothing to lose, yet she could gain a chance at lovemaking that was truly magical.
In her bedroom, she pulled clean sheets and a fresh comforter from the closet. She made the bed, then dug into her lingerie drawer and found a silky gown. The gold color complemented her skin and eyes and the material draped over her body like a layer of sweet butterscotch. She dabbed a bit of makeup on her lips, cheeks and eyes, then dusted sparkling powder across her breasts and shoulders.
Magical.
By the time she had the fountain gurgling beside the bed and additional candles lit throughout the room, the sun had set. The sky outside glowed deep purple until the indigo streaks of night sucked the light from the cloudless heavens. After setting one last votive beside Viktor’s perfume bottle, Eve closed her eyes and reached out with her mind.
Viktor.
Almost instantly, his presence filled the room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A WOODSY SCENT TEASED Eve’s nostrils, enhanced by the subtle musk of a man inextricably tied to the outdoors. She gazed into the antique mirror hanging above her vanity and spied his glow behind her. He stepped nearer and his diaphanous form became more distinct. He wore the same blue shirt, colorful vest, tight pants and thigh boots as earlier, but in the darkness, his roguish appeal intensified. His glossy black hair and sapphire eyes captured the candlelight flashing off the prism of the perfume bottle and reflected such male perfection, Eve wondered if this was just another facet of an elaborate dream.
Without caring one way or another, she turned, an expectant smile teasing her lips.
“You follow orders very well. I’m surprised.”
“You should be,” he said. “I amused myself by exploring your land, meeting my kinsmen. They do not trust me.”
“Should they?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “With you, yes. I would not put you at risk.”
“Really? Why not?”
“You are the key to my release.”
“Is that all?”
His face contorted with confusion, which he quickly banished beneath his charming grin. Many women had made demands of him, yet he’d never wanted to please one so much as he did Eve. And not just because she could free him, though he could not lose sight of her potential power.
“Being my savior is not enough for you?” he asked.
Tightness pressed against Eve’s chest, forcing her breath more deeply. “I can agree to be your lover, Viktor, but your savior?” She attempted to swallow, but her tongue was thick and dry. “What if I fail?”
He smiled. “I have nothing to lose.”
“What about your soul?”
He stepped closer to her. The atmosphere around them crackled and though she bet the effect was an optical illusion, the candles flickered and sparked. “I lost that years ago.”
“You have a chance to get it back, now, don’t you? If you live again, Viktor, you don’t have to be the same man.”
When he shook his head, his hair gleamed like streaks of ink, freshly drawn on glossy paper. “I can be only who I am, Eve. I am not evil, you know that. In fact, in some ways I can be very good. The needs you have—I can fulfill them as no other man can.”
He toyed with the tips of her fingers, shooting tiny currents of heat into her bloodstream.
She smoothed her tongue across the sharp ridge of her teeth, trying to offset the powerful sensation of his palms brushing up her arms, skittering across her skin with spectral electricity, hardening her nipples beneath the silk of her gown. He noticed, because he dropped onto one knee and pulled her onto his lap. The thrum emanating from his ghostly flesh sizzled through her as his mouth hovered near the erect tip of her breast.
“You’ve searched a long time for a lover to attend you, fill you, challenge you. The men of your world have not satisfied you, physically or intellectually. Making love to you will be a path to your freedom—and mine. I’m sure of it,” he claimed, his breath not warm, but hot and cold in quick succession.
He laved her breast and she thought she might melt in his mouth. He was greedy, possessive and rough—when he wasn’t giving, free and gentle. His long hair brushed against her flesh above her plunging neckline, softer than gossamer. She lifted her hand to touch the glossy strands, but fisted her fingers before she could indulge.
“How do you know I can free you, Viktor?”
He lifted his gaze to hers. “Our connection grows more powerful with each touch, each taste. Can’t you feel it?” He punctuated his claim by smoothing his hand around her backside, cupping her flesh possessively. His fingers dug into her so that she couldn’t mistake the phantom sensation of sinew and bone. “We lose nothing by trying.”
She nearly murmured, “Nothing,” but he cut off her agreement with a hungry kiss. Mouth to mouth, Eve shivered, remembering when she used to test the energy level of batteries by swiping her tongue over the conductor tip. The shock had been mild, but revealed the power within. Now, the same buzzing energy sizzled through her, magnified a hundred times, throwing her mind into a shadow world of sensations and delight.
Viktor slipped his fingers beneath the straps of her gown and toyed with the thin strips, clutching and releasing, tugging and teasing so that she didn’t know if he was going to let the gown fall gently off her shoulders or if he would rip the silk free. He distracted her with the skill of his lips and tongue, so that when he released her, leaving her clothing chastely in place, she barely had a chance to register her disappointment.
“What pleases you, Evonne Baptiste?”
With her eyes closed and her ears raging with the sound of her blood rushing through her veins, Eve had to work to understand what he’d asked. Sex pleased her. Men pleased her. Relationships, brief or not, tended to scare the shit out of her, but here she was about to make it with a ghost and fear was the last thing on her mind. Here was a man with real power, with influence over the elements and a line of communication with centuries-old magic, yet she wasn’t spooked. Why?
If the explanation existed in her mind, it fled the moment he dropped his kisses to her throat. She arched her neck and turned her head so he could access that particular place below her ear that drove her insane.
He didn’t disappoint, nipping and kissing and suckling until her balance wavered. She broke away, leading him with a crooked finger to the bed. She crawled across the mattress and waited for him to follow.
Standing back, he removed his vest and shirt, not by working the ties and buttons, but with a sweep of his hand. Eve caught a gasp in her throat at the beauty of him. His chest bulged with muscles defined by hard work and harder living. Dark hair offset the glossiness of his skin and for an instant, Eve realized she could no longer see completely through him.
He was solid enough for her to see the large circular shape of his male nipples and a ragged scar that crossed from his left shoulder to the top of his right hip. She reached out to follow the violent line with her hand, crawling onto her knees so she could reach him, touch him, learn him.
“Is this where…?” she asked.
“No.”
He seemed enthralled by the way her finger traced the path, down, then up, then down again. Did he realize that touching him was addictive, irresistible, as if the pads of her fingers contained magnets drawn to the steel of his chest? The current zimming through her skin was strong and electric, yet at the same time, gauzy and hard to define. One moment she could feel him, the next she could not. But the tastes and samplings lured her, ensnared her. Bit by bit, the cravings for the low-voltage jolts of awareness overwhelmed her. Releasing him seemed impossible. Unthinkable.
He captured her wandering hand in his.
“The leftover of a barroom brawl. Nothing romantic or heroic. Does it repulse you?”
She stared up at him.
“Never. Everything about you intrigues me. You’ve been in my life no longer than a moment, yet something tells me we could have been trapped together in that bottle and I still wouldn’t know everything about you. You’re a puzzle, a mystery. Unpredictable, even to yourself.”
“I’m a simple man,” he claimed, his voice insistent, as if he sought to convince himself more than her. He lured her hand to his lips, and though she closed her eyes to relish the moist feel of his mouth against her flesh, she couldn’t help but contradict him.
“Liar.”
He tugged her close, his hands cupping her cheeks, raising her higher on her knees so they were face-to-face. “Yes,” he confirmed, his eyes hard. “I’m Romani. We tell the truth the gaujo want to hear. It makes no difference to the gypsy what the gaujo believes. We have our own truths. As long as we survive and flourish, what do a few lies mean?”
Eve tried to pull back, but Viktor held her fast. His lips teased hers as he spoke, his tone calm, his words hot with honesty.
“Will you lie to me?” she asked.
“Do I need to?”
She knew if she answered yes, he would accommodate her. He would create stories to placate her, to ease the echoes of apprehension she could only now admit she heard from the deepest part of her conscience. But if she said no, he’d likely tell her the truth, no matter how cold or calculating he would appear. Hadn’t he learned that lying to someone with gypsy blood, even with only a few drops, could destroy him?
“No,” she said. Emboldened, she grabbed the hem of her gown and tossed the material over her head. With as much grace as she could muster, she crawled across the mattress and settled into the pillows. “Make love to me, Viktor.”
As he bent his knee to climb beside her, his pants and boots disappeared. His buttocks gleamed tight and contoured in the candlelight, his legs long and lean and muscled. He climbed over her, onto his knees, his hands on his hips, cocksure in the truest sense of the word.