Mikhail

by Lauren Smith

  “Yes, thank you.” She slipped him a few hundred rubles and then got out of the cab. There were several men lingering at the entrance of the club, one of whom whistled when he caught sight of her.

  She clutched her cell, which contained emergency number for the Brotherhood office in Saint Petersburg, hoping she wouldn’t have to use it. Please don’t let this be a bad idea. If things went poorly, she’d have to face her brothers and listen to them tell her “I told you so” about staying in Michigan, where life was safe but boring.

  One of the men by the door said something to her in Russian, but she didn’t understand him. She smiled but kept her head down as she brushed past them. One of the men slapped her ass as she passed by. She tensed and almost tripped.

  Just stay cool, her inner voice warned her. She might not be a hunter like her brothers, but she’d taken enough self-defense classes to know how to take care of herself. If this guy wasn’t careful, she’d kick in the balls so hard they’d snap up into his throat. But she couldn’t afford to make a scene. She needed to stay calm and not call attention to herself.

  Ignoring the harsh laughter of the men outside, she slipped into the dark club interior. The energetic techno dance music enveloped her, and the bass pounded so hard against the walls that she could feel it shake as she skirted the club’s interior. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, even with the flashing white lights and pulsing strobes. Fog filled the bottom of the club, hiding a clear view of the dance floor. Everywhere people were dancing, drinking, and laughing. It was a hedonistic gathering where pleasures ruled the night.

  Charlotte clutched her slender purse and headed for the bar. A dark-haired man with an intricate neck tattoo of a wolf howling was flipping bottles and pouring drinks. He took one look at her and retrieved a large rounded glass, then poured a dark red wine in it. He slid it across the slick wood surface of the bar to her. He chuckled when she caught the glass, which glided smoothly into her waiting hand. Then she took a sip.

  Wow. The red was soft and dark with a hint of oak and…cherry? Yes, cherry. She smiled at the man, who gave a roguish wink before he turned to see to his other customers. A bartender who guessed your style of drink…that was certainly interesting. A guy like that would kill in tips in America. She studied his wolf tattoo more closely. Was he a shifter? She’d heard from Meg over the years all sorts of things about shifters. Tribal tattoos were pretty popular among the wolves and the odds that a wolf shifter was working in a dragon shifter owned bar? Pretty high odds.

  She watched the dancers on the floor for a while, scanning the room until she found what she was looking for. A back door. It probably led to some offices. That might be where she could find Rurik. But she had no plans to barge in there and look. She would stay here and wait. Hopefully, he would come out soon so she could start her reconnaissance.

  The files she’d studied assured her that he always stuck close to Moscow and rarely went to his second residence, which was somewhere south in the country. She took another sip of her wine and looked back to the dancers. She froze. Three of the men from outside the club stood in front of her, watching her with wicked grins. The man who had slapped her ass was talking to her again in Russian.

  “I’m sorry—I don’t speak very much Russian,” she told him in the best Russian she could manage and tried to turn back to the bar. One of them grabbed her from behind and dragged away from her seat.

  “Let go of me!” She swung her purse, smacking him in the face. The heavy gold clasps thunked as they made contact with the man’s nose. He cursed, clutching his face as he waved his other hand at his friends, who rushed her.

  Oh shit! She dropped into a fighting stance, praying she wouldn’t break an ankle in her low heels when she tried to roundhouse whoever made the first move on her. A man swung a meaty balled fist at her head, and she pulled herself back an instant before he would have clocked her. She countered, the man was too close for a roundhouse, but not a solid knee to the breadbasket. He dropped with a gasp, and Charlotte backed away, waiting for the next. But there were too many of them, and she doubted they’d oblige her by coming one at a time after that.

  A deep bellowing shout thundered through the room, and sent the men scrambling away like rats.

  Panting, she held her purse, which dangled on its chain from one of her hands. She then felt someone’s eyes upon her, a gaze as tangible as a caress along her skin, making her shiver. She looked around for whoever had scared the men off. Her heart thumped in a panicked beat against her ribs when she saw who had rescued her, standing behind her.

  Rurik Barinov. He looked dangerous and sexy in jeans and a black T-shirt and especially those biker boots. If she was being honest with herself, those boots played quite a role in her fantasies whenever she thought of him. Which was a really bad thing considering he was supposed to be her target, not the star of her most sensual daydreams.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. His accent, a deep, rumbling, slightly growling tone, did funny things to her insides. For a second she couldn’t speak—her brain had short-circuited.

  “I…”

  Rurik gently grasped her by the elbow. That got a reaction from her, as her first instinct was to pull back. But his response to this surprised her; he looked at her and said, “Please,” while holding out his hand. Something about his voice disarmed her, and she allowed herself to be led away. He took her into a dark, quiet alcove where the acoustics of the room couldn’t reach them. He pressed her back against the wall and cupped her chin, lifting her face. His eyes, a beautiful green, swept over her from head to toe. She shivered as his thumb caressed her bottom lip.

  “You’re not hurt?” he asked.

  She managed a nod.

  He tilted his head, still studying her in that intense manner. “American?”

  “Y—yes.”

  “You shouldn’t come to a club like this alone. It is too dangerous for a flower such as you.” He let go of her face, but he leaned in a few inches, inhaling deeply before he murmured something to himself in Russian.

  “I’m not that delicate,” she replied stiffly. Sure, she wasn’t a kick-ass supernatural hunter like her brothers, but she wasn’t totally helpless.

  His lips curved into a crooked grin that made a storm of butterflies come to life in her stomach. “It is true. Some flowers have thorns, and you certainly showed yours.” The dim lights and the way he stood half in shadow exposed the thin scar that swept down his face across his cheek. It had a distinctive slashing shape to it. Was it from another dragon’s claw? She had to admit she was fascinated. The Brotherhood files on the Barinov dragons were slim. She wished she knew more about him, and she had a feeling she was about to.

  “Yet I think you are more delicate than you realize, little one.” He reached up to brush the back of his fingers over her cheek. She shivered as a wave of arousal buzzed through her at his touch. She opened her mouth, even though she had no idea what she was going to say, but he placed a finger over her lips.

  “Why don’t you leave your purse with my bartender and come dance with me?” He was already tugging her away from the wall before she could argue. He slid her purse off her shoulder and tossed it at the tattooed man, who caught it in one hand and tucked it beneath the bar.

  “Hey—”

  “Shhh.” Rurik pulled her against him as music wrapped around them, pulsing and thumping. His hands curled around her hips, the tips of his fingers just riding the edge of her ass as they began to dance. He moved smoothly with a rolling gait and the slide of his feet. She’d always been a terrible dancer, but with his hands and body guiding hers, he made it seem so easy. It was almost surreal, to be here with him, the lights of the club spinning around them and music pouring into her soul.

  Is this real? Maybe I’m just dreaming about him again.

  It wouldn’t have been the first time since she’d seen his face in those files that she’d woken up in the dead of night, her heart racing and her body hungry for the touc
h of this man…this dragon.

  Her plan to capture him was still on track. If anything, this could work to her advantage. But she could relax, enjoy herself for a few songs, couldn’t she? Dancing was one of the few ways a man and a woman could speak to each other without words. Well, that and kissing. But she couldn’t let him kiss her, not after she’d heard Meg’s lecture about dragon pheromones. As a biochemist, she was well aware of the drugging influences of pheromones in some animals. She did not want to come under the influence of anything she couldn’t control, biological or chemical. Part of her worried that he might have already exerted some kind of subtle influence over her. There were rumors that dragons could compel humans with a form of hypnotism.

  “You are enjoying yourself?” he asked in her ear.

  His hands drifted lower, cupping her ass. A new flash of arousal hit her, and she couldn’t help but moan when he pressed closer to her. She was too aware of him, of his undeniable sexuality. At times like this it sucked being a virgin. She felt like a live volcano ready to blow whenever she got too close to someone with raw sexual chemistry like Rurik.

  “Yes, this is fun!” she shouted over the music.

  What the hell, right? Life is too short not to enjoy this….

  She spun in his arms, grinding her backside against him. She watched the dancers around them. The club was modeled to resemble a cave, but it also had a hint of a dungeon about it. There were even cages with women dancing inside them. Iron-barred honest-to-God cages. For a second she pictured herself in one of those cages, Rurik outside of the bars, hungry to reach her, and yet knowing he had caught her. It was… Holy hell, it was so hot just to think about it.

  “Want to give it a try?” Rurik’s hand slid up her body from behind, not quite cupping her breast, but coming close.

  “Try what?”

  “The dancing cages. I can see that you’re tempted.”

  She tried to shake her head, not wanting him to know she’d been way too turned on at the idea of him putting her in a cage. “No…”

  He chuckled, his lips feathering against her ear. “Yes, you are.”

  She ducked her head, hair falling in front of her face, trying to hide from him. But he brushed it back, tucking it behind her ear and over her shoulder.

  “Come.” He led her toward one of the cages where a blonde girl was shaking to a type of dance rhythm that Charlotte would never be able to copy. He opened the cage door and jerked his head. The girl left immediately.

  Rurik pushed her toward the cage. “Get in, little one.” She stumbled, caught herself on the bars, and turned to face him as he closed the cage door. Then he leaned against the bar doors, his arm muscles flexing. He had trapped her in the cage.

  “Now, dance for me, sweetheart.” Rurik’s green eyes met hers, and she seemed to spiral into them. Every worry, every self-conscious thought she’d ever had seemed to fade into the back of her mind.

  “Dance for me. Show me your heart’s desire.” The words were his, but he hadn’t spoken. It was as though she’d heard the words in her head. An irresistible compulsion to do exactly what he said came over her, almost as though she was drunk—only on words instead of alcohol.

  Charlotte rolled her hips, feeling the beat of the music and letting it run through her blood like a current. She moved, spun, leaned against the bars and threw her head back, sending her hair in a cascade as she gave in to the wild part of herself. A part she’d always denied, ignored, or repressed.

  All the while he watched, satisfied, the dragon with dark brown hair and emerald eyes. The green of his eyes was pure like uncut gemstones. His lips were parted, and his hands were white-knuckled on the bars. Was he restraining himself? Holding himself back? That only made Charlotte bolder, wilder. Dimly, she was aware that she was being very reckless, but she couldn’t seem to stop.

  I’m playing with fire. She just prayed she wouldn’t get burned.

  Chapter 2

  Stars would fall to their knees at his compelling vision.

  – Rainer Maria Rilke

  “Come in with me,” she said, knowing he would hear her despite the pounding music. A dragon’s hearing was keener than any human’s.

  They stared at each other, the bass of the music making her heart thud fast and heavy against her ribs. His gaze was one that could pull a woman in and drown her with its promise of dark, delicious things. Charlotte could feel every cell in her body hum with sexual tension. Would he join her? Would he touch her again in a way that made her forget her very name?

  Please…please make me forget everything but you. It was dangerous, but she wanted it, wanted to lose herself in this moment, lose herself in him.

  Rurik flung the cage door open and entered, clanging it shut behind him. She swallowed hard as the reality of what she’d just asked came true. She was trapped in a cage with a dragon—ancient, powerful, accountable to none but themselves—and this one was making her legs shake as he kept looking at her as though he wanted to eat her.

  He spun her around to face away from him, and she gripped the bars, bracing herself. He pressed his body against hers from behind and nuzzled her neck. She moaned when he began to kiss her throat and bare shoulder. It was as though he knew just where the sensitive spots were on her skin that electrified her entire body. Their bodies still swayed to the music, but everything had changed. She wasn’t focused on capturing him, not now—she could barely think straight. All she wanted was to stay close to him, to keep touching him wherever she could. She needed to feel his body caging hers and his mouth and hands on her body. She’d heard people talk about animal magnetism, but holy shit, this was beyond that.

  They weren’t dancing anymore—they were slowly grinding against each other, the sensual movements almost too much to bear. She was so close to danger, so close to the one thing she knew she couldn’t let happen.

  I don’t care. I should…but I don’t. I want him…

  His right hand touched her right knee, sliding up her leg beneath her skirt. When he reached her panties, he brushed a fingertip along her satin-covered slit. She whimpered at the explosive reaction her body had at that single caress. Rurik bit her earlobe, and a zing of pleasure shot down her body straight to her clit. She knew people were all around them, probably watching them and she couldn’t find it in here to care, not when he was making her feel so wild, so out of control in the best way.

  “Tell me your name,” he whispered in her ear.

  She struggled to focus. “Charlotte…” She wouldn’t tell him her last name. She wasn’t stupid enough to use her brothers’ last name. Even through the fog of her desire, she was able to remember that.

  “Charlotte.” Her name rolled off his tongue in that decadent accent, and she shivered. “My name is Rurik.” He flicked his tongue into the shell of her ear. She jerked at a new bolt of arousal shot through her.

  “I’m going to kiss you now, little one,” he warned, and she nodded, wanting, needing his mouth on hers. It didn’t matter that it was breaking her promise or that she knew her brothers would kill her for kissing a dragon. She had to kiss him. Something inside her demanded it with a force that she couldn’t stop. He turned her around to face him, chest to chest, their bodies still pressed tight together. The bars of the cage dug into her back, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was this slow, delicious burning moment leading up to his kiss.

  He lowered his head and their lips brushed, and then he kissed her. Hard. It was the kind of kiss that made a rational, sensible person like Charlotte lose her mind and forget her name. It was a kiss out of her darkest fantasies, one that she would have died to experience. He moved his lips over hers with a hint of roughness that kept her on her toes, as though at any moment he could take things to the next level. It left her dancing on a razor’s edge of fear and excitement. He curled her hair in his hand, fisting the strands while he held her captive. His other hand gripped her hip, his firm hand keeping her right where she was. A dragon’s prisoner.

&nb
sp; The music around them changed from one song to another, and then another, and yet neither she nor Rurik wanted to come up for air.

  It was strange, but the more he kissed her, the more she had this funny feeling that she could hear whispers—soft, dark growling sounds deep inside her head. Like a man murmuring dirty, erotic words to her, but she couldn’t explain how she was hearing it. It must have been her imagination. Were all kisses supposed to be like this? Her previous boyfriends had never made her feel like she was on the verge of such sweet madness.

  When he finally broke their mouths apart and pressed his forehead to hers, she closed her eyes, hands gripping his shoulders as she tried to slow her racing heart. His muscles were taut beneath her palms, and she could feel the heat radiating off him. It didn’t soothe the aching need her body now had for him. For the first time in her life, she understood what her friends had joked about when they’d talked about wanting a man so much they were ready to beg for it. She was ready to beg.

  “Club’s going to close soon,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

  “What?” she asked, distracted by his intimate embrace and how much she didn’t want this moment to end. His body was warm, and the leather of his jacket smelled so good. She wanted to bury herself against him, rub her cheek against his chest like a cat in heat. Her lips felt bruised, swollen from his kisses, and she licked them.

  “We’ve been at this for over an hour, little one. I would like to continue, but I must close down the club.” A surprisingly rueful smile twisted his lips.

  Reality crashed down around her. An hour? She had spent an hour making out with a dragon shifter in a club. A dragon she knew was dangerous. The dragon she’d come to capture… God, no wonder her brothers wouldn’t let her become a hunter. She’d walked right into the lion’s den—er…dragon’s lair—and had all but jumped his bones. Mortification heated her face as she tried to shake the lingering flames of desire that his kisses had left burning within her.