“The ham smells wonderful,” Nadia tried to intervene with such a benign statement.
Her mother’s eyes snapped open, fixed on Nadia with a deep clarity. “It’s not right. You must speak to the Council. It is Nadia’s turn, not Brigid.”
Nadia’s stomach twisted. This didn’t bode well. Her mother had that crazed look in her blue eyes and whenever that happened things got uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable.
“I’ll do no such thing, Dalia.” Her father’s deep baritone was spoken in low tones but the inflection was emphatic. He wouldn’t be doing as her nan asked. Then again, why should he? It wasn’t like he loved her or anything. They didn’t even share a bedroom. Theirs was a biological union, the matching done by an anonymous Council. After sixty-five years chained to each other, they’d learned only to cope. While they were good friends, neither of them took the high road. Arguments typically lasted hours and they fought with emotional claws and tossed scathing word bombs designed to cut and hurt. Normal Rockwell they were not.
“Of course you will,” Dalia countered just as emphatic, just as commanding. “It’s time.”
Nadia glanced at her father’s weathered face and tried to confirm her suspicion. A touch of gray peppered his long sideburns. The curl of brown hair along his nape had thinned. Grooves at the sides of his eyes warned of imminent wrinkles. Age showed on his features, and even though he’d reached a decade over a hundred years, he’d most likely be pegged around late sixties. Youthful, yes, but not at the extent of the kraliyet. Some of the Komars had celebrated three centuries and barely looked over thirty. Once again, it was the genetic engineering of the Kan Asma Council. Everything was orchestrated to keep strength and vitality within an elite class while the rest of them made due.
Father shifted onto the balls of his feet and tapped a calloused finger to his chin. “She’s not ready.” He inhaled deeply and let the air out bit-by-bit. When he dropped his hand, he jammed it into the pocket of his tan Dockers. He shook his head and stared at her, hard. “Screw tradition, I’m not ready to lose my only child.”
Aha, great, now she knew exactly what the elephant in the room was, and it was immense, stifling. She rolled her shoulders and made a tight fist. Her nails pricked her palm and she concentrated on that bite of pain to keep her grounded. “This is about a Goblet Ceremony? A mating? Father’s right, I’m not ready.” Ever. If she couldn’t have Gunnar, she wanted no one.
Her mother stood from her seat in a jerky motion as rage transformed her face. Irritation and anger heated her cheeks and her teeth clenched tightly. In a dramatic motion, she waved the card in the air. “I’m not watching the Gorchev family’s second born be mated and begin a bonded life while my child is left to wallow in her human age. You’re getting older, Nadia. It’s beyond time you found a match.” The loose silk bodice gaped as she crossed her arms over her chest. Pink polished nails dug into the skin on Dalia’s opposite arm. “We’ve adhered to the laws and customs set forth by the Kartal waiting until you were deemed mature. I’ve sent him many emails reminding him of your available status. At the very least, you should be brought in for the appropriate testing to determine compatibility. What more could Ivan Komar want?”
Higher breeding, greater beauty, more strength…Nadia knew her shortcomings well. She didn’t need Ivan the domineering iceman to remind her. “What if I want to just be single, spend my life as a human, enjoy the time I have?”
Her mother shook her head in a vehement expression of denial. “Nadia! How can you say such things?” A thick curl escaped the tight chignon and bounced near her cheek. Dalia swiped it behind her ear. “This is sacrilege.” Her voice trembled, high pitched and hovering on a childish whine. That was her nan, dramatic to the end.
“You’ll die, even before us.”
So. At least she wouldn’t be forever united with a male she couldn’t stand to touch her. She’d much rather a few decades of yearning for Gunnar before she met her end than live a life trapped in a loveless union as a blood-host and breeder of the race. Not to mention the scarier aspect of the ceremony itself—incompatibility with the male she selected. Things could end rather abruptly if that DNA match went south, which could be a benefit, she considered, if her choice proved instantly fatal. Except, with three unmarked goblets to choose from, she wouldn’t know if one swallow meant pushing-up daisies or an endless sentence of mating.
Gunnar’s blood could kill you, too, her conscious warned but she ignored it by focusing on the present conversation. “What do you mean you’ve emailed Ivan Komar?” Though, she didn’t really need to ask when she could imagine exactly what the words in her mother’s message said. She held up her hand, before her mother could reply. “Forget I asked.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, she stared at the dingy linoleum until it blurred. Once the sting of tears waned, she turned her chin to glance at her father. In a silent plea, she implored him to intercede.
Their eyes met and his thick, dark eyebrows slanted down in consternation. He shrugged a shoulder. “We’ll wait until the Council determines Nadia’s ready.” With a calculating glint in his eye, he glared at Dalia. “We wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize Nadia’s union with a coveted male. That’s the last word on this matter. It’s getting late, the morning is about to dawn, and we need to retire. Let’s eat and be done with unpleasant topics.” Her father didn’t wait for any acquiescence. With heavy steps, he marched out of the room and into the kitchen.
Woodenly, her mother followed. Though she said nothing, her frustration was palpable. Her mouth opened and closed as if she made to argue with her mate’s declaration. However, her father had scored the winning point. Dalia’s greatest hope was to see Nadia mated to an aristocrat. She tugged at the pleated skirt, propped a hand on a hip and left the living room.
Frazzled, Nadia took a moment to compose herself before joining them. Chin up and determined to get through the meal, she took her seat across from her father like she’d done since she could sit on her own. One end of the square rosewood dining table was pushed against the wall and her nan sat between them. Someone had brought over the ham and potatoes. The glaze still simmered in the saucepan as it sat on a red knit trivet. Nadia was so out of sorts she didn’t know if she was hungry or if the tension in her stomach was a knot of nerves.
Would this night get over with already?
“You’d never see my daughter wearing jeans to the most important rite in her life.” Dalia spooned potatoes onto her plate with a loud clank of metal against ceramic.
Oh, Lord, here we go again. “Of course not, Mother.”
Dalia shot Nadia an impish smirk. “It’s too bad that I wasn’t able to bring my own gown from our homeland. No matter, I’ve got it all planned. The seamstress is just waiting for the go-ahead. She’s one of the best and I hear Lucas Komar’s mate, Katiya, uses her frequently. I’ve made us an appointment for measurements.”
Cripes, as far as Nadia was aware, she hadn’t been considered for the next mating session, thus no need for formalwear. “That’s a bit preemptive,” Nadia muttered.
Dabbing her mouth with a cloth napkin—because that’s what the rich and famous do—Dalia looked across the table at her. Familiar eyes like Nadia’s glittered with jubilation as Dalia explained the details. “Nonsense, being prepared is always a benefit. Besides, I want this to be impressive.”
Nadia was beginning to feel like she was on an episode of My Great Big Gypsy Wedding—Vampire Edition. Soon a seamstress was going to come through the threshold with yards of satin and lace bedecked with rhinestones—a not bridal gown fit for the most discerning female. “I think Anna was smart. If you’re going to die, it might as well be in full comfort,” Nadia blurted unequivocally.
If only she could be so daring as to buck convention in such a distinct way.
Almost six months ago, Anna Komar, Traian Komar’s sister, and the only daughter in their high-ranking family, was mated to a Kulikov. Power begets power and they were some of the stro
ngest. Nadia licked her lips tasting the mix of ham and brown sugar glaze lingering there. Dimitri Kulikov was a brute of a male, arrogant and domineering, but he obviously loved Anna, enough to get in a brawl with another male during the sacred ceremony. The fight hadn’t been the only scandalous issue of the rite. No, what had the guests whispering mocking insults and posting rants on social media was the female’s attire. Anna had walked down that candle-lit aisle in a pair of well-worn jeans and a simple blouse. Her long hair, covered by a thin veil, was the only nod to the Kan Asma’s long-held traditions.
Nadia commended the female’s gumption. It had to have been difficult pulling such a feat off when your brother was the Kartal and her cousin was the highest royal, the Komutani. Having just met both powerful, enigmatic males gave Nadia a glimpse into what Anna went up against. Being a fly on that wall would’ve been interesting, to say the least.
“It’s the most breathtaking green satin, utterly ethereal and beautiful. I think it will accentuate your eyes, dear,” Dalia continued, jovial with the turn of their conversation.
And, yet, Nadia could only imagine snowy white, like a bride on her wedding day. Oh, Gunnar. Her stomach twisted again, this time souring her appetite. She pushed the plate forward and jolted from her seat. Dragging her hand through her hair, she grabbed a chunk and tugged. “I’m just going to go to bed. Yeah, I’m tired. Good ’morrow.” She didn’t wait for her father’s typical salutation or her mother’s reminder to apply the vitamin cream to her—rapidly aging—skin. Rather, she jogged to her room tuning out all the noise and people and life in general. Inside the private space, she leaned against the door and slid down the cool pressed wood to sit on the floor. Curling her arms around her shins, she rested her head on her knees, closed her eyes, and attempted to find a semblance of peace.
Sure, Nadia, that’s totally gonna happen.
Chapter Nine
Work. It was his light in the darkness, his anchor in the storm, his one-way ticket out of Doldrumsville. At least that was what Gunnar was banking on. He stared across the office at his boss, Tray, willing the male to pile on the mundane tasks which would keep him busy. Too busy to think. To remember. Her.
Beautiful, lovely Nadia.
The way the silk of her hair teased his cheek, the warmth of her body against his chest, and her sweet, sweet cries of passion impressed upon him the need to claim her as his own. His mate. Forbidden.
God damn it.
Impossible. He gritted his teeth and let out a tense breath.
“You okay?” Tray’s pitch was even, modulated.
Gunnar nodded, better to lie without actually saying anything.
“Sure.” His boss pushed to stand, the ergonomic black leather office chair rolled backward and banged against the file cabinet. He placed his palms on the desktop and leaned forward. The striated muscles of his biceps flexed, rolled up tight stretching the material of his finely woven shirt. “Then, why’re you grinding your molars so loud I can hear the enamel cracking?”
Gunnar rolled his head side to side attempting to loosen the clenched muscles fisting his neck in a vise. “Gristle.” Yeah, levity was so going to throw his boss off the current topic.
“You need the evening off?” Tray dragged a hand through the gold-tipped blonde waves of hair mussing the part ’til it resembled something a boy band would sport. Gunnar cocked an eyebrow at the dishevelment.
“Seriously, it’s not like I don’t owe you some overdue vacation time.” Tray moved around the side of his desk and came to stand in front of the highly polished oak. He leaned back and crossed his feet at the ankles, scrutiny evident in his piercing, green eyes.
Unless Gunnar did something to change the topic, there was no way he would be leaving without spilling his predicament right at Tray’s loafer-clad feet.
Gunnar thumbed through the open screens on the tablet he’d been holding tightly to hide the tremor in his fingers. The detailed reports held imperative data regarding the whereabouts of missing and captured Kan Asma citizens. Notations in each document highlighted a name Gunnar had grown familiar with just in the last few weeks. Tray’s mate, Bethany, had lost her father in the raids. Though he hadn’t been in Abkhazia during the invasion, he’d purposely returned to the fray. During the events of her mating to Tray, she learned of her heritage. To keep Bethany safe, her human mother had concealed her Kan Asma parentage. Her father had been a brave mercenary during the battle but was still MIA. It had become Tray’s mission to find Jacov Davenko, and Gunnar had agreed to help.
He liked Bethany. She was cool, for a half-breed. Sometimes it was hard to tell she didn’t possess pure Kan Asma blood. Easygoing, cheerful, and totally in love with Tray, Bethany put everyone at ease. It was a shame Ivan hated her so much.
Nadia would like her. No doubt in his mind, the two would hit it off immediately.
Hell! He had to get Nadia out of his head.
“Spit it out, Gunnar.” Tray’s pitch deepened, concern laced each syllable. “What the fuck’s going on with you?”
His jaw locked up tight, words impossible to say. He simply shook his head and stared up at the ceiling until the lights blurred.
“Is it your injury?” Now his boss’s tone held a tinge of pity.
He rolled his wrist and tweaked his arm, happy it was now free of all the metal screwed into the bone. “Nah, it’s fine,” he managed to answer.
“Then, that leaves only one other option.” Tray closed the distance and stood just a foot away. He narrowed his eyes in scrutiny and his lips pursed. “That nurse.”
A shiver careened down Gunnar’s spine and his flesh prickled. Every sense of precaution fired off and he found the need to divert Tray’s thought processes. “Indirectly. Actually, it’s Andros.”
At the mention of that patient’s name, the temperature in the room plummeted. A savage snarl tore from Tray’s throat. “What about Andros?”
Gunnar had seen that vicious glint in his boss’s eyes many times. Typically, someone got dead when Traian Komar unleashed his fury. Obviously, being mated hadn’t tamed the deadly predator under the refined exterior. Well, Gunnar could relate; he had his own vendetta against that bastard Andros. He could only imagine how intense the killing urge would be if Andros had done to his Nadia only half of what he’d done to Bethany. Attacking a defenseless female and leaving her to bleed out should come with a death sentence. Thank God that weasel was under lock and key.
“Do I have to coax it out of you with my híbe?” Tray warned.
No. Thanks.
“He’s spouting off about anarchy and insurrection. Told Izak there’s a growing movement against the Council’s mating practices.”
“So, they want love matches and human mates?” Even though Tray had broken every single mating rule of their people, he didn’t bother to hide his derision. Talk about hypocrisy.
“That, and they want a stab at the powerful híbes.”
Tray’s sharp laugh echoed in the room. “Good luck with that. Tradition’s so damned engrained in our culture that the only way to change it is by eliminating the kraliyet and every aristocratic family without being killed in the process.”
“You did it.” No doubt there were many of their people idolizing Tray for his gumption to mate outside of their customary genetic maneuvering. Bethany’s survival had been at stake and Tray had to make a life or death decision. He chose to save her and screw the repercussions.
Hell yes, Gunnar would do the same for Nadia.
How could he choose any other option?
“Didn’t intend to be the poster child for a rebellion.” Tray paced around the spacious corner office as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m still worried I might have to kill my brother.”
Gunnar had felt so powerless when Tray had been taken in the middle of the night. He’d been barred from the office building and Aleksi had ordered him to go home, leave the situation within the family. Not that he’d obeyed. Instead, he’d been forming contingency pl
ans with Dimitri when the call came in that Tray’d escaped with Bethany to parts unknown. That was only a few weeks ago. Funny, in Gunnar’s fantasy, history would be repeating. He’d been daydreaming about taking off with Nadia to somewhere isolated and romantic where he could open his vein, have her sip from him, and bond them forever and always. Fuck the Council and their genetic engineering.
“We should investigate this threat further.” Tray moved back to his desk. He scooted the chair forward before taking a seat. A few seconds later, he keyed into his computer mainframe where massive amounts of high-tech information was stored. “When the sentinel brought Andros to me, the male had a trio of pals tagging along. Are you up to a little interrogation?”
Heck yeah! He was more than up to it. Gunnar exhaled a tense breath. “We talking a meet-n-greet or a little bloodletting?”
“Whatever gets me answers.” Tray shot him a wicked grin with a hint of fang tips. “You know the rules.”
Obviously. Everything must be legal or provoked. He inclined his head in a show of acquiescence.
“Unless…” Tray scratched his chin, his head tilted to the side, a look of concentration shadowed his autocratic features. “If this goes deeper than Andros’ delusions of grandeur, we might be facing something bigger and more pervasive.”
Gunnar’s stomach churned. He thought of the implications and came to the same conclusion as Tray. Torturing information out of a couple weak males wouldn’t do any good. What they needed was a covert plan. “Infiltration,” he muttered.
“Careful infiltration.” Tray licked his lower lip and ran the tip of his tongue over the point of one sharp canine. “We need a ruse.”
Mated in Treason Page 11