“You killed the boys.” Max tried to turn, but the blade pressed harder.
“I killed three little monsters who had lured two human girls into their den.”
Max closed his eyes. “I didn’t see any girls.”
“Of course not. They ran away when the boys fell asleep so suddenly. Very strange, the girls said. Were the boys drunk?”
“Who are you?” he asked.
“You don’t need to know that.”
“You don’t want to touch me,” he said. “I could hurt you.”
She might have been armed, but Max’s touch could have the same effect as the Grigori. Irin scribes weren’t allowed to touch human women. Their souls held the same hunger as the Grigori; they just had the magic to control it.
“I know what you are, scribe.”
Who was she?
Max didn’t like being helpless. He didn’t like being threatened. And he was running out of patience. Before the knife could press closer, he ducked to the left and spun around, grabbing the arm that held the knife. Instead of bare skin, he met a long leather glove. Smiling, Max wrenched her wrist, causing her to drop the knife, then he spun her around, reversing their positions so he held her in a headlock. The woman didn’t flinch. She whispered something under her breath, and Max’s arms turned to dead weight. Then she stomped on his instep and kicked up with the heel of her shoe, nearly hitting his groin. He twisted to the side to avoid the blow, only to lose his grip on her.
She dove for her knife and crouched across from him in a fighting stance.
Max’s eyes went wide. “Who are you?”
“What’s wrong?” Her tone was taunting. “Don’t you know any girls who fight?”
She smiled and Max noticed how beautiful she was. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was stunning. Long reddish-brown hair and eyes so deep he could fall into them. She was nearly as tall as he was and built lean and long. Long legs. Rounded hips.
Her full lips parted, and she whispered more words. Words in the Old Language.
Her magic brought Max to his knees, and he went willingly, lifting astonished eyes to her precious face. “Irina.” His heart ached saying the word. “You’re Irina.”
“You need to stop staring,” she said, sitting across from him in the cozy basement pub across the Charles Bridge.
She was digging into a bowl of goulash and not eating delicately. She tore off hunks of brown bread as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Her weapons glinted from under her long brown overcoat, stored in shoulder holsters very like his own.
“I can’t,” Max said.
“Have you never met an Irina before? Not once?”
“I saw one once in Vienna, but only at a distance. I went to the library to deliver a report, and I saw her in the gallery. She was covered though.” He passed a hand over his face. “She didn’t want anyone to see her face.”
The Irina’s eyes turned inward. “Just one?”
Max nodded.
“And the Elder singers’ desks?”
“The Elder singers’ desks have been vacant for two hundred years,” he said. “I’ve only heard stories about their songs.”
Her jaw tensed. “So we are only rumors now.”
“Legends. Stories. Myths.”
“I’m not a myth.” She started eating again. “Do I look like a myth?”
“You look like a dream,” Max said.
She rolled her eyes. “How old are you?”
“Nearly two hundred years.”
She went silent.
“Tell me your name,” Max said. “My name is Maxim of Riga. I was born—”
“I don’t need to know anything about you,” the woman said. “And you don’t need to know my name.”
“Why?” He’d beg if she asked. She was the most beautiful—the most hopeful—thing Max had ever seen. “Are the Irina returning?”
“We never left.”
“You did,” he whispered. “I had no mother. No aunts. No sisters. I’ve never even felt an Irina’s touch. How can you say you never left?”
She looked up. “You’ve never felt an Irina’s touch?”
Max’s cheeks flushed. “Of course I haven’t.”
She looked him up and down, her eyes wide. “So you’ve never—”
“That’s none of your business.” He grew irritated with her stubbornness. “Contact with human women is not sanctioned by the Watchers’ Council. It’s too dangerous.”
Not that he’d been wholly obedient. Max gave lip service to the Watchers’ Council, but he was far from a model scribe. Much could be accomplished with a willing woman and a pair of gloves.
“The Watchers’ Council,” she muttered. “Mandating even the sex lives of their scribes since 1810.”
“Someone must have control,” Max said. “Or we will turn into the monsters we hunt. We no longer have our Irina.”
“We were never yours.” Her eyes flashed. “Your council forgot that, didn’t they?”
“At least they didn’t run.”
She pounded a fist on the table. “Don’t lecture me about running.”
He leaned forward, unafraid of her anger. “What is your name?”
“Why do you need to know?”
“Because…” He didn’t have a reason. “I just need to know. I won’t tell anyone about seeing you. I will vow it on my mother’s name, if you wish. I won’t tell anyone you killed those boys.”
“Those boys had two human girls in that room with them,” she said. “I don’t know why you thought they were innocents, because I saw them. They were looking at those girls as if they were dinner and the girls were more than happy to go along with it. I saved their lives.”
“I believe you.”
“Who was that Grigori with you? Why were you talking to him?”
“He claimed to be living a peaceful life,” Max said. “He said it’s possible to live without violence if the angel who fathered you is dead.”
“You don’t seem like a fool. You don’t believe him, do you?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Max said. “The older Grigori was different. As for the younger men, I suspect that fresh temptation was too much to resist, no matter what their training. Their brother said they hadn’t been around human women before, and when that level of temptation exists…”
Max stared at the hand that rested on the table. Her fingers were long and delicate, but there were calluses there. She fought with the staff and the dagger. A lethal female of his own race. Could there be anything more tempting? Max’s confusion over the events of the evening was quickly being overtaken by fascination for the woman before him.
She saw him staring. Slowly she turned her palm up.
Max’s heart beat faster. He reached out a hand but drew it back and planted it palm down on the table.
“Go ahead,” she said softly.
“Are you sure?”
She reached over and grabbed his hand, knitting their fingers together a second before the sheer energy of her magic punched through Max.
He gasped and held on tightly. “Heaven above.”
“I haven’t touched one of the brothers at our compound in some time,” she said softly. “This helps me too.”
Because Irina channeled the soul voices of the world, they needed contact with Irin to leach off energy. Irin males absorbed it, making themselves stronger and steadier. Touching this Irina was like being hit with a punch of magic that warmed Max from the inside out.
He lifted her hand and pressed her palm to his cheek, closing his eyes as he leaned into her touch.
“Tell me your name,” he whispered. “Please.”
“Renata. My name is Renata.” Her pulse pounded against his cheek. “What are you doing?”
Heaven above, he was kissing her wrist. The need had been instinctive. Max pulled back but kept his hand over hers, still pressing it to his cheek, afraid she’d take away the life and heat he’d given her. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Her eye
s were wary, but her lips were flushed. Renata’s thumb reached over and brushed over Max’s lips, making him shudder. “This is the first touch you’ve felt,” she said softly.
Skin to skin? Irin to Irina? Max nodded.
“What do you see when you look at me, Maxim of Riga?”
“You’re beautiful,” Max said. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You’re powerful. Dangerous.”
“Does that threaten you?”
“No. It turns me the fuck on,” he muttered.
Her pulse beat faster and her eyes locked on his lips. She was vital and alive and wanted him as much as he wanted her. He saw it in her eyes.
He asked, “When was the last time—”
“None of your business.”
Too long. That was what her heartbeat was saying. She hadn’t once tried to pull away from his touch.
Max slid out of the booth, keeping hold of Renata’s hand. He reached in his pocket and left far too much money on the table before he pulled Renata out the door and up the dark stairs. When they reached the top, he turned into a quiet alleyway and pushed her against the wall of the inn, grasping her hips and squeezing as he brought his mouth down to hers.
His lips hovered over hers. “I’ve never kissed before.” Kissing without skin contact was pointless.
Renata smiled. “I’ll be gentle.” She brushed her lips over his. Once. Twice.
“That’s enough of that,” Max muttered. He angled his head and sank his teeth into her full lower lip.
Renata gasped, then took his mouth in a ravenous kiss that matched the hunger he felt.
There you are.
Max lifted her against the wall, and Renata wrapped her long legs around his hips, pulling him closer. Her arms went around his shoulders, and the hair on the nape of his neck rose at her touch. The hilts of her silver blades dug into his chest, and Max’s talesm came alive, glowing silver in the darkness.
There you are.
Chapter Three
Bergen, Norway
2005
Renata paused in the hallway outside her flat; the distinctive scent and magic she sensed was unmistakable.
Fucking Maxim.
She turned the knob and walked into the apartment, dropping her bag by the front door.
Max was stretched on the futon, his long legs hanging over the end. His arms were folded behind his head and he was grinning.
She wanted to slap him. And sink her teeth into his bicep. This was not an uncommon reaction to Max.
“What are you doing here?”
“How was your trip, darling?” His smug smile never wavered.
“How did you find this place?” She took off her coat and very pointedly did not remove her weapons.
Max swung his legs over the edge and stood in one smooth movement. He was astonishingly graceful for a large man, and it drove her crazy to watch him move. Watching him fight was even more of a turn-on. He knew it and he used it.
Which also drove her crazy.
“You told me I’d never find your home,” he said. “You can’t say things like that and not expect me to search for you.”
Her secrets were not only about pride. The haven where her community of sisters lived was not that far away. Yes, it was hidden in a valley farther north and guarded by old and powerful magic, but even being in the same country felt too close. Too intrusive. Not unlike Max.
“This thing we have,” she said quietly. “It is not a relationship.”
“The hell it isn’t.” His smile died. “You can tell yourself that if it makes you feel better, but we both know the truth.”
“It’s not a relationship,” she said. “And it’ll stop being anything at all unless you back off.”
His eyes flashed. “I can see you didn’t kill quite enough Grigori on this hunting trip. Need to burn off some energy?”
“Fuck off.” She unstrapped her weapons and hung them in the entryway before she locked the deadbolts on her door and set the alarm. How the hell had he broken in? She’d stopped trying to figure out how Max did anything a few years before. He had skills and contacts she didn’t know about, and she refused to ask. Asking only made whatever this was feel more real. More intimate. More permanent.
It wasn’t. Her reshon was dead. She wasn’t looking for a mate. Max could never compare to Balien.
But Renata knew part of her anger stemmed from the gratitude she felt seeing him. She was tired. Worn out. And part of her was happy to not walk into an empty flat. She wasn’t going to tell him that.
She slept with Max because he was a skilled lover, and Renata knew both of them needed some level of connection. She even considered him a friend. But that was all. That was all it was ever going to be.
She went to the kitchen and filled the electric kettle. She’d flown into Bergen from Aberdeen and hadn’t even bothered to get her car from long-term parking. She was too tired. She’d taken a cab to her apartment and spent most of the short drive home thinking about her bed.
And possibly thinking about a strong pair of arms to hold her, but the last she’d heard, Max had been in Istanbul.
She didn’t go there. He wasn’t supposed to come here. Those were the rules, and he’d broken them.
Renata felt him come into the kitchen. Max’s energy was unmistakable, and her betraying body responded. She braced her hand on the counter when he came behind her. Without a word, he brushed her long hair away from her neck and started kissing her. She angled her head to the side and let the tension and manic energy drain from her body into his. He licked and scraped his teeth against her skin, sucking on the spot that sent her pulse racing. His arms came around her, one heavy hand palming her breast as the other went low on her belly and pressed her body into his. She felt his arousal as he unbuckled her belt.
“Let me,” he whispered. “You need it.”
She nodded wordlessly, and his hand slid beneath her panties. She gasped and clutched the edge of the counter when his fingers found her wet and swollen.
“Fast now.” He bit her neck and squeezed her breast. “Slow later.”
“Yes.”
He brought her to mind-shattering orgasm before the kettle boiled.
Max turned Renata around when she could barely stand. His kiss was long and lazy. “Go lie down,” he said. “Get out of those clothes, and I’ll make the tea.”
She nodded and did what he said. If she was less exhausted, she’d be more angry at his high-handed orders, but she simply didn’t have it in her. She was emotionally and physically wrung out.
She went to the bedroom and shut the heavy drapes, dropping her clothes on the floor before she tumbled into bed and let her eyes close.
Safe. When Max was with her, she knew she’d be able to sleep. Knew that if the monsters came knocking, he could kill them even faster than she could.
She didn’t tell him that either.
A few minutes later, he brought a cup of tea in and set it on the bedside table. He stripped off his shirt and pants. His boxers were tossed on top of her clothes. Then he drew back the sheet and slid into bed beside her.
“Come here,” Max said, hooking her leg over his hip. He was already hard when he kissed her. She could feel the length of him pressing against her. She was half-asleep, but she wanted him. She wanted to fall asleep with his weight on her.
“Fuck me,” she murmured, guiding him into her body. She let out a groan of relief when his hips bucked against hers. He was seated to the hilt, his muscled arms caging her in, his massive shoulders blocking everything from her sight except him. Only Max.
“I’m not fucking you,” he whispered in her ear. He moved in steady rhythm, and his weight pressed her into the bed. “That’s not what this is.”
She didn’t argue. He was going to make her come again. She hovered on the edge.
“You know what this is,” Max said. “You know what we are.”
She cried out when she orgasmed and let the tears come when he finally groaned his own r
elease and lowered himself beside her. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and didn’t say a word when he tucked his face into her neck. Max’s arm fell over her torso, and he let out a long breath.
“Sleep,” he whispered. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
They wouldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to end it even though she knew she should. No matter how many Grigori she killed, she still felt dead inside. She was hollow, and she needed him too much.
Cardiff, Wales
2010
She picked up her phone on the second ring, but all she heard was silence.
“Max?”
There was nothing but ragged breath on the other end of the line.
“Max, what’s wrong?” Renata stood, leaving the table where a map of the city was spread out. She ignored the confused stares of her companions. She was working on a job with two Irina from North Wales, hoping to exterminate a nest of Grigori that was running a hostel in the mountains where young women were going missing.
She walked out of the room and up the stairs of the narrow house they’d rented. “I’m alone. What’s going on? Where are you?”
“I’m not hurt.” His voice was rough. “I just… I needed to hear your voice.”
“Where are you?”
“It’s not important,” he whispered. “Are you safe?”
Renata took a deep breath. “You have to stop asking that.”
It had become a bad habit in the past couple of years. Max never used to ask her about her jobs. She’d tell him or she wouldn’t. He didn’t ask what she was doing or where she was going. A few times a year, one of them would text the other. When they needed to, they would meet. That was all that was allowed. Sometimes they went over a year without seeing each other, though that was more Renata’s stubbornness than anything Max wanted.
“I know how to take care of myself,” Renata said. “You know that.”
“I just lost a friend.” His voice was hard. “Indulge me.”
Her senses went on alert. “Where are you?”
“Oslo. Are you in Bergen?”
Damn. “No, I’m in the UK.”
“Where?”
The Storm Page 4