The Storm

by Elizabeth Hunter

  But Mala had transformed that wall. She’d smoothed the cracks into gentle ripples and covered the blood with bright paint. She’d turned the room of horrors into a place of peace by capturing the beauty of the mountains around them. She’d filled it with creation instead of death. The children and animals sprang to life in the dark cave, so vibrant they’d inspired a small artist to copy small pieces of them with childish hands.

  Renata’s emotions ricocheted between anger and wonder.

  Who had invaded this place?

  The mural was so beautiful. So peaceful.

  Was it a child? How had a child gotten into the caves?

  She needed to thank Mala, but thanks wasn’t enough.

  Did one of the renters—

  “We really do make the best team,” Max said quietly from the door.

  Renata lifted her eyes to him and he blocked the glare of her flashlight. He was wearing a pair of linen pants and nothing else. She dropped the beam to his feet and ignored the instant surge of lust his exposed body provoked. Her emotions were running high.

  “Did you see this earlier?” she asked.

  “Yes. It’s what I wanted to show you.”

  “You should have insisted.”

  “I would have, but you were in full avoidance mode. I thought it would be better to wait.”

  She left it alone because he was right and she didn’t want to admit it.

  “Bread,” Renata said. “It smelled like bread in the corridor.”

  “I noticed it too.” Max stepped into the room and set a lamp on the table. The low light illuminated the room, bringing harsh shadows to soft light. “Did Mala paint this?”

  “She must have.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Renata didn’t look at the mural again. If she looked at it, her heart would break open and she didn’t—couldn’t—do that again. Her grief would bury her. Bury them. “Do you think one of the renters might have broken in?”

  “Possibly.” Max looked around. “These tunnels are too well ventilated not to have some network of side passages.”

  “They do. There’s an extensive network of caverns, but I thought we’d blocked the entrances.”

  “Perhaps a child could still fit through.”

  “And the scent of bread?”

  Max shrugged. “Renata, you know as much as I do. It’s the middle of the night and it’s snowing again. If anyone is in these caverns tonight, they must desperately need shelter. Why don’t we go to bed and we’ll look more in the morning?”

  “I won’t be able to sleep.”

  Max held out his hand. “Come with me.”

  She didn’t want to leave, but she knew staying in the mural room would only break her open. And that did not need to happen. Especially not with Max around. She took his hand, and Max picked up the lamp, guiding them out of the corridor and through the library. He secured the iron lock when they made it back to the house, then handed her the lamp.

  “Hold this.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t answer, just walked into the music room without her. He returned carrying an old guitar.

  “Do you play?” Renata was shocked. She hadn’t known that about him.

  “A little. I only know a few songs. You can’t sleep? I’ll see if my bad playing can make you drift off from boredom.”

  She doubted that. Renata loved music, but she didn’t like to admit it. The thought of Maxim playing…

  “You’re thoughtful,” she said. “That should bore me in no time.”

  “I aim to please.”

  He played, but it wasn’t boring or amateurish. It was beautiful.

  “You’ve played a long time.”

  “No. Yes.” He shook his head. “I played a long time ago. My grandfather taught me. It was the only thing he taught me other than how to throw an ax.”

  “He raised you.”

  “He fed us. Protected us. But… he was quite shattered by his daughters’ deaths. My mother and Leo’s were twin sisters and his only children. He thought we’d all died for a long time.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “We were only babies during the Rending. Both of us were born the same summer. When our village was attacked, everyone died. Or so the scribe house in Riga thought. We were gone for two years after the Rending, and then… we weren’t. Someone left us at the scribe house, and my grandfather was notified. Leo’s father returned from Russia a few years later—we’d all thought he died too—but he never really spoke again. He taught us to fight. He was… frightening. As frightening as Leo is gentle. But my grandfather stayed with us. Sometimes I think he was afraid of what my uncle would do if he wasn’t there.”

  “There were no Irina?”

  Max shook his head and began plucking the strings in a delicate tune.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “A Russian folk song.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  The ghost of a smile on his face. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Your mother and your aunt? You don’t remember anything? Where were you for two years? Who took care of you?”

  “I remember someone playing guitar.” He smiled. “But after the Rending? I remember a little. Or I think I do. I’m not certain.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “Fear.” He stopped playing. “Screaming. Then silence. A lot of silence. Leo and I were in a dark place. I think someone must have hidden us somewhere. I remember the cold. It was cold at night, even in the summer. I dream about a boy with silver hair and gold eyes. I don’t know if they’re memories or dreams. Or visions. Wolves in the snow and a boy with gold eyes sitting by a fire, feeding us milk.”

  “Gold eyes could mean—”

  “Kareshta?” He started playing again. “I thought of that after I learned of their existence. Kareshta would have been able to care for us without hurting themselves like humans would, but I’m quite certain it’s a boy in my dreams. So I don’t know what to think.”

  Renata’s mind whirled with the possibilities.

  “I don’t have many distinct memories of my childhood after that. We were raised in the scribe house because there was no other place to keep us. So we were always around warriors with my grandfather and my uncle. Neither of them are talkative men. I know next to nothing about my mother or my aunt.”

  Max started playing again, and Renata watched him silently. The song was a low, aching ballad. His fingers plucked the strings delicately, matching the mournful, crying wind of the storm. He’d never put a shirt back on, so her eyes feasted on him as he played. He was a banquet of rippling muscle and smooth skin turned gold in the lamplight. His eyes were closed as he played, and his top teeth gripped his bottom lip in concentration.

  He was so beautiful it made her heart ache.

  What would it be like to remember so little? To carry an empty pack through your life? Would it be a light journey or a lonely one?

  Max paused. “I think what I’m most afraid of in this life is that I will get to the end of it—die in battle or just from exhaustion—and have no memories of home.”

  Renata’s voice was hardly a whisper. “I have memories, but they bring me no joy.”

  His voice hardened. “Is that why I’m so angry with you, Reni? You know what home is, and you reject it. You played for years—showing me peeks of a life with you—then you passed judgment. You told me what we had wasn’t good enough. ‘Move on, Maxim. You’ll never compare to what I lost.’”

  Chapter Six

  Max propped the guitar in the corner and walked to Renata. She didn’t want to sleep? Fine.

  He pulled her to her knees on the bed and grasped her hip in one hand and her neck in the other. His kiss landed on her lips with the force of the wind battering the house. She met his passion with her own, wrapping her arms around his waist and sliding her hands down into the back of his pants, gripping his buttocks and bringing his hips to meet hers.

  Max
shoved Renata back on the bed and fell on top of her, searching for skin. She was still covered in a flannel nightdress and he hated it. Hated everything that kept her body from meeting his skin. Hated the distance between them. Her stubbornness. His resentment. Max sat back and grasped the bottom of the nightdress, shoving it up Renata’s body.

  “Get rid of it.”

  She pulled the flannel over her head and then she was his, lying before him, a dream of dark hair and long legs. Her reddish-brown hair splayed across the pillow. Her eyes were heavy and her lips already swollen from his kiss.

  “I’m going to look at you,” he said. “It’s been two years, ten months, and four days since I’ve had the pleasure of it.”

  “You’re—”

  “Hard as iron?” He grasped his erection. “That’s not going anywhere.” He ran his palms from her knees up to her hips. “You, on the other hand, have a tendency to disappear.”

  Max lifted her ankle to his shoulder and scraped his teeth on the tender skin behind her knee. She always jumped when he did that, and this night was no different. She reached for him, but he batted her hand away and pressed down on her belly, keeping her immobile as she lay before him. He played his tongue along her leg, up her thigh, tasting the arousal hidden by the soft hair between her thighs, but only long enough to leave her twisting. Then he spread her legs and kissed his way up her body.

  “Max—”

  “Quiet,” he said in a low voice as he shoved her knees open and settled between her thighs. “Did you miss me, Renata?” He guided himself into her body as her hips arched up and she let out a low gasp. “Did you miss this?” He seated himself to the hilt inside her, thrusting into her as he held her knee up, opening her body to him. “Did you?”

  “Yes,” she hissed. Renata closed her eyes, her face a mask of tension and pleasure.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She obeyed him. Renata’s eyes met his, her gaze swimming in hunger, heat, and anger. She dug her nails into his buttocks, pulling him harder into her body with each thrust.

  “Lisitsa,” he said with a grim smile. “Don’t you know I like your teeth?”

  “Shut up.”

  “No.” He took her mouth again, biting her lower lip as he rode her. He ground into her body, searching for the telltale signs she was near her climax. The hitched breath. The cry. The tightening of her body around him and the way her fingers dug into the small of his back.

  He had been her lover for eighteen years. He knew every sign. Every tell.

  “Don’t look away from me,” he said when she closed her eyes. “Don’t try to hide.”

  She was the first and only woman he had ever dreamed about, the only one he obsessed over. Again and again, he returned to her, even when she pushed him away. Since the return of the Irina, there were others who had approached him, but none had been her equal.

  He felt her climax approaching and he slowed his thrusts, smiling when she beat his shoulders.

  “Don’t you dare!” she commanded him. “Faster.”

  Max bent down and bit her shoulder as he picked up the pace, twisting his hips when he heard her cry out. She was so close.

  “Maxim.” She panted his name. “Please.”

  He could feel his talesm rising. Feel the magic thick in the air around them. If she were his mate, her marks would be glowing too. Their power would intertwine in this moment, and he would see his vow written over her heart, see his marks glow on her body. But the only mark she bore was that of her intended mate—a simple, spare circle on her forehead.

  Max braced himself over Renata and let instinct take control of his body. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the pleasure. There was no thought. No calculation. He felt his release gathering. It was a wave, rising and cresting.

  Her back arched when she came, and she cried out his name. He opened his eyes to watch her. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Relief? Pleasure?

  Max didn’t know, but he gave in to it, capturing her mouth as his climax crested and crashed. Renata captured his guttural cry and swallowed it, her hand grasping the back of his neck to keep their mouths fused together.

  Needing air, he pulled away. Max pressed his forehead against hers, to the mark another man had drawn. A mark that still glowed when he made love to her.

  “Maxim,” she whispered, panting. “Max, I—”

  “How long did he love you?” Max closed his eyes. “Two years? The blink of an eye. I’ve loved you so much longer.”

  She froze beneath him, their bodies still linked.

  “How many times did you cry out his name when he brought you pleasure? Not as many times as you’ve shouted mine.”

  “Stop it.” Her voice was cold.

  Max opened his eyes and saw the tears coursing down her cheeks, but his heart was raw. “Am I good enough yet? Have I loved you enough? Or am I only good for this?” He bucked his hips against hers. “Because nothing will ever compare to a reshon you loved and lost.”

  He knew he’d hurt her, but the look in her eyes was only a shadow of the pain he’d felt when she rejected him in Vienna. When she’d told him his love wasn’t real, it had gutted him.

  Max couldn’t take any more. He lifted off her body and wrapped a sheet around his waist as Renata scrambled to cover herself. The pleasure was hollow. He’d lost his temper and been too honest. Too rough. She’d probably never let him touch her again.

  Maybe that was all right.

  “I’m going outside for a smoke,” he said. “Don’t worry; I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Max sat on the covered porch that wrapped around the house. Heavy boards were nailed along the railings, creating a buffer from the wind and harsh snow. The storm that had picked up earlier in the evening had cleared, though Max could see more dark clouds over the far ridge. For the moment, the air was crisp and clear and the moon was full, glittering over the fresh snow in the meadow.

  He sat on a log bench and blew out a stream of smoke from the cigarettes he’d bought in Milan. They were a fancy variety and an indulgence. He didn’t smoke often, but the scent reminded him of his grandfather’s pipe tobacco, and it was welcome on the cold night.

  If the weather was clear, he’d hike down the mountain in the morning.

  He was a fool.

  Renata had dug into her anger and grief like the ancient singers had dug into the mountain. It was part of her, and he was only an amusement. He’d never be enough for her, because she’d tasted life with her reshon. Making love to him probably felt like a shadow of the connection they’d had, even if it was life changing for Max.

  Yes, he was a fool. A fool for loving Renata for so long when she didn’t want to be loved. A fool for pursuing her across continents and up the side of a mountain. He should have believed her eighteen years ago and cut his losses. Maybe if he’d done that, he’d have found a mate who wanted him instead of a lover who tolerated him.

  Maybe some griefs you simply didn’t recover from. Perhaps some lives were lost, even if the bodies stayed breathing. Renata had always felt so alive to him. Passionate and angry and joyous and fierce. But maybe he was only seeing what he needed to see and not what was actually there.

  Max heard Renata’s footsteps on the stairs and knew from the speed and the hard stomp that she was angry. Furious.

  He rose and turned toward the door a second before she flung it open.

  “Fuck you!” she yelled, stepping onto the porch. “I’ve never once thought of Balien when we were making love. So fuck you, Maxim!”

  His eyes went wide. “Get inside,” he yelled.

  “No!”

  “You’re going to freeze to death.” He flicked his cigarette into the snow and picked her up. “Are you insane?”

  “Put me down,” she yelled. “I was born in these mountains, and I’m not going to freeze. I’m not some delicate lowland—”

  “It is below freezing out here and there is more snow coming.” He rushed her into the house and kicked the ki
tchen door closed. Then he took her to the fire and grabbed a woolen throw from the back of the couch. “You’re insane.”

  “And you’re an ass.”

  “So you’ve told me many times.”

  “You think you can throw all that on me and I’m just supposed to take it?”

  He grabbed another blanket. “Shut up and get closer to the fire.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. You’re naked.”

  “I have a sheet on. Just like you did when you walked out on me upstairs. Just like you walked out on me in Vienna.”

  He sat back on his heels, mouth gaping. “Walked out on you?”

  She muttered, “You were sitting out there brooding and thinking about ways to get down the mountain just now, weren’t you?”

  “You told me in Vienna that I didn’t know what love was and I’d never compare to your lost reshon. Was I supposed to stick around after that?”

  “You were supposed to find someone else!” Her eyes flashed. “You were supposed to find someone better, Max. I don’t want to rob you of the chance to—”

  “What? Find my reshon? This shit again?”

  “It’s not shit, and the fact that you think it is—”

  “I don’t want some mythical woman who might not even exist!” He rose and gripped his hair. “Don’t you understand that? What about us is so horrible?”

  “That’s not—”

  “We laugh together. We fight together. I adore your cooking and think the fact that you have the patience of a gnat is hilarious, even when it drives me crazy. I love that you like a snowstorm more than a beach and you consider dagger fighting a sport. I love that you are fiercely compassionate and protective of your sisters. I love you! I love everything about you, even the parts that make me insane.”

  “You say that because you don’t know. You deserve—”

  “I deserve you.” He caged her on the sofa with his arms. “Because you’re the one I want. I don’t need anyone else. And I know you love me too.” He leaned in. “I know you do. That’s what makes me so damn crazy.”