by Patti Larsen
His heartbeat comes from behind the dark wood, his scent stronger than ever. I taste him in the back of my throat, feel the warmth of his skin under my hands as my wolf’s attempts to smother him fail catastrophically and she finally gives in, her own sorrow thick in my chest. It is impossible that Sage is here.
And yet, Sage is here.
I don't knock, slipping the portal open. The shower is running, the sound of water splashing from beyond the narrow door at the other side of the room giving me a brief reprieve. I pull the main door shut behind me, lean against it, rigid and frozen. This is bad, so very bad. I need to send him away before anyone sees him or figures out who he is.
The shower shuts off, the loss of sound breaking my stillness. I hear the rustle of a towel, a glass shower door rattle, a bare foot pad onto carpet. I'm so in tune with him, my senses so focused, I hear the swipe of the fabric on his skin as he wipes himself dry, the soft thud as he drops the wet towel into the stall and closes the glass shower door.
I wait at the end of the bed, so tense I feel I'll fly to pieces the moment he appears, warring with love and need versus anger and terror. I will hug him and kiss him and carry his body down onto the bed. No, I must force him to pack and leave at once.
The bathroom door opens, steam escaping in a soft rush of white, his scent—that beloved scent of his—hitting me like the locomotive of a steam train. I sway as his green eyes lift, shock on his face turning to a big grin I love so very much. He's dressed only in jeans, barefooted, tall body gleaming damply in the light. My hands itch to touch him, and I almost give in as he closes the distance between us, dark hair hanging wet over his forehead.
Someone knocks, snapping me free of his spell. I move rapidly, rushing to the exit, easing it open a fraction to catch Maksym's worried eyes.
“Are you okay?” He tries to see past me, but I push the door further closed, only the barest crack remaining.
“Stay out,” I whisper. “Give me a moment.”
Maks retreats as I turn back, the door thudding shut under the weight of my shoulders as I press myself against it and stare at Sage. He's stopped moving, a little frown on his handsome face, his jaw jumping like it does when he's confused and upset. But his eyes are as kind as ever, his sea-green gaze making me feel weak when I need to be strong.
“Charlie.” He doesn't come toward me, just raises one hand, palm up, fingers open and welcoming me.
“What are you doing here?” The words are hissing, spiteful, though I never intended them to be.
Sage stiffens, hand still offered. “I told you,” he said. “I was tired of Wilding Springs. Thought I'd do some traveling.”
I shake my head, flabbergasted and angry, while the girl in me who loves him is so glad he's here. “How did you find me?” I didn't tell him, did I? Was I really that stupid I let it slip where I lived?
Sage shrugs, crosses to the bed and his open backpack. He pulls on a t-shirt, the soft fabric sliding over his muscles while my heart begs me to stop him, to leave that perfect body exposed just a little longer. Something to remember.
“You gave me enough information along the way,” he says. “I have a friend who's Ukrainian, so I recognized your accent when I heard it. And you mentioned Yutsk once.”
Damn it, I did? I'm such a fool.
“Googling you did the rest.” Sage slips his hands into his back pockets and watches me with hooded eyes. “I couldn't just let you run away from me, Charlotte. Not when I know you love me as much as I love you.”
I shake my head, a desperate gesture. How can he speak of love when he doesn't know who I really am? “You have to go.” I rush forward, start stuffing things back into his backpack, the scent of him rising from his clothing as I handle each piece with savage intensity. “It's not safe for you here.”
“Charlotte.” He comes to stand next to me, still not touching me. His voice is soft, full of calm. “I already know about your ties to the Russian mafia. I'm not afraid.”
I look up at him in shock, find him only inches from me, full lips parted, green eyes full of love.
The mafia. He thinks that's the only thing he has to worry about.
“You have no idea what I am.” I gasp a breath as he pulls one hand free and runs his fingers through my hair, gently, sliding down the free length of it. I remember then I’ve grown it long for him, my natural blonde his favorite.
“I don't care,” he says.
“You should.” I step back from him, needing to sob, to hold him. My old training hardens me enough I'm able to hold off, to escape his proximity. “What I am can get you killed.”
“So tell me.” He takes a step and I back away another, a dance of desperation. “Whatever it is, I can take it, Charlie.”
“We can't. We can't be together.” I head for the door, not knowing what to do, but certain the longer he stays here, the more dangerous things will become. If Oleksander finds out about Sage... and the Dumonts. I freeze in my tracks, mouth flooding with saliva as my stomach rebels. What if Andre finds out Sage has been looking for me? And uncovers who he is to me?
I have to get Sage out of here.
The door opens just before I reach it and Maks enters. He's found clothing, a dark trench and jeans, though his chest is bare underneath.
“Your Highness,” he says in Ukrainian. “Tell me what you want me to do with him.”
Sage's gasp turns me around. He's staring at me like he doesn't know me. Well, he doesn't, does he?
“You're a princess?” So he knows more of my language than he let on. I grind my teeth together, turning back to Maks. “Clear the way,” I say. “I have to sneak him out of here before anyone sees him.”
“That might not be possible.” Maks shudders. I feel his were rising and crush him with my power. Sage cannot see our true face. I will not expose him to this. Maksym bows his head to me before meeting my eyes again, his fear intense.
“Tell me.” I feel Sage moving, catch him out of the corner of my eye. He's watching us, listening. I need to be careful what I say.
“The Dumonts are here,” Maks says in a low whisper. “And so is Caine.”
***
Chapter Twenty
My immediate reaction takes even me by surprise. “Against pack rules?” I hiss the words at the last moment, remembering Sage. “Oleksander expressly forbid it.”
Maks nods, miserable. “I know,” he says. “Should I return to the palace and inform him?”
I could reach out to my grandfather from this distance, but it would alert the Dumonts and Caine I am in the building. Though Caine can track me by scent, so he probably already knows I'm here. I need to confront him, but how do I do that without putting Sage in danger? Do the Dumonts know he's been asking about me?
“Stay here.” I glare at Sage who glares back. “Don't let him out of your sight.”
“I can't let you do this alone,” Maks says as the door eases open and Isabelle slips through. Her eyes widen as she sees Sage, her slim body shimmering slightly, though I hope my normal ex-boyfriend misses it. She leans in, the three of us cutting Sage out as he crosses his arms over his chest and snorts his irritation.
“Fine,” I say to Maks. “Isabelle, I need you to get Sage packed and out the back door before anyone sees him.”
She glances at Sage and nods. “I'll do what I can,” she says. “But there is an easier way.” Her hands flutter in front of her.
“No,” I whisper, barely audible. “He can't know.”
“I could ensure he won't.” Her eyes flare with spirit power. “There are ways.”
“No biting.” Unreasonable protectiveness surges. “Just do it the old fashioned way. I'll keep Caine and the Dumonts busy until you can get him out of town.”
“I'm not going anywhere.” Sage's voice interrupts. I spin on him with a snarl which he ignores. “That's what you're planning, isn't it? Sneaking me out of the hotel and away before what?” He exchanges looks with all of us. “Before the royal guards show up and
kick my ass or something?”
The memory of Caine following me in Wilding Springs hits me like a bolt of lightning. Caine already knows about Sage, or if he doesn't specifically, he will make the connection the moment he sees him. I can't take that risk. Maybe Isabelle's plan is the best one after all.
But no, Sage is innocent and no matter the intentions, the bite of a vampire leaves a mark on the soul. I won't have him tainted by magic if I can help it.
“Just hurry,” I say to Isabelle before firmly facing Sage. “I've never asked you to do anything,” I say. “But I'm begging you, now. Go. Before it's too late.”
He sags after a brief attempt at stubborn bullishness. “Charlotte...”
“Please.” He has to understand or he's dead. Maybe my grandfather won't kill him, but Caine will, I have no doubt. And now, thanks to my handling of his clothing, the California wereleader will smell Sage on me. I'm a fool and an idiot and in over my head with Sage. What was I thinking?
The handsome normal finally nods, dropping his arms from their fold across his chest. “I just wanted to see you again,” he says.
“I know.” I shiver, uncontrolled shaking I finally suppress with magic. “I'm sorry it has to be this way. But it does.” Maks backs off as I turn to the door and ease it open. “Go with Isabelle. And Sage.” I meet his eyes for the last time, see and feel his sadness, because it's my own. “You can never, ever come back here. And we can never see each other again.”
I leave the room with Maks at my back before Sage can argue. At least, I imagine he would have argued, though I clearly saw and felt he'd given up.
I'm so intent on Sage's safety, I almost miss the hurried approach of the two witches who pin me just outside Sage's door. Nataliya and Fedir Makosky are both clearly upset, the coven leader shaking with pent-up anger.
“Your Highness.” She bobs a quick curtsy to me. “Forgive me, but I must speak with you.”
What now? I can feel movement in the room behind me, know it will only be a matter of moments before Isabelle emerges with Sage.
“Of course,” I say, trying to lead the pair further down the hall. But Nataliya is too angry to accept my gentle hand on her arm.
“We have enjoyed a strong relationship with you and your people in the last five years.” Nataliya's black-painted fingernails click together as she clasps her hands together. Fedir hovers behind her, looking sick and a little afraid.
“We have,” I say. “And we are grateful for that relationship.”
“Then why,” Nataliya says, voice rising, “do you allow such abhorrent behavior from your pack members?” The shrill tone to her voice carries down the hall and to the stairs. I wince and try to shush her, but she is wound up. “They have no right to treat us with such rudeness and disdain, nor to bring unwarranted battles in supposed fights of honor.”
I stare at her in blank incomprehension a moment, too many things in my mind to figure out what she is talking about. Until I catch a whiff of Caine and understand.
“Coven leader Makosky,” I say in a growling voice, “I assure you, anyone who has spoken ill to you or your people will suffer the consequences.” Maybe this is the means to my end. If Nataliya complains to Oleksander, it might add weight and send Caine packing. “I will take care of the offenders personally if you are willing to take your complaint to my grandfather.”
Her attitude shifts immediately, from anxious anger to relief as she released her hands and gripped mine. “I knew it had to be a misunderstanding,” she said. “Or a stray act of arrogance. I didn't wish to act against them personally when several of my people were attacked. The werewolf’s claims the fights were provoked are clear lies. My people would never do such a thing against yours. But I will not tolerate werewolves tormenting or abusing my coven members again, not after one of the young witches involved lost an eye during a fight. King Oleksander will hear of this immediately if that will put an end to the issue.”
“How long has this been going on?” Caine has only been with us a short time.
“Several days,” Nataliya says with a huff of irritation. “I was about to speak to his majesty when they disappeared. But they are back and my patience is gone.”
Days? What were they doing here in Yutsk for several days when the palace was so close? New anxiety wakes in me as I think of Caine and his pack. There is much more to them than I imagined at first, I'm sure of it now. And I can't help but believe they are a threat to me and my grandfather.
Want to believe. No difference.
“My grandfather and I hold you in the highest regard,” I say. “Forgive us for not being aware of this problem.”
Nataliya's fingers caress my hand. “It's not your fault, my dear,” she says. “And I really didn't want to create trouble.” I do like the kind coven leader. She reminds me a little of Syd's mother, Miriam, though much less forceful. “We debated contacting Femke and the Council, but I wanted to bring it to you first.” She only then seems to notice what door we stand outside, her eyes widening. “The young man asking about you,” she says. “Should I have sent him away?”
I shake my head with a sigh. “But if you could keep his presence here quiet,” I say, “I would be most grateful.”
Nataliya pats my hand and lets me go. “We both have problems to deal with,” she says, a sparkle returning to her eyes. “You care for mine, and I will ensure yours doesn't leave this hotel.”
From my horrified expression, she must know I worry she's suggesting something permanent. “I only mean,” she says as the door eases open and Isabelle peeks out, “your secret is safe with me.”
I trust her and her coven. “Thank you,” I say.
Isabelle and Sage exit the doorway, his huge backpack strapped over his shoulders. He won't look at me, head down, and I keep my distance, putting Nataliya between us. I nod to Isabelle who turns for the back of the hall and the exit stairs to the courtyard.
Just as a door further down the hall opens and Jean Marc and Kristophe step through and my worries multiply a hundredfold.
***
Chapter Twenty One
Isabelle comes to a halt, turning back to meet my eyes. She and Sage stand trapped between the Dumont brothers and my little cluster of weres and witches. I'm frozen, not sure what to do. They are supposed to be gone, banished by my grandfather. I didn’t give the Dumonts another thought, not after Oleksander told them to leave. What are they still doing here? The boys come closer, Jean Marc's cleverness obvious in the tiny smile on his face. He knows something is going on. Kristophe is just along for the ride, as usual, but it's only a matter of time before the second Dumont brother figures things out.
Nataliya stiffens beside me. “Those two,” she spits in Ukrainian. “And their foul father. I would have them leave, as well. Perhaps Femke needs to be notified.”
I nod, my wolf gaining a firm grip on my shock. “Good idea,” I whisper as Jean Marc and Kristophe close in. Isabelle backs up, Sage with her, until we're all one group. Why doesn't she just take him out past the boys? This makes things appear even more suspicious.
“How lovely to see you, Charlotte.” Jean Marc's husky voice stirs old memories I don't have time for right now. While the boys rarely partook of Andre's amusements, when they did, the older of the two was the most enthusiastic.
“Step aside.” I hold his gaze. “Can't you see some guests are trying to leave?”
Jean Marc shrugs while Kristophe looks Sage up and down. “I don't see a problem.”
“I do.” Nataliya's anger is back. “I've had enough. You two pack your things. You are no longer welcome here.” She chops her hands down as though cutting them off.
“Careful, old woman,” Kristophe says with a terrible smile. “Our father warned you about your tone.”
“And I warned him about how the two of you behave outside your own territory.” Her accent is so thick in her rage even I almost miss her words. “Go! Now!”
They push past, roughly, though Jean Marc smiles
down at me with his soullessness clear in his eyes. “Sorry, excuse us.” One of his hands rises to touch my cheek. I wait for it, anticipate it, ready to liberate his arm from his body the moment he has the nerve to actually make contact.
I don't get the chance. Sage lunges for Jean Marc and slaps his hand away, fury and protectiveness radiating from him.
“Don't touch her.” His green eyes darken like an angry sea.
Jean Marc's eyebrow rises as he stops and looks first to Sage, shaking in anger, then to me. I know my face must be white, but I can't help it. Not when understanding flashes on Jean Marc's face. He smiles wider, handsome face ugly with darkness.
“A normal, Charlotte, really.” He tsks softly. “What would your grandfather say?”
My worst nightmare come true. One of my most hated enemies knows the truth and there is nothing I can do about it. Except get Sage out of here and somewhere safe.
But will he ever be safe again? As I look into Jean Marc's black eyes, I know he will make it his mission to find Sage and use him against me. Things could not possibly get any worse.
“Boys.” Andre's voice echoes down the hall, the scent of werewolves reaching me and I know I'm wrong, so very wrong, and that things are about to reach disaster proportions.
Jean Marc looks up and meets his father's eyes as I writhe inside, not knowing what to do. Caine is watching, his grin back, eyes locked on Sage. I know he smells us together, because the scent is all over me, inside me. Andre gestures to his boys, the pair of them joining their father.
“You were told none of our people would serve you.” I have to salvage this somehow, distract them from Sage. Andre shrugs in his expensive cashmere coat while Caine crosses his big arms over his tattooed chest.