From Russia With Fangs

by Jacey Conrad

“Really? You’ve got jokes, now?”

  “I don’t know what to do here, Irina,” he said, stepping forward, placing a hand on the dresser on either side of her hips. “I don’t know what my place is or what you want from me. Irina…”

  Irina looked up into his eyes, biting her lip as she weighed various options. Without warning, she lunged forward, latching onto Viktor’s mouth like a drowning woman. He caught her, shoving her back against the dresser as she ripped off his jacket. He pushed her hips up to balance on the edge of the furniture. He pulled back as he buried his hands into her thick red-gold hair, pulling it loose around her face.

  “Tell me to go,” he told her, breathing hard as he trailed his fingers through the silky strands. “Please, tell me to go. Tell me to take my hands off of you and walk out of this room. And I’ll do it. Please.”

  She practically growled as she yanked him to her, sliding her tongue into his mouth and demanding that it dance with her. She fumbled with the clip of his shoulder holster until he shrugged it off and let the weight of his guns clatter against the floor. He gripped the collar of her blouse and yanked, ripping the fabric to her waist and tossing it aside to reveal a bra constructed of luscious pink silk.

  Irina raised her hips so he could shimmy her skirt down her legs and step between them, wrapping her leg around his waist. He pushed her back ever so slightly so he could feast on her breast, sucking and tugging mercilessly at the nipple through the thin fabric of her bra.

  She pulled at the buttons at his neck, revealing an expanse of tattooed skin. She tentatively touched the tip of her tongue to what looked like the oldest tattoo, the name Zhukovsky with three claw lines, directly over his heart. She could feel his pulse speed even as he pulled her closer. He stroked his fingers over her white lace garter belt, grinning as he watched a vaguely peach-shaped patch of moisture growing on the silk of her panties.

  “You’re leaving the garters on,” he rumbled with heavy-lidded eyes, palming her ass and lifting her off of the dresser long enough to whip her around and drop her on the bed. She bounced, grinning up at him as he undid his belt and dropped his slacks.

  Tossing a foil packet on the striped bedspread, he crawled after her, dropping kisses along her ankle, her knees, her thighs as she settled against the headboard. He put his hands on her hips and tugged, aligning them with the bulge in his boxer briefs. He snapped the front enclosure of her bra, catching the curve of her breast between his teeth. She palmed his heavy length through his shorts, drawing a sharp hiss from him. Her eyes went wide as she drew the shorts past his hips and let it spring free. This was going to hurt in a truly fantastic way.

  She opened the foil packet with her teeth, then circled his cock with her fingers, making him groan into her neck as she slowly pumped him up and down. He kissed her hard, yanking at the sides of her panties until they split and pulled free. She had him sheathed in latex in just a few seconds, rubbing the tip of his cock against her dripping pussy. He flexed his hips every time she neared her clit, giving a filthy grin when she shivered.

  But when he tried to turn her onto her stomach, she resisted, looping her arms around his neck and holding him close. Chuckling, he butted his head against the circle of her arms, pinning her to the bed and mouthing his way down her ribs as he tried to turn her hips over. But she locked her ankles around his waist, a small furrow of irritation wrinkling her brow.

  He frowned, but kissed her again, relishing the sensation of her warm, wet cunt against his thigh. He sat up on his heels, pulling her into his lap. She hovered there, on the knife’s edge, before thrusting down and impaling herself on his cock.

  She practically screamed as Viktor’s flesh parted hers. Her nails bit into his shoulders as she adjusted and stretched around him. He stroked her back and pressed wet, open-mouth kisses along her jaw, waiting patiently for her to be ready. His hands spanned her waist, bracketing her hips and guiding as she moved tentatively up and down. Her tongue swiped across her bottom lip as she surged forward, chasing the sensation of his cock hitting her sweet spot. He pressed her tits together and pulled both nipples into his mouth, groaning at the taste of her salty-sweet skin.

  The more she moved, the wetter she got, dripping down his length and onto the bed. She wanted more. She wanted to come for him again, to feel him inside her when her world came crashing apart.

  Little huffing growls echoed out from his chest and she felt him somehow grow harder. His mouth staying busy at her breasts while his fingers dipped around her hips, finally slipping through to tease her clit at an angle that could only be reached through werewolf flexibility. She cried out as he lightly pinched her nub, scraping long, deep gashes down his back.

  She leaned back, bracing herself against the cradle of his arm, giving the other hand room to play. He circled and teased, timing his thrusts with alternating pressure until she felt a dark, blooming pleasure build inside of her. It spread to her chest, tightening her nipples and exploding up her spine.

  Irina yelled, clutching at his shoulders and spasming around his cock. He tossed his head and howled, so loud she was afraid security would break down their door. She could feel him, the warm rush of cum, spilling into the condom, and for a moment, regretted that she couldn’t know what it felt like to have him bare inside her. No boundaries, no rules, no fear.

  But this was enough for now.

  Irina woke from a deep, restful doze to the rasp of Viktor’s zipper. She turned her head and saw Viktor’s bare, tattooed back ripple as he buttoned his slacks. Irina had the bizarre and paralyzing longing to trace each and every one of those carefully wrought ink designs with her tongue. She sat up, pressing the sheet to her breasts. Her head felt fuzzy and her whole body seemed to ache, but not unpleasantly.

  “How long was I out?” she murmured.

  Viktor turned and his eyes shone bright blue for the breadth of a moment. He closed his eyes and slid onto the bed next to her without turning down the covers. “A couple of hours. It seemed like you needed it.”

  Irina’s lips twitched when she thought of the list of things she needed. She wasn’t sure sleep would be at the top of it.

  “What was that earlier?” he asked. “When I tried, uh…you wouldn’t roll. You’ve been married to a werewolf. I thought…when Mama Anya said that you wouldn’t give your husband children, does that mean that you two never…”

  Irina took a deep breath.

  “No, we did. I mean, he was having sex far more often than I was. And when we did sleep together it was usually, well, it was just brutal sometimes. What Mama Anya didn’t know, because Sergei was too ashamed to admit to anyone, was that I rejected his bite,” she said quietly. “The first time, I don’t even know how I did it. I don’t know if it was unconscious, through force of will, or if Sergei was just too damn weak to mate me properly. But after our wedding night, the bite wouldn’t heal. I had to go to Mama Yaga to ask her to close it. She’d never seen it before. Even unhappy couples can mate. Male bites female, the bite heals into that perfect crescent scar and boom, instant babies. But I couldn’t or wouldn’t. The first year we were married, he bit me over and over, barely allowing me time to heal me up before he bit me again. He said it was my fault. That it was just another way for me to try to embarrass him, he said, to show how stiff-necked and proud a Sudenko could be. It was bad enough he’d gotten the worthless sister, the human, but now I wouldn’t even do my duty and provide him pups? I wanted to make people think he was weak, as if I really had to try.”

  She rolled onto her side to show him her back, covered from her neck to mid-back in dozens of circular raised patterns, tiny pale bumps just barely visible even to his keen eyes. The lower on her back the marks went, the deeper and more vicious the bite. Sergei had used her mercilessly.

  “I don’t enjoy being mounted. If that’s a problem, I’ll understand if you don’t want to do this again.”

  He traced the circles on her skin with his fingertips, then with his tongue. Irina noted that Viktor
didn’t respond, neither assuring her that it wasn’t a problem nor telling her that they were definitely doing this again. She had the sinking suspicion that she was about to receive the “this can never happen again” talk she’d received after their first tryst.

  Viktor silently stroked his fingers along the scars, the warmth of his hand a blissful contrast to the chill of hotel air-conditioning. But to her surprise, didn’t chastise her or himself or their rampant hormones. He just nuzzled his nose down her neck, sliding the tip of it along her spine, kissing and licking and if she wasn’t mistaken, rubbing his scent all over her skin.

  “So, do you do this with a lot of your clients?” she asked, rolling onto her back, letting his hand slide over her stomach.

  Viktor brushed her hair back from her face, winding the red strands around his free hand. “I don’t have clients. I have a boss. Your father. And I’ve never guarded a woman before. No man ever trusted me with his daughter.”

  She plucked at the soft sheet between her fingers. “Well, I was married for four years, it’s not like you can protect my virtue.”

  He sat up, slouching against the headboard. The position, Irina noted, put a few more inches of spaces between them. “I owe your father a debt, a big one. So until that debt is settled, I do what your father tells me to do. No questions asked.”

  She ran her fingertips over the prison tattoo running down the inside of his left arm, six wolf moons, six winters spent in captivity. “Why would you want to be anywhere near my family after Alexei’s insanity sent you to prison?”

  “While I was inside, my father got sick, really sick. Your father made sure he was taken care of, got him to the sort of doctors who could treat werewolf illnesses. He made sure my father was comfortable for as long as possible. I won’t ever be able to repay him for what he did.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Alexei…there’s just something wrong with him. He’s like a petulant child, only he responds with violence instead of temper tantrums. Things were different when Mama was alive. She used to spoil Alexei terribly, but she was also the only one who could calm him when he was in a rage.”

  “Was she good to you?”

  “Mama?” Irina shrugged. “I didn’t really have much time with her. She died a few years after I arrived, as Galina was being born. She liked to dress me up like her little doll, because Elena was too big to tolerate it. She liked to take me to the ladies’ parties and show me off. She wasn’t cruel, but we didn’t have the same bond that I did with Papa. He never made me feel different from his biological children. Mama Katrina never let me forget. I think it bothered her that she had not been consulted on bringing an extra pup into the litter, so to speak.”

  Viktor made a sympathetic noise in his throat and she shook her head. “It was fine, really. Papa more than made up for it. He gave me a wonderful childhood, much better than I could have hoped for with my biological father. Even now, his intentions are to give me a better life. I keep telling myself he’s only trying to do what he thinks is best. There’s no malice to it, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”

  Irina slid into her suit and sat on the edge of the bed. She combed her fingers through her hair and sighed. “What am I going to do?”

  “You sure you couldn’t leave?”

  Irina’s brain sped to an image of Elena, laid out in her white coffin, her waxy cheeks coated in a dusting of undertaker’s makeup. Her eyes welled up as she shook her head. “No.”

  “Then if your father tells you to marry Lupesco or some other wolf who can give you a good life, you do it,” he said, kissing her temple. “I could never give you that, Irina. I could never give you what you needed. And Ilya might like me as an employee, but he would never accept me as more. This can never be more.”

  He was right, of course. The hours in this hotel room, their dangerous little trysts in closets and dressing rooms, were pleasant distractions, but it was time for Irina to face facts. She could have no real relationship with Viktor. This was not long term. This was a fling. A hot, potentially deadly fling.

  Irina didn’t have to walk away from this with a heart full of hurt. She could enjoy Viktor and everything he had to offer, taking with her fond memories and a pleasant ache in her thighs. After so many years without anything resembling a healthy sexual relationship, she’d earned it. But the thought about walking away from Viktor, of crawling into some other man’s bed and letting someone else’s hands slide across her skin—the very idea made her heart lurch. She didn’t want anyone, man or wolf, touching her if it wasn’t Viktor.

  And she wasn’t about to tell him that.

  She nodded carefully. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  9

  A Night at the Ballet

  PAPA’S MATCHMAKING AGENDA clicked into place a lot faster than Irina had anticipated. That very weekend, Irina found herself being escorted into McCaw Hall to see the Pacific Northwest Ballet Company’s opening performance of Swan Lake, because Andrey made the mistake of mentioning that he’d never seen it. Papa considered it a point of pride to see dancers performing “to proper Russian music,” but Irina and Galina had a running bet on whether he would fall asleep during the second movement or the third. Poor Andrey was about to be sucked into a dysfunctional dating relationship with her whole damn family. There would be no escape. His missing shipment of Bullet might not be worth all of this suffering.

  With her arm looped through Nik’s, Irina practically floated in the thin Grecian-style Vera Wang gown of soft gray, the material shifting against her legs as she walked, soft as water. Silver Prada sandals revealed toes she’d painted a sparkly sky blue. Her hair was piled high on her head with sapphire combs Ivan had helped her select from the shop’s stock.

  Viktor moved behind her, looking lean and lethal—and super-uncomfortable—in his tux. It felt like months since she’d been able to kiss him, touch him properly, away from prying eyes. As for his eyes, they hadn’t wandered from her since the entire entourage had stepped out of Irina’s front door. He orbited her, alert to her moves, as if he expected her to melt into the crowd of the lobby and disappear. Meanwhile, she played the part of the detached, aloof princess, who barely remembered the handsome werewolf’s name and certainly hadn’t traced every curve and plane of his abs with her tongue.

  Nik led her to the bar, where, predictably, her family was holding court, sipping vodka and talking really, really loudly. Galina had slipped away toward the ladies room, giving Irina a little wave as she stepped through the door. Ilya was telling a story that involved waving his hands like a hyperactive conductor. Alexei was talking expansively, waving his drink in the face of some poor gawky-looking young man with slightly stringy brown hair. And the poor kid looked like he was actually listening, captivated even, by whatever bullshit Alexei was spouting. Andrey sprawled gracefully in his seat, looking elegantly cool in a Prada tux, and more noticeably, bemused at the once-great Sudenkos’ attempts to keep him entertained.

  Papa’s smile when he saw her all dressed up reminded Irina why she adored the man so much: his pride in her, his love. Maybe it wasn’t the sort of love she needed, but it was all he knew how to give. She could tell the moment his superior werewolf vision picked up the faint scars at her neck. She watched those eyes trail down her bared shoulder to the deeper, whiter scars left by Sergei’s increasing rage and frustration.

  Though it pained him, Irina was glad that Papa saw them. She was glad that he knew what he’d cost her, what he could cost her again, if Andrey didn’t live up to her father’s expectations as her next “keeper.” Was it some mark of insanity that she could love someone so much, but still want him to feel punished?

  Andrey was the first to stand, moving smoothly toward her, and if she weren’t mistaken, nodding at both Viktor and Nik.

  “Irina, lovely as ever,” he purred, inclining his head over her hand and just barely kissing her knuckles. Behind Andrey, Alexei bolted up in his chair and growled. Given the smirk that
bent Andrey’s lips, the familiarity was a calculated move. She knew she should have felt indignant and used, but frankly, Alexei had it coming.

  Papa ignored Alexei’s pathetic posturing, beaming beatifically as Irina kissed his cheek. The unknown younger man rose to his feet, an uncertain expression on his face. Who the hell was this kid?

  “Irina, bobochka, this is Maksim Federov, a good friend of Galina’s,” Papa said, waving the boy forward. “Maksim, this is my elder daughter, Irina.”

  Ah, Galina’s caviar prince. Irina couldn’t help but smirk a little bit. Her sister would eat this kid alive. And given the smug, manly-men-together smile he shared with Alexei, Maksim didn’t even know what was about to hit him.

  “We’ve met,” Maksim said, his tone dismissive as he bent his head over her knuckles. “On the night of your husband’s death. You were so hysterical, I’m not surprised you forgot me.”

  Irina’s brows rose. Behind her, Viktor made an unpleasant hissing noise. Even Andrey was offended enough on her behalf to send a disapproving look Maksim’s way. Maksim remained oblivious. “Yes, well, please excuse my rudeness.”

  Maksim waved her apologies away with a magnanimous gesture.

  Papa cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Shall we take our seats?”

  Andrey gallantly offered Irina his arm. She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and let him lead her toward the family box. Galina caught up with them at the grand red-carpeted staircase, gorgeous as ever in a purple Elie Saab.

  “Galya!” Papa exclaimed, kissing her cheek.

  Irina placed a careful kiss on the opposite cheek and whispered, “You have so much explaining to do.”

  “Later,” Galya whispered back as Maksim gave an indifferent air kiss over Galina’s hand.

  “You look lovely,” Maksim told her, adding as an obvious afterthought, “As do you, Mrs. Volkov.”

  Irina nodded and tossed, “You are too kind” back at him in a tone so bored and stiff it practically had rigor mortis.