Her friend examined her face searchingly. “I know you, Donata, you’re not fine with it. You need to let yourself grieve.”
“I’m fine,” Donata said harshly, walking away from Doc and her pity and her damned amateur psychology. “Don’t tell me what I’m feeling. I know what the hell I’m feeling, and I’m just relieved the whole thing is over.”
She went back over to Peter, leaving Doc standing there with her mouth open.
“Hey, how are you doing?” she asked. “Do you think you’re up to moving upstairs? I’d just as soon not hang out in the same room as that thing anymore.” She pointed at the Pentimento.
He grimaced but levered himself up out of the chair with alacrity. “No problem,” he said. “I’d rather not hang around with that thing either.” He glanced over at the pile of ex-Anemoi that had come within a hairsbreadth of killing him.
Doc ran over to put her tiny shoulder under one of his arms for support, and between her and Donata they got him up the stairs and settled more comfortably on the leather couch in the living room. Doc went into the kitchen to make them all some tea, leaving Peter and Donata alone for the first time since he’d fully regained consciousness.
They stared at each other in silence for a minute, neither one knowing what to say. Finally, Peter cleared his throat and ventured a tentative smile in her direction.
“I guess I haven’t said thank you yet,” he said.
She looked at him blankly. “What, for dragging you into this mess and almost getting you killed?” The huge living room suddenly felt claustrophobic and she sat down on a chair within conversing distance but not near enough to touch him. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be comfortable touching anyone again. Bad things happened to men who got close to her.
He gave her a warm smile. “No, of course not. For saving my life and avenging the death of my father. I appreciate both more than I can say.” A wince crossed his face as he leaned forward a little too rapidly. “You’re not going to get into any kind of trouble for killing Eastman, are you? I could swear that it was self-defense.”
The cold air from downstairs seemed to have followed her upstairs, wrapping her in an isolated space set apart from everything else. Even Peter’s smile couldn’t break through the blanket of frost.
“Trouble? I doubt it,” she said. “If anything, most folks are going to be pretty happy with me. The Council and my family will be pleased that I stopped the man behind the agitation of the Paranormal community before we could be exposed to the Humans. The Chief wanted me to put an end to the crime wave, and I’m reasonably certain that Anton’s death will do that.”
She shook her head at her own denseness. “Anton told me that the Cleansers were responsible for the rabble-rousing, but I should have realized that they wouldn’t have been willing to work with any other Paranormals, since they considered them to be almost as culpable as Humans in the destruction of the planet.”
Peter frowned, clenching his hands. “I’m glad you killed the guy, Donata. He was a menace. I can’t believe you ever liked him.”
“He wasn’t all bad,” she said with quiet certainty as Doc walked back into the room with a pot of tea and three cups on a tray. “I wish he would have listened to me. He had a good cause; he was just going about it the wrong way.”
Doc plopped the tray down on the coffee table hard enough to rattle the spoons. “I would definitely call inciting people to murder, killing Peter’s father, trying to kill Peter, and threatening to rape you ‘going about it the wrong way,’ Donata.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at her friend. “I don’t care how good your cause is—murder is never justified.”
“I’m not saying it is,” Donata said, too numb to argue. “I just wish it hadn’t come to this, that’s all. Maybe there are other Major Anemoi who want to try and save their race and are willing to look for a peaceful solution. One that doesn’t involve me having anyone’s baby. If I can find a way to contact them, I could donate some DNA or something. Maybe there will be something in great-great-great-grandmother Henrietta’s book that will show me how to help their race survive.”
Peter stood up in a rush, ignoring his broken leg other than to give a grunt of pain. Doc squawked a protest, which he also ignored.
“You’re going to help them? After everything that Anton Eastman did to you? To me? How could you even consider such a thing?” His eyes blazed red in his pale face.
“I’m not willing to condemn an entire race for the actions of one man,” Donata said softly, looking at her shoes instead of at her angry lover. “They can’t all be bad—they deserve a chance to continue to exist. I won’t be responsible for the extinction of a species if there is something I can do to prevent it.”
“I know you feel bad about killing him, Donata,” Doc interjected. “But he can’t have worked alone. Didn’t you tell me that it took four Major Anemoi to create a golem? And he can’t possibly have spread all that unrest by himself; he must have had help.” She cast a pitying look at her friend. “Right now you’re upset, and you probably think you need to atone for killing Anton, but getting in deeper with these people won’t bring him back or erase the pain you’re feeling.”
“Will you please stop psychoanalyzing me? Dammit!” Donata said through gritted teeth. “This has nothing to do with my killing Anton. It’s just the right thing to do.”
Peter’s face was a study in fury and disappointment. “I can’t deal with this, Donata. And if you’re willing to cooperate in any way with the people who murdered my father, I can’t have anything to do with you.” He grimaced in pain that was only partly physical. “Thank you for saving my life. Now get the hell out of my house, please. And don’t come back unless you change your mind. Because I’m not going to change mine.”
He hobbled out of the room without a backward glance.
Donata blinked, waiting for her heart to break. But she felt nothing at all.
Doc looked at her with sympathetic blue eyes. “You know I’ll support you in whatever you decide to do, Donata. But are you sure about this? Peter is a good man and you’ve been through a lot together. I was half convinced you were in love with him.”
Donata choked back a laugh. She’d been half convinced of that too. Of course, she’d thought Anton genuinely liked her. Her judgment was clearly flawed.
“Doc,” she said, “I’m not sure about anything. Not one damned thing. Except that I’m glad you’re my friend.” She pushed herself up out of the comfortable chair with a sigh. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I have a crapload of people to report to, and I don’t know what I’m going to say to any of them.”
Chapter Fifty-one
Almost two weeks later, Donata stared out the window of her apartment at the beauty of an autumn sunset. Framed by the crimson leaves of an oak tree and the stately brick apartment buildings across the way, the bright hues of red and purple colored the early evening with a magic she had no desire to compete with.
Since Anton’s death, the unseasonable storms and chill had vanished, leaving an unusually balmy and peaceful streak of weather in its wake. Donata wondered idly if the other Major Anemoi had manipulated the conditions as a kind of apology for Anton’s actions, but she had no way of knowing, since she’d still been unable to contact any of them.
Outside her open window, children played in the vanishing sunlight, chasing a green plastic ball around on the sidewalks. Their carefree laughter drifted up on the breeze, making her heart ache with longing. Anton’s dream manipulation seemed to have kicked her biological clock into overdrive, and though she did her best to ignore it, seeing little Sophia Gaia at Saturday dinner had left her feeling moody and unsettled.
Her family had been quietly pleased with her and, for the moment at least, they were leaving her more or less alone. Things were back to normal at work too, since the paranormal crime wave had also ended with Anton’s death, leaving her
with nothing to distract from her melancholy thoughts or the fact that she’d had no word from Peter.
Three days ago, she’d finally gotten up the courage to try to call him, but his number had been disconnected. She’d checked his old apartment, but no one had seen any sign of him there. Driving out to Raphael’s house had shown her only a padlocked gate and a for sale sign. All the realtor could tell her when she’d called was that the owner was out of the country.
And that was that.
Tatiana had insisted on continuing with their magical practice, despite Donata’s marked lack of enthusiasm, but other than that, her life was back to what it had been before she’d stumbled across the painting and been swept up in a hurricane of treachery and intrigue.
Except for the fact that she now had a Kobold roommate, a slightly better apartment, and a job she no longer hated, of course.
It wasn’t as though the entire adventure had been for nothing. In many ways, her life was much improved. So why did she feel so empty and cold?
Grimalkin strolled into the room and parked himself at the front door, meowing assertively.
“What?” she said, not turning away from the window. “You already ate, you silly cat.”
He meowed again, louder, and the sound was followed by a brisk series of knocks that shook the door.
Donata lifted her head and her heart sped up involuntarily. Maybe Peter had changed his mind? She ran across the room and flung the door open, and Grim did a little happy cat dance at the sight of the man standing there.
Magnus.
Holy crap.
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DANGEROUSLY DIVINE
Available November 2017 from Berkley Sensation
Chapter 1
Gregori Sun stared at his reflection in the spotty bathroom mirror of a cheap motel: waist-length straight dark hair pulled back in a tail, black eyes set at a slight slant over the flat cheekbones of his Mongolian ancestors, and the Fu Manchu mustache he’d worn since he’d become a man, longer ago than anyone who met him might imagine. The harsh glare of the light fixture glinted off the straight razor in his right hand. It trembled almost imperceptibly, a leftover echo of the debilitating damage he’d taken a year ago at the hands of the deranged and powerful witch who had once been his ally and a trusted friend.
A deep breath and a moment’s focused attention banished the tremor and steadied his hand for the task ahead. Sun entertained the wistful thought that it would be nice if all his other remaining issues could be dealt with as easily. But he was not a man who had ever taken the easy way, even if there had been one available, which there was not. Hence this next step.
Before he could change his mind, the razor flashed—once, twice, three times. Black hair fell into the sink, its darkness a stark contrast against the pitted white porcelain, just as his former life was a stark contrast to his present existence and his future path. The acrid smell of the motel’s antiseptic cleaner echoed his mood.
Now the face staring back at him seemed to belong to a stranger. Clean-shaven, with hair barely long enough to be held back by the leather thong he wore, the man in the mirror seemed somehow younger and more vulnerable, although he still wore Sun’s habitual aura of impenetrable calm. As with much else in Sun’s life these days, it was more semblance than reality.
The Buddhist monastery he was entering didn’t require first-year novices to shave their heads, any more than it mandated specific formal clothing. Students were only expected to obey the basic rules and follow the regimen of study, practice, and service. Sun had laid aside his traditional red leathers and silks anyway, as another way of putting aside the past, and now wore loose black wool pants and a black cotton turtleneck more suited to the frigid Minnesota winters.
The commitment he was making felt worthy of a symbolic sacrifice, even if no one was aware of it but him.
This was a new beginning in search of a new man; he couldn’t go into it looking the same as he had for more than a thousand years. Sun was so changed on the inside, he barely knew who he was any more. His outside might as well reflect that.
* * *
The alley reeked of rancid garbage, burning grease from the Chinese restaurant at the far end, and other pungent odors best not examined too closely, the smell so strong it almost seemed like a solid presence. An abandoned collection of ramshackle cardboard, once the temporary shelter for a homeless person, continued its slow, decaying crumble down the brick side of the building to her left, and rats scrabbled over some half-frozen garbage in an overturned can to her right.
Ciera Evans ignored them all as she concentrated on her silent pursuit of the man she’d followed for the last six nights. He vanished into the back of a dimly lit building, the door gaping open long enough to reveal a smoky interior and a circle of men sitting around a faded green table playing poker. Drunken laughter spilled out into the night and then cut off with a slam that even the rats ignored. It was that kind of neighborhood.
Not what she was looking for, she thought. Not tonight. But soon.
She backed away, careful not to trip over anything in the alley as she tucked a stray lock of dark curly hair under the hoodie that kept her reasonably warm on this cold Minnesota night while also masking her distinctive features. The worn brown leather jacket she wore on top of the hoodie fit right into the usual local attire, so she wasn’t too worried about being noticed on her way back to the car.
A couple of blocks away, though, Ciera realized she was being stalked in turn. Ironic, really. And a little inconvenient, but she could feel the pulse speed up in her throat and admitted to herself that on some level she was almost eager to be forced into action after long nights of watching and waiting and doing nothing.
The two men who followed her no doubt thought she was easy prey. They were about to find out just how wrong they were.
“Hand over your money and your phone and nobody needs to get hurt,” said the bigger of the two toughs as they closed in on her. His heavy boots clattered on the icy sidewalk, the same sound that had alerted Ciera to her unwanted escort.
“That’s what you think,” Ciera said, using a low, raspy voice to disguise her sex. A twist of her wrists sent her fighting sticks sliding out of her sleeves and into her hands, and she set her feet in a stance that was both rooted and flexible. “Last chance to walk away, boys.”
The shorter man, underdressed for the weather in ripped pants and holey sneakers, shook his shaved head. “Not a chance, dude. In case you haven’t noticed, there are two of us and only one of you, and you’re kind of scrawny. A couple of pieces of wood aren’t going to save you.” He nodded to his friend and they both moved in closer, scruffy faces wearing matching expressions of stubble-adorned menace.
“Too true,” Ciera whispered, lower than they were likely to hear. “But a couple of pieces of wood and years of self-defense classes will go a long way.”
She didn’t bother to show off—a rookie mistake—attacking instead in a flurry of kicks and hits aimed at vulnerable knees, elbows, and collarbones that left the men lying groaning on the ground behind her. She shoved the fighting sticks back up her sleeves and kept on walking without a backward glance.
A few twists and turns later and she was back at the car she always used for her evening forays. It couldn’t be traced to her since it was registered in the name of a woman long dead. A practical vehicle, it also served to remind her of why she did what she did. The dead woman had been her friend. More than her friend—her savior. Now Ciera carried on her friend’s mission, because it was the only way she could repay the debt she owed. And because she’d made a promise to the only person in her life who had ever kept their word to her.
Back in her apartment, she stripped off the anonymous hoodie and stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. She wasn’t sure she recognized the woman staring back at her. It was hard
to say which one was real—the face she showed the world during the day or the one she hid at night. Maybe neither. But if there was another Ciera beyond those two, she wasn’t sure what that woman would look like. Or if she’d even like her if she ever had a chance to find out.
Chapter 2
Sun unpacked his few belongings into the plain pine dresser that was one of only three pieces of furniture in his narrow room at the Shira-in Shashin Monastery, the other two being a twin bed covered with a wool blanket and a wooden meditation bench. Once he’d been forced to admit that he was unable to regain his spiritual balance in the solitude of the Otherworld, Gregori had crossed through one of the few doorways between that enchanted place and the more mundane world of Humans, and searched for a likely alternative.
After much thought, he’d decided to become a Buddhist monk, hoping that the peaceful, introspective path would finally enable him to find the connection to the spiritual world he’d lost when the crazy Baba Yaga Brenna had tortured him and his half brothers until they were nearly mad and on the brink of death.
In the end, the true Baba Yagas, Barbara, Beka, and Bella, had rescued them, with the help of Bella’s dragon-cat Koshka and a hefty dose of the magical elixir known as the Water of Life and Death. But even the powerful witches hadn’t been able to get to them in time to save their immortality, and now he, Mikhail Day, and Alexei Knight were as mortal as the Humans they had chosen to live among. Mortal and more than a little bit broken.
It was a new experience for Gregori, who had spent most of his very long life in a state of poised, calm control, at one with the natural world and in harmony with the universal energy that surrounded him. He had always supposed that this was in his nature, although nurture had certainly played a part, since his mother had been a powerful Mongolian shamaness. Now that he had lost that connection and balance, he questioned everything he’d ever been. And had no idea of what he would become.
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