Every window I could see was ablaze with light. Craning my neck, I looked upward and saw—good Lord—gargoyles! Real, honest to goodness medieval sentinels that snarled down at me, warning me to think twice about crossing the threshold they guarded. Like I had any say in the matter. Perhaps this qualified as a castle, after all, but who in their right mind would live in a place like this? I prayed it wasn’t Gabriel’s ancestral seat.
Katja pulled me up a set of wide concrete steps to a pair of doors with a bad case of Tower of London envy. Fifteen feet tall, they were covered with iron studs that stood out about six inches. I decided I must have missed the moat and drawbridge on the way in. A pair of enormous black iron rings, positioned at head height where each door met, had me thinking Katja might need my help to push. Amazingly, the doors swung open with barely a whisper, revealing an entrance hall dominated by the most incredible fountain.
Resting on a pedestal was a huge, black marble basin from whose depths rose a three-headed dragon spouting water from each open mouth. And if that wasn’t enough to make my eyes fall out of my head, then the banquet room Katja steered me toward definitely was. And yes, I do mean banquet room, as in dining on a grand scale, medieval-style.
Colorful heraldic banners hung from the cathedral ceiling, and the walls were covered with richly detailed tapestries that looked a mile long. The room boasted a fireplace I estimated to be at least ten feet high and twenty wide. I could only imagine the sheer spectacle a roaring blaze would produce.
A huge table ran down the center of the room, with high-backed chairs lining each side. It probably sat fifty people, with plenty of elbow room, and the heraldic theme continued with a coat-of-arms design on each place setting. Personally I didn’t care much for the china and silverware, the brightly colored pattern was far too busy for my taste, but the table decorations were very impressive. Enormous pedestal vases, overflowing with snowy Christmas roses and bright green holly, ran down the center of the table, interspersed with elaborate wrought-iron candelabras set with scarlet candles. I felt as if I was in some bizarre time warp. It was glorious and took my breath away.
“Looks like you’re expecting company,” I said to the black leather trench coat in front of me.
Katja dismissed my comment with a rude grunting noise, dragging me over to the stone staircase against one wall. As I tried to make sure I didn’t trip up the stairs, I felt a prickle at the nape of my neck. A prickle that told me I was being watched. Immediately I thought of Gabriel and wondered if his uncanny senses had alerted him to my presence inside these walls. I was surprised our arrival hadn’t brought someone to greet us. I would have expected something in the way of staff, but apparently not.
At the top of the staircase, Katja hesitated. The way before us branched off into three separate hallways and she seemed to be in a quandary over which one to choose. Taking advantage of the momentary respite, I caught my breath. It sounded loud and ragged in my ears.
Staring at my abductor’s profile, I watched her lips purse and her eyes close. She swiveled her head, first to the left, then the right, and paused as if she was listening to something. Whatever she could hear was beyond my range. Or perhaps she didn’t hear anything at all and that was what seemed to disconcert her. I was about to offer my own choice on which direction we should take—retreating the way we had come struck me as a good option—when a figure stepped out of the shadows, scaring the bejesus out of me and making me shriek.
He was in his mid-fifties, if I had to guess, and though he could easily match Gabriel for height, he was definitely nowhere near as muscular. The heaviest thing this guy probably lifted on any given day was a cup of Earl Grey tea or a glass of sherry—both, no doubt, with his pinkie extended. But despite the lack of any showy muscle, there was a strength flowing from him. It made me think that underestimating him would be a serious mistake.
Couldn’t fault him for his wardrobe, though. He was dressed in a dark gray pinstripe suit, his shirt the pale lavender of wisteria blossoms that matched the handkerchief in his breast pocket. Both would have looked effeminate on most other men, but he carried it off with panache.
Jet-black hair, similar to Katja’s, was combed straight back from his forehead, revealing the most amazing widow’s peak, the kind of thing I’d only seen in old, late-night horror movies on TV. In fact, that’s exactly what he reminded me of, a debonair matinee idol lifted straight from a black-and-while celluloid strip.
“Good evening, Katja.”
Her name rolled off his tongue; his speech was smooth and cultured, with a casual intimacy and a similar accent to my abductor’s. I was starting to wonder if being with Gabriel meant I was destined never to meet anyone born and raised in the U.S. again, and then I remembered Oscar, with his wonderful Kansas accent.
The man stepped forward and grasped Katja lightly by the shoulders, kissing her chastely on the forehead before taking a step back and turning his eyes on me. Tilting his chin, he inhaled deeply. I watched his nostrils flare and his eyes widen. He stared at me with such penetrating intensity, I had to look down and remind myself I still had my clothes on.
“Well, well, well . . . who have we here?”
His voice rippled with an edge that I found unsettling. I had enough on my plate already, with no space left to deal with the attentions of a fifties-style Lothario. Katja tried pushing me behind her but didn’t have much success, mainly because I wasn’t exactly being cooperative. If her intent was to hide me, it seemed pretty ridiculous, as I’d already been seen.
As she tightened her grip on my arm, I yelped in protest. Any more pressure would result in a broken bone or, at the very least, compromise my circulation. The matinee idol snapped out a few words that I didn’t understand, but Katja let go of me. I rubbed the area above my elbow gratefully.
He held his hand out to me, palm up. I glanced at Katja, but she remained focused on him and didn’t look at me. A quick movement of fingers told me to come forward. Seeing no other option, I tentatively placed my hand in his open palm and allowed myself to be maneuvered out from behind the black leather coat. I heard a soft hiss following my movement. Katja’s face may have been an emotional blank screen, but I could feel the anger rolling off her in waves. It was pretty obvious she hadn’t wanted this person, whoever he was, to see me, much less take a decided interest in me.
Dropping my hand, the matinee idol made a slow circle around me. I held my breath as Katja, feigning boredom, leaned against the wall and examined her nails. There were no tapestries here, I noticed, just deep red flocked wallpaper with a design that reminded me of ugly bowls of fruit. Katja appeared to have a bunch of grapes hanging from one earlobe.
“Katja?” The man turned his head in her direction, waiting for an answer. I tried to remember what the question was. Oh yeah, who was I?
“Rowan,” she answered with a dismissive wave of her hand before curling her fingers and attending to her cuticles.
He smiled, showing me a mouthful of pearly whites. “Ah, so you are Rowan.”
I nodded. He sounded as if he’d been expecting me, which was completely ludicrous, of course. The smile he wore grew broader, crinkling the corners of his eyes and deepening the brackets at either side of his mouth, but all it did was increase my uneasiness. Something was very off about him.
“Charming,” he murmured, “absolutely charming.”
I remembered Aleksei saying the same thing about me, and I wondered if it meant something different to them.
“You think so?” Katja pushed herself away from the wall and came up behind him, looking positively irritated. “I fail to see the attraction.”
“Of course you don’t, you can’t . . . you’re female.” Raising an eyebrow, he continued looking me up and down. “Rowan was not designed to inflame your senses.”
Inflame your senses? Was this guy for real?
Apparently Katja did not share the sentiment, and behind his back she opened her mouth and made a gagging motion with her
finger. I snorted back a giggle. It was the last thing I expected her to do. The man looked sharply over his shoulder.
“Does she inflame yours?” she asked sweetly, her hands disappearing inside the trench coat.
He shook his head. “Of course not, but I do find something intriguing about her.” His nostrils flared again. “Designated for one specific purpose, but linked only to one specific male.”
I felt better. Whatever I had that intrigued the Lothario, it was purely academic. He walked slowly around me again. I’d never been given the once-over like this before, and part of me said I ought to protest at such demeaning behavior. Being talked about in the third person was especially galling, but for some odd reason I really didn’t feel degraded. The matinee idol was making me feel as if I was giving him the most extraordinary gift, just by letting him look at me.
“May I?” He held both hands out in front of him, palms up. His fingers curled, and I noticed his nails were neatly manicured. And long. I’ve never seen a man his age with long nails before. Actually I’ve never seen a man with such long nails, period.
I had no idea what he wanted, but I nodded, then almost took a step back as he moved toward me and the long nails flashed past my neck. He caught a handful of my hair and twisted it around so it was piled on top of my head, exposing my neck.
“There, much better.”
Katja decided she’d had enough and stamped her foot angrily. “My God—would you stop this foolishness!”
The man sighed loudly and ignored her, which elevated him a step or two in my estimation. I stared at him and concluded he and Katja had to be related because they both had the same black hair and violet eyes. Only his sparkled a little darker. He let go of my hair, watching as it tumbled around my shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” I said, deciding it was time to join the conversation. “I don’t think I caught your name.”
I held out my hand for him to shake. The way he looked at it reminded me of how Katja had reacted when I’d done the same thing with her the first time we met. Oh yeah, these two were definitely cut from the same cloth; however, Lothario recovered a lot quicker than she had. Taking my outstretched hand in both of his, he raised my knuckles to his mouth and pressed his lips against my skin.
“My apologies, Rowan,” he said, straightening up. “I am Vladimir.” Of course he was. With his widow’s peak, accent, and those clothes, what else could his name have been? “Did Gabriel send you to fetch Rowan?” he asked Katja, all the while keeping his eyes on me.
The skin on the back of my hand where he’d kissed me was beginning to tingle. It reminded me of the pins and needles sensation that happens when your hand or foot falls asleep. It was more annoying than painful, and not wanting to attract any undue attention, I ignored it. I needed to stay sharp because a sudden tension had formed between Vladimir and Katja.
“I thought I’d surprise him,” Katja said, in response to his question.
I stared at her, noting the whisper of hesitation that colored her words. She wasn’t as sure of herself as she would have either of us believe. Seeing my interest, Katja switched to her own language. I have no idea what she said to Vladimir, but it seemed to me she was giving him her version of events. Not being able to contradict what she said was annoying, especially as her scornful expression and contemptuous tone told me it was all rude and disparaging.
Thankfully, Vladimir interrupted her in mid-flow, cutting her off with a sharp wave of his hand. I wasn’t sure if the sound I heard as she snapped her mouth shut was her jaw popping or her teeth clacking. Either way it was loud. She stared at me, a feral look gleaming in her amethyst eyes. I swallowed and took a step back, pulling my hand free of Vladimir’s hold.
“Katja, have you thought about what you are doing?” Apparently Vladimir didn’t have a problem with me knowing what was being said. “If Gabriel has not requested Rowan’s presence, your actions may be construed as . . . intrusive.”
Katja snorted derisively, and his expression changed. He gave her a look of resignation, one that made me think he was mentally separating himself from whatever course of action she was determined to follow. I didn’t take it as a good sign.
“Don’t you think she should know the truth?” As if she were doing me a favor, Katja leaned back against the wall and folded her arms. “He has told her nothing, and she believes they have a future together.”
She said nothing else, but I could tell from Vladimir’s face that he was able to fill in the blanks. I wished I could.
“Be careful, Katja; what you are contemplating will have consequences.” His voice was solemn and grave. “Consequences I suspect you have not fully realized.”
Oh, shit! This was so not what I needed to hear.
Katja switched back to her own language, and from the cadence, her expression, and the occasional “fuck you” she threw in, I figured she was cursing both of us. I wished to hell I knew what it was I should already know.
Reaching out, Vladimir caught a lock of my hair in his hand, running it between his fingers. He seemed to be admiring the burnished copper color in the light. “If you insist on being so reckless,” he said, quietly addressing Katja, while keeping his eyes firmly fixed on my hair, “I will not offer you my protection.”
She looked momentarily startled and then quickly regained her composure, her mouth forming a scornful line. It was obvious Vladimir was not going to dissuade her from her purpose. I felt a skein of fear unraveling in the pit of my stomach.
Letting go of my hair, he continued, “Have you thought what will happen if Gabriel’s reaction is not what you expect it to be?” His voice was soft, reasonable, and scared me to death. “An error in judgment on your part, Katja, may bring with it more than Gabriel’s displeasure. His censure may prove . . . difficult to bear.”
Katja snapped out something sharp and grabbed my arm again, jerking me to her side. Whatever she said made Vladimir chuckle, but with no humor that I could detect. He gave me an old-fashioned bow. “The pleasure was all mine, Rowan, and I look forward to meeting you again . . . perhaps.”
CHAPTER 28
“Was that your father?” I asked once we rounded a corner and Vladimir was no longer in sight.
“In a manner of speaking.” The reply was brusque, punctuated by another rude snorting sound. I definitely wasn’t feeling the love.
Katja had lengthened her stride, so I was forced to almost run in order to keep up. If I fell, I doubted she would even notice, and the effort I was expending was beginning to take its toll.
Being dragged down yet another long corridor, past several doors, and up another staircase forced me to acknowledge that I was totally lost. There was no way I was going to be able to find my way out of here without a GPS, and maybe not even then. It occurred to me that perhaps this was her plan all along. Instead of confronting Gabriel, Katja was going to drop my arm at any moment and sprint away, thus dooming me to wander along endless hallways looking for a way out. She was hoping that by the time I did, Gabriel would have forgotten all about me.
At this point, I didn’t much care because my calf muscles were cramping. I’ve never understood the point of power walking, except that it’s sadistic. Walking is meant to be pleasurable, and I’m a definite meanderer. I was forced to stop at one point so that I could catch my breath, and Katja made her annoyance plain. Bitch.
I would have given a kidney for a chair to collapse onto, but the hallway was devoid of furniture, so I planted my butt against the ugly wallpaper and bent over. Hands on my knees, I sucked in air as my calves screamed and my thighs trembled. Somewhere to my left a door opened, and I turned my head to see whose curiosity we had aroused now. Maybe Vladimir had told someone else we were here, and they had come to see for themselves. It would be great if they also had a glass of water.
“Katja? What are you—”
The question was cut off by a sharp intake of breath, followed by an explosion, once again in a foreign language, but ending with a ha
ve you lost your fucking mind? I understood that all too clearly. The tone was incensed and got my attention.
He wasn’t wearing his greatcoat, but the buzzed haircut and camouflage pants tucked into military-style boots were reminder enough. And even if they weren’t, there was no mistaking the wicked scar on his face.
“Hello, Aleksei . . . ’sup?” I wearily lifted the hand I’d been bracing on one knee and gave him a tired wave. It had been quite a journey from the front door.
He stared at me, his eyes open in horrified disbelief, which wasn’t exactly the reaction I’d been hoping for. At our only meeting he’d been pleasant and polite—even, I thought, a little flirtatious—and I was grateful to see him again, hoping I might have found an ally. Or at least someone willing to run interference with Katja and maybe show me the way out. His immediate response to my presence, however, indicated that someone was in deep shit.
Stepping past me, he grabbed Katja by her upper arms, lifted her bodily off the floor, and shook her. It made me think of a pit bull on steroids. The chopsticks finally came loose and her hair fell free of its artificial disorder, but she didn’t seem that upset by the manhandling she was receiving. In fact, she gave all the appearance of enjoying the rough physical contact.
“She doesn’t know!” she hissed when Aleksei was done with the dog and rat routine and she was once more standing on her own two feet. Her eyes took on a hard gleam. “She thinks we are gangsters.”
“It doesn’t matter what she thinks,” Aleksei growled, loosening his hold and stepping back. “It is not your concern.”
“Not even when Gabriel risks us all every time he is with her?”
She looked at the Russian soldier, then at me, and then back at him. I saw her take a deep, calming breath, and when she began speaking again her voice was softer, more persuasive. She put her hand on his thick, muscular forearm. “Aleksei, you know every night he is with her, he puts us at risk. One wrong word spoken at the wrong time—”
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