“Get out. You are not welcome here. Get the hell out.” Instant tears welled in her eyes, streaking down her face.
Not once had Dmitri ever seen her cry. Hell, he’d never seen her with a hair out of place. Now, her face twisted in pain, and her head shook in rapid denial of the presence of her former lover.
Boris, on the other hand, remained stiff at the threshold. If Dmitri hadn’t spent the last hour with him, he wouldn’t have seen the emotions rippling in the man’s light eyes.
“Elena. Please.” Dmitri shook her. “I need your help. For Sonya. Then you can do whatever you want to him.”
Slowly, she lowered her hand and nodded. “This was your mission? To kill Boris?”
“Yeah, but now I know about you two, and the baby. I wouldn’t—”
“If you knew he left me alone and pregnant, why on earth would you bring him here?”
“But, I didn’t…” Boris sagged, resting his weight on one arm pressed into the doorframe. “They said…” A series of pained expressions cycled over his face, drawing his light brows closer and closer together. His final words were pitifully hollow with regret. “Your letter…”
Dmitri trembled with bitter, nervous energy. He wanted to rush this shit and get down to Sonya’s business, but Elena would be useless now. House or no house, auntie or no auntie, he needed a cigarette. He strode toward the kitchen sink and lit up a smoke right then and there. Tapping it on the sink’s edge, the whole stainless steel basin his ashtray.
Staring at Boris, Elena’s jaw tensed and, behind her blue eyes, gears turned. Finally, she spoke. “Are you saying I broke it off with the letter?”
“You refused to see me, and then—”
“I what? You were the one who—”
Dmitri cleared his throat, but Elena pushed toward Boris stiff like a robot, her finger pointing up at his chest. Her mouth hung open and ready to speak, though no words came out. Dmitri coughed more loudly. “Sounds to me like Gregor and Ivan played you both.”
It was terrible to watch—the way two dignified people deflated, their anger at one another escaping breath by breath. Elena squeezed her arms around her ribs, suddenly fragile. A lifetime of avoidable loneliness reflected in the sheen on her eyes. Then something changed, her brows lifting with the slightest hopeful surprise. Dmitri darted his gaze to Boris, who was crossing to her. He lifted the little woman in a smothering embrace.
Dmitri took a long burning drag from his smoke. Too bad that was all the time he could give them. He smothered the cigarette and tossed it into the garbage, slamming the cabinet closed to give them fair warning. “Okay, lovebirds. Time to help Sonya.”
Elena broke from Boris and turned her full attention to Dmitri—a small miracle.
“Auntie, Boris says Ivan killed Sonya. Who does Sonya have to avenge herself against now? Who can pay the blood debt?”
“Ivan?” Her black eyebrows pulled together, and she backed into the couch and dropped to sitting. Her fingertips pressed into the cushions.
“Blood debt? What the hell are you talking about?” Boris pulled off his hat and sat just as abruptly. “Goddamn, you Liskos never let anything go.”
No one replied. Elena wrung her hands in her lap. Dmitri crouched in front of her, calming the anxious twisting with his palm.
She lifted her Lisko-blue eyes to him and swallowed. “It has to be you then. You are the one who can pay his debt.”
The knowledge settled into him like an inevitability. He wasn’t the least bit surprised. How long had he known—from the moment she’d tried to rip his heart out, or when she’d turned to flesh and blood in his arms, or even earlier, when she’d first spoken and her sex-laced voice had turned him to putty?
Elena squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry, Dmitri. I know you care for her. Where is she now?”
“The Hotel Omnus.”
“Who is Sonya, and what does this have to do with the murders?”
Dmitri ignored them both, rocking on his heels and closing his eyes to formulate his plan.
Elena’s voice took on her softest tone—not very gentle, but she was obviously trying. “I will go get the teapot and take it somewhere nice. Just give me your room key. And where do you think she’d like to go? A secluded stretch of coastline, maybe?” She stood and knotted her bathrobe.
Boris stood too. “Okay. Dmitri believing in ghosts, I get that. He’s got brain damage from his fighting days. But Elena, please, explain.”
Dmitri didn’t give a damn if Boris understood. He scanned Elena’s living room for what he needed.
“Dmitri took responsibility for a rusalka. And now it turns out she is the ghost of a girl Ivan murdered.”
“Sonya Truss is a rusalka?” Makar whistled. “Bloodthirsty creatures.”
“You know about them?”
“My friend at church does exorcisms. He…”
Their conversation was all white noise in Dmitri’s ears until he spotted Elena’s keys on the counter. He sprinted for them and was halfway downstairs to the garage when Elena called out.
“Where are you going?”
She’d only try to talk him out of it. No way could he tell her he was going to give Sonya exactly what she needed. His life for her afterlife. It was a fair trade after everything she’d given him.
Chapter 32
It took Dmitri forever to get there. One-way streets and no-left-turn signs leaped in front of him, over and over. And then, finally, he pulled up to the curb of the hotel and threw Elena’s keys at the valet.
“Room number, sir?”
Dmitri ignored him. He had to save Sonya before she lost herself to bloodlust, or was exorcised by some fat, bearded, chess-playing priest. He would be damn sure to deliver her into the arms of her family first.
Under his feet, the marble floor of the lobby shook. Hotel patrons and staff looked at each other. He called out to the bellhop. “Not the first tremor tonight?”
“Nope. Had a few little shakes, but they keep getting stronger. Maybe the big one’s coming.”
Dmitri sure hoped he could prevent that.
The same peppy smooth jazz played in the elevator lobby. If he could have reached the speaker in the twelve-foot ceiling, he’d have yanked it out. Instead, he took the stairs. Racing up fourteen flights left him sweaty and winded. The hallway was too dark outside their room—emergency lights revealed shards of glass scattered on the carpet beneath the evenly spaced sconces. A strip of green light shone under the door. He slid his key card into the lock and it clicked.
She shrieked. “No. Don’t come in.”
He turned the handle and swung the door open. Her eyes were all green, her pearly ghost skin tinted gray from the eerie glow.
Still, she was everything he could ever want.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The last thing they needed was company. The dim glow from the clock radio, the ambient city lights, and Sonya’s own emerald gaze lit the room.
“Dmitri. Please go. I can’t control myself anymore.”
“Sweetheart, let me touch you. It will get better.”
“You don’t understand. I saw everything. Inside the teapot, I saw—” Her sobs interrupted her words.
He wanted to hold her and comfort her. No more crying—soon she would go to a place without tears. But if she knew the truth, it would not be easy to trick her into doing what had to be done. Unless her rusalka instincts took over.
“My parents are hissing and shrieking in my ears. I don’t like it. I don’t want to go to them if it means…”
Extending his hand, he stepped toward her. “Come here, ghost. I’ll make it better. I have a plan.”
She thrashed her head. “You don’t understand.”
“Sonya. I do. I know.”
In the depths of those unnaturally green eyes, awareness flashed. Hope bounced his heart into his throat. She was still in there, and it wasn’t too late.
“Give me
your hand, and I will explain everything.”
“Only if you promise not to let me hurt you.”
He had to lie. “I promise.”
And even as the deception crossed his lips, the yoke of his past lifted from his shoulders. She believed he was good, that he was capable of this sacrifice, or she wouldn’t have made him promise—that was all he needed.
She gave him her hand. Her flesh took shape, warm and supple in his grasp. Yeah, there was one last thing he had to do—let her know how he felt about her. And Makar had been right. He was a man of few words.
The green of her eyes shrank down to her irises. It was strangely beautiful, although he preferred their warm-brown color. Her skin flushed, all rose and cream again, no hint of ghost pallor.
“Hi there.” He grinned like the besotted idiot he was.
Her lower lip trembled, but she managed a timid smile. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know.”
She seemed to be studying his face, and so he stood still. “You look different.”
It was right that she could see the change, and he stood taller with pride. “I feel different. Thanks to you.”
She put her dripping-wet hand on his heart and shook her head. “I didn’t do anything but help you see who you really are.”
He pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “I’m going to make love to you.”
“But, what if I—?” She shivered, pushing against his chest.
“You won’t. Just keep your eyes on me.”
Pressing her fingertip to his lips, she said, “I saw your father.”
“I know,” he mumbled.
“You look like him, but you’re not at all.” She touched his nose, and a tear spilled from each eye. “It’s not fair. These rules aren’t fair. It shouldn’t be like this.”
“Shh.” He couldn’t explain to her all the ways it really, really was. So he opted for distraction, fingering the soggy ruffles of lace at her neck. “Sweetheart, I hope you don’t mind me saying I’m getting sick of this nightgown.”
An automatic and pained laugh burst from her throat. “Me too. Would you mind taking it off?”
“Happy to help.”
He made sure to brush against her nipples as he undid the top button and then ripped, popping half a dozen more off the nightgown. The rest of the fabric tore in one clean line, baring her gorgeous body to him. Full breasts tipped with the deepest rose, slim waist, full hips and thighs.
Regret stung, burning in his throat. He should have unbuttoned each one of those loops and slid the gown off carefully, so this could last a long, long time.
“Lay down, my sweet ghost.” He backed her toward the bed.
When she bumped against it, she cringed. “I forgot to tell you.”
“What?”
“The teapot exploded. There’s ceramic dust and sharp little pieces all over the room.”
Damn. That probably meant there was no way to move her from the hotel, ever. Plan B was in shards all over the room. No wonder she was frightened.
“Not to worry, sweetheart.” He reached behind her and flung the quilt off the bed, exposing the sheets they’d dirtied earlier. But at least there were no splinters of porcelain on them.
He lifted her onto the bed, and she slid back, making room for him between her legs.
“Not yet. Roll onto your belly.”
Prone, she turned her head to the side and watched him undress, holding his hand, or pressing hers to his abdomen when he needed to unbuckle his belt and unstrap his holster.
“I pray there is a day coming soon when you won’t wear that thing.”
“Already here, sweetheart.”
Her smile failed to hide her grief, and it was more than he could bear to see, so he climbed onto the bed and straddled her hips. Brushing aside her thick, damp hair, he kissed her neck, nibbling and teasing with his tongue. He was going to send her to her parents wearing a row of love bites, marking her with proof that, in some impossible way, she belonged to him. She wriggled underneath him, making all the gasps and groans that turned him on more than her freaky rusalka siren song ever had. He kissed her fingers and stroked the underside of her arms. He tongued down her delicate spine, all the way to her full, heart-shaped ass, where he teased the sensitive flesh at the top of her crevice. She raised her hips off the bed in invitation, parting her legs. But he used his thighs to press them together.
“Patience.”
“Since when is that your virtue?”
He could exercise patience when it was called for, but she’d only ever seen him in a hurry. “Is that a challenge? Because I can make you wait for me all night.”
Her lip trembled, but she managed a retort. “Are you offering me a choice between one long tease or multiple bouts of impatience? Because that’s a very difficult decision.”
The choice wasn’t his to offer. Based on what had happened last time, the moment Sonya let go of her control, that rusalka inside her would seize it. He would only have to give her the means to do what had to be done.
“No choices, sweetheart. You took the reins last time, now it’s my turn.”
She rotated her head, and her upturned cheek showed faint pink creases where it had been pressed to the bed. With his fingers, he combed her hair out of her eyes, revealing a hint of a pout.
He chuckled silently. His ghost had gotten used to controlling things very quickly.
She cleared her throat, and when she spoke, she had just enough rusalka in her voice to make him completely subservient. “Now lie down and let me touch you.”
* * * *
A little guilt tugged at Sonya for using the sexy voice on him, but she couldn’t resist touching and exploring him one last time before she said her good-bye. He took her hand and lay down next to her on his back. Drawing a circle in the air with her finger, she demanded he roll over onto his stomach. When he complied, she threw her leg over his waist and seated herself on the cushion of his firm buttocks.
Until that moment, she’d only noticed the scars on his face. But there on his back she found two long lines that could only have come from a belt, and a single cigarette burn in the back of his left triceps. Good Lord, his father had tried to turn him into a monster—but it hadn’t worked. When he’d boxed in the ring, had people noticed those faded signs of abuse? Or had they focused on the power of his broad shoulders, the strength of his thick arms? She traced the line of those lash marks with her lips, placed a single kiss on the burn mark, and then memorized the shape of every plane and curving muscle of his body.
He was so still and silent that she began to worry.
“Dmitri?”
“Hmmph,” he replied into the pillow.
Oh, no, was he falling asleep when she needed to say good-bye? “Is this okay?”
He nodded, and a tear pooled in the corner of his eyes. “Sweetheart, I have never enjoyed anything more in my life.”
She wiped the drop with her thumb and sucked it into her mouth, another taste of him to record. If ever she glimpsed this memory as a rusalka, she would savor it.
His salty tear dissolved on her tongue. Like a spark, it ignited the anger smoldering inside her.
The shrieking chant of her parents began again, and it clawed at her eardrums.
“Kill him. Him. Him. Kill him and be with us.”
She shuddered and Dmitri pushed himself up and twisted underneath her. Her glance bathed his face in green light. He sat upright and took hold of her shoulders, rolling her underneath him. All the while, her tremors shook the bed. Its square wooden headboard creaked, straining where the screws affixed it to the wall.
Chapter 33
Gregor’s cab pulled up to Elena’s house and he paid the driver. His short little sister appeared at the top of her front steps with a man. Gregor opened the door to step out of the cab at the same time the man turned—his old enemy. Boris Makar, holding his sister’s elbow. He reached for hi
s gun, but of course, it wasn’t there. He’d come on a commercial airplane. And he never used his gun anyway, that’s why he had Dmitri. Instead, he stood, dumbfounded, with one foot in the taxi, his cane and the other planted on the street.
As usual, Elena was the first to find her footing. “Get back in the taxi, we are coming with you. Dmitri needs our help.”
Boris gave Gregor a resigned shrug. His skin itched at the idea of being so near to this man, but none of them had ever been able to stand up to Elena face-to-face. He’d always had to manipulate from behind her back.
“The Hotel Omnus, please.” She slid gracefully across the bench. Her small body wasn’t much of a buffer between the two enemies, but the force of her will was effective. Although she sat still, her fists were clenched and her face pale.
Clearly, she’d discovered his deception, but she didn’t rail at him. The whites of her eyes shone bright with worry, not anger.
His mouth went dry as dust. “What’s the matter with Dmitri?”
“He’s gone off to sacrifice himself to Sonya Truss, to pay Ivan’s blood debt.”
So the woman in the photo really was the Truss girl, and he hadn’t lost his mind. Hell. Insanity was easier to swallow than this version of reality. “What the hell is a blood debt?”
“She is a rusalka.”
Gregor shook his head. “They only exist in fairytales.”
“Fine. Gregor. You can believe that. Meanwhile, our nephew is about to surrender his life to her so that she can go to the afterlife before she becomes a blood-thirsty water phantom.”
“What?”
Boris leaned forward to peer around Elena. “Ivan killed her. The debt transferred to his son. She has to kill him, or go insane trying.”
Gregor slumped into the seat. His bones ached from weariness, from cancer, and from sheer fear for his nephew. Ever since Dmitri had killed that girl, he’d been a live wire. But this was crazy, even for Dima.
Crossing his arms tight across his chest, Gregor shook his head. “No. The universe doesn’t work that way. Blood debts transferred from father to son. Ridiculous.”
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