The Siren's Touch

by Amber Belldene

  Boris snorted. “Are you listening to yourself? You, who taught Dmitri to hate me, who sent him here to kill me? You have the nerve to say blood debts aren’t real?”

  “That’s different. They’re the rules of our business, not the supernatural laws that govern ghosts. With his benders and his little crisis of conscience, Dmitri’s looking for a self-destruct button, just like his father.”

  “He’s nothing like his father.” Boris and Elena spoke at the same time.

  She turned and looked up at her former lover. Years vanished from both their faces, transforming them into the youngsters they’d once been. Well, hell. Gregor’s lies were about to bite him in the ass, the reasons for them so inconsequential fifty years later. His sister’s honor, the Lisko family name, his own pride—in the end they cost Ivan and Dima and even Elena too much.

  The Lisko house of cards was about to collapse with him on top, the king of diamonds nothing but a paper shell. With his past sins exposed, Elena and Dmitri would abandon him in his last days, leaving him alone to die. The only endgame that had really mattered—ensuring the future of everything he’d built—now unwinnable. Just one more defeat to Boris Makar.

  Without thinking, he lunged at the man, wrapping his hands tight around Makar’s throat, pressing on his windpipe with both thumbs. Elena swatted and slapped at Gregor, but he held tight. Boris gurgled and his eyes turned red. A stabbing pain pierced Gregor’s foot. He let up his chokehold as Elena ground the heel of her shoe into his instep.

  “You selfish son of a bitch,” she cried. “Dmitri could be dead, and you’re here hashing out ancient grudges that are probably all your fault to begin with.” She squared off her shoulders, shielding the much larger Boris behind her. “You two can have it out later, but first we save my nephew.”

  “From what? A ghost? What can she do to him anyway?”

  Boris sucked in a breath. “According to the stories, she can rip him apart with her teeth and claws.”

  “And if he puts his gun in her hand, she can do worse.” Elena leaned forward and scanned the street.

  Ghost claws were one thing. Dmitri’s own gun was something else entirely.

  Guns spilled blood, and Gregor had seen way too much of Dima’s the night he’d fallen in the ring. The pad of the ring had been covered in blue canvas advertising an insurance company, and the black-red pool had spread across nearly a quarter of the roped-off platform. Dmitri’s nose had been pushed so far into his head—and all Gregor could see behind his massive nephew’s battered face was a helpless kid, his face beat and bruised to the color of an eggplant after one of Ivan’s drunken rages.

  Maybe Dmitri was Gregor’s muscle. But Gregor had always been Dmitri’s protector. Not a perfect one, but God knows, he’d tried. And he would not let the kid get himself killed by some crazy ghost because of Ivan.

  “Do you have a plan?” he asked his sister.

  She glanced to Boris and back. “Sort of.”

  Chapter 34

  Not much time left.

  Dmitri gripped her shoulders to still her.

  Straddling his ass, she’d been moist and hot against his skin, but was she ready? He didn’t have time to find out. He parted her legs and thrust in hard, all the way. Surprise colored her cry, but not pain.

  “Oh God, Dmitri.”

  She shook, as he’d expected. The more pleasure stole her control, the more the rusalka would take hold.

  “Sonya, concentrate on me. Don’t look away from my eyes.”

  He took hold of her hips, raising them to just the right angle, and began a slow rhythm. Every stroke inside her soft heat made what he was about to do worth it. She’d made everything worth it—his father, his fighting, his work for Gregor—all of it had made him ready to do what needed to be done.

  He slid in and out of her, his gaze locked on her mesmerizing green eyes. With some supernatural power, they commanded him to submit, to obey her. Wholly unnecessary. She’d earned his service honestly, no rusalka powers required.

  He increased his pace, pistoning into her, taking her so much harder than he had before. Her ladylike gasps became animalistic grunts. Chestnut hair fanned around her head, messy, damp, and glorious. She lifted her hips to meet him, slamming their bodies together with blissful violence. It was a passion fueled by her hunger for vengeance, but she resisted it with strength, holding on to what made her Sonya and surrendering to his love instead of the rusalka. Each time he withdrew, she squeezed him like her body didn’t want to let go—clinging to her life and to him.

  Impossibly.

  Because it couldn’t last forever.

  She reached up to grip the headboard. Her shallow pants came faster, and she tilted her chin, severing their eye contact to roll her head back and forth. Without breaking his rhythm, he reached for his gun where he’d left it, at arm’s reach on the nightstand.

  He possessed all the focus of his best nights in the ring, his body a well-tuned engine, the crowd faded to a silent shadow, his thoughts crystal clear and reasonable, without a drop of fear. Fear was for people without choices. He’d made his and didn’t regret it.

  With his other hand, he stroked her where their bodies joined, finding that spot that would tip her over the edge. Soon, her core convulsed around him and the room shook.

  Damn. If he didn’t get this over with, she could bring down the whole building. The contractions inside her became a steady pulse, and he froze. She lowered her chin, leveling rusalka eyes at him and baring her teeth in a snarl.

  His body ground to a halt. His cock, his balls, and his heart protested the abrupt stop.

  But what all three wanted could not be. He held up the gun, letting it dangle from two of his fingers. She swiped for it but missed. Would she even know how to fire it?

  Hell, it was a gun. At this range all she had to do was point and pull.

  He lowered it a couple inches, and she caught it, pulling it into her grasp. Her mouth fell open and her eyes went wide, filling with tears.

  “You promised,” his sweet ghost cried.

  And then she was gone.

  Chapter 35

  Finally. She had him.

  The rusalka raged. His blood smelled like warm milk and honey—she would spill it and then lap it up like a kitten.

  He wrapped her hand around the warm metal object and placed her finger carefully. She didn’t know what it was, but she understood his surrender, grasped that the pull of her finger would be his end and her satisfaction. Her powers had mastered him, and he offered her what she was due. The thing was heavy in her hand, as was his body, pressed between her hips, his thick erection filling her.

  Now that his surrender was complete, she deigned to show him mercy. She would kill him at his moment of release.

  She pointed the tip of the weapon at his head. “Continue.”

  His head jerked away from her, as if repulsed. Then he shook it. “No. You are not her. Just finish it.”

  Inside her living flesh, very nearly gone forever, his cock withered.

  No! She wanted that hard thing back, wanted his desire, wanted him to slake her body’s appetite for the very last time. She opened her mouth to demand, to use her power to command his arousal.

  Then they appeared—the man and woman in bloodstained pajamas, faces twisting in furious rage. They tore at their clothing to no effect. The woman shrieked, pulling her hair. The man waved his fists, his mouth wide with a desperate roar. “Kill him. Be with us. Kill him.”

  Recognition flickered in her mind. She belonged to those souls, could join them in eternal rest, if she only achieved her vengeance by spilling his blood. She tilted her head, curious. Did she want to be with them? Or did she want to remain like this—powerful and full of intoxicating fury?

  “Kill him. Be with us. Kill him.”

  Their cries grated against her bare skin and tangled her racing thoughts. If only they would be silent and allow her to choose.

&
nbsp; The man yanked at the weapon. Instinctively, she pulled back with all her strength. He didn’t let go, only pressed the thing into his chest—a broad, beautiful expanse of male flesh that she’d already marked with her talons. Capturing her gaze, his icy eyes pleaded for her to kill him quickly. Her delay must be testing the limits of his courageous sacrifice. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his nostrils flared.

  His suffering was delicious. With a deep breath, she called up all her power. “You will serve me. You are mine to do with as I desire.”

  His square jaw jutted and his eyes narrowed with rebellion, even as he grew hard again inside her. She thrust her hips up to take him deeper.

  He recoiled, turning his face. Only after a deep breath filled his chest did he face her again. “Please, don’t do this. Have mercy. I pay my father’s debt willingly.”

  The spirits wailed, “Kill him. Be with us. Kill him.”

  “Silence.” They were ruining her fun with the human. She jerked the weapon, firing at the shrill phantoms. Its bang rang in her ears, and her arm ached with the force of its jolt. The projectile embedded itself in the wall, and the ghosts clapped their mouths shut, their vague faces puzzled.

  “Fuck.” He trembled, and his sweat dripped onto her belly.

  “Precisely. And now.”

  Gently, he reached for her arm and re-aimed the weapon. “Security will be on their way now. This is your last chance.”

  Security? She could kill them too. Delightful.

  The phantoms appeared alongside the couple, bending to peer into her face and then straightening up to see his. Even silent, they were distracting. Their faces took shape, sharpening into familiar features—features that stole her breath and her will.

  “Mama? Papa?” Sonya cried. She sat up, scrambling for a blanket to cover her nakedness.

  Dmitri sucked in a breath, shifting his hips away from her and helping to drag the sheets over them.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off the beloved faces of her parents until his big palm came to cup her face. When she looked up at him, the gun trembled, so heavy in her hand. In his glassy eyes shone some torture she didn’t understand. But she grasped what he’d done. “You promised.”

  “Sonya, I don’t want you to become that—”

  An echo of bloodthirsty rusalka thoughts whispered in her mind, hinting at what he’d seen. A strange scent tickled her nose, and somehow she knew it was his blood.

  The ghosts of her parents took hold of her arm, sending chills through her veins. Papa seized her hand and pulled. “Sonya, come with us. He offers himself willingly.”

  “If you do not, you will become that monster.” Mamma tugged at her elbow.

  Their efforts had no physical effect, but the mesh of her soul stretched, as if after everything, she were merely a spider web.

  “I’d rather be a monster.” She laid the gun at her side. “I love him. I can’t—”

  Was the whole building shaking, or just her?

  The door burst open, and people stumbled inside. The rusalka clawed at her insides, trying to break free. The fragile threads of her soul shook at the evil force possessing her. Thrashing, she dug her nails into the sheet so she didn’t rip at his flesh again. Her guts wrenched and her skin burned.

  “Oh, dear God,” said a woman, either Mama or Elena. “Are we too late?”

  Something exploded.

  “What was that?” said a man.

  “Window,” said another.

  She raised her head to see the beautiful view obscured by a million tiny cracks, the glass shattered but held in place as if by magic. At any moment, the whole window could collapse, and a sky’s worth of wind and fog would barrel through the tiny room and carry her away like a cobweb.

  “Hurry. She’s almost gone.”

  “Sonya, listen. We have a plan.”

  She tried to focus on the voice, definitely Elena, but the rusalka filled her vision with green-black ink.

  “You must forgive the debt.” This voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

  The rusalka fought. A frightening battle cry ripped out of Sonya’s throat, and the evil power used her hand to grasp the gun.

  Her parents shrieked, their wails flaying her nerves.

  “Say it, dear. Say, ‘I forgive the blood debt owed me by Ivan Lisko, and free his son, Dmitri, from its burden.’”

  The rusalka seized control of her tongue, wouldn’t let words form.

  “Kill him. Be with us. Sonya, we are your family. You belong with us.”

  A firm hand caught her wrist, claiming hold of the gun. Another pressed into her chest with a soothing pressure. “Will this work?” Dmitri’s rough voice held a hint of hope.

  Her mind cleared, and she drew in a full breath.

  “Maybe.” The familiar voice did not offer more reassurance.

  Dmitri settled alongside her and whispered in her ear. “I know you’re still in there. You are so strong, sweetheart. So strong.” He stroked her hair. “Do you want to forgive the debt? You won’t be reunited with your parents.”

  They were so close, almost real. How could she choose to say good-bye to them? But kill Dmitri? Unthinkable. It took all her strength to fight the rusalka enough to nod her head.

  “Can you say it?”

  Her jaw locked, her tongue twisted.

  Somehow, his voice remained calm. “Because if you say it, and by some miracle you get another chance at life, I would never, ever let you go.”

  Well, that was worth fighting for, if anything was. With her last drop of strength, she forced open her mouth and took control of her tongue.

  Her words slurred and spittle flew from her mouth. “I forgive the blood debt owed me by Ivan Lisko, and free his son, Dmitri, from its burden.”

  Everything stopped—the shrieks, the clawing, the tremors. No one spoke. Maybe the turmoil had all been inside her.

  “Sonya?” As usual, his lips were pressed thin.

  “I’m here,” she croaked.

  His eyes crinkled, his mouth formed that beautiful smile, and he laughed.

  The ghost of Mama cried, clinging to Papa’s neck.

  “No, no. Don’t cry. Please understand. I love him. I will come to you in time.”

  “Who is she talking to?” Elena asked.

  Sonya ignored her, speaking to Mama and Papa, grief hanging heavy on their faces. “It wasn’t him. It was his father. He is a good man.”

  “We forgive the debt as well,” Papa said. “His willingness to die for you proves he is honorable, and will care for you.” Even as a ghost, he wore his spectacles. Sonya had never had the chance to tell him about her internship with the National Opera. Now, instead, she had taken a much bigger leap.

  Mama wiped her spectral eyes. “I am happy you will get to live.”

  “Mama, are you okay? Are you happy there?”

  “Yes, dear. Our sadness is only for you and your sister.”

  “Anya isn’t with you?”

  Mama stifled a cry with the back of her hand, and Papa wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “No. We do not know where she is. For all this time, we had hoped you were together.”

  “I see.” But she didn’t, couldn’t begin to decipher what this news meant.

  Papa cleared his throat, or at least pretended to, since he didn’t really have a throat. “Sonya, dear, please tell your beau that I expect him to make you his wife immediately.”

  She pulled the blanket up to her chin, her face heating with a blush. “Yes, Papa.”

  “And now we must go, darling. We love you.”

  “I love you too.” She sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.

  And they faded away.

  Chapter 37

  Dmitri squeezed Sonya’s hand, witnessing what could only be her side of a good-bye to her parents. She’d chosen to stay with him.

  A humbling decision.

  After several long beats of sil
ence, Elena cleared her throat. “Dmitri, dear, some decency, please.” She spoke as if nothing at all unusual were underway, and he just happened to have forgotten his clothes.

  He should toss off his blankets and chase them all out of the room stark naked, but Sonya was a little pink and trying to sink under the blanket. Otherwise, she seemed normal—more calm and solid than ever. He wrapped his arms around her like a tight belt—afraid she would disappear or that the monster would reappear. His heart galloped in his ears and pounded against his sternum.

  Seeming to forget her shyness, her soft hand answered his fear, sliding to place over the center of his chest. She raised her eyes to his and smiled a brave smile.

  He squeezed her tighter.

  A small thud sounded. Gregor had thudded the foot of his cane against the floor—a silver-handled deal that confirmed he really was sick. Well, hell. Gregor was a rock, the boss, the bastard with all the rules. He’d been all Dmitri had for so goddamn long. And he was a murderous, lying prick.

  “What are you doing here?” Dmitri sat up, dragging Sonya upright. She clasped the sheet to her breasts.

  “I was worried for you. And I knew you needed answers before you would come home.”

  Home? How could Dmitri go home?

  “You ordered them to kill her,” he roared.

  Gregor studied Sonya for a moment. “I didn’t understand, son. I feared for your safety, and rightly so. She was trying to kill you.”

  Boris snorted, echoing Dmitri’s thoughts.

  “Not her, the rusalka. And you only wanted to keep the truth buried.”

  “That’s true. Because I feared if you knew what we had done, you would not come home. And I need you, Dima. I don’t have much longer.” Gregor raised up the cane as if it explained everything.

  Elena came to his side but held herself stiff and distant. “Many secrets have come out tonight. I don’t know when I will be able to forgive Gregor. But he’s telling the truth, Dmitri. He’s dying.”