by Gaja J. Kos
“Thank you,” she whispered, completely turning her back to Veles.
She found herself in front of those silver eyes, which looked at her with acknowledgment and, she was touched to see, acceptance. She felt the weight of his head in her palms as she gently stroked him behind the ears, the tips of her fingers fusing with the silver silk.
“I hope I will have the chance to see you again, friend.”
The simargl gently shoved her hands to the sides, angling his head towards her to brush his muzzle against the wind-kissed skin of her cheek. Being so close, she could smell the unfathomable length of his existence, the orphic energy flowing inside his body–and his profound alienation.
Rose's eyes glistened with the traces of the tears she tried to keep from falling when the simargl took a step back, observing her with a warmth that seeped through his striking silver gaze.
Their goodbye was without words. The thud of his paws echoed as the simargl turned around, gently grazing her arm with his wing in a lingering caress, before running into the distance to take flight and disappearing in a shimmer against the blue sky.
“He likes you,” Veles muttered as he took his place by her side, his gaze trailing after the departed simargl. There were no mischievous undertones in his voice, only affection, the kind that must have been nurtured for eons. “Maybe I have given a greater gift to him than to you.”
Rose bit back a sob, determined not to let her emotions flow so unguarded in Veles's presence. So she stood in silence, her eyes still observing the distant blue of the sky, trying to bring her breaths into a steady rhythm.
She was caught by surprise when Veles wrapped his arm around her shoulders, softly nudging her to turn around.
“Come, Rosalind.”
She felt the unspoken words lurking underneath; they had a long discussion in front of them, one neither exactly looked forward to. She followed the god deeper into the shade where a steel trapdoor lay between two massive pine trees.
Veles murmured something under his breath, the mechanism responding to his voice; the hatch opened, revealing a short flight of stairs.
“I don't use this particularly often, but I did update the place.” He waved his hand at the light bulbs artistically spread down the length of the hallway, the rays of light throwing uneven crisscross patterns against the concrete walls. “Although I must admit, the candlelight produced a far more intriguing atmosphere.”
Rose stifled a laugh. She welcomed his self-assured tone of voice; it helped lessen the rush of emotions that had taken hold of her when she parted from the silver-winged wolf.
They followed a labyrinth of passageways, finally emerging in a sunlit room, much more modern than the one she had found herself in at the time of their first encounter.
“My summer residence,” the god explained in a somewhat mocking tone.
“I would never have considered you for a sun-and-salt-in-the-air or salt-in-the-hair kind of guy,” Rose jested. She walked over to the wall of windows, observing the faint horizon of the glistening sea in the distance and the vast land that extended beyond the hill on which the house had been built.
“You haven't seen how nicely my body tans...”
Rose stuck out her tongue, not particularly caring she felt like she was in her teens again, only to find the most sincerely amusing expression creep across Veles's face. It would have been far too easy to forget the actual reason for her presence in the god's summer residence, too easy to finally take him up on his offer, stripping him of his black linen shirt and allowing the sun to kiss his body, just as she would kiss her way down the firm creases of his abdomen...
Snapping herself out of that explicitly luscious line of thought, she angled her head toward the patio in a tacit question. He led her out, inviting her to sit with him on the rattan daybed. She remained conscious of keeping a proper amount of distance between them; Veles truly did look good as the sun touched his skin and reflected in the pure black strands of his hair. And Rose, above all, needed to stay focused on the more arduous subjects.
“So,” she began, trying not to dwell on the fact that Veles was, without a doubt, as hauntingly handsome as he was arrogant, “should I go first?”
He nodded, shifting slightly to a more relaxed stance. He listened to her recollection of Nathaniel's findings without interrupting; only a slight frown line appeared on the otherwise smooth skin between his eyebrows to indicate a rise in his level of irritation.
“We haven't exactly discussed this aspect yet,” Rose concluded, her mouth clenched in a tight line, “but I have the feeling the toxin in the puncture mark and the toxin from the brand don't share the exact same source.”
He straightened his back, his gaze firmly fixed on her eyes. “Meaning?”
“We already know the mark had been cut into the victims with werewolf claws, or something like werewolf claws, to be precise... I think the venom is somehow produced from them as well.”
“Not placed into the cut-up skin later?” he asked, yet his question came out sounding more like a statement, the strain in his voice prominent.
She nodded, glad to see the god accept her theory in earnest. “I think the injection comes first, although I'm still not sure how someone had managed to get close enough to do so; I don't know about the Banniks, but the White weres are known to be outstanding fighters...”
“And when the toxin is already in their system, they brand their victims,” he finished her thought, crossing his arms across his chest. “And Nathaniel is sure the toxin from the mark couldn't have come from within the bodies?”
“Positive.”
Veles let out a deep sigh, a gravely dissatisfied expression occupying his sharp features. “I hate it when mortals feel the urge to make a statement.”
Rose wasn't certain how to react to the fact that a series of murders could unnerve the god of the underworld; she procured a cigarette from a side pocket of her pants, but kept it unlit, fondling it between her fingers as she pondered over just how grave the situation could be if it affected the unaffectable.
“It's a power struggle, isn't it?” she blurted, allowing herself to follow the train of thought that finally made sense. “These murders threaten your rule of the underworld.”
He shot her a miffed look, and for a moment she feared she might have finally overstepped the line. There was knowledge a mortal, even a supernatural one, had no business possessing. He leaned forward, cupping her chin in his palm. Green fire blazed in his irises, allowing her a glimpse of the power surging within him. And the fury.
“Your mortal mind can't comprehend the depth of the consequences should my rule be threatened.”
He pulled her closer, the grip on her chin firm but not aggressive. She felt the warmth of his lips tracing her own, the inciting pressure of his skin against her as he fastidiously captured her upper lip, gently nibbling at it with the tips of his teeth and–as Rose was now positive–fangs.
“This taste of untamed wind on your lips would be gone,” he whispered, breaking from the kiss, yet remaining so close she could feel his every word on her skin. “Your world exists because I reign in the one that follows.”
She lifted her eyes from the entrancing lines of his mouth to the flames of green, which appeared to be tamed only by the presence of the thin black rim that surrounded them.
“You control the passage between the two worlds. You hold the gates...” she said, her voice a bare whisper, as realization finally washed over her.
The faintest trace of a smile came to life on the edges of his lips, his voice soft as he spoke. “And now you know why I offered my assistance.”
Chapter 14
Rose finally lit the cigarette she had nearly crumbled between her fingers. Veles remained silent beside her, his hand resting above her knee as he leaned back. The green flames subsided at a steady pace as his gaze trailed the sunlit horizon, the gentle blur indicating the rising temperatures of summer. She needed to process the weight of his words, focu
sing on the indisputable fact that with whatever help the god could offer, her pack had at the very least a fighting, although small, chance of coming out of this mess alive.
She closed her eyes, feeling the sun through the fabric of her pants as she stuck out her legs from under the shadow the parasol offered. They had more to discuss—she knew Veles wouldn't have gone through the trouble of bringing her here if they didn't, but she needed the few minutes of silence, and for once, she and the god were clearly on the same wavelength.
She dropped the basic guard she had kept on her senses, the full rush of the summer air filling her lungs and the taste of salt clearing away the bitter taste of the disturbing revelation. She thanked him in her thoughts; she was grateful beyond measure that he had brought her to such a secluded location where the smells were sparse and undisturbed, their clarity washing through her, and giving her mind a chance to clear, too. The weight of the subject remained, but in this setting, it was something she could at least handle.
She put out the cigarette, exhaled the last whiff of smoke, feeling his grip around her thigh tighten when the god turned towards her with more than just a pensive expression set upon his face.
“My turn,” he said, his voice perfectly leveled.
With a slight incline of her head, she offered the god her full attention. He stroked the side of her thigh, his fingers fondling the fabric of her combat pants before sitting himself in a more upward position, the prominent features devoid of any hint of the lust that had usually encircled him.
“New souls came to me last night, in the hours after I left your apartment. They were disoriented, their memories nothing but fog. Their group was diverse. Not all of them had come from the corporeal form of the same species, yet all of them crossed over almost simultaneously. I could tell by the faint markers that had remained from their past life that some of them had been White werewolves.”
The information caught Rose unprepared; she gave him a questioning gaze, not yet able to participate in the conversation, urging him to explain further.
“Yes, they had originated from the Czech Republic. Approximately sixty miles from where you found the dead bodies in the den.”
Rose finally found her voice. “And the souls couldn't belong to the slaughtered Whites we discovered?”
“No. The geographical origin cannot be manipulated. Once the flesh dies, and the soul's connection to it is severed, the spirit is permanently marked. Each soul carries within itself the location of its death.”
Veles trailed her cheeks with the back of his fingers in an innocent affection that spoke of comfort before resuming his narration. “It is harder to find the trail of their earthly departure in the ones that have no recollection of who they were, yet it rests within them if you know where to search.”
“How many White weres crossed over?” she asked in a soft voice, leaning into the solace of his skin brushing against hers.
“Nine, I believe.”
Her whole body went rigid under his touch.
“Rose?”
“They were the ones that were missing,” she said, her words barely audible. A deep fury took hold of her, blazing through her veins. “They slaughtered the whole pack.”
She got up, marching across the patio to the far-end railing, while Veles remained seated, giving her the solitary time she achingly needed. Once she calmed herself, cleaning the fury out of her mind with deep breaths of crystalline smells the surrounding nature offered, she walked back to the daybed, sitting on it cross-legged to directly face the god who hadn't let her out of his sight despite giving her the illusion of privacy.
“Do the souls arrive shortly after they are severed from the body, or is it a more lengthy process?” She asked the question she wouldn't dare pose under any other circumstances. She was reaching far into immortal knowledge, but it was something she couldn't allow to pass. Not if they wanted to have a chance of winning the war that had already crept up behind them.
There was a flicker within the green of his eyes, but he remained calm, answering her almost without pause. “It occurs instantly.”
“Then the nine were slaughtered days after their pack.” She frowned, trying to wrap her mind around something she couldn't comprehend just yet. “It must have been different, right? For their souls to cross when the others didn't?”
Veles clasped his hands together, his elbows placed upon his legs; he gazed down at the streaks of sunlight spread across the floorboards.
“I can't be sure.” He sighed. “However, I do believe we can speculate a difference in the manner of death when it comes to the two cases. I don't see any other possible explanation for the discrepancy.”
Rose saw the glimpse of vulnerability in him again, the pain he had hidden well, but not enough to conceal it from her completely, although she was certain he was trying his best to do so. Despite his flamboyant egocentric nature that must have come from being the undisputed ruler of the underworld for millennia, she realized Veles cared for the souls that rested within his realm. And he feared for the ones unable to cross over.
“I need to know where it happened.” She placed her arm on his back, fanning her fingers in a gentle caress across the linen fabric of his shirt. “Can you tell me the location of their deaths?”
He turned towards her, his gaze connecting with her own. “I can do even better. Come.”
She followed him into the house, expecting to find herself in front of a computer screen or, considering Veles's appreciation for the more old-fashion ways, in a map room. She certainly didn't envision ending up standing inside the spacious master bedroom, observing the god as he headed towards the king-size bed. Although she couldn't deny how pleasing the sun-dipped white colors of the walls and the white-and-gold bed in the middle of the room were for the senses, the situation was nonetheless far from appropriate for any bedroom activities.
“This was what you had in mind as doing better?” she asked, her gaze shifting from the light colors of the otherwise massive bed to the dark figure of the god who had remained standing next to it.
“I do not intend to coerce you into having sex, Rosalind,” he said, his voice flat as he sat down, locking his eyes on her. “In fact, I'm certain that what I am about to do will seriously damage my chances of seeing your naked body spread before me in the future; so if we do end up in any kind of orgasmic situation, it will be your will, and your will only that will get us there. Now come closer.”
She approached the bed with caution, although she wasn't completely sure what she was being cautious of; but the sharp tone of Veles's voice certainly added fuel to that particular feeling. He ran his hand over the white bedspread that carried a pattern of gold stitching, inviting her to take her place next to him.
“It'll be easier this way.”
She was almost frightened by the lack of seduction in his voice, but she obeyed. She sat down by his side, her braided hair catching the rays of sunlight that pierced through the opened windows.
Veles observed her intently, his mind clearly filled with racing thoughts, although she noticed the god glimpse the strawberry blonde shimmer of her hair before regaining his focus. “Give me your weapons.”
“What?” He must have understood he was asking for something she was not by any means comfortable with.
“It's for your safety,” the god replied in a grim tone that made her painfully aware he was being unwaveringly serious in his demand.
“My weapons are my safety.”
“Not here.”
The bluntness of his words slapped her anew. She began to seriously question her judgment when it came to the lord of the underworld; she realized she hadn't even asked him what he intended to do with her, but merely followed him inside the house, the need for information blinding her own survival instincts that began to kick in later than she would have liked them to. Yet the unfamiliar sense of trust that stirred within her stopped her from arguing; she pulled the sword from her back, unfastened her arm and leg sheath
s, even fished out the more concealed knives, and set them on the bedspread.
“What are you going to do?” she asked when she finally unarmed herself, placing the last small, but lethal dagger along with the rest of her arsenal.
He cupped her face with his hands, his mouth suddenly finding her lips in gentle affection. He broke away before she even had a chance to grasp what had transpired between them, but nonetheless kept holding her now delicately warmed cheeks in the safety of his palms.
“I'm going to show you where they died.”
Rose sat in silent shock as the full meaning of the words washed over her; he meant to show her a part of the underworld. She breathed slowly, fighting the chilled sensation that had crept up her spine. He gathered her weapons, moving them with care to the vintage white wood drawer wardrobe on the other side of the room, and thoughtfully spread them on top of it, almost as if he was preparing a display. Observing the meticulousness with which he handled her blades had a calming effect on her, the tension in her muscles finally reduced to the point where she felt more like herself again, and the odd prickling in her spine barely noticeable.
Veles returned, reclaiming his position beside her on the bed. “It will be best if you lie down.”
She pushed herself farther onto the mattress, finding a comfortable position with her head sunk into the softness of pillows, which carried the same white and gold pattern as the bedspread. Veles slid closer, his thigh brushing against Rose's hip as he loomed over her, the black strands of his hair falling across his face, making him even more painfully beautiful, despite the unrelenting tension that had captured his features from the moment they walked into the house and had refused to subside.
“It won't be pleasant, Rosalind,” he admitted, running the back of his hand down her cheek, pausing at the delicate curve at the bottom of her neck. “Try not to fight it. And remember why you are doing this.”