He pointed. “You do not trust me, I do not trust you.”
“Assume that if I wanted to kill you, I would have hours ago. We'll assume if I wanted your city, I would have already burned your home to the ground. You think I don't know where you sleep? You think you are safe to threaten me? The only things that save you are my civility and my word.”
“Ah, Svetlana, what a tyrant you are,” he said, as though he had validated all his concerns. She sighed and set her head on her hands.
“There is no winning with your logic.” She slapped her knee. “Everyone believes very easily whatever he fears or desires.”
“Don't quote a Frenchman to me, mongrel, especially in an attempt to be insulting,” Sigurd said. Anger added extra heat to his ginger aroma. Like something fresh from the oven, doubly enticing. Suddenly the vodka wasn't the only substance in the room my body craved. “Give me the boy or I’ll simply take him.”
“Go! If you come near my home again, I will kill you,” she said, eyes blazing, voice rumbling. “If you so much as knock on my door, I'll tear you to shreds and feed your meat to the pups!”
“This is stupid,” I said, in response to everything.
“Sigurd has requested ransom. Vanya is too young. I will go.” Tatka stood, offering herself. Svetlana slapped Tatka. The girl crumpled on the couch and bled.
“Do not bargain with your life in my house!”
Sigurd said, “It is my right to demand an offering, isn't it, Svetlana? Now I want a gift, something precious to you. And she did make the offer. How kind. How sweet. And isn't she a glorious sacrifice?” He smiled a casual, evil smile and reached for the bleeding girl.
“Over my dead body,” Svetlana said. Peter stood beside her while Sigurd hissed. I didn't want to have to shoot. I didn't think I could kill him.
Sigurd pushed his luck, held his hand out to Tatka. “She offered. Willingly! You have no power to recant another's offering! Once said, it cannot be unsaid, and now she is mine.”
“I'll kill you,” she said. “You want your threats? You may have them! If you play these vampire games with me and my children, I will kill you. And I will not stop. I will kill anyone that stands with you. I will slaughter you and defame you and burn your icons to the ground.”
“Play nice, Svetlana,” Sigurd said.
“I'll burn you to ash!”
I stood beside Peter and pulled my gun. Didn't point it yet.
“You would stand against me?” Sigurd said, surprised. “Wait, listen, mortal; don't you see the glory of God?”
“I'm standing right here and I say the game ends now,” I said, trying not to breathe in his glamour. Sigurd reached for me. “Don't you touch me.”
Playing games with the lives of children and the fate of an entire people.
Repulsion chilled my spine. Sigurd stomped his foot and shook his head, like a toddler ready for a tantrum. For once, I didn't want to comfort him. Svetlana seethed, full to the rim with hatred, ready to tear the vampire apart molecule by molecule.
“I'm hungry. Give me something,” Sigurd said. The last bits of his blood ran to his face, but he hadn't fed after the violence. He was hungry and grumpy. His eyes flashed and he looked devilish.
Unthinking, my gun rose and targeted his face. The hungry, dead eyes, like a snake crawling under my shirt and slinking around my neck.
Svetlana was about to take out his heart and show it to him. Her teeth grew, a deliberate show of strength. He held out a hand as if he’d ask her to dance. I stared at his alabaster palm, slender fingers, and nails like sea shells.
“Give me another taste,” he said. The focus of the conversation shifted from Tatka to the Queen of Moscow. She rubbed her neck, massaging the wound Sigurd had given her. He didn’t look sorry about the bite; he looked like he wanted another hit. The weird thing was I think she wanted to taste him, too. Just for the hell of it, to give him a spin around the block. “You smell sweet,” he said. “Give me another taste. I deserve it.”
She pounced on him like a wrecking ball. They tumbled into the wall. The whole house shook on its foundation as the monsters tussled. The basement filled with a chorus of wet flesh smacking, things cracking, screeching, hissing, and howling. They tore into each other. A garden hose couldn’t fix this.
The room filled with people drawn to the commotion. Young, old, in between, about forty of them. Forty mutts and little ol’ me. Sigurd screeched, redirecting my attention.
I said, “Is she going to kill him?”
Peter shrugged. “Is he trying to kill her?”
Kliment said, “Jesus,” and shouldered past us. He leaped into the fray, straining to pull Sigurd off Svetlana, but he wasn't making any progress.
“Stop, or neither of you will ever see that book again!” I said.
Svetlana paused. Her hands were claws, but the wolf was otherwise contained. Such strength before she even shed made me consider buying a bomb shelter of my own. Sigurd struggled beneath her, hair mussed, and robe torn. If she wanted his heart, she would have had it. Her shirt gaped to reveal a horrid bite mark above her left breast. They couldn't keep their eyes to themselves. Flustered, flushed, they made eyes at each other. Shit. They may want to fight, but they wanted to fuck, too. Or maybe they were hoping to donate body parts to each other. Yikes.
The vampire bite on her chest steamed. Peter sniffed at the wound and wrinkled his face. Maybe a chemical in Sigurd's saliva reacted with her blood.
I said, “Why are you pestering Sigurd?”
She shrugged. “He smells good. His perfume rings of heaven, his bite burns like hell.” Sigurd’s mouth gaped like she had called him beautiful in a thousand tongues. Then she punched him in the jaw. “Now he smells even better.”
He slapped her. She laughed, lip bleeding, and lunged. It could quickly become a rapacious slugfest. Peter caught her out of the air and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“Don't digress,” he said. She grinned, all giddy and shit. Sigurd shuffled his feet and pulled the scrap of robe around him like he was shy. His pupils weren't responding. Whatever they were doing made them high.
“Oh my god.” I whapped myself on the forehead. “Does this mean you two aren't going to kill each other?”
Svetlana laughed and reached for me. I stepped back and bumped into Vadik. His arm slid around my shoulders like we were on a date. I pushed him.
Sigurd wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “I want the book.”
“I don’t have it,” Svetlana said. “Bargain with Kaidlyn.”
“I'm not giving it back,” I said. “I stole it fair and square.”
“She has a point,” Svetlana said. “You didn't keep it safe. Left it for anyone's taking. If you aren't strong enough or clever enough to keep it, it's fair game. And if you let a human take it, then you have no authority to make demands.”
He slumped and put his head in his hands as though her logic was infallible.
“I must barter for my own things? Insanity! What do you want?”
“Tell Svetlana how to kill Alexei.”
“No,” Svetlana said. “Use the favor for something you desire.”
Sigurd waved his hands. “I can’t tell you how to kill him if I don’t know who he’s been eating.”
“I’m so confused,” I said, yet Svetlana nodded as if he made perfect sense.
“Perhaps a painting you admired,” he said. “Money? Shiny things? Candy?”
“A public statement,” I said.
“What?”
“A press statement. You emphatically declared that you had nothing to do with the vampires’ holy crusade against mutts. I want you to say so publicly. Don't have to name names, but I want the public to know at least one powerful vampire doesn’t support mutt genocide. After, you can have the book.”
Svetlana smiled at me like I was just the cutest thing.
Sigurd’s face fell to nothingness. He was deep in thought, a quiet that stretched to an absurd length while I fidget
ed and considered all the ways this fiasco could backfire on me. “In the event that Svetlana kills Alexei, I will make such a proclamation. One statement comprised of three hundred and thirty-three words, and I expect the book when I finish speaking. If Svetlana dies, you will return my book and I don’t have to discuss any genocidal nonsense.”
“Deal.”
“As for you.” He pointed at Svetlana, and then lost his words. Finally he said, “If I have to see you again, you're a dead one.”
“Back at you, vamp.”
Sigurd left, abandoning me in a room full of werewolves, both old and new. I beelined for the door to get the hell away as fast as possible.
“Not so fast,” she said, voice like a lover’s rich saunter. Helplessly, I paused. And once I paused, I was stuck.
“Thanks,” I said. “For running interference on the whole pipe-bomb thing.”
She waved me off. “All in a day's work.”
“Naw, I threw a tantrum about your loyalties, and yet you came through.”
“My pleasure.” Her nonchalant tone implied that she had nothing better to do than hop on explosives. My expression must have been absurd because she laughed. “Come with me.”
We strolled into an open, industrial-sized kitchen with buffet-length counters. She sauntered to a line of refrigerators, opened one, and offered me a beer. I took it without thinking, walking deeper into her den, closer to her soothing scent of candy and blood.
“How is Davey?” she said.
“Good. Weathering the storm.”
“He can come here anytime. If he needs company or a place to shed…”
“He hasn’t needed a place. He doesn’t. He’s fine.” I sipped the beer. “He doesn’t do that.”
“Almost year without a change?” Aghast, she wrinkled her nose. “How unnatural.”
“Adds up to a lot of full moons without submitting to the disease. Hell, he believes he never needs to change.”
She clammed up and drank her beer.
“Svetlana,” I said, leaning closer.
“Yes, Kaidlyn?”
“That's the face you use when I say something that isn't true and you decide it's best not to correct me. What are you not sharing?”
Sheepishly, she said, “The full moon, or the moon in any given phase, has no command over wolves.”
“The full moon doesn't induce shedding?” I perched on a barstool.
“Some wolves believe they must change every full moon and therefore make a ritual of it, but this is not a necessity. It's also a legend that should not be discouraged because if everyone expects lykos to shed during that time, then every wolf can have an alibi on full moon nights.”
“Mutts started the full moon myth?”
“It’s more like a fairy tale that we did not try to disprove.”
She reached into the fridge for two more beers. I didn't protest. She popped the beer tops, gave me, and then sat beside me. She pushed her hair into a ponytail, and it was damp at her temples. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips red. My stomach hitched.
I had consumed too much beer too fast.
Her skin, mottled around Sigurd’s bite, was otherwise tan and smooth. When her forearm rested beside my scarred one, I remembered some of her damage; a tulip-sized ax wound on her back, the circular rings on her wrist. I wondered if the bomb left marks on her stomach. Then I found myself thinking about the tight skin of her belly, the lithe power hidden in her touchable torso.
“At least the silver bit is true,” I said, bringing myself back into the conversation.
She shrugged. “In the eighteenth century, silver wasn't part of the mythology. The silver allergy didn't show up until about two hundred years ago. Which leads us to believe it was not always part of the equation.”
“So how did it happen?”
“There are theories.” But none she wanted to share with me.
“How long can mutts live? How old are you?”
She gave me a look that ended the conversation. Her body, dense with muscle and magic, burned near me. Her skin, as resilient as it was lovely, felt like silk and steel. I knew, because she’d embraced me once. Felt like forever since she clutched me and kissed me while I somehow forgot to shoot her.
She turned slightly, stretching across the counter for a platter of cheese. Meanwhile, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the outward curve of her breast coddled by the white shirt. I chugged the beer, almost choking. She passed the platter of cheese, picking a piece of yellow whatever and plopping it into her mouth.
“I’ve been craving cheese and butter recently, probably to help with healing,” she said. “My body wants healthy fats.”
I smiled. “Most people think butter is unhealthy.”
“Most people think they know more than they truly do.”
She moved some hair from my cheek. When I twitched, her hand dropped to grab another chunk of cheese as though I hadn’t shied from her. The woman terrified me. Her mutt was as big as a rhino. She killed people with the same concern that normies use when making a shopping list. She brought war to my city. And she smelled of sweet caramel, iron-thick blood, and rich porter.
“I have to go,” I said. She nodded, not meeting my eyes. However, I felt her gaze on me as I walked away.
Outside, the vampire lurked, waiting. My hand flew compulsively to my weapon, which he didn’t notice. Brow scrunched, arms folded, he remained deep in thought.
“How did you get into my house?” he said. “Past the securities and the charms, how did you manage it? Not by yourself, I imagine.”
“I have ways.”
“You have connections,” he corrected.
I shrugged.
“Eh…” His eyebrows jerked further up his quizzical forehead. “And these connections who have these ways, could they find someone for me? Like…a person, per se?”
“Possibly. Who are you searching for?”
He stared at me, eyes like pennies, face of a statue. His lip trembled once, as if on the brink of speaking, then he shook his head.
“How did you find Svetlana?” I said. “How did you end up on her doorstep?”
“I have connections of my own. A decent witch can find many things.”
“But not the person you want help searching for? Per se?”
The monster turned, mumbling in a foreign language as he stumbled down the steps and escaped in his town car. Weird. My night had seen so much absurdity that I chose to ignore it all.
When I got home, Davey was sleeping on the couch. His hair was ruffled, his torso bare, and his fingers twitched in a dream. Mouth slack, unpresuming.
Something about watching a person sleep made me think all things were possible, that the world had a chance at hope and peace and love.
Above all things, love.
I slept like a baby.
Chapter 20
After a twenty minute lecture from Sarakas about my failure to stay in the house, he finally gave up, popped a couple of beers, and sat next to me with a deep-dish pizza to watch ancient Jet Li movies. Mid-fight scene, a chill rippled over my skin, bringing goosebumps to the surface. Instinctively, I slipped my hand on my holster, which alerted Sarakas that something was amiss.
Honey sweet perfume rolled over me, edged with the scent of copper.
The doorbell rang, and I already knew who was on the other side. Eyes as big as saucers, I glanced at Sarakas, wondering if I could stuff him in the closet before she got inside. Nope. She twisted the doorknob, opening it as if the thing wasn’t locked. Her brunette hair swayed in a cute ponytail, and she smiled like a kid in a candy shop.
“Kaidlyn?” Andreas set down his beer and angled for a weapon without taking eyes off her. He could see she was dangerous behind her strong supple body, the long brunette hair and warm brown eyes.
“Excuse us, would you?” she said.
“It’s fine,” I said. “We need to talk about stuff.”
“Stuff?” he said, blinking. “Usually when you say stuff, it r
efers to something both intimate and short-lived…” He trailed off. His eyes slid along her body, back to her face. Suspicion clouded his gaze. “Kaid—”
“We’re fine, Sarakas. Truly.”
He thrust his hands on his hips, practically calling me an outright liar. “What’s your name?”
Svetlana, the Wolf Tyrant of Moscow, held out her hand and opened her mouth. He would recognize her name and shoot her.
“Andreas, buddy,” I said. “You need to give us a minute.”
“I’m Svetlana.” She ignored my warning, hand extended. Sarakas blinked and put the pieces together.
“You broke into Kaidlyn’s house a few months ago and threatened her.”
“To be fair, Ms. Durant shot me for it.”
“The mutt—”
“Wolf,” she corrected.
“I’m a federal agent!” Flabbergasted, he threw up his hands.
“So I’ve heard.” Her hand waited and never wavered. Open palm, calm stance, vulnerable, blatant, and nonchalant. They might kill each other, yet she held her ground while he processed epic info.
“You’re ruining her life,” he said.
“Not fair,” I argued.
“She’s been nothing but trouble.”
“That is true,” I admitted.
He glowered at her. “I could shoot you.”
“You could,” she said, waiting.
Finally, Andreas looked at me. “Kaid?”
“If she wanted to kill me, I’d be dead,” I said.
Svetlana pulled her hand back and stuffed it in her pocket, feigning sheepishness. He glared like he’d found the devil herself. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll be right outside.”
He strolled away, and I caught Svetlana watching his backside with far too interested an expression.
“That is my partner, Andreas Sarakas,” I said. “And he’s my best friend. Don’t ever try to hurt him for any reason.”
“Now, why would you think—”
“Svetka!”
“Oh, fine. I promise.”
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