While she was pouring the wine he stirred. “I figured you would kill me in some spectacular way.”
She warmed with pride to hear how raspy his voice was, and how lazy, too.
Nudging him with her toe, she said offered him a glass of wine.
He scowled at the offering. She took a sip out of her own glass, wincing as it stung the cuts inside her mouth.
“Purist.” She returned to the kitchen to get him a glass of water, remembering that his parents drank only blood, water and medicinal scotch.
His voice followed her down the hall. “Why would I play human? Why would I pretend to be less than I am?”
But even though Mikhail and his parents were old-fashioned, his brother Gregor ran a nightclub where vamps and humans mixed—and where no doubt many vamps drank unauthorized beverages. Alex Faustin, she heard, took it one step further. He cooked. She wondered if that was a source of tension in the family. Always searching for weakness, aren’t you, Alya?
Returning, she handed him the water and he drank it down thirstily, still sitting on the floor. She perched on a chair nearby.
The few swallows of wine she’d had were already going to her head. That meant she was dangerously weak.
“I need to eat. I’m going to call in a couple of feeders for us.”
He jerked his head her direction, a disapproving gleam in his eyes. “You shouldn’t use feeders. Hunting keeps you sharp.”
“It’s okay to hunt in New York, but not in LA. You have to drive around to find victims. The traffic is horrible. Then you have to park…” She waved her hand. “It’s easier to order out.”
“I’ll go. I’ll find someone and bring them to you.”
Alya folded her arms. Knyaz. Not only was he already trying to change the way she ate, he was also reminding her of another small fact. “How could I forget? You’re not hungry, are you?”
An unexpected flash of pink grazed his cheekbones. “I ate very well this evening.”
“I’m amazed you can meet my eye while you say that.”
“I went about it wrong, that I admit. But I can’t say I’m sorry I tasted you.”
He stood in one fluid motion. She knew his strength now. Intimately. But she let him close with her. Let him press her hand against the leaping pulse at the base of his throat. When he spoke, his deep voice vibrated against her fingers. “Tell me you’re not tempted.”
Alya swallowed hard, remembering his tongue on her wounds. What would his blood taste like? His sweat and seed were compelling enough. But she couldn’t sink into this madness. “The idea sickens me.”
He covered her hand with his. “You know how they live on inside us. After.”
After exsanguination, he meant. Yes. Her enemies were always with her.
“Imagine that intimacy with a living person. Live communication, soul to soul.”
Intimacy. Her favorite thing in the world. She turned away.
“You’re afraid you can’t bond like that.”
“Why would I want to?”
“You’re afraid…you’re afraid you don’t even have a soul anymore.”
She whipped back around to glare at him.
“I heard it in your blood.”
Knowing that made her feel soiled and far too tired. “I hope you enjoyed all your gorging and eavesdropping.”
He tilted his head, a bit puzzled, as if he were still reading her. “I like you more for it. And it’s not tr ue , by th e way. ”
Alya’s eyes stung. Were those tears? What the fuck? She brought her heel down on a chunk of fallen plaster, crushing it into powder. “I’m so relieved. Because that’s what I really care about. Whether Mikhail Faustin likes me or not.”
“You have a right to be tired.” He swept her knife from the ground and handed it to her with a bow. “Come, rest with me. We can fight later.”
She swiped at her face impatiently. Whether he saw her tears or not, they still made her weak, and stupid. And because she was weak and stupid, she let him lead her to the sofa. They stretched out on it together, Mikhail behind her. He gathered her against his chest. It was a familiar gesture, as comfortable and familiar as a pair of old jeans. But it was also disconcerting. No one had held her like that since she left him. She’d never been able to trust anyone that much.
Alya laughed to herself. And what, now I trust him? A marriage-minded Faustin who—so far this night—has Tasered me, tapped me and shot me?
She kept her knife clutched to her breast, just in case.
Mikhail said, “Sleep a little, and I’ll bring you food.”
“And then you’ll want to feed from me again.”
He didn’t answer.
“What happens to you now…now that you’ve really fed from me?”
“I’m no different than before.”
“You’re lying. I remember a story, a fairy tale about a bonded man who couldn’t feed.”
“Roland. Roland and Illysia.”
“That’s it. What happened to him?”
He sighed. “It’s a sad story.”
“I like those best.”
“I remember that.”
Mikhail swept the hair off the side of her face. The gesture reminded her of her mother. For a long time she’d resented her mother for being so delicate and forgiving. For dying young and leaving her alone in a house of men.
Going to live with her aunt in New York had saved her life, she was sure of it, and meeting Mikhail and his family had been a revelation. She’d never known a family could be so tight. For a magic space of time, she’d been one of them. Until she betrayed them all.
“Only angels and demons have no regrets,” Mikhail said.
“Can you still hear my blood?”
“No. I just know you’re sad.”
Alya closed her eyes. Being with him was too much like being flayed with a scalpel. It had to end, and as she’d told him, it couldn’t end well.
“Please, tell me the story.” Following old habits, she nestled her head in the crook of his arm.
“It’s a story from the Caucasuses.”
“Where the Faustins come from.”
“That’s right.” She heard the smile in his voice. “Long ago there was a powerful prince named Volchock who had a beautiful daughter, white-shouldered Illysia. All the young vampyr lords desired her hand in marriage, but Illysia’s mother had a prophetic dream. Her destined mate was a foreign lord named Roland. She told her husband of this dream, and he made her swear to keep the dream a secret from their daughter. He wanted to investigate the man first, he said.
“The truth was that he knew of this Roland. Roland had killed his brother. Over the years, he’d contemplated revenge. Now he saw his way to a perfect ending. He went to Roland and told him about the dream, that all was forgiven, that he was welcomed to the family. After all, they could not deny fate, could th ey?
“Roland was amazed, but pleased. He’d seen Illysia once at a tournament, and remembered her fine figure, and her skin like white rose petals.
“Volchok brought Roland home with him, speaking all the way about his daughter’s beauty and worth, but also her passion. How he was glad to get her married off safely, because she burned hot and flirted with his men incessantly. He even insinuated that while he’d tried to keep her a virgin, she might not be one still.
“By the time they came within sight of the castle Roland was on fire, thinking about this girl who appeared a lamb but was a vixen inside, a girl who’d been given to him by destiny, a girl who could not help but love him.
“‘And she knows about me?’ Roland asked.
“‘She knows all about you. She’s chomping at the bit. Mind you, she’s spirited.’ He winked at Roland. ‘You’ll enjoy putting her to saddle.’