Kiss Across Worlds (Kiss Across Time Book 7)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Neven jumped without responding.

  * * * * *

  They arrived back in the bedroom. Outside, the sun had set and dark was moving over the valley.

  “It sounds quiet out there,” Remi said, with his ear to the door. He put his hand on the knob. “Shall we?”

  Abruptly, on the other side of the door, came shouting. It was Russian. London recognized only one of the words. Here! Here!

  The door burst in and people boiled into the room, all of them in black, with ski masks and guns. Remi staggered back, then surged forward again, his hands out.

  “London, into the closet!” Neven shouted.

  She turned and ran for the closet. Once she was in there, she could jump back to the depot and tell Veris and the others what had happened….

  Something rammed into her back and sent her flying forward to sprawl on the carpet. Her hands stung as they scraped across the surface. The heavy weight didn’t lift. She couldn’t even flex the minimal amount to jump away.

  Something sharp pricked her arm. Hot liquid spread from the sting, moving like a steam train through her body. Her mind sighed. Her legs and arms grew heavy. She couldn’t move them. She couldn’t speak, even though in her mind, she was gibbering with terror.

  More hands picked her up and dumped her in the chair in the corner. She landed with her limbs splayed. Her head thudded against the wall and stayed there. Dizzy, unable to even rearranged her hands, which hung uselessly between her knees, she blinked, fighting to find even minimal movements.

  Then she saw they had Neven. Two of the masked soldiers dumped him on the floor against the bench at the foot of the bed. His head rolled back on the bench. One of the men lifted his head by his hair and roughly shoved a pillow behind it. Then he slapped Neven’s cheek. “Don’t want you to miss a moment of this,” he said from behind the mask. His accent was thick.

  A pile of the soldiers was struggling in front of the door. One of them, on the top, held up his gloved hand and clicked his fingers. The one who had man-handled Neven picked up a syringe out of an open box on the bench and give it to the man who had clicked his fingers. The man turned the syringe around in his fingers and eased it between the writhing bodies and limbs.

  He chuckled, as the pile grew abruptly still. The hump of men seemed to collapse in the middle and deflate like a defective cake.

  They eased off each other, breathing hard. They muttered in Russian, sounding pissed.

  The last two got to their feet and hauled Remi up. He hung as limp and still as Neven had been between their hands.

  London had been hoping that Remi would be able to resist their drug. With his greater strength, he might have been able to get away. Even if he had been forced to run all the way to the depot, wherever it was, he would still be able to bring help eventually. Now, even that hope was dashed.

  Bitter tears stung her eyes and rolled down her face. She couldn’t stop them. She blinked, the only motion she could make, so she could watch clearly as they dropped Remi next to Neven and propped his head up with a pillow, too.

  The room grew still, just for a moment. She could hear every soldier breathing heavily.

  The one who had handed out the syringe gave a curt order in Russian.

  The soldier nearest the door opened it and stood back, his back straight and his shoulders square.

  He didn’t salute when the short man strolled through the door, to stand in the middle of the carpet and stare down at Remi and Neven, although he might as well have. London now knew the identity of the man with the thinning white hair and no chin even though she had never seen him before.

  It was Arkady Usenko.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Usenko snapped out orders of his own and people moved.

  One of the chairs from the dining room was brought upstairs and placed in the middle of the round rug, exactly in front of Neven and Remi. It was as if London didn’t exist. She was ignored by everyone. She was the useless trophy wife, harmless and invisible.

  Usenko took off his topcoat and arranged it with fussy preciseness over the back of the chair. When it was hanging just right, he reached into the inside of it. He withdrew a gun. A revolver. To London’s eyes, it looked enormous. It was bright silver and flashed under the overhead light as Usenko opened it up and rolled the barrel, checking for bullets, then closed it again.

  She hadn’t thought that people did that, not in real life. It seems melodramatic. Surely, one would remember if they loaded bullets or not?

  Was Usenko trying to intimidate Remi and Neven? Despite the fact that they were sprawled on the floor, unable to move, did he still felt the need to impress them with his power over them?

  London stared at the little man. They had all been so afraid of Usenko!

  She didn’t underestimate the trouble they were in, although now she had a measure of Usenko and knew he had a weakness. He was a bully because he felt weak himself. He was a small man. Perhaps he had moved through life trying to prove that he wasn’t small at all, not where it counted. He intimidated and extorted and was cruel to prop up his ego.

  Whole ships of enslaved people under his control would be the ultimate testament to how big he was—in his opinion, at least.

  He settled back on the chair, prissily picking away lint from his trousers, then hitching them and crossing his legs. He rested the gun on his knee and the silver flashed and dazzled.

  Sofiya Sorokin stalked into the room. She looked at Remi and Neven and smiled. “It worked, then,” she said to Usenko, in her adequate Serbian.

  “They followed you until the tracker cut out. Then they came straight back here. It was a good call,” Usenko said.

  Sofiya strolled over to look at Remi. “You are the reason for this mess,” she said, her voice thick with a sudden, cold fury. “Kristijan was happy to play with me until you interfered.” She drew her foot back and kicked Remi in the stomach.

  He made a small coughing sound, yet didn’t move. However, her kick had destroyed his balance. He slid sideways, unable to prop himself up. He fell to the ground and lay still.

  Sofiya hissed and said something in fast Russian. Two soldiers stepped forward and picked Remi up and put him back up against the bench.

  London could do nothing but wish the woman was dead. There had been times over the last four years when she had thought herself bound and useless, unable to find an escape from Kristijan’s grip. This, though, was true helplessness. While her life under Kristijan’s thumb had mired her in depression for years, now that she was experiencing the real thing, all she could feel was anger. Enormous and all-encompassing anger.

  All those people in the depot. All the prisoners. Usenko would have made their lives as helpless as London was right now.

  Usenko, though, was studying Neven and London grew afraid.

  Usenko waved the gun. “The drug they used is powerful but it has a short half-life. They designed it that way because the paralysis can stop lungs from working on vulnerable people. You should be able to talk in a few minutes, although you still won’t be able to move. We will have a conversation, you and I. ”

  Neven’s throat worked. He was straining to talk. His words emerged in harsh gasps. “Sofiya…played…for time.”

  Sofiya put her hands on her hips. “How clever of you, Kristijan. You have seen right through me—only about twelve hours too late. I sent for Usenko this morning. As soon as you tried to delay me from inspecting the stock.”

  Usenko smiled. “I have learned to rely on Sofiya’s instincts. I’m glad to see she was right once more. Sofiya, my sweet, your timing is impeccable.”

  “Not quite,” Sofiya said. “Dragović says they’re moving the stock out. I don’t know where they’re taking them.”

  Usenko turned to look at Neven once more. “Is that so?” he said. The gun flashed as he tapped it on his knee. “Perhaps you have been playing for time, too, hmm? Hoping to clear out everything under my nose, so there would be nothing left for me when I
got here?”

  London’s skin crawled at the dangerous note in Usenko’s voice.

  Neven was trying to speak again. “You were always going to…take this.”

  Usenko smiled. “Of course I was going to take over. Once all the ground work was in place, there was no point in leaving it in the hands of for-hires.” He turned to Sofiya. “Get to the depot. Clean up. Use whatever you need to regain control. Round up all the stock you can preserve. We’ll scavenge what we can out of this, put it on the train, then pull out and sterilize everything.”

  London shivered.

  Movement. It was coming back to her. Slowly. She still couldn’t move her hands.

  Sofiya clicked her fingers and pointed to six of the men. “You, you, you. You three. Kit up. Come with me.”

  The room emptied. There were only five soldiers spread out around Usenko, now, their stocky rifles hanging from one hand. They had nothing to fear in here.

  London listened to Sofiya’s shoes on the stairs, moving downward. Boots thudded along with her. London tamped down her concern. Sofiya truly did not understand who she would face at the depot.

  She recalled the image of Remi helpless in Veris’ grip. What Veris and Brody and the others would do to Sofiya, a mere human, would be far worse.

  She hoped Veris would dump Sofiya back in history. Somewhere where women were so bound and restricted, her love of power would end with her burned at the stake.

  Usenko leaned forward, towards Neven. “You had potential, Zoric. I’ll give you that. You came so close to being perfect partner material. I regret having to cut you from the pack.”

  He lifted the gun.

  London screamed in her mind, her throat straining, as the gun came up.

  A different roar sounded. Remi surged to his feet, his hands reaching for Usenko. A hard light showed in his eyes. He was moving as if the drug had not had any effect on him.

  It hadn’t affected him. He had been faking his helplessness, biding his time.

  London caught her breath as he leapt for Usenko.

  The gun fired. It was a bellow, incredibly loud in the enclosed room.

  Remi clutched at his stomach and looked down. He lifted his hands away. Blood showed on his hands. His shirt was torn and pale skin showed behind it.

  The five soldiers still in the room had surged forward at Remi’s first roar. Now they looked at him, their guns lowering. Remi had taken a heavy caliber bullet through the belly and was still standing. Their astonishment slowed their movements.

  Neven gave a soft groan.

  Remi whirled.

  Neven had his hands to his chest, high up in the middle. Blood was squeezing out through his fingers.

  London threw herself forward, her fear and her panic giving her strength. She fell onto the floor and tried to get up again. Everything moved sluggishly as she tried to reach Neven. A high singing note in her head blanked out thought.

  The soldiers were recovering from their shock. The rifles were lifting again.

  Remi perceived the threat. His top lip lifted and two sharply spiked fangs descended. He made a sound that London would hear for the rest of her life. It didn’t sound human.

  Then he leapt again, moving too fast for her to see.

  One of the guards grabbed at his throat as it spurted blood in a jet. The one beside him bent forward with a soft grunt, his hands to his stomach.

  London tried to crawl. Movement was coming easier, now she was actually moving.

  The chair that Usenko had been sitting on fell on its back right next to her. Usenko was standing, watching his soldiers fall all around him. The big silver gun hung uselessly in his right hand.

  London was right there, the invisible, useless wifey. She sat, then reached up and plucked the gun from Usenko’s hand. It was heavy and fell into her lap, which helped. She picked it up in both hands as Usenko whirled to look at her and pointed it at him.

  “I’ve got enough strength to pull the trigger,” she said. Her voice came out sounding nearly normal. It was clear enough for Usenko to understand. He froze.

  The last of the soldiers crumpled to the ground. London didn’t look at what Remi had done to them. She didn’t care. She kept her gaze on Usenko’s face, kept him pinned with the gun, until Remi came up behind him and gripped the back of his neck and shook him like a terrier would shake a rat.

  Usenko swallowed. “Kill me, and Sofiya and my men will hunt you to the ends of the earth.”

  Remi smiled, showing his fangs. “You’ve misjudged Sofiya if you think she’d do anything but dance on your grave. Don’t worry about it, Arkady. In an hour or less, she’ll be as dead as you.”

  London tried to feel any of the horror or revulsion she had felt earlier over the idea of killing someone. It wouldn’t come.

  Remi looked at her. “Look away, London. Don’t watch me.”

  She dropped the gun and crawled over to Neven. Behind her, she heard Usenko croak. The sound of something heavy hitting the floor told her it was over.

  Neven was trying to breathe. It was a noisy, bubbling sound that made her weep. “Neven.” She covered his hands and patted his cheek.

  Remi dropped to his knees next to Neven. “Ah… Jésus Christ. No, no, no…” He gripped Neven’s head. “No, not you. Not you.”

  London closed her eyes. Think, she commanded herself, as the panic seemed to rise like a black tide inside her.

  Veris and Alex are giving medical treatment to everyone who needs it… Sydney’s voice.

  Veris and Alex. Treating people.

  London opened her eyes and grabbed Neven’s and Remi’s shoulders. She flexed her knees beneath her and jumped.

  * * * * *

  The depot was still bright with light and busy, although there were not nearly the same number of people there. Remi gasped and Neven fell back, with nothing to support him on the concrete floor.

  “Somebody help me!” London screamed.

  “Alex, get over here! Bring your kit!” It was the dark-haired woman’s voice. Taylor.

  “Let me through. Let me through!” Another voice. A man’s.

  From outside the depot, London could hear gunshots and the sound of automatic weapons. Screaming, too.

  Someone dropped down next to them. A heavy bag settled beside him. “let me see,” he said shortly, but not unkindly. He tugged at London’s hand over Neven’s.

  London pulled her hand away and Neven’s fell uselessly.

  The man, Alex, tore open Neven’s coat and ripped apart the shirt beneath, telling London he was a vampire, too. Then he leaned down to put his ear closer to the small hole in the middle of the blood. He hung there for maybe three seconds, then sat up again. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “The heart is shattered. The lungs, too. There’s nothing I can do. Not here.”

  London drew in a shuddering breath. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a keening started up.

  Remi pushed the man aside. “No!” He grabbed Neven’s shoulders and sat him up, so he was resting with his back against Remi’s chest. Remi bit into his wrist and tore it open. London could hear the skin tear. She clapped her hand over her mouth, holding in her moan.

  Hope flared in her. Yes, she whispered fiercely to herself. Remi would save him.

  Remi pressed his dripping wrist to Neven’s mouth. “Drink,” he ordered, his voice strident.

  Neven’s hands shifted helplessly on the concrete. His throat worked. His eyes opened the smallest amount.

  Remi held him, stoking his head over and over. “Drink,” he whispered, bending over him. “If you love me, drink! Don’t leave me. Don’t make me live with this, too.”

  Neven’s lips parted and London held her breath as Remi tore his wrist open again and pressed it against Neven’s mouth.

  Alex reached into his bag and withdrew a large syringe. “Give me your wrist,” he said curtly. “It won’t work to have him drink. His heart is too damaged. Here.” He grabbed Remi’s wrist and shoved the needle into his elbow.
r />   Remi hissed as Alex pulled back on the syringe. Thick, bright red blood swirled in the cylinder.

  Neven sighed. His eyes closed and he slumped in Remi’s arms.

  Alex yanked the needle from Remi’s arm, turned and plunged it into Neven’s chest, directly over his heart. He injected the blood in a slow, steady stream. Then he withdrew the needle and sat back.

  Remi stared at him, hope warring with despair.

  “Now we must wait,” Alex said gently. “Life finds a way…it just takes time.” He got to his feet. “Taylor, we should get them back to Spain. It’s warmer there,” he called.

  Remi’s gaze met London’s.

  She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her borrowed coat, clearing her vision.

  Remi held his arm out to her and she went to him. He held her to him, his grip fierce. “Stay with me,” he whispered.

  Always.

  “I will,” she told him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Three weeks later.

  No human could reach the thin strip of beach at the bottom of the cliffs. Travelers, though, could leap-frog there, Aran had explained when he had ferried London over from Spain.

  Aran had been hovering about the big house in Granada from the moment Neven was brought there. When Remi had come to London to tell her that Neven would survive, Aran’s relief had been as great as hers. He had turned his back, but not before she had glimpsed his tears.

  It hadn’t surprised her when Aran had volunteered to let Neven feed from him for the first dangerous time.

  Since then, Aran had returned almost daily, to get news. He had also shared his own. Over a long pot of coffee and some of the excellent biscuits that Rafe had cooked, he and London had talked. Aran told her how he had been caught by Dragović and his men and taken to the warehouse, how he had been trapped until Dajana could be freed.

  “All this—Neven, Remi, Usenko and that crazy woman—it’s all my fault,” Aran said. His voice was steady. There was no self-pity in it. “At the same time, if I hadn’t screwed up, then all those people Kristijan had been holding, they would all be in Russia by now. Some good came out of it, after all.”