“It went well.”
Dmitry nodded. “Where are your weapons?”
“In the armory.”
“I’ll clean and sharpen them for you. Anything else you need me to do?”
“I could use a new coat,” Yuri said. “A vampire tried to hamstring me, so mine’s looking a little ragged now.”
Dmitry scowled. “I hate it when they do that. Why don’t the bastards just learn how to fight?”
“One of the vampires we fought tonight did,” Yuri admitted with a wry smile. “He actually proved to be quite a challenge.”
“Really?” Surprise lightened Dmitry’s blue eyes. He knew Yuri wasn’t easy to defeat. “Do you need blood?”
“No, I’m good.” His wounds had been superficial enough to heal without an infusion.
“Okay. I’ll have a new coat for you before tomorrow night’s hunt. Anything else? Something to eat, perhaps?” Dmitry held up a second apple.
Smiling, Yuri held out his hand. “I’ll take it.”
Dmitry tossed it to him. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Yuri shook his head and rose. “I think I’m going to turn in.” Leaving the living room, Yuri resisted the urge to peer into every doorway he passed in search of the woman in the long, cream-colored dress.
David’s home boasted a basement that, with a few recent additions, was twice the size of the ground floor. A large sparring or training room took up a lot of square feet on the left. The rest of the basement provided bedrooms that now had all been soundproofed for any immortals who chose to spend the day there.
And a lot did. Almost every immortal in the area, in fact. They had really been sticking close to offer their support and protection to Ami, the first mortal woman ever to conceive a child by an immortal.
Yuri strode down the long hallway. Entering the bedroom he had claimed for his own, he closed the door behind him.
Blessed silence.
Tugging off his boots, he sank down in one of the two chairs in his reading nook. He and Stanislav had spent many a morning in those chairs, poring over books filched from David’s extensive library.
Now Yuri retrieved his favorite dagger and applied it to the apple.
No sooner had he placed the first slice between his lips than the woman in the cream-colored dress walked through his door.
Yuri paused, then began to chew slowly as he watched her.
Sadness clung to her, weighing every movement, though no tears stained her cheeks, he noted with some relief.
He cut another slice, slipped the fruit—both tart and sweet—between his lips.
This wasn’t the first time she had visited his quarters. She had been to his room more times than he could count since Seth had transferred him here.
Yuri hadn’t known how long or how brief a time he would spend in North Carolina, so he had simply claimed this room at David’s home rather than choosing a house and going to the trouble of moving all of this things down from New York.
She meandered around the room, studying his possessions.
There hadn’t been very many personal effects at first. Yuri had thought his stay would be brief, so he hadn’t brought much with him.
Then this lovely spirit had begun to visit and had seemed so curious about the few items he had brought with him.
Giving in to what he had considered an absurd urge to please her, Yuri had asked Richart to teleport him to his apartment in New York so he could retrieve more.
Sap. A smart-ass voice spoke in his head.
Yuri ignored it.
Every week or so, he put out something new. His first pocket watch—now an antique. His mother’s brooch, also an antique. Hell, almost all of his favorite things were antiques. Even his favorite quill.
And each time the beauty in the cream-colored dress would find the new objects, she would pause and admire them, then appeared to touch them.
Could she touch them? he wondered idly. Some spirits were endowed with that ability. Some weren’t. Or so he had observed over the centuries.
Could she touch him? he wondered next, then cursed the flutter of excitement and, yes, arousal, that struck at the notion. Of course she couldn’t touch him, nor would she. The woman hadn’t even spoken to him.
He continued to munch the apple.
He found he didn’t mind her silent company. He was a quiet man himself, so the fact that she never spoke didn’t bother him. Much. He wouldn’t mind having his curiosity appeased, though curiosity had proven detrimental in the past.
She seemed curious about him. Or so he thought. Why else would she spend so many hours here, sitting with him while he read or watched television or continued to try to figure out the electronic gadgets Dmitry kept buying him?
And if Yuri were honest with himself, it had become harder and harder in recent decades to keep loneliness at bay. It was actually kind of nice, having her here with him.
Setting the dagger and the half-eaten apple on the nightstand, he rested his head against the chair’s high back and closed his eyes.
So odd to know that someone was in the room with him, yet to hear no heartbeat, no clothing rustling, or the like. With his hypersensitive ears, he never enjoyed such silence in another’s presence.
Her grief called out to him, though, niggling him until he did something he had vowed never to do again.
“I can feel your sadness,” he murmured, not knowing why he spoke. “I wish I could alleviate it, little one.”
No response came, of course.
Sighing, he opened his eyes, half expecting her to be gone, and found her staring at him from across the room.
“Is there anything I can do to alleviate it?” he asked her.
She glanced behind her, as she always did when she caught him watching her, then returned wide eyes to him. “Can you see me?” she asked in a whisper, her expression a mixture of hope and disbelief as she touched a hand to her chest.
“Yes.”
If anything, her eyes widened more. “You can hear me?” Her words carried a British accent.
He smiled. “Yes.” And he thought her voice lovely.
Her face lost all sadness and acquired such a look of astonishment that he had to laugh.
She took a hesitant step closer. “You . . . Are you like Marcus, then? You can see . . . ?”
“Ghosts? Spirits?”
She nodded, but didn’t seem fond of either term.
“Yes. For as long as I can remember. Though I can probably count on one hand the number of spirits with whom I’ve conversed.”
She stared at him.
He smiled. “I see I’ve surprised you.”
“Yes, you have.” She took another careful step closer, as though she feared he might bolt if she stood too near. “So, you were looking at me upstairs? I thought you were looking at Tracy or Nichole.”
He shook his head. “I was looking at you. And I saw you at the university tonight as well.”
“I thought you were looking at the cat!” she exclaimed, her features brightening with a beguiling grin.
Again he laughed. “Stanislav was looking at the cat. I was looking at you.”
She motioned to the empty chair. “May I join you?”
He stood and motioned to the chair. “Of course.” Once she perched on the edge of the cushioned seat, he reclaimed his own.
“If you’ve seen spirits all of your life,” she asked, “why have you conversed with so few?”
He picked up his apple and dagger and carved off another slice. “Some spirits never acknowledged my presence.” It felt odd, unmannerly, not to offer her a piece. “They didn’t seem to see me, or those around me. Rather they went about whatever chores they were performing as though they were alone.”
She nodded. “I’ve seen such spirits. There is something different about them.”
He eyed her curiously. “Have you ever spoken with them?”
She shook her head. “They ignore me as they do you.”
Interesting.
“What about the other spirits?” she asked. “Spirits like me? Why did you not converse with them?”
He placed another apple slice in his mouth, buying time and considering his words. “Some spirits,” he said at length, “are like the vampires I hunt. They delight in inspiring fear and sparking chaos. If one acknowledges them at all—one need not even say a word, just making eye contact will do—the spirits will do everything they can to make one’s life a living hell.”
Her pretty face grew somber. “Sometimes the vampires’ spirits are like that. They terrify me.”
“Is that why you left as soon as we encountered the vampires earlier?”
She nodded. “I didn’t want to be around when you killed them and freed their spirits.”
Another mystery solved.
“What about the others?” she asked.
Yuri hesitated. “May I be honest with you, at the risk of hurting your feelings?”
“Yes. I always prefer honesty to lies.”
She might change her mind once he spoke. Yuri feared what he intended to say might come across as rather harsh.
He set the dagger and apple core aside. “When I was a boy, I was told more than once never to feed a stray dog. When I asked why, I was told that if I fed the stray, I would never be able to rid myself of it, that it would keep coming back. I learned, rather painfully, that the same held true for spirits.”
She clasped her hands in her lap.
“I spent most of my childhood fearing the spirits only I could see, so I didn’t attempt to speak to one until I had approached, oh, ten and eight summers or thereabouts and thought myself invincible as all young men do. He seemed a benign spirit. Not menacing at all. So I thought it safe to try.” Yuri drew in a deep breath. “Well, once the spirit learned I could see and speak with him, he stuck to me like glue. I never had a moment’s peace afterward. Never had a moment’s privacy. And I could not rid myself of him no matter how hard I tried.”
She bit her lip.
“Even had he been a more likable fellow, it would’ve aggravated me,” Yuri continued, irritation rising at just the thought of that pain in his arse. “But this spirit felt he had to offer his opinion—usually a critical one—on everything. And he wouldn’t even give me privacy when I, uh, sought the company of women.”
Her cheeks acquired a rosy glow.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned that part. “I’m a quiet sort,” Yuri explained. “I appreciate my privacy. Yet he wouldn’t give me any. The damned man, spirit, whatever, was still dogging my heels when I was attacked and transformed by a vampire and would no doubt still be plaguing me today had Seth not done something to rid me of him.”
“What did he do?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.”
Her brow furrowed. “I can see it angered you.”
He grimaced. “Did I raise my voice?”
She nodded.
“Forgive me.” He offered her a wry smile. “It wasn’t the best period of my life.”
“So you never spoke to a spirit again?” she posed tentatively.
“Actually, I did. Several decades later. I found myself living in a city with an alarmingly large spirit population. One in particular drew my sympathy, so I spoke to her.”
“And?”
He laughed. “And she and all of the other spirits in the vicinity did their damnedest to make me their errand boy once they discovered I could see and hear them.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“They wanted me to carry messages to the living for them.” He could laugh about it now, but it had not been the least bit funny at the time. “In the movies, ghosts always have some meaningful message they wish whoever can see them to tender to their loved ones.”
“I don’t know if that would work,” she said. “Who, other than your immortal brethren, would even believe you if you approached them and said you had a message for them from their dead husband or wife or father?”
“No one would, or did, as far as I could tell. But then I was never asked to carry any noble messages. One spirit wanted me to fetch some jewels he had stashed in his favorite gentlemen’s club and take them to his mistress because he didn’t want his wife to get her greedy little hands on them. His words. Not mine. And there were other, uglier errands. I ended up having to ask Seth for another transfer to get away from them all.”
“How . . . unpleasant.”
“Yes.”
A long moment passed.
“With such a track record,” she said softly, “I’m surprised you ventured to speak to me tonight.”
“I fear it was inevitable. I’ve been wanting to speak to you for a long time now,” he admitted.
Her lips curled up in a faint smile. “You have?”
“Yes. I almost did the night I moved here and saw you for the first time.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“You walked through a wall. I didn’t realize until you did that you were a spirit.”
She stared at him, her brown eyes wide. “You see me that clearly?”
“Yes. Even knowing you were a spirit, I wished to speak to you, but past experience taught me that there is always a catch. I didn’t want to find out what that catch might be with you.”
“Yet you spoke to me tonight. Why?”
“I couldn’t bear your sadness.”
She lowered her head.
“Will you tell me the source of it?” he implored gently.
She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t wish to speak of it.”
When sadness crept back into her visage, Yuri hastened to change the subject. “Then why don’t we formally introduce ourselves?” Rising, he sketched her a gallant bow. “Yuri Sokolov, at your service.”
Cat rose and smiled up at the handsome immortal warrior. “Catherine Seddon.” She executed a curtsy. “My friends called me Cat.”
“May I count myself among your friends?” he asked with a roguish grin.
She laughed. “Yes, you may.”
“Then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Cat.”
“A pleasure to meet you, too, sir.”
“Yuri,” he corrected.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yuri.” And how intimate it felt to address him so informally. When she had last been a living member of society, the rules had dictated that she address men such as Yuri by their titles.
Yuri offered her his hand.
Once more, excitement skittered through her. If he could see her and hear her so clearly, would he also be able to feel her?
It had been so long since she had experienced the touch of another.
Cat placed her hand in his. Disappointment pummeled her as her hand passed right through it. “Oh,” she breathed. “I had hoped, since you can see me so clearly . . .”
“That I could feel you, too?” he asked, sympathy and disappointment suffusing his deep brown eyes.
“Yes.”
“I hoped so, too.” He continued to hold his hand out to her, palm up. “Let us try again, shall we? Slower this time.”
Cat saw little purpose in it, but did as he requested and placed her hand over his, making sure, this time, that her hand didn’t keep going and pass right through it. Again she felt no skin-on-skin contact. Did not feel the pressure of his fingers closing around hers when he attempted such.
But she did feel something.
Warmth. Her palm felt warm where it merged with his.
She raised her head and stared up at him in wonder.
“Can you feel me?” he asked, an amber glow entering his brown eyes.
She had to swallow before she could speak. “I feel warmth.”
He cupped his free hand over hers, encapsulating it in more warmth.
It wasn’t what she had hoped. But to feel anything at all after two centuries of nothing . . . “Can you feel me?” she whispered.
“I can’t curl my fingers around yours
. Can’t raise your hand to my lips for a kiss,” he murmured, “but my skin tingles where we touch.”
Was tingling a good thing or a bad thing? “Is it uncomfortable?” she asked.
A slow smile stretched his lips. “No. It’s quite pleasant, actually.”
Butterflies fluttered in her belly as Cat found herself utterly smitten with him.
Oh, who was she kidding? She had been smitten with Yuri ever since he had moved into David’s home. Tonight hadn’t been the first time she had followed him on his hunt. Nor was it the first she had joined him in his bedroom.
An unpleasant thought arose. If he could see her, then he must know she had been tagging after him on his hunts and sitting with him and Stanislav while they read and reminisced.
Dismay rose.
Yuri had said he loved his privacy. And like the spirit he had found so annoying as a young man, Cat had denied him that privacy time and time again.
A bell rang.
Cat jerked her hand back and looked toward the door.
Since all of the bedrooms down here had now been soundproofed, they had been outfitted with doorbells in case knocks went unheard.
“Your friend is here to read with you,” she announced. Risking a glance up, she found Yuri scowling at the door.
“I’ll tell him I’m going to be late,” he muttered.
“No,” she protested and backed away. “I’ll go. Thank you for speaking with me tonight.” It had been a rare treat.
“Cat—”
Spinning on her heel, she hurried through the wall into the next room, then stopped short. “Oh!”
Roland Warbrook, the antisocial British immortal, and his American wife were making passionate love in their huge bed. Intensely passionate love.
Eyes wide, Cat sidled around the bed. It had never been like that when she had lain with her husband. Blaise had never done anything to her that would make her loose such sultry moans and cries or throw her head back and reach down to grab her husband’s . . .
Face and body flushing, she raced through the wall and out into the hallway just in time to see Stanislav entering Yuri’s room.
The door closed behind him with a quiet snick.
Cat leaned into the frame of a large window behind the massive desk in David’s study. The sun’s rays, almost blindingly bright and sparkling with dust motes, poured through the clean panes and passed right through her, imbuing her with warmth . . . much as Yuri’s touch had.
On the Hunt Page 24
