Before he leaves, Loki looks over his shoulder, those maddening eyes sharp. “Take a chance, assassin. Reach for the stars. What’s the worst that can happen?” With a laugh that makes my skin crawl, Loki slides away and vanishes into his eerie purple mist.
I stare after him a minute, still trying to get a handle on everything he put me through.
I underestimated him.
Then again, if I had struck while the iron was hot, hadn’t let myself get distracted and pulled in other directions . . . who knows? It was a good plan. One I have no choice but to abandon forever. I’ve wanted to kill Loki for so long, I expect to feel something greater at the loss of that twisted dream than just this emptiness.
I glance up at the stars popping out one by one before getting into the car and slamming the door.
My phone rings and I look down at it, seeing ice-blue eyes looking back at me. With a sigh, I swipe my thumb left.
“No, love, I’m not going to miss it. Just had to wrap up some things first. Almost there.”
I shut off the phone and stare down into the city that is slowly starting to sparkle in the growing twilight.
Decisions, decisions.
20
Light and laughter spill out onto Superior Street as I approach Toil & Trouble. A couple of smokers have already pulled back the door for me. With a smile and a nod, I make my way inside, unsurprised to find the place packed. I had to park three blocks away. I don’t make a habit of visiting my sister’s bar, but for tonight I’ll make an exception.
Seph sets a glass of wine in front of me. I wrinkle my nose. Bar wine. No, thank you.
“Don’t be a snob, big sister. I ordered the good stuff, especially for you.”
Sancerre Rouge. I take a sip and smile. She even left the bottle to breathe.
“I’m impressed.” And touched.
“Had a feeling even you’d show up for this shindig.” She gives me a wink, tucking that pink streak that used to drive me batty behind one ear. There’s not much about my sister that annoys these days.
Someone touches my shoulder. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” It’s Carly, grinning, her strawberry curls spilling over shoulders bared by a strapless black number that has my eyes widening. I get to my feet to give her a hug. Seph sees us.
“Where’s big, blond and lethal?” Seph yanks Carly half over the bar in her own one-armed hug.
“He can’t make it tonight.” Carly takes the longneck Seph hands her and twirls it through her fingers absently, though she looks a little pensive.
“Jett’s late, by the way. To her own fucking party.” Seph rolls her eyes before going back to taking orders. Celebrating Jett’s return from the Old World seems a little morbid to me, but then that is Seph. It doesn’t surprise me Jett is late either. Not only does the thought of a party in her honor make her cringe, but we all know Jett is having a harder time than normal keeping any kind of schedule. Carly raises her eyebrows at my smirk and leans closer.
“Think they’ll come up for air before the party is over?”
“I don’t know, the new bruin king doesn’t seem to lack for stamina.”
“Trust me, he doesn’t lack for anything.” Snegurochka zooms over to perch on the bar between us. The fairy is listing to one side, tiny blue eyes bright, her bare feet swinging along to the beat of old-school Heart. “Wait until you see my new calendar. I’m going to make a shitload of gold, I’m telling you.”
I shake my head, having heard Stephen complain loud and long about his agreement with Jack’s fairy. Of course, he’d never break his word, especially since without Rochka’s magic, he’d never have been able to save my sister in time. “I thought Stephen said they weren’t agreeing to any full frontal.”
“Oh they’re not.” She pouts briefly, then grins again. “But when you’re the photographer, you see things.” She hiccups happily. “Bear-y nice things.”
I roll my eyes as she giggles and soars off again. Fairies are surprisingly lustful little things. Then again, I’ve rather changed my mind about such things in the past year. I glance around the bar, sipping my drink.
“The new king is a good guy,” Carly says softly, yanking my gaze back to where the fairy is fluttering down the bar to land on Jack’s shoulder.
“So was the old one,” I reply, then wince.
It seems so wrong to call him that. Georg Kivistö wasn’t old, and he shouldn’t be dead. I liked him. Oh, I thought he was uncouth and a bit savage, and his behavior with Seph the last year he was alive was totally unacceptable, but I liked him.
Carly more than liked him. The bruin was one of her only friends. She and Georg were very close. Not as close as him and Seph, of course. Though maybe in some ways, Carly knew him better.
Seph was always too distracted by her memories to dig deep into what made Georg tick. Or maybe she was afraid to. Maybe some part of her recognized Jack would come back for her, and that same part of her was always busy keeping Georg at a distance.
He never really had a chance, and I think he always knew it.
Carly and Georg’s relationship worried me at first. Like Seph, I thought that Carly was developing a potentially disastrous crush. I should have known Carly was smarter than that. For all her dreaminess, my sister has uncommonly good instincts. For her, Georg was part buddy, part protective older brother and part much-needed father figure. As male role models go, she could have done a lot worse.
Carly sighs. “I miss him, Ana.” My hand tightens on my wineglass at the pain in her voice. “I miss him tweaking my nose and calling me Spot.” The words are barely audible over the crowd and the music as she stares down into her beer.
“Spot.” I smile and touch the back of her freckled hand. “I forgot he called you that.”
“Yeah, he said Red was too predictable.” She grins and raises her beer to my wineglass. “To Georg.”
“Georg,” I agree and we drink. “I think he liked the idea of having sisters almost as much as we liked the idea of having brothers.”
“Now we do have a brother.” Carly sends a smug look down the bar where Jack Frost is leaning over, Seph’s finger curled into his shirt as he smirks at something she’s saying. “Two of them, if you count Stephen.”
“I guess you’re right.” I look down at my glass of wine. “Who would’ve thought?”
“Mom.”
I frown. “True enough.” The gulf between our mother and me keeps widening, and the events of the last month have not helped.
“You need to let it go, Ana,” Carly says, watching me all too closely. “She handles things the only way she knows how.”
“And how is that again? Ah yes, Seph getting killed, and Jett getting kidnapped by that monster.” Again.
“They’re okay now.”
“So the end justifies the means.”
She gives a tiny shrug. “Maybe the means are sometimes the only way to get to the end.”
“You trust her a great deal, Carlisle Grace.”
“If it wasn’t for Mom, our father would have murdered us all in our sleep,” she points out, draining her beer.
I know that. I do. But Carly didn’t see firsthand the effects of Mom’s choices, not like I did. She wasn’t there when we rescued Jett, my bleeding, broken sister stumbling down the road like a wraith.
She didn’t see Jack carrying Seph’s limp body over the ice.
I shudder. The choices our mother has made . . . She damn well should have made better ones.
I look away from my sister and start when I see the assassin watching me across the room. He smiles. I swallow hard and look back at Carly. She’s staring at me, tapping her empty bottle. There’s an unexpectedly shrewd look on her face. “So, Ana?”
“Yes?”
“What’s going on with you and Tyr? I mean, other than . . . you know.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I don’t think you should be questioning anyone’s taste in bed partners.”
I expect this to make
her blush, but she doesn’t. “I know exactly where Styx and I are headed,” she says with a calm smile. “Do you know where that assassin is leading you?”
“Who says he’s the one doing the leading?” I say tartly. “Or that we have to be headed anywhere? It’s just sex, Carly.”
She shakes her head. “You’re not the ‘just sex’ type.”
“You might be surprised. I’m not really the cold fish you all think I am.”
She sets down her bottle with a frown. “Ana, you know I was just lashing out when I said those things before, right? You’ve got the biggest heart of us all. You think I don’t know that?”
I blink at her. “I thought—”
Carly tilts her head. “That I’d forgotten how you used to be? I never forgot.” Her smile is gentle. “I remember how you used to brush our hair every night and tell us little stories. How you would sneak me extra berries even when Mom told you not to. And I remember your face being the last thing I saw that night in the woods. I’ve never seen anyone look so lost.” She swallows, then looks away. “You’re the reason I first started painting, you know. I wanted to paint that awful lost look off your face. To paint you happy.”
I stare at her, openmouthed, my eyes burning.
“You don’t fool me. And I don’t think you fool him either.” She looks across the room and gets to her feet. Tyr is headed straight for us, frowning.
“I’m going to say tootles to Seph and get some sleep. Jett and Stephen might never show up to this thing.”
“All right.” I wave a hand, still close to those happy tears spilling over when Tyr appears in front of me, his expression dark.
“What’s wrong?” he says sharply.
“It’s a nice party, isn’t it? Not quite my style, but all in all—”
“Anastasia.”
I swallow, then force a watery smile. “Did I ever tell you the way you say my name is an incredible aphrodisiac?”
“I . . . what?”
I’ve gotten to know my lover very well these last few months; it’s easier than ever to push his buttons.
“It does. You never call me Ana. Always Anastasia.” I drag it out like he does. Trying to imitate that sexy, almost-but-not-quite-British purr. He winces, then grins at me. “Why is that?”
“Anastasia suits you.” He taps the bar and catches Seph’s eye. Seconds later, she appears in front us, a gin and tonic in one hand. My nose wrinkles. I hate gin but Tyr loves it. It’s the only alcohol I’ve ever seen him touch. He’s so damn English in his tastes, it’s rather endearing. Seph sets it down without a word and goes back to her other customers. I sense faint disapproval at my choice of company, but I can’t blame her. Tyr may have been working to save her, but he did stab her. Seph has had enough of swords to last her a lifetime. Or more than one. My thoughts flit to Jett, but then I tuck my family’s issues away for the night. I want to enjoy the man in front of me. He’s been gone a few days. I don’t know why, and I’m not going to ask.
“Why Anastasia every time, though? It is rather a mouthful.” My eyes narrow. “Is it because it sounds stuck-up?”
He laughs softly. “Maybe at first that was true, but then . . . I don’t know.” He takes a swallow of his drink, studying me with those intense eyes. “Ana is too short, too abrupt. There’s no depth to it. Anastasia, now,” he rolls my name over his tongue, making me shiver, “that sounds like a bit of music from a forgotten song.”
My twisting hand stills. “You sound like a poet.”
He smirks. “I’ve been called a lot of things, love, but poet is a new one.” That dark gaze slides over me and it’s hard to breathe.
By tacit agreement, we’ve never spoken about the state of our ‘relationship’ again. Not once since the day Seph died. You might say there were other things on both our minds. But when he’s like this, it’s hard not to think about it.
He’s in my bed more nights than not. But when he’s not, like this last week, I never demand to know where he’s been.
And when I took off for Mom the day Seph came back, only leaving a note on my pillow, he never said a word. Yet despite that carefully maintained distance, the space between us keeps shrinking. I know I’d never have been able to get through Seph’s death and subsequent resurrection without him. Then these past couple weeks with Jett, and hearing Viktor may have had something to do with that . . . No. My hands tighten on the bar.
Stephen’s wrong about all that. He has to be. Tyr wasn’t so sure, though. I think that may have been part of the reason he took off. I study him, noticing a tightness around his eyes and biting back the questions that want to come.
We’ve been stuck in this mutual back and forth dance for the past year. Neither of us wanting to get too close, but . . . but . . .
I’m tired of holding back. Sometimes I think he is, too.
Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe Tyr is playing a dangerous game with me, like everyone warns.
Regardless, I can’t stop. Like a moth to a flame, I’m forever drawn to him. I push my wine to the side. “Walk me home,” I say casually, as if we both can’t hear my voice trembling. His jaw tightens, that shadowed hollow deepening in a way I can read like a book. He’ll be rougher than normal tonight. Gods, I love it when he’s rough.
When I get to my feet, my legs are wobbly. Tyr raises an eyebrow, placing a hand on my lower back.
“Of course.” He drains his drink and sets it on the bar. I wave at Seph and she ripples her fingers back, her eyes narrowing as we move for the exit.
“So gentlemanly,” I mutter as he opens the door for me. “Should I be alarmed?”
“Not yet. But ask me again when we get to your place.”
With a gulp, I move out into the night.
21
I’ve missed her. Too fucking much. Only a few days away, and it’s driven me half mad. I have to act like it’s nothing, of course. Act like all is well, but it’s not. I look at her and don’t know whether to curse at my rotten luck and find a way to tie her to my bed forever, or run away as fast and far as I can. So many choices and none of them good. But when we reach her door, there’s only one I will make tonight.
The taste of juniper is still on my tongue when I slide it over hers. She moans and fists my jacket, yanking me closer.
“Gods, you taste so good.”
I laugh, running my teeth gently up her neck to her ear. “I thought you didn’t like gin.”
“I like it when it’s on you.” Her hands slide down to cup my ass and squeeze. She’s grown bolder in our time together. It’s fascinating to watch. An instinctively skilled lover, she’s become damn near lethal. She’s not the only one screaming these days.
I pick her up as soon as she opens the door, trying not to run for the stairs. But she’s as out of control as I am, her nails raking lightly over the back of my neck. “No foreplay tonight, Tyr. I just need you to fuck me, as fast and hard as possible.”
Christ, this woman.
I swore I wouldn’t let myself get tangled up in her. Reaching for the stars, just as Loki taunted.
Before I know it, we’re back in her room and I’m inside her. Lifting her hips to sink deep into the only peace I’ve ever known. At first it was her body I wanted to drown in, over and over again. That was scary enough, but now it’s the woman herself that calls to me, drowning out everything else.
Now more than ever, that could get me killed. But right now, death seems a small price to pay. I give her what she wants, what we both want. It’s fast and hard and brutal and perfect.
Later, when we’re under the covers and her head is on my chest, those silver-blond curls damp and silky under my fingers, I think again of what Loki said and my jaw tightens.
“Why have you never asked me why I stole the Fetters?”
“Besides the fact that asking might have pushed you to kill me?” she says matter-of-factly, her fingers lightly stroking my skin. “Knowledge can be a dangerous thing. A little may save your life; too much may send
it into the inferno. Madame de Pompadour taught me that.”
Smart woman. Both of them, I guess.
“Besides, it seems obvious enough,” she continues, looking up at me, her eyes heavy-lidded, but sharp. “You want to catch something that you don’t want to get away.”
The return to Loki and my foiled plans for revenge sours my mood. I set her aside gently before tossing back the covers and reaching for my pants on the nightstand.
“Why have you never asked me about Viktor?”
My hand freezes. Slowly, I lie back down. She’s withdrawn to the other side of the bed, watching me with narrowed eyes, a pillow clutched to her chest with one hand. “I guess I figured it was none of my business.”
“You weren’t at all curious?”
Of course I was. Now more than ever. But . . . I force myself to shrug. “If you wanted to tell me, especially after what happened with Jett, you’d tell me.”
“Viktor wasn’t behind what happened to Jett,” she says instantly. But I get the impression she’s trying to convince herself more than me. “He’s not dangerous.”
Something inside me tightens at her automatic defense of him. “He drops enchanted iron feathers that can defeat all magic and incinerate everything in a twenty-block radius.” My voice is dry, but I am perilously close to losing my temper.
“Well, that is true. But while we were dating, he was very kind.”
“That what attracted you to him, his kindness?” I can’t help the sneer that colors my voice.
She stiffens, hugging her pillow tighter. “Maybe it was.”
“Uh-huh.” I stare her down. “It was the title and the money, wasn’t it?”
Her eyes widen and flash. “How dare you accuse me of being so low, and petty, and—”
“Anastasia.”
“Fine! Maybe it was a little bit about the money and the title. Shoot me, I was raised in a time where being a princess was the height of fashion.” She twists at the pillowcase. “But it was more than that, Tyr. He was strong. Strong enough I thought, maybe . . .”
Déjà Vu & Gin Page 11
