Obsidian Mask

by Scarlett Dawn

  I glanced at Daniil, who was sitting back, trying to keep from smiling. His gaze caught mine, and his eyes were twinkling at me before he got better control and took his coffee, sipping at it and watching Ember stare at the card—stiff—and Grigori in his chair—blushing and stiff. I, on the other hand, leaned over the table and peeked where she held the card, seeing what she saw.

  Nikki, who sitting next to her, asked, “When did you have black hair, Mommy?”

  I was wondering the same thing because there was a picture taped to the inside of the card. It had her and Grigori, sitting on what appeared to be a white couch, their heads tilted in together and both smiling like idiots for the camera. But Ember’s hair was black and curly. Also, there was writing on the card that she appeared to be reading over and over again, but she glanced up, clearing her throat, saying to Nikki, “When you two were much smaller, I had black hair.” She ruffled Nikki’s hair. “You wouldn’t remember, though.”

  Then, she turned slowly, staring at Grigori’s flushed face—at least he had opened his eyes by now. They stared at one another, Grigori not looking away even though he was clearly embarrassed. Ember whispered, “Back at you.” And then, she practically threw herself into his arms. He grunted but wrapped her up quickly enough in a tight embrace as Ember mumbled against his neck, “Where did you find that picture?”

  Grigori tilted his face toward hers, puffing out a huge breath of air that had her straight, red hair shifting. It was like he inhaled her with his next breath in through his nose before he lowered his forehead to her hair, closing his eyes, his own hair falling down over his face, mumbling deeply, “I had everything brought to New York from Vegas a long time ago. I searched through some boxes and found it.” He paused and then whispered so quietly I was pretty sure no one down at the other end of the table could hear him even though they were silent, “I’m sorry, honey. I won’t do something that stupid again.”

  Ember nodded and stayed where she was, and I could have sworn I heard her sniffing him.

  Nikki asked, “Can I play the song again?”

  “Yeah! It’s pretty!” Beth chimed in, sporting syrup and pink frosting around her mouth.

  Grigori glanced over at them, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face, and again his cheeks pinked, but he shrugged. “Why not. Everyone’s already heard it.”

  The girls squealed and grabbed the card from Ember’s seat where she had dropped it, opening it back up, and the lyrics played again, and Grigori rushed to say, “Don’t touch the photo with your sticky fingers.”

  Both quickly nodded, placing the card down on the table, and started dancing in their seats to the music.

  I overlooked Ember and Grigori when she looked up from his neck, because I was pretty sure Grigori shouldn’t be kissing her like that in front of the kiddos—hypocritical, maybe, but they were young. Even if he had tilted her away from them and his hair hung down around their faces. I continued eating my cereal, raising my eyebrows at Daniil.

  He was positively entertained, his eyes glued on me—and not his oldest making out right next to him—while he sipped his coffee. Especially when he had to not only clear his throat once the song ended but also nudge them with his elbow to get them to separate. They weren’t exactly quiet and had finally caught the attention of Nikki and Beth.

  Ember blinked rapidly at Grigori.

  Both of their breathing was damn labored.

  Beth asked, “Are you two gonna wrestle again?”

  “Oh!” Nikki squealed. “I bet Mommy wins again!”

  I had to slap a hand over my mouth to keep my food in, and it seemed like everyone at the table had the same issue, including my parents who didn’t even try to keep from chuckling at the end of the table.

  “Um…Ugh…There…Buh…,” Ember muttered incoherently.

  Grigori hadn’t moved from where he was staring down at her, so Daniil sputtered, “Probably girls. Now why don’t you go upstairs—” That was all he got out because…

  …a huge older man, probably seventy to eighty years old with black hair with white streaks stormed into the room, pointing a cane he so obviously didn’t need, right at Daniil, shouting harshly in Russian. I had never seen the man before and he scared the shit out of me. My heart kicked up more than a few notches and I squeaked as he, and what looked like some nasty-fatal bodyguards, stalked through the room right toward Daniil. I jumped out of my chair as everyone sprang from theirs, and I grabbed the only weapon I could find—a damn butter knife—and turned quickly, stepping between him and Daniil, but somehow managing to get the knife clear up to his throat.

  He shut up then. And stopped moving.

  My hand was shaking, but I yelled quickly, “Get the fuck out of our home!”

  He blinked down at me with brown eyes that somehow seemed familiar, and Daniil’s hand was instantly on my mine, grabbing the knife back. I sputtered, stumbling back and bumping into him, asking, “What…what the hell are you doing, Daniil?”

  “Shh,” Daniil tossed the knife on the table, rubbing my arms quickly, pulling my back flush to him. “Calm down, Beth. This is my papa.”

  My jaw dropped. Oh, Christ. I managed a squeak, “Your dad?”

  “Yes, now, just calm down,” he stated quietly, wrapping my trembling form in his arms from behind before he started to speak in Russian with…shit…his dad. The man I had just pulled a knife on. Albeit, a butter knife, but a damn knife, nonetheless.

  I reached a hand out almost in a trance even as Daniil spoke, and I patted his dad’s neck, mumbling quickly, “I’m very sorry about that.”

  His gaze flicked down to me even though he was obviously furious with his son about something, and ignoring Daniil completely, he bent down, right at eye level with me. And he stared. And then he plucked my glasses off my face and tossed them on the table. I blinked at him in surprise, and Daniil had even shut up, but his dad’s attention was on me, his gaze darting around my face like Daniil’s tended to do.

  His gaze stuck on my curls, and he asked in heavily accented English, “What is wrong with her hair?”

  I bit my lip, and Daniil barked something at him in Russian, but I patted said hair, and stated honestly, “Everything. It’s a pain in my behind. It seems to have a mind of its own.”

  His dad huffed out a breath and continued inspecting me, and he mumbled quietly, “Her eyes are pretty.”

  “Um…thank you,” I stated slowly, realizing he really was inspecting me. Like a damn dog to buy.

  His eyebrows puckered on his slightly wrinkly face. “She looks like those dolls…what are they called?” My breath caught as he said, “The ones with the pointy hair and rosy cheeks and button noses?”

  Daniil stilled behind me, and I stated dryly, “Kewpie dolls.”

  He nodded once curtly. “Those are the ones.” His eyebrows stayed puckered, and he asked bluntly, “How old are you?”

  Daniil barked at him again in Russian, but I stated, “Twenty-eight.”

  “And do you know how old my son is?”

  I nodded. “Forty-nine.”

  “And you do not have a problem being in bed with someone who’s almost fifty?”

  Pretty much everyone around the table made some kind of comment at that. Be it a groan, or a ‘dedushka, please stop’ to a snorted laugh—thank you, Ember.

  “No,” I told him just as bluntly, not backing down from this pissing contest.

  Which he apparently got because he surprised me with his next action. His hand struck out damn fast for an older man, but even though it was fast, it landed gently on my lower stomach. I froze—as did everyone else—as he spread his fingers wide, encompassing all of my lower stomach, and getting close to an area he should definitely not be touching. I jerked back farther against Daniil, but he kept his hand there, and he asked harshly, “Do you have his child in here like the papers say?”

  “Papa,” Daniil stated sharply, swiping his dad’s hand away, now speaking in English, “Leave her alone.”<
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  “Does she, Daniil?” Abruptly, his dad stood upright, glaring at his son. “Does she have your child in her womb?”

  Daniil moved me behind him carefully, and I grabbed my glasses off the table to see better, peeking around him. This was apparently a touchy subject. One Daniil hadn’t even discussed with his dad. He cleared his throat and nodded once curtly. “Yes. We’re having triplets.”

  His dad’s face froze. “Three?”

  Daniil nodded once.

  I watched as his dad’s features strained…right before he started shouting in Russian at the top of his lungs at his son. Wow. I skittered backward and traveled so I was farther away from that meltdown, maneuvering behind Grigori, who pushed me farther behind him when I peeked out too far to watch. Grigori was stiff as a board, same as Artur, Roman, and Eva, but all of them, with the exception of Roman, wore shocked expressions.

  Daniil and his dad went toe-to-toe hollering back and forth between the other in a damn language I had yet to learn, so all I could do was stand there and watch. And get death glares by his dad when he deigned to turn his furious face away from his son. At one point, his dad picked the knife up off the table I had held, and put it to his throat still spouting away furiously before throwing it back on the table. Thank God, Ember had been smart enough to get the girls out of here when the hollering had first begun.

  And now, she was back, oddly, standing next to me like she was going to protect me by the way she hovered and watched everyone. And then, his dad turned a furiously pointed finger at Grigori. Grigori sucked in a breath and listened to whatever his granddad was hollering at him, turning his pointed finger in Ember’s direction.

  Grigori grabbed Ember’s hand but shook his head, stating in English, “No. She’s not pregnant.”

  Daniil growled and stepped in the way of his dad’s bickering at his oldest, and interrupted with another ranting shout, slashing his hands through the air and hollering. Ember started to lean over and say something to Grigori, but he shook his head harshly before she could even voice whatever she was going to say. She kept quiet then and left her hand in his, still keeping a watchful eye on everyone new in the room.

  About ten minutes after the shouting began, his dad pointed directly where I was peeking between Grigori and Ember, hollering in English, “You will go to Russia and marry my son!”

  “Oh, fuck,” I muttered quietly. Who the hell would have thought that was what this was about?

  “Get over here!” he hollered. “You held a damn knife to my throat and now you cower? Get. Over. Here!” He was damn near breathless he was so furious.

  “Papa!” Daniil yelled, getting right in his face, hollering again in Russian.

  And, well, that’s when I moved. His dad was going to harm himself if he kept yelling like that. I darted out from behind Grigori and Ember and rushed around the table, pushing between them. I wasn’t sure they noticed at first, but I raised my hands and grabbed both their chins, yanking them down to look at me.

  “Both of you need to take a minute to breathe.” Both blinked at me, and I smiled up at them as calmly as I could. “We can talk about this rationally. And calmly.”

  “No! We can’t!” Daniil barked, and I yelped as he whipped me around and hoisting me so high up in his arms, my waist was next to his face. He held me under the rear with one arm, and I gripped handfuls of his hair, trying to keep my breakfast down from being swung about. He pointed with his free hand at his dad as he backed away. “I won’t marry again because of pregnancy. I spent a quarter of a century living in Hell, doing as you bid. It won’t happen again. You won’t ruin this time for me. So stay the fuck out of it, Papa.”

  “Daniil,” his dad shook a fist in the air his son couldn’t see because he was striding so quickly out of the room, me bouncing with each pounding step he took. “You will marry her! It is the right thing!”

  Daniil spun, and I gripped his hair tighter, burping. He didn’t seem to notice as he shouted, “You never knew the right thing for me where matters of the heart were concerned. I’m not sixteen anymore as you so tastelessly put it. I do not follow your damn rules anymore. And if you don’t like it, then get the fuck out of my home!”

  I could see my parent’s blank faces as they watched this interaction. I thanked God, here and now, that I had parents like them. His dad was a real bear. A fucking grizzly bear from the way he stomped toward us after Daniil swiftly marched through dining room door.

  Roman and Grigori blocked his path.

  Oh, and his dad really didn’t like that so much.

  But he did take a deep breath and back away.

  I hung on as he clomped up the stairs, jostling me the whole way, apparently not noticing my groans as he was so intent on getting me away from his dad. When we entered Daniil’s room, he was grumbling harshly in Russian, talking to himself.

  Yeah, I didn’t interrupt.

  Nor did I interrupt when he took us straight to the bathroom and set me down and start stripping me, and then himself…still muttering things under his breath. I kept quiet as he turned the shower on and picked me back up, this time lower so I could wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his throat. I stayed silent even when he placed my back against the wall and held me there under the spray with his head on my shoulder, still grumbling to himself.

  I merely held him tight and closed my eyes against the spray—thankful that he had remembered to take my glasses off and rested my head against his. Gently, slowly, I started running my fingers through his thick, wet hair, getting the tangles out. Once that was done—his muttering getting quieter, I started massaging his shoulders, working the tight kinks out of his muscles, which was a long process. His mutterings turned into a whisper by this point, and I gently ran my fingers up and down his muscled back as far as I could reach until he stopped altogether.

  Then I just held him until he started speaking again, still not moving, but telling me the tale of his life in English. And I listened. And kept quiet. Hearing his pain, feeling it radiating through his body as he started trembling.

  He whispered, “When I was sixteen, I met a girl named Olya. She was beautiful and shy and quiet. And I may have even loved her some for a short time.” He sucked in a breath and continued, “She became pregnant with my child. Her family was poor while mine was wealthy. And when Papa found out about her pregnancy, he ordered us to marry. It was the way it was done then, the way Papa still thinks. I’m also fairly sure her family got a nice payout from it, too.

  “I was young and foolish, partially blinded by her looks to really see the person she was inside, and I didn’t argue about the marriage. Neither did she, but later, I found out her family had some say in that, also. After the quick ceremony, she still lived with her parents. They wanted her to finish school and thought it best if she stayed with them to do so.

  “She and I saw each other regularly, but after she found out she was pregnant, she wouldn’t let me touch her. I still don’t know the reasoning behind that. It may have been her parents doing or some fear she had of losing the child, but after our first few couplings, I didn’t receive more than a kiss. Even when she was my wife.

  “Grigori was born and it was the happiest day of my life. And even though, my wife was many unsavory things, she was a wonderful mother, being as young as we were. She wanted another child, so she allowed me back into her bed. Eva was conceived. I was booted back out of her bed…and the beginning stages of her life. She was quiet and didn’t argue, and we didn’t fight, but she started pulling back from me.

  “This behavior continued even when we finished school and moved in together. Eva and Roman and then Artur were born. That’s when she really started pulling back from me. I didn’t realize until later I had been somewhat of a stud mare for her. She saw me as giving her healthy, strong children. Once she had all she wanted, she…she went to other’s beds for her pleasure.”

  I sucked in a breath and stroked my fingers through his hair again, his trembling
increasing.

  He chuckled harshly against my neck. “The sad fucking thing was I didn’t even figure it out until years later when I caught her in bed with someone who was supposedly my best friend. You see, she toyed with me, occasionally entering our own bed to keep me from getting suspicious. And I was furious with her. So fucking mad.

  “I couldn’t stand the sight of her… couldn’t stand to be around her…. hearing her voice… smelling her perfume… none of it. I couldn’t fucking stand it.” His chest expanded against mine as he sucked in a large breath. “And yet…I had taken vows. I would never have done what she did to me. So I hoped to leave her, asking around, finding out my wife was a certified whore, practically sleeping with any of my friends who would have her, risking my wrath.”

  My heart broke for him. I bit my lip to keep from crying. He didn’t want my sympathy. He just needed to tell me this and get it off his chest. This much I knew for certain, the way he spoke so quickly as if he wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

  “I asked my father to help me leave her, and take the children with me…but he convinced me to stay with her. Told me I needed to learn how to pleasure my wife better and then she wouldn’t be fucking everyone else.” He laughed harshly. “As if I would ever touch her again after that…but, Papa made one good point during his rant. It was wrong to take the children away from their mother. As I said, she was many things, but she truly loved her children and they adored her.

  “So I stayed with her. Through all her infidelities. Sharing a bed, but not really. There might as well have been an ocean between us. We never touched each other again—and I don’t think she really wanted to touch me—and I never touched another woman. She may not have been loyal to me, but I would not break my vow to her. I have always kept my word.”

  He sighed. “She kept her affairs quiet per my request…but one day, years later, it wasn’t me who walked in on her again. It was Roman.” I stilled, understanding now why Roman’s actions had been different from his brothers and sister since almost the beginning. “Roman…oh, God…he…” Daniil shook his head on my shoulder. “After that, I put my foot down. Olya agreed to stop, not arguing with me after what happened. And that’s when my brother struck.”