by Anna Abner
Maks wished he’d stood up to Olek a lot sooner. Whatever kingdom Maks had been promised had never come to pass. Instead of ruling over human beings like a prince, Maks had lost his little bird, his little girl, and his freedom. Honestly, he hadn’t been his own man in over two decades. He’d been Olek’s bitch, then the army’s bitch, and finally Sergei’s bitch. Pain made him wonder whose bitch he was today.
Maks rolled over into the warmest, softest, sweetest body he’d felt in two decades. It had been that long since a female had shared his bed, not since his little bird had been alive. Brushing aside the pain and confusion, he sprawled contentedly upon a real mattress beside a real woman. For the briefest of moments, before reality crashed back down, he didn’t know where he was or why. And he didn’t care.
But then he remembered with a jolt. Catching Violet. Sawing Sergei’s hand off. Falling toward the street.
He spasmed uncontrollably and woke the woman beside him. Startled, she stifled a scream.
“Violet?” he breathed, not sure how either of them had found their way into a bed together. “Are you alright?” The last he remembered, she was beaten and ill-used. She appeared much stronger now. Though still pale, her bruises were fading and she was as clean as a freshly washed peach.
“Depends on your definition,” she replied, sitting up, but keeping a hand to the center of his chest. “How ‘bout you?”
The full weight of their current situation finally caught up to him, and Maks whipped the blankets off his body, dislodging her hand. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“You were crying,” she said, settling cross-legged among the rumpled bedclothes. “I felt bad for you.”
“I don’t cry.” Not in twenty-five years. Not when he lost Anya, not when he was separated from Katya, not even when tortured. He certainly wasn’t breaking his streak over a simple tumble from a window.
“You do in your sleep.”
He didn’t believe her. Perhaps it was a type of American joke.
Didn’t matter. He needed to assess all possible risks and plan contingencies. “Where is Sergei?” he asked.
She watched him warily, her defenses sky-high. “Not here.”
‘Here’ wasn’t a mystery any further. “This is Ali and Connor’s hotel room.” He’d been here once before, searching for clues as to their whereabouts so he could save them from Olek’s revenge. As it turned out, Oleksander had needed protection from them.
“I’m leaving as soon as I can,” she said. “I want to see my son and get back to North Carolina.”
Good. She was a fucking distraction he didn’t need. He’d wanted to save her from Sergei, and he had. Now, she should be on her way.
And then something she’d said stuck in his mind. “You have a son?”
Rather than answer, she asked in a rapid-fire manner, “Why did you catch me?”
He wondered the same thing. “Instinct,” he answered, searching the room for clean clothes.
“Why did you keep me a prisoner even after Oleksander disappeared?”
“Writing a memoir?” he countered. Her questions annoyed him. He didn’t enjoy going over every mistake he’d made with her.
Yes, if he’d stopped Olek from abducting her in the first place, she’d be safe. If he’d released her after the Destroyer died, she’d be safe. But he’d done neither, and she’d been thrown out a window because of his failures.
“Is it weird having a daughter older than you?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
“She’s not—” he began, and then gave up trying to explain. He may have the pretty face of a scrappy seventeen-year-old boy, but he’d been walking the earth for forty-two years.
Rather than argue, he quickly dressed in borrowed clothes—ugh, Connor’s—and asked, “Why are you still here?” She should have run home to wherever she belonged by now. He didn’t cry, and even if he did, he didn’t need coddling. “Go home.”
Leaving was in her best interest. He was dangerous. The people he knew were dangerous. Hadn’t she figured that out yet?
“On my way.” Straightening her pajamas, she strolled out of the room.
Good riddance, he thought.
But the pull to follow her was nearly unbearable.
He lingered, despite the urge, and took a shower and shaved. Finally, dressed and groomed, he sauntered into the living room, half expecting Violet to be gone.
She wasn’t.
“Your little friend is an eater,” Ali greeted, making nervous eye contact. She gestured for him to join Violet at the kitchen bar where a buffet was spread. Everything from burgers and fries to scrambled eggs and orange slices. “Help yourself.”
“Not hungry,” he lied, remaining exactly where he was.
Violet gleefully stuffed her mouth with cherry tomatoes and washed them down with cold chocolate milk. Maks dug his thumbnail into his opposite palm. She wasn’t cute. Wasn’t funny. Wasn’t endearing in any way.
“Where’s Connor?” he asked Ali. “I want to talk to him.” They needed to find Sergei immediately and kill him. Maybe Ivan and Ilya, too, if they happened to be in close proximity.
Ali glanced down and away, her brow creasing. “He’s in the other bedroom sleeping.”
“How long was I asleep?”
“Nearly forty-eight hours,” Ali answered. “It’s Wednesday morning.”
Scowling, Maks re-traced his steps into the suite’s short hallway and entered the first bedroom. Connor Beckett lay upon the bed looking ridiculously vulnerable stripped to the waist and half hidden under mounds of white comforters. He wore an oxygen mask over his face and was being fed a bag of blood intravenously. Knowing Ali stood in the doorway watching him, Maks approached the bed slowly and with no ill intent. He may want to kick Connor’s teeth down his throat, but he’d rather do it during a fair fight.
“Brother?” he called, because the nickname irritated the other man. “Time to rise and shine. You’ve slept long enough.”
To Maks’ surprise, Connor opened dull eyes and tried to speak. Maks lifted the oxygen mask and leaned in close.
“Protect Ali,” he whispered. His next breath was a weak gasp.
Maks froze, unable to comprehend. Protect Ali? But he was the villain, not the hero. Connor would never trust him with Ali, and Ali would never allow it, either.
And yet… Connor stared up at him, his eyes steadfast. He was serious. No, more than that. Connor was desperate.
Maks glanced over his shoulder to where Ali remained at the doorway looking worried and in pain. “Of course,” Maks assured, nodding at Connor before replacing the mask. Connor seemed to relax a bit, and his eyes closed.
Maks guided Ali into the hall and shut the bedroom door before staring into her anxious, upturned face. “He’ll heal eventually, but if you could get your doctor to reset and align the broken bones, he’ll heal faster.”
“Thanks,” came a sarcastic female voice from the kitchen, “for telling me how to do my job. It’s such a relief the blood-sucking murderer is on the case. You know, considering I put you back together and saved your worthless life.”
The German doctor. Perfect.
Ali gave him an amused half-smile, and Maks prayed for patience. These people were exasperating.
“Do you want to diagnose Violet while you’re at it?” the doc continued.
No, he’d rather not think any more about Violet. “Just do your job,” he replied with less venom than he’d planned. “We need him in fighting shape.”
The doctor took Violet’s hand, dismissing Maks with an annoyed look. “I’d like to do a complete physical before you leave,” she said to Violet, “including a pelvic exam. Do I have your permission?”
Say yes. She needed to heal, and understanding what she’d been through was the first step.
“I guess so.” Violet set aside a plate of pastries and wiped her mouth with a linen napkin. “Now?”
The doc nodded. “I’ll get you squared away, and then I can help Connor.” She ga
ve Violet a reassuring pat on the arm, and Maks was grudgingly appreciative. Despite her hatred for him, the doc seemed like she knew what she was doing and cared about her patients.
The two women shut themselves into the empty bedroom and Maks couldn’t stop himself from investigating the food on the bar. Everything smelled like Violet, and once he started to eat, savoring her scent blending with the cheese, bread, and fruit, he couldn’t seem to stop.
But gorging himself only made him tired and sore. The stab wound in his belly burned and his fractured skull throbbed.
“You okay, Volk?” Ali materialized at his side, her expression one of genuine concern.
Guilt thrummed through him. He’d taken her mother away from her and twisted her DNA into knots.
It was difficult to put into words his feelings for Ali. They were too complex. He cared for her. He couldn’t deny it. He felt affection for her, certainly, though he hardly knew her at all. Seeing her now, he realized he’d missed her.
“Only vampires call me Volk.” He stared at Ali, spotting all the ways she resembled Katya. Her chin. The way the left corner of her mouth drooped lower than the right. Not her nose, no, that was all Uri. But her eyes were Katya’s.
“Maks,” Ali said. The sound of his name in her voice completely undid him. Jesus, it was like talking to Katya. He cleared his throat again, and then clenched his jaw together and froze out those weak fucking human emotions.
Except everything was different now. He possessed almost no control over himself. When he’d escaped Sergei, he’d lost a good deal of his reserve.
“Yes,” he said, staring at the ground and trying valiantly to pull that cloak of strength around him. And failing. “I don’t think I’m quite healed yet,” he admitted.
“Maks.” Ali slid her hand along his forearm, undoing all his hard work to appear strong. “Honey, you’re falling to pieces. What’s going on between you and Violet?”
“Absolutely nothing,” he said. “She was a blood donor. She’s not anymore.”
“She was your blood donor,” Ali pressed. “And you caught her out of the air. Then she crawled into your—”
“She’s not important,” he said. “What we should focus on are the Four Sons. They’re planning mass destruction. They’re picking up the Destroyer’s plans and running with them.” Maks’ head spun, and he grabbed the kitchen counter to steady himself.
Ali noticed.
“No offense, but I see through your shabby disguise. You can barely stand up. You’re not going to help anyone committing suicide by vampire.”
He lowered his voice. “You don’t know what they’re like.” Cruel, sadistic, and utterly without conscience.
“Then get strong enough to make a difference.” Ali waved him off toward the bed he’d only moments ago crawled out of.
Were his feet moving? She was a little miracle, urging him back to bed, knowing how fucked up he was.
“Thank you,” he said, flopping down. She floated a blanket over him. Heaven.
He’d gladly sleep the next day away too.
#
Violet felt antsy out of Maks’ sight. She knew it to be a ridiculous, illogical sensation, but for a long time Maksim Volk had represented a shred of security in an insane world. He’d been the closest thing to a champion she’d ever had. So, alone in this equally disorienting new situation, she didn’t like being separated from him. The monster she knew versus the monsters she didn’t, and all that.
“Sit down,” Julia instructed. “I can’t let you leave until I’m certain you’re healthy enough to walk out of here. I figure we owe you that much after everything you’ve been through.”
Violet dropped onto the mattress. “Okay, but please hurry. I want to see my son today.” She’d already lost nine weeks with him. She refused to lose another hour.
She wondered how Jackson had changed. A lot happened between a child’s first seven and nine months of life.
“Sure. I’ll start with the easy stuff,” Julia said. “If you agree, I’d like to draw some blood and perform a pelvic exam.”
“Why?” she asked, distracted by the sound of Maks’ voice rumbling through the walls. He must be talking to Ali. His daughter. That little fact would never not be weird. “Vampires can’t make babies, right?” She wasn’t pregnant. Though why the suggestion made her think of Maks and his daughter, who looked older than him, she didn’t know.
“No, but vampires can rape and injure,” Julia returned in a gentle tone. “I just want to be certain you’re okay.”
“Oh.” The Four Sons hadn’t raped her. Neither had Maks. They’d enjoyed innumerable other little tortures, but they’d saved her that.
The doc pulled equipment out of her bags and began the exam. At each stage, Julia announced what she was doing and the results.
“Blood pressure cuff. One-ten over seventy-five.”
“Blood oxygen level. Ninety-nine percent.”
Pulse. Lung function. Pupils. Lymph nodes. All normal.
Finally, she rolled up Violet’s sleeve and expertly drew three vials of blood before pressing a bandage to the wound. Julia set up a chemistry set on the top of the nightstand and began testing blood samples.
“While those are percolating,” Julia said, “I can give you a pelvic exam.”
Silent, Violet sank back upon the pillows, the motion making her light-headed. She clutched at the blankets as Julia helped her remove her pajama bottoms. The actual procedure was quick. A few clicks of the speculum, a few swabs, and then it was over and Violet pulled her borrowed pants back on.
“Do you want to talk about what you went through?” Julia asked.
“No,” Violet said. “I’m good.” No offense to the doctor, but Violet didn’t think she’d understand what being a blood donor was like. Not really. Maks would, but not many others.
“If you change your mind,” Julia said, “I’m always around.” Then she fiddled with her test strips and centrifuge. “No surprises here,” she announced. “You’re anemic. On top of that, my physical examination showed signs of dehydration and starvation. Your body has been eating itself for so long, you’re bound to feel weak.”
“What does all that mean?” Violet asked, pushing herself into a sitting position. Again, her head spun.
“You should rest a little while longer so I can give you a blood transfusion.” Julia began collecting her equipment and returning it to her bag. “You need to eat and rehydrate. Basically, get your strength back and balance your levels. A hospital in your hometown would do the same thing for you, but I’ll do it here for free.”
Panic galloped through her chest. “I want to go home,” she said, her voice annoyingly high. “You can’t keep me here.” Her gaze went to the closed door.
Julia’s gentle hand landed on Violet’s knee, and Vi jerked sharply away.
“You’re not a prisoner,” Julia assured, her tone calm and sympathetic. “You’re sick. You wouldn’t be any good to your son like this, anyway. Give me a few hours to help.”
Even in her altered state, Violet recognized sense in the doctor’s words. She wasn’t sure she could even pick up Jackson in her present condition without collapsing. When she saw her son, she wanted to hold him in her arms.
“A few hours,” Violet agreed. “But no more.”
“Cool. I’ll set up the IV.”
Violet’s gaze zipped from one corner of the room to the other. She was alone, she knew it, but she never felt alone anymore. It was as if Sergei was hiding behind every potted plant and inside every shadow.
But shining through the shadows was a memory she kept close to her heart. The night she’d been gifted to Maksim Volk, Oleksander had tossed her—starving, wrecked, and only semi-conscious—at the beautiful dummy’s feet.
“She bores me,” Olek had said with a mean tone to his deep voice. “She’s yours now.”
The next several hours had passed in a flicker of light and pain, but one thing she knew for sure. Maksim Volk, the devi
l of Odessa, had held her sore, emaciated body against his own and fed her morsels of food. He dribbled clean water between her chapped lips.
He nursed her gently back to health.
He must have thought she wouldn’t remember because he’d never been so kind again, but she remembered. Under the charm and good looks lurked a genuinely good man. From that moment on, Violet had known Maksim Volk needed just as much saving from the horde as she did.
Violet turned on the doctor. “Can we do the transfusion somewhere else?” she asked, hearing the fear in her own voice.
“Of course. Anywhere you can rest.”
Violet stood on unsteady legs and hobbled carefully across the hall into the next bedroom, dark and still. She found the bed by instinct, feeling her way along the mattress until she touched a pillow. Her right hand snaked across the rumpled bedclothes and met a very warm, very firm forearm.
Julia, a headlamp shining from the middle of her forehead, knelt beside her and gave her a little shake. “Are you sure about this?”
Violet nodded once. Maksim Volk made her feel safe. It didn’t have to make sense to anyone else.
The doctor inserted an IV port into Vi’s hand and started a bag of O positive, but Violet was asleep before she finished.
#
Maksim woke for the second time to a feminine body and a sleepy moan. He lifted a curl of silken auburn hair and brought it to his nose. His smart-mouthed, amber-eyed hostage smelled like pear blossom conditioner. He smiled faintly.
Was that an IV attached to her arm? What the hell was she still doing here?
The bedside clock read 8:13am. Could it be Thursday already?
“Not to break up your sniff-fest,” came a snotty voice from behind him, “but we have a lot to talk about.”
He turned slowly so as not to rouse Violet, who probably needed every second of sleep she could gather to heal her fragile human body. His body, on the other hand, was nearly back to full strength, minus some pain and stiffness.
A tween stood beside his bed with hands on bony hips.
Maks blinked, thinking he must be hallucinating. First, he didn’t associate with children, and second, she didn’t look the least bit familiar. She had blonde hair streaked with purple highlights, some kind of sparkly shit on her arms, and a ridiculous eyebrow piercing he suspected was fake. She couldn’t yet be fourteen. And people said he looked young.
