Everything, though, all the scandals and flings and affairs, must have led to the moment he met her. The very instant he’d first looked into her eyes, first touched her and felt the freezing jolt of energy, would define the way he’d look at women from now on. And when he’d explored her body, truly felt her, skin to skin, and made her his, it could not have been just sex. His essence had melded with hers.
Lightning fast, like when he zipped through the night sky on warm summer nights, things had changed between them. From cold to hot in an instant.
She wasn’t just another woman, another notch in his belt. He could try to tell himself the latter, deny the importance of what had happened, or he could accept that there’d never, ever be another like her for him.
Her dragon called his name, and he got lost in her.
The first time such a thing had happened to him—maybe the last, too.
And then, another first—pure anger filled him at her betrayal. Anger at her lies, or her omissions, which she’d held close to her to protect herself. Even from him.
He had no right to feel upset because all of this was so new. She owed him nothing. But he couldn’t get past the fact that she had kept secrets. Who else knew about her ‘other’ job? Did his father know what they were dealing with? As he thought back to their last conversation, he suspected the king must’ve had some knowledge of Kseniya’s affiliations. Konstantin Marek, too. Everyone in that room, that night, but him.
Feeling like a fool, he stared at her, watching the blood slowly creep into her vein. So, he was looking at an assassin. That’s what she truly was. Her modeling career was just a cover for this other thing she did. She had been foisted on him for this mission, and he likely was the only one without a clue.
Unforgivable.
After being reassured about a thousand and more times that she’d be okay and that Ash would sit with her at all times to monitor her health, Djibril was convinced to go on about his business.
Technically, they should have gone to this meeting together, but he had no intention of waiting. He’d called Max Damiani and arranged to move their meeting up by a few hours, given what had just happened. No way could he have made it there at nine sharp, as previously agreed. Sera Dionysios also deserved to live, and he wouldn’t let her mother down. He’d made a promise he would keep.
He decided to walk, despite the nippy air. His thoughts and pounding pulse kept him warm enough. He walked his anger away, let the unfamiliar, budding feelings in him flutter in the breeze. All the letdowns, the doubts, the questions—they faded to some dark place deep inside.
He walked on, shedding flakes of ember from his heart as he went, emptying himself of everything but the mission he’d been called to see through.
In a side street off Trafalgar Square, he found his destination. He’d be meeting Max at this satellite office location, not at Valthrean headquarters.
The Derringstone Museum of Oddities, the gold plate by the door said. Not a very conspicuous entrance. The door was closed. Maybe this was just meant to be another cover. Something used as a front for something else. He’d believe that sort of thing now.
He rang the doorbell. After what seemed like forever, he heard the shuffling of feet, then a pause while whoever it was looked through the spy glass hole. The door opened, revealing a man who looked about as old as time itself.
“You must be His Royal Highness Crown Prince Djibril Vasiliev of Fire Island.”
“I am.”
“Please come in. Mr. Damiani is waiting for you, Your Highness.”
The man stood aside, and for a moment, it appeared as though he was about to keel over. Djibril half-reached out to him to help steady him, but the man recovered fast.
Closing the door behind him, he gave a curt bow. “Apologies for not kneeling, Your Highness. The old knees aren’t what they used to be.”
“Please. Never mind all that,” Djibril said with a wave of a hand.
“Follow me, please, Your Highness.”
The man led him through a wide corridor to a large board room, decorated in dark woods and classic furniture in the Victorian style.
“Shall I take your jacket, Your Highness?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
A man stood from a chair at the massive round table—a subtle message for everyone sitting there to be regarded as equal.
“Thank you, Hawkins.” He turned to Djibril. “Good afternoon, Your Highness. Tea or coffee?”
“Coffee, please. Black, strong, no sugar.”
“An Americano with double espresso?”
“That’s fine.”
The man smiled. “Would you be so kind, Hawkins? I’ll have an espresso lungo, please. Any of those lemon poppy-seed scones Cook makes available?”
“Not at the moment, sir, but we do have ginger biscuits. I can ask her to whip up a batch.”
“No, the biscuits will be fine. Thank you.”
The old man hobbled out of the room and closed the door behind him.
The one left in the room held out his hand and shook his in a firm grip.
“I’m Massimiliano Damiani. Feel free to call me Max, Your Highness.”
The man’s dark eyes sparkled in a sharp face. Somehow, his very presence put him at ease. Max was an immortal, a supernatural being with a rich, shaded history who worked hard to fit in the human world. They had things in common.
“Djibril … actually, Gabe,” he said, deciding he liked the guy enough. “Call me Gabe.”
Max offered only a slight hesitation.
“Thank you, Your … Gabe.” He motioned at a seat near him. “Please have a seat.”
When they got settled, the coffee arrived. How the hell did the old butler make it so fast? Did he have a coffee machine hidden in the wall right by the door to this room, with brew always at the ready? And cookies, too—the ginger biscuits he’d mentioned earlier.
Soon, he had a steaming cup in front of him, the black liquid filling the delicate china, set upon a saucer. These people didn’t play at being proper British. He almost wished he liked tea.
“We would have sent a car for you.” Max looked around. “But where is Kiki?”
So he called her Kiki, eh? Maybe he didn’t like him as much anymore. “She’s … busy with something, but we couldn’t postpone the meeting any further.”
Max frowned, clearly unconvinced. “I see. Well, apologies for not meeting you at my house. My wife is out working today, but her younger brother, Matt, is at home with a couple of his school friends, and Viviane, one of my team members, is babysitting them. It’s a school holiday …”
He waved a hand. “Never mind. This is more than adequate.”
“Adam and Emma, who own this place, happen to be on a weekend break in Bruges with their baby girl, Rosie, and the building has been closed for refurbishment for, shall we say, longer than was expected. We shan’t be disturbed.”
Djibril gave a curt nod. “Thank you.”
“So.” Max let out a breath and nibbled on a cookie, then washed it down with a sip from his diminutive cup. Placing the crumbly thing on the saucer, he put on a serious expression. “You’re looking for a certain Vadim Damian, I’ve been briefed. A young Phoenix. Ms. Dionysios had her people send me the file with a number of details, and we have been looking through our database at headquarters. Gaia has also been notified to help out with the tech stuff.”
“Who’s Gaia?”
“Who are they—they’re a hacker duo, brother and sister, based in Holland. They answer only to Corpus, the organization Kiki—”
“—works for.”
He clamped his jaw. Ah, so she did have an agency behind her. Was there absolutely nothing these people didn’t know about the woman, when he’d been kept in the dark? But he knew he really should ponder the ridiculousness of this thought, seeing that he hadn’t had any contact with Kseniya before the last couple of days.
The Max like-o-meter went down another little bit, nonetheless.
&
nbsp; “Correct.” Max placed a hand on a file he had on the table. “Through their proprietary program, SkyNet, they have managed to trace his phone, even though he mostly keeps it turned off unless he’s involved in some important deal with someone outside his immediate circle.” He shook his head. “Guess magic doesn’t always provide the solution. I’ve been told Adri Dionysios’ people have been on this for a while? It took Gaia less than twelve hours. But let’s get back to the facts.”
He opened the file, retrieved a small piece of paper, and slid it toward Djibril.
“Okay, time for a condensed profile.” He indicated the neatly written address. “He currently lives on Chevy Road, in a crime-infested cesspit area of Southall. Moved there from Leytonstone. He’s probably tasted every drug known to man and, from what we know now, he seems to have a death wish. He’s bad news, and has very dangerous connections.” He pointed to more text below the address. “The name at the bottom, The Dungeon, is some underground club in Hackney that he likes to hang out at. He goes there every day. Could be a supplier there, and a user, too. He’s definitely an addict and needs to feed his growing habit. No other reason to justify the distance from Southall. He’s not known for being enterprising, except when it benefits him to a large degree.”
Djibril took the sheet of paper, folded it, and slipped it in the inside pocket of his jacket. “Thank you for this.”
“Don’t mention it, but there’s more. Simone and Neo—that’s the Gaia siblings—have utilized their knowledge of the dark web to snoop around, and when they dug deep, they found something … disturbing.” Max’s face had grown darker.
“What did they find?”
The last wasn’t Djibril talking, but a female voice. He turned around to find Kseniya there, looking regal and magnificent despite the frumpy attire of skinny jeans and sweatshirt. Ash stood behind her, on his face a typical helpless male expression. He’d recognize that look anywhere. His father often sported it when his mother insisted on getting her way.
“Sorry, mate,” Ash said to him.
“Ash, can you please wait for me outside? I’ll let you know when to call the driver,” she said.
Thus, the poor bastard was even banished from the room.
No one would guess she’d just been shot early that morning. Dragons could heal superfast with the right treatment, but the extreme pallor to her face, shades lighter than her usual coloring, told him a different story.
She rounded them to go sit across from him, on Max’s other side. On the way, she bent down to kiss the man on the forehead, and he patted her hand on his shoulder, a little longer than should be necessary, too. Nothing for him, though, except a Mona Lisa smile.
“How are you, darling?” Max asked.
“I’ve had better days.” She frowned at Djibril. “In more ways than one.”
“What are you doing here?” he told her. “I thought you were … busy.”
Ignoring him, she gave her attention to Max. “I was shot.”
“I know … or rather, we know about your house.”
“Djibril told you?”
Djibril. She’d called him Djibril, not Gabe, and it felt like a knife twisting in the gut, dammit.
“No, he didn’t. But maybe he didn’t have time to do that.”
They both knew that wasn’t true. Max gave him what he could only describe as a scathing glare. Solemn and respectful, restrained and polite, but still scathing. He placed a hand on hers and squeezed. “Are you okay? You should be resting.”
She smiled at him. Nice and bright. No Mona Lisa for Max Damiani. “Oh, come on. You know how fast you guys heal? Kinda like magic. So do we. Ash also pumped me up good on plasma and blood and I’m like a new woman. Better even than any stay at a spa retreat.”
“Yes, but plasma and blood? Don’t tell me you went into hypovolemic shock.”
“I’ll be fine. Keep going.”
Max sighed and shook his head. Even he must know when to cut his losses around her. “I was saying this Vadim guy is quite the character. You’ll find him in a club called The Dungeon. He also resides in a seedy neighborhood. Have his address, too, so take your pick where to go get him. I’d probably try his flat first.”
She nodded. “But what about the other thing you mentioned, the disturbing thing?”
“That,” he said with a wince. “Well, Gaia found out about a specific quest in some extreme RPG site, buried deep in the dark web. Their attention was drawn when they saw your names listed there.” He looked between the two of them. “You’re both targets in some sick game of cat and mouse. Winner takes all, and they’re out for the kill. This is not just a joke or ordinary game. It’s real, and it’s dangerous, so you need to be careful. Keep your eyes wide open, your senses on full alert.”
Could they please make any more sense? Every time he thought he had a grip, they lost him all over again.
“Why?” Djibril asked, shaking his head. “Who are these people?”
“We don’t know yet. They’ve taken strong precautions to cover their identities and tracks. Simone and Neo are working on it, but these are not amateurs we’re talking about.”
“We don’t have time to waste,” Kseniya said. “We must find Vadim ASAP.”
“Can I at least give you one of my men? He has military experience, and he’d be a great asset.”
“But—”
“Don’t ‘but’ me. You’ll take Nathan with you. No arguments.”
She sat back and lowered her gaze like a meek little soldier. Djibril stared at her, then at Max, in disbelief. Sure, the man’s commanding tone had had something to do with it. Or more so the fact they had a history.
He pursed his lips as blind jealousy took root at his core.
Dammit.
“I’ll go now. Nathan can come with me if he wants. Where is he? Ash should take Kiki back to rest.”
“You’re not going fucking anywhere without me!” She stood to her full height, the chair scraping the wood floor as it slid behind her.
Ouch. Her eyes morphed into a light, icy blue, shining like jewels, and proceeded to freeze his nuts—and feelings—right there, in his gut. Pain pounded inside him, rising up to his head and rooting him to the spot.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Max retrieve a cell phone from his pocket and dial, completely ignoring what was going on. He heard nothing after “Hello, Nathan,” though, because Kseniya’s voice echoed in the room.
“Over my dead body you leave without me!”
He gathered his wits, or the sad heap that remained of them. “We almost had a dead body, in fact. And you’re still under treatment. Ash told me it will take a while for complete recovery.”
“Oh, Ash can go to Hell,” she said dramatically, channeling the formidable Hela speaking to the masses on Asgard. When horns failed to grow on her head, she offered a glower. “He knows nothing of my origins.”
“Nathan will be here in a few minutes,” Max interjected cheerily, clearly not bothered to come to his aid. Get-back was a bitch. “Ice tea?” he offered her.
“No, thank you. But ice water would be nice. Slice of lemon, please.” She grimaced. “I’ve actually been feeling parched since I woke up.”
“Certainly.” He pressed a button under the table’s surface, and Hawkins materialized in moments. “Hemorrhagic shock, Kiki. Means you lost at least one-fifth of your fluid levels.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
Seriously, this guy …
Soon, Kseniya was coolly sitting, legs crossed, sipping on her water and casually throwing daggers at him.
Somehow, he’d managed to reclaim his chair, as well, but no, he wouldn’t back down from this. The woman drove him up the four walls around him and then some.
“You. Are. Not. Coming. With. Me.” He made sure to enunciate each word clearly. “This is final.”
Period.
He’d never thought he’d witness the Cold War first-hand.
Nathan Hart,
their tactical support, was a man of a few words. Actually, he hadn’t said any words at all, except grunt a greeting when Max had introduced them. But Kseniya—she gave new meaning to the definition of cold with every second that passed.
Djibril stood in the middle of the crummiest, most rundown apartment he’d ever seen—and this included the makeshift huts in the poorest villages of Ethiopia. Those people, no matter how deprived, had pride. Whoever lived here, though, lacked such a sentiment with absolute clarity.
Kseniya’s grimace said a lot; Nathan’s deadpan expression, not much. His torchlight beam moved around the room. The Valthreans didn’t have superb night vision like the dragons did.
Of course, the woman had come with them, no question about that. She wouldn’t be deterred. More the fool he, for thinking she’d listen to him and do as he asked. Kseniya never did what anyone asked just because. Not even if that someone was their king—she’d said her piece to his father, as he recalled, expressing her ideas well. Apart from that, though, once she accepted a job, she didn’t complain. She might be a tough nut to crack, but she had a formidable work ethic.
Thing was, her hard head proved more than taxing on his system. Today, for instance, she seemed to be having fun pushing all his buttons. Yet, it had to be hard to feel like damaged goods with a bullet lodged inside you, so he cut her some slack. What proved more difficult for him was holding back the worry.
“We will go to The Dungeon.”
Nathan’s mumbled words cut through his thoughts.
They’d waited until nighttime to exit the Museum. The cover of darkness always helped in such situations. He’d half expected to find the guy at the apartment, so now there was no way they could avoid the club.
Kseniya concerned him. Could she handle this? He needed to keep an eye on her.
Then, he’d tear her a new asshole later, when she felt better.
So, on they went, stepping over discarded used syringes, food leftovers, bottles of hard liquor and beer cans, and some suspicious-looking stains, including blood, strewn all across the filthy carpet and rickety furniture. They got past the couch, which had a hole in it that exposed rusty springs and more junk inside. Behind it, the open door beckoned. When they exited, the moonlight bathed the street in its glow. Ah, yes—nighttime sometimes made the ugliest things appear somewhat beautiful. Night, the ultimate deceiver.
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