The Wild Rites Saga Omnibus 01 to 04

by Anna McIlwraith

  Emma stared at him, and so did Alexi, though Alexi was more subtle about it. What the hell was going on? Emma was the one who’d pushed to come to Russia and help the wolves, not him, yet here he was arguing a case for Emma to accept the Russian wolf king’s pledge. Just because there didn’t have to be sex, didn’t mean Seshua was any less possessive — at least that’s what Emma had thought until a moment ago. Now, hell, pigs might fly.

  Seshua stared back at her with a defiant lift of his chin, as though daring her to question him openly — and she couldn’t, precisely because she was the reason they were here. She was about to give it her best shot anyhow when everyone’s heads came up in unison as they looked to the door — everyone but she and Fern.

  She blinked at him. What is it?

  Fern shrugged. My hearing’s just as bad as yours.

  She was about to get offended at that, but then they heard it: a shout, the clang and clatter of something falling on hardwood. Yevgeny stood. The sound clanged and pinged its way down the stairs in the foyer, unmistakable now, and Yevgeny growled.

  “Excuse me, please,” he rumbled, already striding for the door with Nadya and the blond guy on his heels, the three bodyguards eyeing each other before following.

  Emma raised her brows at Seshua but he just scowled at her and stepped back to let the wolf king past. The blond guy turned and walked backwards, eyeing everyone in the room with his baleful dirty gaze before following his king out the door.

  Alexi was the first to go after them. A second later, Yevgeny’s voice reverberated throughout the cavernous space of the foyer, something harsh and jarring in Russian.

  Seshua turned to Emma and tempered his voice with iron when he said, “Stay here, pequeña. ” The pet name sounded more like a threat as it left his lips and a growl trickled after it. Then he left.

  Sure. Whatever. As if. Emma clambered up onto the couch to avoid trampling the maidens as she made a less than graceful maneuver over the arm of the couch and managed to land without falling over.

  “Emma,” Horne warned from behind her. “Seshua ordered you not to go. There could be danger out there.”

  She shot him a look over her shoulder as Yevgeny’s voice came again in Russian; the wolf king sounded mighty pissed, but not very dangerous at all. Somebody stammered a reply, but Yevgeny’s booming tirade cut them off.

  “I don’t see you trying to stop me, Horne.” Emma straightened her jacket. “Besides, I’m armed.” With that, she went for the door before anyone else decided they weren’t as indulgent as Horne was.

  The first thing she noticed was the bronze urn still rolling gently on its side in the middle of the foyer — a small lid lay upside down nearby. The second thing she noticed was Yevgeny’s face as he stood over it, staring down. Then she saw the powdery gray and white smudges of ash on the marble tiles.

  Oh boy, she murmured in Fern’s mind as he bumped into her from behind. That just can’t be any kind of good.

  Fern’s hand landed on her shoulder, warm and familiar. Yeah, but that’s not the main attraction. Look up.

  She followed his gaze to the top of the stairs and her breath caught. A man with glossy black hair falling loose down his back stood with one foot on the top step and the other on the step beneath it, clad only in ragged gray sweatpants, but it wasn’t his bulging biceps that drew everyone’s attention; it was the white-haired girl bundled in his arms, her body all but lost in the folds of a huge fluffy white robe, pale hands and bony ankles poking out like sticks. She blinked down at them with owlish jade colored eyes, gaze locking onto Emma’s.

  Emma’s mouth went dry. If this was the princess, then they were all done for, because she knew without a doubt that there was no way she could refuse this girl anything — let alone a chance to live.

  The man who held the girl grimaced, glancing at Emma. He fired off in rapid Russian again, face pleading.

  Yevgeny clenched his teeth so hard, white strain lines bloomed along his jaw.

  The girl blinked and looked away from Emma, and Emma saw Yevgeny’s face crumple a little around the edges when he met his daughter’s eyes. “It wasn’t Luka’s fault.” The girl’s accent was pronounced, but she spoke perfect English with a clear, melodic fluidity. “I used the twins to distract him.” Her gaze strayed from her father to Emma. “I wanted to see them.”

  The twins — the two wolf cubs they’d seen on the way in?

  Yevgeny looked at Emma, then back up at his daughter with a little desperation. “Katya, love, they would have come to you. I would have brought them to you.”

  The girl’s elfin little face blazed as she turned back to her father. “I wanted to see them from two feet.” Her chin trembled once. “Not from bed.”

  The black haired man with his arms around her actually dipped his chin and turned his head to the side, as if ashamed for depriving the princess of her wish, and he spoke with downcast eyes. “The princess did not knock the urn from the sideboard. It was me. I ran to find her when I saw she was gone.” His voice shook. “I am sorry, my king. I would crawl to you if I did not carry princess Katya.”

  The princess tipped her head back to look at the man named Luka, and she brought a thin hand to rest on his cheek. His face came around as though compelled, though the girl’s tiny hand looked no stronger than paper.

  “Luka,” the girl crooned.

  Yevgeny sighed and turned toward Emma and Fern. Emma noticed belatedly that Seshua and Alexi were standing either side of the doorway; if their presence worried the princess, she sure as hell didn’t show it.

  “Emma,” said Yevgeny with resignation, “This is Yekaterina, princess of the Ruskiy wawkalaki, my beloved daughter.” He didn’t smile, but his strange black-rimmed wolf’s eyes softened.

  The princess fixed her huge jade eyes on Emma again. “Katenka. I want you to call me Katenka.”

  “Yekaterina…” Yevgeny warned.

  “Everybody thinks it’s a silly nickname but I like it. I think Katya’s too posh.” The princess gave a little flick of her hair, sending it falling over her shoulder like thick white cotton candy. “Will you call me Katenka?”

  Emma opened her mouth, but Yevgeny cut her off with the flustered tone of a father out of his depth. “Since she is so eager to meet you, I am afraid breakfast must wait or we shall get no peace — unless you are happy for my servants to bring you all your meal in Yekaterina’s chambers.”

  Emma nodded. “If that’s all right with Katenka.”

  Yevgeny gave her a hooded look and something that was almost a smile. At the top of the stairs, the princess squirmed with delight in Luka’s arms. She grinned, eyes like pale green jewels.

  Yevgeny shook his head. “Ach.” He turned to his second in command and murmured something in Russian, gesturing to the urn and its spilled contents at his feet. The blond hurried off down the narrow hall past the staircase, barking commands in Russian.

  For a moment, Yevgeny and Nadya were left standing side by side, staring down at the ashes on the floor with identical, empty expressions on their faces.

  Looking from the urn to Yevgeny to the princess, Emma realized she hadn’t been introduced to a wolf queen.

  Katenka’s room was a black and lilac teenage haven, crammed with books, and there were three different video game consoles. Emma couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of that for the guards at the ranch — all they ever did on their downtime was play cards, because they were basically old men. Posters filled every available inch of wall space: Emma recognized Kate Bush, and Bjork, and there was Gary Oldman in a top hat as The Count, posing with a white wolf, from the movie Dracula .

  Fern made an appreciative noise beside her. The princess is a goth. How cool is that?

  Emma patted his arm and moved farther into the room where Luka waited with the princess in his arms, Nadya and the blond guy with the pale eyes hovering close by. Yevgeny was plumping up the pillows of a bed that had been made up very carefully to look as little like a hospitable
bed as possible. A plush toy octopus hung from the IV stand next to the bed.

  Emma stepped aside to let Anton past. Their arms brushed, but he didn’t meet her eyes, even when he settled himself against a bookshelf and started glancing around the room, noting the positions of the other guards, probably noticing things she couldn’t even see. She’d forgotten about this Anton, the one she couldn’t read, the one who’d been the first to step into her little apartment three months ago and take her away from everything she’d ever known.

  I don’t think this Anton is the one you knew back then, Fern sent.

  When Emma looked up at him, his face was solemn. I know he’s being weird with me because of how things went between us, the night Telly left, she sent back, glancing at Anton again. I just don’t know how to fix it.

  Fern wrapped an arm around her and squeezed briefly; he smelled like clean cotton sheets and warm skin, overlaid with the artificial spice of hair product and cologne. It made her homesick — for her new home, not her old one.

  “So,” a melodic little voice piped up. “You are American? I like Americans. Everybody in the movies is American.”

  Emma turned and blinked at the princess, who lay in Luka’s arms as though it were the most comfortable and natural place in the world. Katenka blinked back, expectant. She looked about as heavy as a piece of origami, and Luka held her like she was made of cobwebs and angel dust. He hid his face behind waves of black hair when he realized Emma was staring.

  “Yeah, I’m American.” Emma gestured vaguely to the maidens and the rest of the jaguar guards, who were lining up at the edges of the room, and Alexi and Seshua, who moved to flank the bay windows. “Most everybody else is from Central or South America, except Horne and Julian are Mexican.” She pointed to Horne and Julian; Horne gave a little wave, and Katenka’s eyes lit up.

  “I like your goatee,” she told Horne with an impish grin.

  “Katya!” Yevgeny straightened and glared at her. Emma caught Nadya swallowing a smile, and wondered if the smile was for the princess, or the king.

  Katenka lifted her chin and closed her eyes in a talk-to-the-hand expression as Luka lowered her onto the bed. “I will flirt with whoever I like, papa. I am almost a grown woman.” She ruined the act by cracking an eye open to watch her father’s reaction, and then she bust out with infectious laughter, seeming to pay no attention to Luka as he lifted her emaciated legs to tuck them under the bedcovers.

  Yevgeny strangled a sound of frustration and gave Emma a pleading look. “Please, forgive me. She is very excited to have guests. Luka, get the — please fetch Emma a seat.”

  Emma couldn’t reconcile this man with the terror of meeting his eyes for the first time. She glanced at Seshua; he watched Yevgeny fold down into the armchair beside his daughter’s bed with hooded eyes.

  Whether Seshua was suspicious for a reason or because it was simply his natural demeanor, Emma couldn’t tell. She followed his gaze to the guy with the slush-colored eyes. Yevgeny’s second in command stood by the window, ignoring the kitchen staff as they unloaded a bunch of trays and bowls onto a foldout table built into the end of Katenka’s hospital bed.

  Something about the king’s second doesn’t sit right with me, she sent to Fern. He looks too young, or nervous. Is he really the king’s right hand man?

  Fern made a thoughtful noise. The blond guy might be second in command, but I think Nadya’s the king’s right hand man. He gave her a mental shrug. Don’t judge too quick. If the king’s chosen him, then he’s more than he seems.

  Well, that didn’t sound foreboding at all, did it? Maybe Fern was right. Then again, maybe it was just too many dogs and cats all crammed into the one room together — Katenka’s room was big, but not big enough to hold them all. Some of the maidens were even standing outside in the hallway, guarding the door since they couldn’t guard Emma herself.

  As the kitchen staff cleared out, awkward silence descended — awkward for all but the princess. She made a joyful little sound in the back of her throat and popped a bite sized pancake into her mouth, eyes glittering as she chewed.

  Those jade eyes fixed on Emma, and Katenka spoke around another huge mouthful of food. “Do you like pancakes?” Her accent made it sound like pen-keks.

  Fern stifled a laugh and Emma jabbed him in the ribs. “I do,” she said. “But I’ve already had pancakes for breakfast.” She frowned. “Though that was about fifteen hours ago. Anyway, I was thinking of having something more like… uh…” She looked around and couldn’t identify anything but the pancakes; the rest was just candy disguised as something vaguely classed as breakfast food. “This fluffy, sugary thing here.” She picked it up and snagged a linen napkin to save her black jeans from the powdered sugar, and took a seat in the ornate dining chair Luka had placed by the princess’s bedside. It felt weird to sit while everyone else was standing, but there wasn’t much choice.

  “That,” said Katenka, “is a Danish.” She pushed aside her pancakes and reached for the plate of pastries Emma had taken from. “What flavor did you pick?”

  Food halfway to her mouth, Emma stopped. “I wouldn’t have a clue. This looks nothing like any Danish I ever saw. It’s a work of art.” And it probably contained something like forty thousand calories. With a guilty glance over at Anton, who had Serious Opinions about nutrition, Emma bit into the pastry, savoring it.

  Katenka gave a delicate snort and grinned. “Papa owns one of the fanciest restaurants in Moscow. We kidnapped the chefs to cook for you while you visit.”

  Emma coughed sugar out her nose. “You what? ”

  Katenka’s grin faded. She arched one fine white eyebrow and looked at her father, then back at Emma. “Is joke, da? ”

  Yevgeny cocked his head at Emma, a curious look in his strange orange wolf-eyes. “The kitchen staff are part of the pack. We are simply borrowing them from the restaurant’s roster for a few days. I usually cook for Katenka and I, and the rest of the pack are welcome to the kitchen, but with guests I need the help.” He leaned forward, putting one elbow on his knee. “You thought she was serious.”

  Emma’s cheeks flamed. Why is it the ground never opens up to swallow you when you really need it?

  Fern’s hand landed gently on her back and started to rub slow circles against the cool leather of her jacket. It’s not your fault. You’ve had Seshua for a benchmark these past couple of months. Nobody would put kidnapping past him.

  And that was because he’d already done it — to her.

  Emma took a deep breath, letting Fern’s touch calm her — she was getting better at that — and prepared to save her own ass. “I just didn’t understand at first.” She met Katenka’s eyes and fought to keep her face dignified. “I thought you meant the kitchen staff were human, and as far as I know, you guys…” She glanced around. “I mean, y’know, shapechangers… you don’t really hang out with humans.”

  Yevgeny cocked his head in the other direction, questions on his face — but then he glanced up at Seshua, where he leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed and elbows tucked to keep from knocking anything over.

  Seshua met Yevgeny’s eyes, and the electric blue of his gaze intensified, like watching flame bloom bright from smoking embers — but his gaze was a cat’s stare, frozen, still as stopped time, where Yevgeny’s blazed with something feverish and fast and ever-moving. They stayed like that, and the moment stretched, everyone holding their breath, waiting for one to break the other’s stare, but they did not. Would not. Perhaps they couldn’t.

  Katenka cleared her throat. Yevgeny’s ears twitched, but that was all.

  “So,” said the princess, turning to Emma. “Are you planning to accept papa’s pledge, or no?”

  15

  Emma had thought she’d known the meaning of the phrase “a taut silence.”

  She had been wrong

  A handful of heartbeats later, the wolf king rounded on his daughter with clean fury stamped across his face. “Yekaterina. ” He drew his chest
up and Emma could see the huge muscles of his thighs strain against his slacks, visibly resisting the urge to shoot to his feet. “You know better, Katya.” He pressed his lips together, breathing hard through his nose.

  Katenka didn’t move — only her eyes came alive with challenge. Suddenly the winsome preadolescent was gone, replaced by something fiery and razor sharp, even if the body that held it was slender and pale and weak. She said something fast in Russian, biting the words out, little face hard as steel.

  Yevgeny’s eyes widened. A growl trickled out of him, and it raised the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck: pure violence transformed into sound, sharp and wet, none of the lazy thunder of a jaguar growl. His lips peeled back, teeth white and thick.

  Emma stood up before she had a chance to think about it. “Don’t, Yevgeny, don’t.” His orange gaze flicked to her, and her mouth went dry, a tiny part of her mind remembering the gun nestled under her left arm. She couldn’t possibly be thinking of trying to shoot the wolf king. “Please don’t. She’s just a kid. I’m not offended.”

  Both Yevgeny and Katenka turned the full force of their attention on her, Katenka’s jade green eyes going wide, brow smoothing out.

  Yevgeny stifled his growl. His jaw worked while he looked at Emma, as though trying to figure out whether to talk to her or eat her. Emma reflected it was maybe not such a great idea to be ordering the big bad wolf king around in his own castle.

  Finally Yevgeny let out a long breath. “Yekaterina is not just a child. She is almost a grown woman.”

  Emma frowned. Katenka said exactly the same thing earlier, but she’d been joking — right?

  Yevgeny’s eyes flickered over his daughter. “If not for the illness, you would be running with your first hunt this winter. You know better than to meddle in such a way.”

  Emma frowned harder. He had said exactly the same thing about the first hunt earlier; what did it mean, what was she missing here?