by Sienna Blake
I spot various prominent men, men my husband knows, but not Dimitri. England’s finest are here to honour their new international friend, the wealthy, mysterious Dimitri Wolf. Only I know the truth. He’s not a wolf. He’s a snake.
I only hope that I don’t have to speak to him. Even better if I don’t have to see him. I’m not foolish enough to believe that is possible.
Like they do whenever he’s in the room, my eyes find Dimitri. They lock on him. Like I am a compass and he’s my true north.
God, he is stunning. I hate the way the sight of him fists in my gut. Every time. Every single time.
He’s clean-shaven tonight, showing off his wide, strong jaw and chiselled features, his dark hair flying about his head. His midnight suit has been tailored to fit snugly over his strong body, a bold, crimson shirt and matching tie underneath that brings out his eyes. He’s standing with a cluster of grown men. It’s like they’ve all been reduced to schoolgirls, all vying for his attention, all eager, mooning eyes. He just surveys his audience with a detached coldness, an apathy that makes him all the more unattainable and desirable. At least, it looks like apathy. I know Dimitri. He’s never been truly comfortable in these kinds of social situations. I can sense the suspicion underneath his studious stare, like he’s trying to uncover what all these people want to take from him.
I almost snort at myself internally. You don’t know Dimitri anymore.
The eyes of the wives and daughters standing nearby are all trained on him too, sly looks over shoulders, coy smiles over the rims of champagne flutes. Despite his beauty he seems to me like a creature from hell, his eyes glinting with blue otherworldly fire and brimstone. Like a vampire slipping through polite society looking for his prey, nobody noticing the evil that lurks within, except me.
Like he hears my thoughts, he looks up. Our eyes lock.
My heart squeezes with longing so painful it becomes difficult to breathe. My soul tugs me towards him. I clutch the balustrade lest I lose my balance and tumble down these stairs. Or worse, that I lose my senses and run into his arms. I hate myself for wanting him, despite the cruel devil he’s become. I hate my heart that still hopes, waits, for the real Dimitri to reveal himself.
31
____________
Dimitri
This ballroom is suffocating. Packed with self-important mules and parading peacocks. All these proud airs, these marauding vanities, self-interested snakes tucked behind placid chins. They’re so used to their safe, fabricated lives padded thick with old money. They have no idea what life is truly like. They would not survive a single day alone on the streets of Russia. I doubt they’d survive a day on the streets of this polite country. I tilt my head, feigning interest in the insipid chattering of the penguins before me, even as I glance past their shoulders, scanning the crowd discreetly.
The one person that needs to be here. She’s not fucking here.
She’s been avoiding me all week, a bend to my plans. She can’t suffer if she’s not around to watch the show. Did she manage to get out of coming here tonight?
No, Edgar would have ensured she come. I casually mentioned that I hadn’t seen her all week and suggested that perhaps his wife did not like me. Then to twist the knife, I implicitly stated to Edgar that I’d be most disrespected if she didn’t attend. I saw the way Edgar’s eyes widened, I heard the way he rushed to assure me that Alena would be here.
I sense eyes on me, the hairs rise on my arms the way they do when I know she’s watching.
She’s here. Where? I scan the crowd.
Something tugs my gaze up the red-carpeted stairs to the figure at the top.
I cannot breathe.
I thought I knew what beauty was.
I was wrong.
I stop hearing what the man next to me is saying. I can’t hear anything except for my own heart beating in my ears and the soft strains of the violins as they start to sing a slow song.
She is a vision in a scarlet silk halter-neck gown that shimmers like firelight, swirling around her legs. Her hair is wild and haloed around her beautiful head, just the way I remember it. My eyes lock onto hers. I don’t see them widen—I am too far away for that—rather I sense they do. I sense the gasp that parts her lips. I can almost hear it in my ears. For this moment—the first moment in five years—I feel no rage. It falls away like the rest of this ballroom, as if it never was. That hateful beast, my constant companion for five long eternities, has been silenced. I can see straight into her, her dreamer’s heart, her hopeful soul.
She begins to walk down the grand marble staircase that curls like a horn shell from the second floor to the ballroom floor. I see flashes of her slim leg peeking out through a slit of her dress. Underneath my feet, the earth moves. I find myself walking towards her, drawn to her, the insignificant crowd parting around me. She reaches the bottom of the stairs. I am almost to her. Her eyes call to me, those eyes that always remind me of leaves as the season turns to autumn. I feel something inside me…turning.
Someone cuts in front of me, blocking my view of her. Our eye contact is broken, whatever spell I was under shatters. Edgar. Edgar is the one who steps between us. Now he’s telling her to dance with him. Not asking. Telling her, as if he is entitled to it.
Thunder rolls across my heart again. The hatred wakes from its temporary slumber as he puts his hand on her. As he pulls her in close. Over his shoulder, she catches my eye. There is something like disappointment, like sorrow in them, before she is swept away.
The bastard’s done it again.
My hands clench at my sides, my shoulders tense around my ears. I have to work to keep my breathing stable.
“Dimitri!” a sweet voice calls. “There you are.” At once Emily is by my side, her presence feeling like a thorn, the sharp guilt as she gazes up at me with such longing. I can sense the deep, aching loneliness in her. I can see how it gnaws at her, stripping her down to her desperate bones. I hate it. Perhaps because it feels too…familiar. I slap the guilt aside. Emily and I are using each other. Even if she doesn’t realise it herself.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Emily says, almost shyly.
I track Alena by her wild hair as she’s dragged around the dance floor by that graceless oaf. At every turn, her eyes latch onto mine, a prey watching her predator.
“Dance with me,” I command. Before Emily can say yes, or even blink, I’ve swept her into my arms and we’re moving across the dance floor. Emily melts in my arms. I hear her sigh. I tense because her shape is wrong. Her voice is too high. She smells of roses, soft, pretty. Made for manicured gardens. Not for vengeful thieves birthed from bitter streets and cut from broken dreams.
I grasp the very second that Alena sees that I’m dancing with Emily. Her eyes widen over her husband’s shoulder, her head following us as she turns. I have her attention now. Good. Let the show begin.
I pull Emily even closer. She stops her nervous prattling and lets out a gasp. We are almost flush, separated by the thickness of her gown. I lean into her hair, peeking through the chestnut strands to make sure that Alena is watching.
“I don’t like to talk while I’m dancing,” I whisper against Emily’s earlobe, my eyes burning on Alena’s.
Alena’s eyes narrow. She leans in to say something to her husband. Edgar laughs easily and smiles at her.
My gut stabs with anger. Those are supposed to be my words she carelessly spilled into his ear.
I run my lips along Emily’s neck from her earlobe to her shoulder. I realise then that her gown comes off both shoulders. Emily lets out a low moan and shivers. It should be Alena shivering against me.
Alena’s lip pulls up. She begins to stroke the back of her husband’s neck, her fingers curling through his hair, like they used to play on me. I can almost feel them on me.
Something in me snaps. I can’t fucking stand it any longer.
“Excuse me, Emily.” I tear my hands off her and am pushing my way through the crowd bef
ore she can protest.
I reach Edgar and Alena, swaying uncomfortably off-beat to the music. I want to slap whoever taught him to dance. He’s butchering the beat. I tap his shoulder and they break apart. If only it were that easy in real life.
I smile broadly at him, keeping my voice light. “May I cut in?”
“Sure,” Edgar says, at the same time as Alena cries, “No!”
She flushes red and looks away.
Her husband laughs, an uncomfortable sound. “She’s only joking.” He’s watching me closely to make sure I’ve not taken offense.
I broaden my smile. “I imagine it’s difficult for your wife to be parted from you for even a second.”
Edgar’s shoulders relax and he steps aside. I shove myself in front of Alena and everything in my periphery fades away. She’s not looking at me, but I hear her breath hitch as I close the gap between us. She stiffens as my arm slides around her waist. My body is coursing with electricity, my vision sharp on her.
“Relax.” We’re not going to dance very well if she doesn’t loosen up.
She snorts. “You try relaxing when you’ve got a boa constrictor wrapped around you.”
I respond by yanking her right against me a little too roughly, my arm tightening around her. I haven’t been this close to her in five fucking years, her breasts pressing against my chest, her hips against mine, sending a strange unravelling feeling through my belly. I have the gravest sense that this closeness might not be her undoing, but mine.
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
“Dancing.” I direct us around the floor, swaying to the music. She fights me. I’m too strong. She’s tucked in way too close to me to do anything other than to move with me.
“Of course you can dance,” she mutters.
She won’t look at me. My gaze is hungry—searching each crease in her bottom lip, that single freckle on her smooth neck, each gold leaf in her green eyes.
In the background the large, golden, ornate grandfather clock chimes midnight.
“If you dance well enough at midnight,” I say, without thinking.
“…the fairies will grant you a wish,” she finishes for me.
Our eyes lock.
I wish…
Memories of how we used to dance in our tiny apartment in St Petersburg fill me with heat, damned confusing heat. I remember the way she used to fit against me, just like she does now. I remember my lips on hers, my hands scraping across the underside of her breasts. Most of all, I remember the way my heart felt like it swelled to fit her inside it whenever she was near. She feels like the first call of light far ahead in a dark tunnel.
She feels like…salvation.
Something in me cracks, like the frozen surface of a lake under the probing fingers of the sun. The flame I once had inside me, the one that I thought had long since died, flickers alight.
I can do nothing except lean into her. We’ve stopped turning but my head keeps spinning. My fingers dig into her back. Her arms lock tighter around my neck. I lower my nose against her jaw and inhale. Her scent of sweet almonds and fresh soap hits my gut.
“Alena,” I breathe.
She shivers against me. I feel the corners of her lips against my cheek, her breath heating my skin.
All I have to do is turn my head.
All I have to do…
The song ends. Another starts up. I falter on my next step as the strains of “Stormy Weather” begins.
Of all the songs they could have played.
Our song.
Memories of that fated day in Russia slam back into me, rattling my rage awake again. No way this is a coincidence. She requested this song on purpose. She made me drop my guard just to throw it back in my face. She made me think she still cared about me.
The familiar creature takes over my body. It cannot wash away what has risen to the surface.
I want her.
She made me want her. Even when all I want to do is hate her.
I pull back so I can see her deceitful eyes. “Nice song choice,” I hiss down at her.
I notice too late the open longing on her face as she looks back at me. It fades as her eyes widen. “You think I requested this?”
“Don’t try and tell me you didn’t.”
“Not everyone is as cruel as you, Dimitri.” She shoves me and I let her go. She straightens. “Excuse me. I have other guests to attend to.”
She turns and runs through the crowd. I stand and watch her as she disappears out the side door onto the terrace.
Something tugs in me.
You’re being an asshole, Dimi. Go apologise.
Me? An old indignant voice in me screams. I won’t apologise until she apologises first. Even then, she doesn’t deserve to be forgiven for what she did to me.
I straighten my suit jacket and glance around to see if anyone has noticed Alena’s sudden departure. I catch Emily’s eye, standing on the side of the room, watching me. Only then do I notice Emily’s wearing a royal blue dress, a colour which makes her skin look sallow. I vaguely recall that I named that colour as my favourite when she asked me the other day.
It’s not. My favourite colour is that dappled green that leaves get right before autumn.
If I was smart, I’d go to Emily. She’s watching me. She expects me to go to her.
Something overwhelming pulls my attention out towards the terrace. It’s a force stronger than logic. An instinct. A tug on my soul. It shuts out any thoughts of plans. Of revenge.
32
____________
Alena
I stand on the wide terrace, the music muted out here. Beyond me, the manicured trees and bushes of our manicured back gardens stand like solemn silhouettes, the only witnesses to my torment. I grip at the cold stone balcony, sucking in deep calming breaths, the scent of jasmine filling my lungs. Above me the moon is full. They say that the full moon makes people crazy. Perhaps, if that’s true, I can blame the moon for almost losing my mind back there.
Oh my God. I wanted to kiss him. I was practically begging him to kiss me as I brushed my lips against his smooth cheek. In front of everyone. In front of my husband. In front of…Emily. My stomach weaves with guilt. Dear God, I hope she didn’t notice us.
I just… I couldn’t think when he had his arms around me, when he was so close. Everything I buried in the depths of my soul came tumbling out around him, clogging the air.
I still love Dimitri.
I can’t deny it.
Even after he’s been so cruel, I still want him now more than ever. The call to throw all caution to the wind and just let him do his worst is like a fever, a disease taking over my mind and my body, making me act like his foolish puppet.
He still wants me. I know he does. I felt it. He still feels something even if it is buried like coals under ash, otherwise there’d be no fuel for his hatred.
Then that song. Our song. Thank God that song came on, stopping us both.
He accused me of requesting it. The hateful bastard. He doesn’t trust me. Will he ever stop blaming me? Will he stop trying to make me suffer?
I hear footsteps coming up behind me. I spin. The sight of Dimitri striding towards me makes the breath jam against my voice box. By the light of the moon and the glow from inside, his eyes are wild and unleashed.
“Damn you,” he hisses.
“Stay away from me,” I say, taking a step back. I have nowhere to go, the balcony digging into my lower back.
He grabs my shoulders and pulls me against him.
“What are you—?”
“Five years.” His eyes glitter with madness. “Five years you’ve haunted me. You’ve tormented me.” His voice is so filled with anguish, dripping with such pained rage, that all my anger freezes in my veins. “You she-devil. You witch.” He beats his hand against his heart. “Why are you still in here?”
“Dimi, I—”
He crushes his mouth to mine. My brain short-circuits. I freeze, halfway between disbelief a
nd shock. For a moment his lips are dancing alone as they move against me, punishing me, daring me. Something rumbles awake inside me. Something that will no longer be denied. The longing and love I’ve been repressing for five long years breaks like a dam under the sheer momentum and fury of this blazing phoenix. My mind goes blank, awash with pure need. I kiss him back. Hungry. Desperate. His arms coil around me. I curl my fingers into his shirt and press closer. It’s not close enough. I could never get close enough.
He licks the seam of my lips, begging to be let in again. I part my lips and take in his breath. Our tongues fight against each other, warring in our hot mouths. Our hearts beat against each other, break against each other. A sob tears from my throat. I feel warm rivers sliding down my cheeks. God, I’ve missed him. I miss him so much that it hurts. Even the relief cramps in my core, mixing with longing and anguish and anger. I want to beat his chest and scream at him and never let him go. Why did it take him so long to find me? Why?
He pulls away from my lips. My body begs for them back. He kisses my cheeks, licking up the salty tears. My fingers clutch at him, at his arms, his shoulders, his chest, desperate to know him again, every next part of the firm muscles I explore making the heat in my core flare.
Your husband could come out at any minute.
I don’t care.
Emily could come out.
At this I pause, guilt crumpling into a ball in my chest. Her disappointment when she finds out is the only thing I will regret. She will get over it. This not about her. This is me taking back my soulmate.
Dimitri’s thumb runs across my cheekbone. His eyes, boring into mine, are pained and conflicted. “Stay with me, Alena,” he whispers. “Stay with me tonight.” He crushes his lips to mine again.
Tonight.
Not forever.
Just tonight.
This man is only here to hurt you, Alena. If you stay the night with him, don’t think for a second he won’t tell your husband. The reminder of his hateful purpose here throbs like a punch to my chest. I tear my lips off his. My hand goes flying, palm striking his cheek with a violent crack before I know what I’ve done.
