by Lori Sjoberg
David made a sound he had no idea how to interpret. “If you want, I can contact Samuel. He’d know what’s true and what’s not.”
Or he could ask the prissy bastard himself. It wasn’t like he had to look hard to find him. But David didn’t know about Samuel’s predicament, so Adam kept his big mouth shut. “No, but thanks, man. I’ll try talking to Marlena first.”
“Your choice. Let me know if you change your mind.” David coughed. “Listen, why don’t you talk to Ruby and see if she can block a few days off for you? It sounds like you could use a break, and Sarah would like it if you came for a visit.”
In spite of his foul mood, Adam smiled. David had never been one of those touchy-feely guys, and it cracked Adam up when he couched what he wanted by using Sarah as an excuse. “Sure thing, big guy. I’ll let you know when I have some time off. In the meantime, tell your better half I said hi.”
Adam’s mood went south the instant he disconnected. It felt good to talk things out with David, but it hadn’t answered any of his questions. He tried Marlena’s number again, but the call bounced right into voice mail. He needed answers, and he needed them now, and that meant he had to talk to the only other person who could answer his growing list of questions.
Two miles later, he pulled into the long, narrow driveway leading to his home. Dmitri’s car was parked on the grass, leaving the carport open. After pulling his mental shit together, Adam grabbed Cassie’s supplies, stalked inside the house, and slammed the door behind him.
A skunky smell lingered in the air, the by-product of the fizzing demon. Hours of scrubbing had failed to eliminate the odor, so he’d probably have to pull out the carpet.
The living room looked a little empty with all of the ruined furniture removed. By some miracle, the television had survived, as well as the old coffee table. A pale blue blanket was draped over the couch to cover the rips and dried blood. Dozens of bullet holes dotted the walls, and God knew when he’d have time to fill them in.
Buford jumped off the couch and trotted toward him, his stub of a tail wagging like crazy and his limp much less pronounced. It was good to see the dog was feeling better and hadn’t chewed through the bandages covering his ribs. Adam scratched the big lug behind the ears, and when he hit a good spot, the dog’s hind leg began twitching, making a thumping noise against the carpet.
“Where have you been?” Samuel demanded from his seat on the couch, and Adam almost lost control of his temper. The boss looked ridiculous in a pair of baggy sweatpants and an old, faded Chicago Bears T-shirt. The bruise around his eye had darkened to deep purple, but otherwise he seemed perfectly fine. He was watching something on the BBC channel, most likely another episode of Doctor Who. He loved that frigging show. “I’m starving, and you don’t have anything but dog food and Pop-Tarts left in the pantry.”
The bathroom door opened, and Dmitri stepped out and gave Adam a curt nod of acknowledgment. His Glock was housed in his shoulder holster, and his flak vest was filled with enough firepower to take on an Army battalion. After what happened last night, who could blame him? He glanced down at his watch and scowled. “You’re late.”
“I stopped by Cassie’s to pick up the new potion.” He set the supplies on the table in front of Samuel. “Instructions are in the bag.”
Samuel unscrewed the cap on the jug and his nose wrinkled with disgust. “Are you mad? I’m not drinking that. It smells like death.”
“No, that’s just the pawpaw.”
Samuel glared at him as if he’d lost his marbles. “I don’t care what it is. I’m not drinking anything that smells like it was distilled in a cemetery.”
He should have known the boss would be a pain in the ass about the odor. Honestly, he wouldn’t want to drink it either, but that wasn’t his fucking problem. “You’ll drink it, and that’s all there is to it.”
“Why should I?” Samuel crossed his arms like a petulant child. “If it’s like the last one, it won’t even work. Who is this witch anyway?”
Adam bit back the urge to slap the living shit out of Samuel. God, he was sick of dealing with this prick. He wanted his home and his privacy back, and that wasn’t happening until his boss was out of the picture. “If you don’t drink it voluntarily, I’ll pin your ass to the floor while Dmitri pours it down your throat.”
Samuel’s eyes thinned to slits. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
The vein on Samuel’s forehead looked like it was ready to burst. “It’s only a matter of time before Fate notices my absence and comes searching for me. Don’t think I won’t remember how poorly I’ve been treated.”
“What makes you so sure Fate isn’t the one who did this to you in the first place?”
That shut his ass up. Samuel’s face puckered like he’d sucked on a bag of lemons.
For a moment, Adam actually felt sorry for the poor son of a bitch. Being human had to be rough for an omnipotent being. “Look, I know it sucks, but it’s your only chance of regaining your powers.”
Samuel eyed the container as if it were filled with poison. “I don’t have to drink all of that, do I?”
“Eight ounces every two hours, starting at midnight tonight. Once it’s all gone, you have to bathe with the herbs and powders in the bag.”
The boss’s upper lip peeled back. “Oh, this keeps getting better.”
“Look on the bright side. At least you don’t have to use it for a suppository.”
Dmitri snorted. “Do you plan to be here for a while? Gwen wanted to meet for dinner.”
“Yeah, I’ll be here, but could you make it back by seven? I’ve got something I need to take care of before my next reap at ten.”
The former reaper nodded as he typed something into his phone. “No problem. If you’re not back by midnight, I’ll make sure Samuel takes his … medication.” Amusement lifted the corners of his mouth. Without looking back, he walked out of the house and closed the door behind him.
Samuel’s gaze swung in Adam’s direction. “What’s got your knickers in a twist? You’re usually not this ill-mannered.”
Adam’s temper was running just beneath a boil, but he held it in check through sheer force of will. Back straight, jaw set tight, he stood in front of Samuel with his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Christopher. Johannes. Walther. Ring any bells?”
Samuel’s eyes widened for the briefest of moments, something Adam wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching closely. “Told you, did she?” he drawled. “Or did you finally remember?”
That did it. Adam’s fist shot out in a flash, catching his boss square in the nose. Samuel’s head snapped back against the couch cushions, his hands flying up to cover his face.
“Bloody hell!” He glared up at Adam through watering eyes. A trickle of blood dripped past his mouth and onto the collar of his shirt. “You impudent chit. Have you lost your mind?”
“No, but you’re about to lose some teeth unless you tell me everything you know about Walther.”
His chin hitched up. “Didn’t she tell you?”
“I want to hear it from you.”
Samuel blew out a heavy sigh. “Fine. But first get me some tissues before I get any more blood on your shirt.”
Adam strode to the bathroom, grabbed the box of Kleenex, stalked back to the couch, and tossed it to Samuel. The boss wadded up a handful of tissues and pressed them to his upturned nose.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now start talking.”
Samuel glared at him. “Pushy little bastard. I’ll remember this later.”
“Yeah, whatever. Now start from the beginning.”
A mocking sneer twisted Samuel’s mouth. “It all started, many years ago, with a really, really, big bang.”
Adam clenched his fists so tight his nails bit into his palms. “Don’t fuck with me. I’m not in the mood.”
“So it appears.” Samuel set the bloody wad of tissues on the coffee table and pulled fre
sh ones out of the box. Although his nose was still red and puffy, the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. With his free hand, he picked up the remote and switched off the television.
“Her real name is Magdala,” Samuel began. “You’re aware she’s a shifter, correct?”
“Correct.”
“They’re quite rare, you know. It takes them almost a century to reach sexual maturity, and even then, the females go into season only once every fifty years. At this point, there may not be enough females left for the species to survive. If Magdala were to accept a shifter mate, she’d be doing her kindred a tremendous service.”
“She’s not breeding stock,” Adam snarled, his temper flaring back up.
“Point taken. Either way, she chose to mate with a human. Probably not the wisest decision she’s ever made, but I suppose nobody’s perfect.” Samuel’s gaze locked with Adam’s, and for once, he appeared genuinely sympathetic. “During the mating process, her soul bonded with yours, and because of that bond your soul was unable to pass to the next realm after your body expired.”
A few missing pieces clicked together in Adam’s mind. “And that’s why I was reborn?”
Samuel nodded. “Damn inconvenient, if you ask me. Fate had no idea what to do with you. If she’d wanted to, she could have severed the bond, but that probably would have killed the shifter.”
The thought made Adam sick to his stomach. “Why didn’t she?”
A faint smile crossed Samuel’s lips. “Everyone has a weakness. Fate is a romantic at heart. She decided to rebirth your soul in the hopes of the two of you finding each other again. The only side effect we’ve noticed is the degradation of memories with each reincarnation.” He eyed Adam with open speculation. “Do you remember anything from your past lives?”
“No, not really.” All his life, he’d experienced vivid dreams, and now he wondered if they were memories from his past. “How many times have I been reborn?”
Samuel looked up at the ceiling as if contemplating the answer. At last, he said, “Eighteen, give or take.”
The answer momentarily stunned Adam. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Unfortunately, no. You have a nasty tendency of getting yourself killed at a young age.” Samuel’s face softened with what appeared to be genuine sympathy. “Your Magdala has been waiting a very long time for you.”
Only she hadn’t been waiting. She’d been grieving. To think, the poor woman had spent four centuries mourning his death, only to discover he’d been alive the whole time. Talk about a mind fuck. Still, it chafed his ass to know she’d withheld the information. Had she ever intended to tell him the truth, or was she planning to keep him in the dark?
Only one way to find out. As soon as Dmitri returned to cover the night shift, he’d ask the shifter himself.
Chapter 17
Dmitri arrived at Kalinka a few minutes before five and claimed his favorite table in the back.
When he lived in Orlando, he used to stop by the tiny family-owned restaurant every two or three weeks for pirozhki and coffee. There weren’t any Russian delis where he and Gwen now lived, so he’d make a point of stocking up on supplies before they headed back home. Whenever that was. Time was money, and he’d already turned down one contract in order to help Adam. If things didn’t wrap up in the next day or two, he’d have no choice but to send Gwen home so their private security business didn’t suffer from neglect.
The older woman who owned the shop smiled as she approached his table. She’d been in the United States for over two decades, but she’d yet to lose any of her Russian accent. “Dmitri, where have you been? It’s been so long since you last came in, we thought you got hit by a bus.”
He couldn’t stop from smiling in return. With her stout build and kind face, Lyubov Vyazhevich reminded him so much of his babushka it made his chest tight. “My apologies, dorogaya moya. I’ve been busy. I got married.”
Lyubov’s eyes went wide. “You, married? I never thought I’d see the day. Is she a good Russian girl?”
“No, American. She’ll be here any minute.”
As part of their honeymoon, he and Gwen had traveled to Volgograd, his childhood home. The city, once known as Stalingrad, bore little resemblance to the way it had looked when he was a kid. Back then, war ravaged every street and the stench of death fouled the air. Now the city served as an industrial, cultural, and historical center of Russia. He and Gwen had visited the museums and monuments, including the Mamaev Kurgan memorial complex commemorating the Battle of Stalingrad. And before they left, he’d taken her to the street where his apartment building used to stand.
It was late for coffee, so he ordered a bottle of water and settled back in his chair. His Gwenya was running late, which wasn’t like her at all. She’d been acting strangely for a couple weeks now. Moody. Withdrawn. Unfocused. At first, he’d brushed it off as a side effect of the stress that came with being mortal and operating a business.
But now he sensed it was something more serious.
Why the change in behavior? Was she unhappy? Had he done something wrong? He couldn’t think of anything he’d said that would have pissed her off, and if he had, she wouldn’t be shy about calling him out on it.
Then he thought about how often she’d been sick in the past month and dread snaked down his spine. She’d blamed it on food poisoning and later the flu, but now he doubted the claims.
Now that they were human, they were susceptible to injury and disease. What if she was seriously ill? God, what if she had cancer? The possibility made him shudder. He loved her too much to live without her. If that was the news she wanted to share with him, he might as well slit his wrists now.
Just then, he spotted her walking through the entrance, and the sight of her lifted his spirits. She was dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a white short-sleeved peasant blouse. Her honey-blond hair hung loose about her shoulders, and her eyes seemed a little tired. He watched as she traded pleasantries with Lyubov before walking back to his table.
He rose from his seat and kissed her, and the taste of her warmed him inside. “I missed you, zaika moya.”
The smile she gave reached her eyes and went straight to his heart. “I missed you too, Dimusha.” She claimed the seat across from his and hung her purse over the back of the chair. “Did you order already?”
“No, I was waiting to see what you were in the mood for.” Usually, it was blinchiki, a crêpe-type pancake filled with meat, fruit, or cheese, but every so often she surprised him by choosing something completely different.
Less than a minute later, Lyubov came over to take their orders: blinchiki with cheese for Gwen, and pelmeni, thin dumplings stuffed with ground beef, for himself. As soon as the older woman left for the kitchen, he reached across the table and took Gwen’s hand. It never ceased to amaze him, how so much strength could fit into such a petite package.
“Why didn’t you answer my call earlier?” he asked, his thumb lightly stroking the backs of her knuckles.
The smooth column of her throat moved when she swallowed. “I, uh … I was busy taking care of a few things. There’s something … well, a couple of things I need to tell you.”
Shit, here it comes. Bracing for the worst, he forced his face to remain neutral. “Go on.”
“Well—” She went to chew on one of her fingernails, only stopping when she realized she’d already bitten them all down to the quick. No matter how hard or how often she tried, she couldn’t seem to break the bad habit. “I think we need to hire at least two more people. One for the field, and one for the office.”
Definitely not what he’d expected. “That’s a large expense.”
“I know, but we’re earning enough revenue to hire twice as many. At the rate we’re growing, we’ve got to get another person trained to work in the field. I can keep up with the paperwork now, but we need another person—at least part-time—in case I get too busy to handle it all.”
“Why wouldn’t you be able to hand
le it?” The thought of her becoming too sick to function curdled his blood.
“Crap,” Gwen muttered with a shake of her head. “I’m screwing this up.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a small box with a delicate yellow ribbon tied across the top. She bit into her lower lip as she pushed the present across the table. “Here. Open this. It’ll explain everything.”
Dmitri accepted the box, picking it up like it was packed with C-4. He pulled the ribbon loose, lifted the lid, and peered inside.
Confused, his dark brows furrowed. This was getting stranger by the minute. He pulled out a tiny translucent green pacifier. “What’s this?”
A shy smile touched her lips. “Exactly what you think it is.”
Meeting her gaze, he found warmth, love, and such profound tenderness it knocked the air from his lungs. And then realization finally dawned on him and he almost fell out of his chair.
“Are you—are we?” He hadn’t felt this choked up with emotion since the day they traded vows.
“Yes,” she replied, her face beaming with joy. “Daddy.”
With the twins working late at the restaurant and Cassie off shopping with her friends, Marlena had the entire house to herself. Which was fine by her. She needed some quiet time to work things out in her head. Like how she was going to deal with the bastards who’d abducted her. And what to do about Adam.
Sooner or later, she’d have to tell Adam about his real identity. It was the right thing to do, but she had no idea how to go about it without him thinking she was crazy. Without a doubt, he’d have a hard time accepting the truth. Who wouldn’t? It wasn’t every day a man found out his soul was over four hundred years old. Not to mention, he was mated to a shifter. And he certainly wouldn’t be happy to learn she’d kept him in the dark for this long. Once he learned the truth, could he find it in his heart to forgive her?
A knock at the door jarred her from her thoughts.
She hadn’t been expecting company, and her senses went on full alert. Barefoot, she quietly crept toward the front entry, her fingers elongating into claws. Not bothering with the peephole, she stuck her nose by the crack in the door and inhaled deeply.
