by Gaja J. Kos
My muscles locked into utter stillness. “You’ve seen this before?”
Katja shook her head. “Not me. But I know the detective who worked the case. I’ll put you in touch with him, if you’d like.”
The sane part of me screamed to keep my distance, to let ICRA handle this. But the truth was that infuriating, pack-oriented werewolf part of me refused to listen to reason.
Shit. There was no way I could keep denying what I felt.
I was responsible for Voit, just like any werewolf was for his pack.
And I’d be damned if I waited idly.
I dipped my chin. “I’d appreciate it.”
Per my request, Veles dropped me off not at my hotel room, but in the center of Ljubljana’s Old Town.
The spot was deserted, a dingy-looking alley filled with even dingier dumpsters that hadn’t been emptied in a while. A stark opposite to the otherwise well-maintained center, but the location did offer privacy.
While there probably wasn’t a single person on earth ignorant of Veles’s existence, the god didn’t advertise his powers unless absolutely necessary.
“Take care, Lotte,” he said, dark clothes and hair blending with the shadows. “And I hope that next time we meet, it will be without unpleasantries beyond our control marring the edges.”
I snorted. “Or maybe we have to accept that we’re magnets for trouble.”
“True. But where would the fun be in that?” he said with a wink. “Immortals like to think the future may yet surprise us.”
He disappeared.
For a few seconds, I stared at the empty space. Demons left a resonance when they took particle form, but not Veles. There was nothing, not even the lightest scent testifying to the man who had stood there moments before.
Unnerving didn’t even begin to cover it.
I tugged up the collar of my coat against the wind that had started to weave through the streets while I’d been with the pack. The crisp chill of winter from the mountains stretching up farther north gave it a frosty touch, yet one that was not painful. Not yet.
It was well past midnight, and given that it was a Wednesday, the passersby were few and rare in between. I kept well away from the areas where I’d smelled any greater numbers, wanting the solitude the night had to offer. Needing it, actually.
As I ventured farther under the street lamps, I brushed my fingers against the sleeve of my coat—right over the mark. What had Afanasiy been thinking?
A darkened street opened up on my right, and I veered into it, walking across the cobblestones until I reached a solitary bench illuminated by the faintest touch of pale yellow light. Cold bit into my back as I leaned against the wood, face turned towards the sky and those few stars that escaped the gathering cover of clouds.
I exhaled. There was only one way to find out.
Heat spread through my core as I brought Afanasiy’s image to the surface of my thoughts and held it. The demon appeared not a moment later, standing before me like some fallen angel with his dark hair flowing in the breeze and the violet of his eyes piercing the darkness. But the curve of his mouth was all sensuality and desire, strong enough that I was glad to have the solid frame of the bench beneath me.
“Lotte.”
“Afanasiy.”
He swooped down next to me. Our knees brushed lightly, the touch sending ripples of hunger through my veins. I had to bunch my fingers into fists just to keep myself from touching him. And gods, I wanted to. I really, really wanted to.
This was not encouraging.
Keeping my breaths controlled, I looked up at him and said, “I know about the mark. What it really is.”
“Ah.”
That one syllable managed to hold more elegance than I could hope to conjure in my entire life. I felt his posture stiffen, just slightly, although his face revealed nothing of the tension.
Veles’s words came to me, how Afanasiy’s kind had wanted to bury this ancient practice.
“It wasn’t a demon who told me,” I offered.
“Who, then?” His voice was pure silk, making my body react in unspeakable ways.
“Someone who I consider family.” I glanced up at the stars. “He isn’t the kind of person to spread secrets.”
“But he explained to you what it is?”
The cautious, guarded words made it even harder to keep my distance. I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, as if I could push this desire out of my system if only I tried hard enough.
“A part of you,” I whispered, then looked at him. “You gave me a part of your essence.”
Afanasiy’s violet eyes darkened like a storm, and yet there was something fragile about the way he gazed at me. But the gentleman that he was, I knew he wouldn’t push the issue unless I was willing.
I sighed. I was willing to do a whole lot of things with him, but in the end, that flicker of rational thought prevailed.
“Why did you do it?” I whispered.
“It’s the easiest way to call me to your side, should you need me.” He shrugged, but while the move was graceful, it was forced, too.
He knew as well as I did that while it was the truth, it wasn’t nearly all of it.
“Don’t bullshit me, Afanasiy.” I gripped his hand with mine, electricity sizzling at the contact. His features became oddly strained even as whispers of pleasure curved his mouth—and then I felt it.
A tug.
A call from somewhere deep inside me, urging me to obliterate this foolish distance and make this demon my own.
I jerked back, but Afanasiy caught me.
“This is why, Lotte.” There was an edge of a growl to his tone. “I placed the mark on you to protect you. To be able to be there for you. I—” He muttered something under his breath that was in a language not of this age. “Gifting you a part of my essence is such a small price to ensure that you are safe.”
“But why?” I asked, although some primal, instinctive part of me already knew the answer. “Why do I matter?”
He brushed his knuckles against my cheek.
“Demons always seek individuals with compatible energies. While we can coexist in close proximity with others of our kind for moderate amounts of time, we are solitary creatures, nonetheless, our power a pulse that would sooner draw us away from someone than to them.” A ghost of a smile animated his lips. “But on the rare occasion, we find someone who fits. Someone who awakens our power in a way no one else can. I have been around for a long time, Lotte. But no one has made me feel this way. Until you.”
17
My lips were dry, and I couldn’t tell if it was the weight of his words or the hunger for him, messing with my body. I remained perfectly still, not moving away from him, but not towards him, either.
Drunken shouts echoed in the distance, a blast of distorted music from cell phone speakers, and yet it failed to shatter the ethereal cocoon Afanasiy’s words had woven around us.
“You… You think I’m your mate?” I whispered, hope and fear tangling into an unbreakable whole.
A slight dip of his chin.
His mate. I was Afanasiy’s mate.
Tremors spread through my limbs. The attraction. The sense of rightness I experienced whenever I was near him…
At least I had a name for it now, even if it produced more questions than answers.
I opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, Afanasiy snatched away his hand and leaned back.
“I wanted to shield you from it, Lotte.” His violet gaze studied the darkened buildings reaching towards the sky before us. “Shield myself.”
It was there, in his scent, the same reluctance I harbored beneath the excitement.
“You don’t want to bind yourself to anybody.”
“Perhaps to a willing mate, I would have with time.” A long breath uncoiled from his lips, and I suppressed the urge to trace my fingers through his hair. Comfort him. “But never to someone who would see the bond as a burden.”
The distorted musi
c I’d heard earlier grew louder, although the slurred words remained obscured. Briefly, my gaze flickered over to the narrow passageway connecting the two streets. The group didn’t turn our way, disappearing out of sight after only a blurred heartbeat.
When we were once again perfectly alone, my awareness of Afanasiy ascended to another level. Whether it was a conscious choice or not, his emotions were laid bare before me, a melody composed of hard notes and soft passages. The weight in my chest became heavier.
“You offered yourself to me without asking for anything in return.” I looked up at him, willing him to meet my gaze. “Because you couldn’t keep away. Because it was the only thing you could do that wouldn’t impose on my will and not destroy you in the process.”
The smile on his lips was filled with quiet sadness. “I wanted to stay away. I would have worked with you until we found Voitsekh. And I would have come, even after, if you called. But nothing more.”
He shifted his powerful frame, his dark hair cascading like water across his shoulder. I sucked in a breath at his beauty, at the power that bathed my skin, affectionately and protectively.
When his hand cupped my cheek, I didn’t shrug off the touch.
I leaned into it.
“You would think that a demon as old as myself could resist a little temptation.” His voice was a velvet purr, still guarded—but not to me. “But I want you, Lotte. My body burns for you, as does my soul.”
“Shit,” I said softly, even then moving closer, my own hand coming to rest on his cheek.
I wanted him, too.
Not the freedom of a night filled with sex, but many of passionate loving. I had felt an echo of this with Isa, the possibility of a person becoming one I envisioned myself growing old with. But it was nothing compared to the force of what surged through me now.
And damn, if I wasn’t scared shitless.
“I have commitment issues,” I muttered, then laughed, a little manically, at how odd it was to have this conversation with a demon probably forty times my age. Or a hundred, more likely. “I’m used to being on my own, Afanasiy.”
“Believe me, so am I.”
I looked at him, truly looked at him, and realized the depth of his words. The harsh, heavy truth he was hiding behind his elegant demeanor. If I was the first who had stirred this…
Shit, I couldn’t even imagine what a blow this sudden change must have been to him.
“So what do we do?” I asked.
“You’re not running away?” A slight arch of his eyebrow was the only sign of his surprise.
I shook my head. “I’m not saying I want to have a mating bond. Fuck, I don’t even know what the bond actually is. But…” I groaned and dropped my fisted hands in my lap. “I can’t walk away from you. Not until I understand this better.”
A hint of a smile teased the corners of his eyes. It snuffed out some of my fear, easing the tremors still coursing through my body. With a final brush of his fingers down the side of my jaw, Afanasiy rose from the bench and offered me his hand.
“Come. It’s getting late. Let me take you to your room.”
I eyed him warily. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“I have some restraint left in me.” Again, mirth touched his eyes, a corner of his lips curling up.
“Yeah,”—I blew out a breath—“but I don’t think I do.”
The next day, I was cradling my third extra-large cup of coffee, straining my eyes as I sorted through the tournament schedule pinned to a corkboard on the lounge wall. True to his word, Afanasiy had only escorted me to my hotel, but it had been a long, long time before I managed to fall asleep.
Unfortunately, I didn’t only feel it, but it showed, too.
Selma had taken one look at me in the morning when we met in the spacious restaurant dominating a fair portion of the hotel’s ground floor, and passed over her yet untouched coffee. At least she had enough mercy in her to leave it at that and not prickle and probe the way my brothers would undoubtedly have had they seen my craggy state.
I managed to pull myself together on the drive over to the tennis club, and by the time I sent Selma outside to warm up, my mind was focused purely on the game while my body silently suffered the consequences.
Since this was a round robin tournament, she needed to stay smart about how she tackled her opponents. Playing three matches in a row wasn’t the easiest thing even for someone in such spectacular shape as her, but I had faith. As long as she kept a collected mind, Selma would do just fine.
That lay at the core of my decision to fly her out here. While the additional points would definitely help give her that boost in ranking she needed, I wanted to test her mental control.
Swallowing a mouthful of the slightly burnt coffee, I peeled my gaze from the schedule and leaned against the wall.
Rihard’s anger issues were still far too vivid in my memory. How the weight of not improving fast enough had eroded his nerves to the point where I had no choice but to threaten to bench him.
A pissed-off human on the court was an unappealing sight. A pissed-off were was dangerous.
Not to mention gave those still wary of us more fuel for their distrust. Even hate.
If Selma managed to skip the whole frustrated phase in her transition to professional tennis, then we would both win.
“See anything interesting?” Her voice came from behind.
I peered over my shoulder, then motioned her to step closer. She fitted her back against the wall, her copper blonde hair, still unbound, framing her like fire thanks to the glare of artificial lights. It matched the one burning inside.
“She’ll try to force you to come to the net.” I nudged my chin discreetly towards the first player she was to face. “If that happens, make sure you give her one hell of a volley because if she lobs you—trust me, your preternatural speed won’t be sufficient to catch that ball.”
Selma frowned, but didn’t stop observing the athlete who kept her back to us as she warmed up. Ambition was written in every swing of the player’s arm, her posture steady and firm, although not entirely calm.
“So what do you suggest?”
If it were anybody but her, I wouldn’t answer. A player needed to come up with their own strategies at this stage of their career.
As it was, I knew Selma already had hers mapped out. She was just fishing for any small detail she might get to make sure that particular strategy broke her opponent without any chance of them getting back up.
A smile teased my lips. “You didn’t hear this from me, but don’t try to wear her out. Don’t wait for her to make a mistake.”
“Even pushing her to make an unforced error?”
“Even that. Your shots are solid, Selma. Hit her with a strong serve, then really lean on her return. More than likely she’ll parry with a slice or a high ball—if she’ll even make the shot—and that’s your chance. Use it well.” I placed a hand on her shoulder. “And obliterate her.”
And Selma did. She really, truly did.
I couldn’t help beaming once she got off the court, the smell of a brilliant match clinging to her skin. She hadn’t faltered, even when she hit a ball wide twice in a row—an occurrence that, when reversed, made her opponent smash her racket against the clay and earn herself a warning.
From there on, the match had been a walk in the park. And I was once again reassured about my methods.
Mental peace during the game was just as vital as technical skills.
“Go get changed, but try not to cool down too much.” I peered at the screen set up in the lounge where a petite brunette just hit another winner. “I don’t think they’ll be at it for much longer.”
Selma nodded and hurried away. Despite her being used to slightly more important tournaments, she didn’t as much as snarl at the fast pace or the moderate chaos of a low-rank round robin. I watched her disappear into the locker room, then went outside to catch some fresh air.
Or at least Ljubljana’s v
ersion of it.
The sky was nothing but an uninterrupted blanket of gray, the town finally showing me the reason for my brothers’ ever-present grumbling. Mist still clung to the northern hills, the humidity so thick I couldn’t help but shiver as I leaned against a low, weather-worn fence.
Munich might have its killer winds, as well as bouts of ungodly humidity, but it sure wasn’t anywhere near as nasty as this. I burrowed my chin into the collar of my jacket, listening to the melody of well-strung rackets colliding with tennis balls that pulsed from the three bubbles looming on the other side of the club proper. The gray fabric blended with the sky—the single thing that made them stand out was the slight orange tint smeared across their surface.
I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket and scanned the address again. Moondance. A supe-only club with roots from well before the War, when humans had still been ignorant of the various species hiding in plain sight.
Katja had called with the location as well as the hour for the meet-up just after breakfast. How my brother managed to snag someone so efficient was still beyond me at times. She had even taken the tournament into consideration, setting the meet with the detective and his partner well after dusk in case the matches took longer than expected.
I folded the paper and returned it to its rightful place, a bitter, but amused smile playing across my lips. All that time spent running around Munich, and all I needed to do was bring an athlete to a tournament to come a little closer to getting my answers.
When I returned to my room, my body was still tingling pleasantly from the beer Selma and I had to celebrate three successful matches won. Actually, she had one, I had several. While werewolves processed alcohol differently than humans and needed to drink a lot to feel even the slightest buzz, she did have more matches set up tomorrow.
And Selma was a far more obliging trainee than I’d ever been.
Without protest, the young were finished her drink and rushed off for her massage appointment to loosen some of the strain that had built up in her muscles. I, on the other hand, still had a long evening ahead. Hence the beers in plural.
