Grigori

by Smith, Lauren

  “No, I’m afraid you cannot leave. I have questions that require answers.” He took two steps toward her. It took everything inside Madelyn not to retreat. She sensed that any sign of weakness would trigger his animal instincts. He was an aggressive predator who looked too intense to be in this lush apartment.

  “Ask your questions and then let me go.” She wanted to curl her arms around herself, but instead planted hands on her hips.

  Grigori arched one eyebrow, calmly removed his coat and laid it on the back of the chair. His gray wool vest showed off his muscular chest and his tapered waist. She licked her lips, nervous and all too aware of him and in way she shouldn’t be given that he had kidnapped her. The image of his face in the journal, the sketch dated 1821, haunted her. It couldn’t be the same man. That was impossible. But the likeness . . .

  “Who sent you after the book?” Grigori asked as he rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. It revealed muscular forearms, which were also sun-kissed. Her skin prickled and she tried to swallow the lump of fear in her throat.

  “No—no one sent me. I came here on my own.”

  Grigori nodded to himself, smiling a little as he walked over to the kitchen and opened a cabinet.

  “Would you care for some wine? It’s a fine vintage.” He held up a bottle and a glass.

  “Did you seriously just offer me a drink? You’ve kidnapped me! For god knows what reason. You’d better let me leave right now or—”

  “Or what?” Grigori was studying her through hooded eyes. “Ms. Haynes, I understand you are frightened, but I’m not planning on harming you. We’re merely going to have a discussion. Once I have learned all that I need, you shall be free to go.”

  “You . . . you promise?” She had no reason to trust him if he did make such a promise, but part of her wanted to trust him. Part of her was still fixed on the man in the journal, the one she felt she knew somehow from dreams within dreams.

  “I promise. I have no intention of hurting you. I merely needed a chance to speak to you privately. On my honor.” He touched his freed hand to his chest with his fingers curled into a fist. The motion was archaic, like something a knight from the Middle Ages might do as he pledged himself to the lord of a castle.

  Madelyn weighed her options—not that she really had any. If she was trapped here she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself trying to escape until she had a real chance. She wasn’t sure if she believed him, but part of her wanted to. She’d never felt so torn in her life. All logic and basic instincts were screaming to run away from the man who kidnapped her, but there was a deeper part of her, whispering to her to stay and trust. It was like she was staring at his picture in the library all over again and she couldn’t look away, couldn’t leave.

  If I play along, it might help me buy some time to figure out a real plan of getting out of here.

  Grigori waved the bottle in the air. “Well?”

  “Sure. One glass,” she finally replied. God, please don’t let me trusting him a little be a huge mistake.

  “Good.” He walked over, setting a glass directly in front of her on the black granite countertop. They were only inches apart now. His body so tall and intimidating compared to hers. A nauseating pounding started in her head and her skin tingled like it had in the elevator with that other man.

  She closed her eyes, steadying her suddenly shaky legs. How was it that this man could rattle her? Was it because he’d kidnapped her and she was freaking out . . . or was it something else? She’d been scared plenty of times, but it had never been like this. This felt . . . different. She didn’t feel right, like her body was trying to change inside. It didn’t make sense.

  A hand, his hand brushed a lock of her hair back from her face, leaving a sizzling sensation behind wherever he touched her. As she opened her eyes, she saw him lean close to her and inhale deeply.

  “Are you sniffing me?” she asked in a shaky whisper.

  He exhaled slowly, his full lips suddenly in a firm line. “You smell good. Too good,” he growled softly. His hand reached up again, but it stopped inches from her. And that was when she felt it. A faint breeze ruffled her hair, playing with the strands. Grigori stayed motionless, his eyes narrowed. And just like that, the unexplainable breeze vanished.

  Madelyn held her breath, hoping he would move first. He finally stepped back.

  “Did Damien MacQueen send you?” he asked as he turned and walked away from her, back to the fridge. The distance growing between them seemed like a vast chasm. It should have been a relief, but it wasn’t.

  I am going nuts. Seriously nuts.

  He opened the door and stared at the contents before shutting it and frowning.

  “Who is Damien MacQueen?” she asked. The name was one she didn’t recognize. Grigori stared at her for a long moment as though discerning whether she spoke the truth.

  “So the brotherhood didn’t send you.” He placed his palms on the counter, leaning forward slightly as he stared at her. The man had that intense gaze down to a T. She was frozen in place, unable to look away from him as he watched her. She tried to study him back, analyzing the way his jaw seemed to be cut from Italian marble and his straight nose gave him an air of distinction. He was gorgeous—for a kidnapper.

  “You are a professor?” Grigori asked.

  “Yes, at Ellwood University.” She lifted her glass of wine and tried to take a sip. The wine was soft and dark on her tongue. A truly expensive wine without any bitter aftertaste. The floral bouquet hit her taste buds and finished with a hint of smoky wood.

  “You like to research?” he asked.

  Weirdly, it almost felt like she was on a date. These were like the usual questions: Who are you? What do you do for a living? Do you like it? But this wasn’t a date. It was the farthest thing from it.

  “I do . . .” she hesitated, trying to figure out what to do.

  “And you enjoy history?” he asked as he sipped his wine, his blue eyes still fixed on her in a way that made her uncomfortable.

  “Yes,” she paused, trying to focus on answering him but also staying alert. “History is steady. You know it’s always going to be the same, no matter how much you look back on it. I like the predictability.”

  “But you fear the future,” he mused.

  She bristled. “I don’t fear the future, I just . . . I just don’t trust things to happen the way I want them to sometimes.” She’d expected her visit to Russia to be a safe one instead of getting kidnapped by someone like him.

  “You have nothing to fear in your future,” he promised again. “At least not from me.” There it was, that solemnity in his gaze that almost seemed to beg her to trust him.

  The hanging lamps in the kitchen illuminated Grigori’s golden hair as it fell into his eyes again. Madelyn had the desire to brush those gold strands away from his face with her fingertips. And that was a crazy desire, because this man had kidnapped her and she shouldn’t want to be touching him.

  “God, I’ve got a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome,” she muttered. She lifted her wine glass to her lips and took another sip.

  “Look, I don’t know any Damien and I have no idea what the brotherhood is. You have your book back so I see no reason for you to keep me here.”

  He ignored her as he pulled out his cell phone. “Are you hungry? I believe I’ll have dinner brought up.”

  “I’m not—” her stomach rumbled treacherously and he had to hear it because he smirked. He was smirking at her . . .

  “Dinner, then we talk.” He dialed a number and spoke in rapid Russian to the person on the other end of the line. She had thought it was a rough language before but listening to him speak it sounded musical.

  I really need to take more Russian classes. Her two semesters of Russian in graduate school didn’t help her understand a word of what he’d just said.

  “Will you please tell me who you are?” she asked as he pocketed his phone in his trousers. He retrieved his own empty glass to refill it wi
th some wine. He poured the burgundy liquid into the glass and she stared at it before looking at him again.

  “My name is Grigori Barinov.”

  Madelyn bit her lip. He could not be the Grigori from James Barrow’s book. He had to be a descendent of the other man, maybe a great-great-grandson.

  “Okay . . .” she whispered. “So you’re descended from the man in the book. The one in the sketch?” She thought again about man’s face, the melancholy smile and the almost indulgent gentleness. That man was a mystery, just as this man was, but this Grigori’s features were harder, colder. She still had a strange longing to meet the man in the sketch.

  “No. I am not descended from the man in the sketch. I am that man.”

  Madelyn laughed. “That’s funny.” She had plenty of people make fun of her over the years for dragon research.

  “I do not jest, Ms. Haynes. You have stumbled into terra incognita. Do you know what that means?”

  Madelyn swallowed thickly. “It means ‘territory unknown.’ I’ve seen it on old maps.”

  “Very good,” Grigori praised.

  He lifted his wine to his lips and took a slow sip, those blue eyes of his piercing her, pinning her in place. “And do you know what else those maps said exactly?” The clink of his glass on the counter was the only sound in the room because neither of them dared to breathe.

  And then she said the words, the ones that had been stirring like a serpent in a dark cave at the back of her mind since the moment she brushed her fingertips over the sketch of his face in the book. Surely he couldn’t be suggesting what she’d always been too afraid to even contemplate . . . The words hovered on the tip of her tongue as she stared at him, hypnotized.

  “Here there be dragons,” she whispered.

  The words drifted between them and although she and Grigori stood six feet apart, that space ceased to exist. His eyes were no longer blue, but a molten gold color, the pupils sliding into reptilian slits. That was impossible . . .

  “Here there be dragons,” he echoed in a husky whisper, and Madelyn screamed.

  Chapter 5

  Why did thou leave the trodden paths of men

  Too soon, and with weak hands though mighty heart

  Dare the unpastured dragon in his den?

  Defenseless as thou wert, oh! where was then

  Wisdom the mirror’d shield, or scorn the spear?

  —Percy Bysshe Shelley

  Desires and Adorations, XXVII

  “Here there be dragons . . .”

  The moment Madelyn heard Grigori echo her words, she panicked.

  He was clearly insane. Because dragons did not exist, at least not anymore. And even if they had existed at one time—they didn’t morph into humans. She looked at him again, saw the molten gold in his eyes, eyes she distinctly remembered had been blue a moment before and wondered if maybe she was the one who had gone insane.

  The sharp sound of her own scream startled them both. She recovered faster, sprinting past him towards the front door, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood as her hands reached for the knob. As her fingers whispered against the brass of the door jamb her whole body wrenched backwards by her hips. The air rushed out of her lungs in a whoosh and her back slammed against a solid mass of warm muscle, only then registering the strong arms encircling her waist.

  “Oh God, please,” her voice broke as she begged. She wasn’t sure what she was more afraid of, that he might kill her or that she’d have to face the insane reality that Grigori was not human.

  A hand clamped around her mouth, silencing her. His lips brushed her ear.

  “Hush, little one, you are in no danger.” His voice was soft, sensual purr but terror gripped her in its teeth.

  She kicked out but it was no use. She’d been in this position before and lost.

  Grigori turned around, carrying her like a ragdoll through his apartment and back to the bedroom. Suddenly she was flying and then just as suddenly she landed on his bed with a little gasp. She didn’t scramble up, she simply lay there, panting, shocked that he’d just tossed her onto the bed. She could have been hurt . . . but she wasn’t.

  “How many times must I tell you that I have no intentions of harming you?” His voice was layered with frustration and he clenched his fists.

  Madelyn was afraid to look directly into his eyes, but it wasn’t because she was afraid of him. So far he’d kept his promise, and he hadn’t done anything to her aside from scare her by bringing her here. When she finally looked up at him, he was watching her as though he expected her to grab a lamp and throw it his head.

  It was a tempting idea . . . She sat up and inched toward the bedside table where a lamp sat within reach.

  “If you throw that, I’ll be most displeased. That is an antique I’m rather fond of.”

  “Yeah?” She shot back, her fingers curling around the neck of the lamp.

  “Yes. Throw that and you will greatly displease me and I would enjoy far too much the method I would use to punish you.” He warned in that low tone, that felt all too seductive even in such a threat.

  Madelyn stared at him, her lips parting in utter shock. “You wouldn’t dare . . .”

  His lips twitched. “Give me a reason, Ms. Haynes. I promised not to hurt you, but a spanking might be just what you need.”

  With a frustrated growl, she let go of the lamp and glowered at him. There was something about the way he’d threatened to spank her that she didn’t think would involve pain, but rather . . . The dangerous direction of that thought made her jolt abruptly. She was not going to let herself get distracted by reacting to this man . . . er, dragon . . . whatever he was.

  I’m not some ninny from a gothic novel who’s going to swoon at her captor. No matter if he is sexy . . . She cursed inwardly.

  He remained in the doorway blocking any further escape attempts. His eyes were blue again, but Madelyn didn’t trust him or her own sanity. She would have sworn they had been gold. She grasped the nearest bedpost, her fingers digging into the wood for support as she knelt on the bed. The thought of rushing him, shoving him hard to get past him, was a momentarily and foolish thought but he seemed to read the direction of her thoughts.

  “Do not make me render you unconscious again. I do not want to let our dinner get cold while I wait for you to wake up.”

  “Please just let me go. I won’t tell anyone about you or the book.” Her plea came out a breathless whisper. She hated how weak she felt in that moment. Fighting and pleading had no effect on him.

  Grigori’s eyes softened. “Madelyn,” her name escaped his lips in a delicate whisper that sent unwelcome but arousing shivers down her spine. “You are in no danger, but I can’t let you leave.”

  She swallowed, her eyes burning with tears she held back. Terror at being held against her will was almost overpowering. “Why? I won’t tell anyone. No one would believe me anyway.”

  The brooding man, the one with melancholy eyes from the sketch was there now, the face he claimed was his in a book two centuries old. He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning down at her.

  “You will stay with me until I am convinced that you are not a threat to me or my family.”

  “But—”

  He waved a hand to silence her. “It will not be forever, and no harm will come to you. But you will remain at my side and answer any questions I ask. When I’m satisfied and only then, will I let you go.”

  Answer questions? Madelyn was torn between relief and suspicion. “Then ask your questions.”

  Again, those full lips of his twitched. “Over dinner.” He cocked his head to one side and the door chimed. “Which is now.” He turned his back on her and headed for the front door. She rushed after him but almost collided into his body when he opened the door. A man in a white uniform pushed a silver cart carrying covered dishes inside their room. Madelyn darted forward.

  “Help!” she gasped at the man. He glanced up while lifting dishes off the tray. “Please, call the pol
ice!”

  Grigori snarled and grabbed her wrist, dragging her away from the man. “He does not speak English and he would not help you. No one in this building will help you. Do you understand? I own everything in this building and they all answer to me.”

  Madelyn sagged against him, her eyes blurring with tears. When Grigori looked down at her, he sighed and brushed away the tears on her cheeks, murmuring something softly Russian.

  “Madelyn, this is not a time to be afraid but a time to embrace adventure. I am willing to share my secrets, the history of my nearly two thousand years on this earth, with you. In return I want to assure my family’s safety. And then I shall let you go.” He stroked her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “You were seeking dragons when you checked out Barrow’s book, and now you found us.” He smiled at her. It didn’t reassure her in the slightest.

  Grigori continued to hold onto her, their bodies pressed close, their eyes locked. Madelyn stared into the blue depths, marveling again at the purity of his irises. They lacked the other facets of colors, the imperfections that are hard to characterize by color. His eyes were more like sapphires, but almost as pale as diamonds.

  She searched his face, looking for any sign or hint of an intent to harm her. But there wasn’t any. There was only a look of longing, an aching that was seeded deep in his gaze, one that ensnared her and called out to her own loneliness. Don’t let him lure you into sympathizing with him . . .

  “Stay with me, Madelyn, and I will tell you everything you wish to know about me and what it means to be a dragon.” The pleading in his tone surprised her. Why did he want her to stay and share his secrets? That didn’t sound like something a kidnapper would do.

  Her gaze dropped to his lips. “You really won’t hurt me?” she asked before focusing back on his bewitching eyes.

  “Never.” He cupped her chin and they stared at each other for a long moment. “I’m a man and a dragon of honor. We don’t hurt females.” His vow was solemn and for some reason, she believed him.

  “Then why are you holding me here against my will?” she asked. “You could have just talked to me like a normal person, taken me out for coffee or had me come to your office or something . . .”