Grigori

by Smith, Lauren

  His lips twitched. “I’m a bit old-fashioned, I’m afraid. In my younger years, I would simply carry a female over my shoulder to my cave and . . .” he trailed off, a slight reddish hue tinging his high cheekbones. Was he blushing?

  “So you’re . . . interested in me . . . like that?” She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with a man who’d taken her from her hotel but he hadn’t done anything to her and wasn’t forcing her either.

  “Very. From the moment I saw you, I knew I wanted you.” There was a roughness in his words now that sent a forbidden thrill through her. She shouldn’t have liked the idea that he take her because he wanted her, but something very old inside her, an instinct she didn’t fully understand, seemed to approve of his possessive actions.

  “May I kiss you?” he asked softly, his tone silky and irresistible.

  “Kiss me?” She couldn’t help but stare at his mouth again, the sensual lips that looked so enticing. “You just told me you’re a real dragon and I’m trying not to freak out right now . . .” She laughed nervously but his gentle smile put her at ease.

  “A dragon’s instincts are hard to fight when in the presence of a beautiful woman.” His pale gold hair fell deeper into his eyes as he tilted his head down another half inch. Their mouths were a breath apart.

  “You kidnapped me,” she whispered. “I won’t let you just affect me like some . . .”

  His fingertips stroked her jaw and little sparks of pleasure came from that touch. How could he do that to her? Make her focus on pleasure and excitement when she should be freaking out?

  “Sometimes instincts override fear. Are you still afraid? Or do you feel something else now?” Grigori continued to stroke her and she let herself just feel his touch. Yes, her rational mind still insisted this was a terrible idea and that she needed to return to plan A—which included throwing things and fighting her way out of the apartment. But . . . the other half of her was . . . No, she couldn’t really feel interested in him. Could she?

  She stared up into his eyes, the blue depths again swirling with gold around the black pupils. Had it been any other man in the world trying to kiss her right now, she would have fought, would have screamed, kicked and bit like a wild animal, but Grigori was . . . safe. Her body was positive of that even though it made no sense in her mind.

  “One kiss . . .” It couldn’t hurt to kiss a dragon, could it? The ridiculous thought almost made her smile. She stood up on tiptoes, wondering just how crazy it was that she’d agreed to let him kiss her when seconds before she’d been afraid. But his vow had convinced her she was safe, safe enough to try one single kiss . . .

  She leaned in to him just as he lowered his head. Their lips met and sparks ignited.

  It was though a bolt of lightning had shot from the heavens and struck her. Raw energy pulsed through her, leaving no part of her untouched. She curled her fingers into the collar of Grigori’s shirt and moaned against his lips. His tongue slipped between her lips and she reveled in the play of their mouths and his addictive taste. A hint of wine, and something else that made her body burn with a wild need. She’d never had sex before, never trusted herself to get close to any man before now, but in that moment, if Grigori had carried her back to his bed, she would have let him. Hell, she would’ve begged him to. And yes, she knew it was insane. She knew she was probably suffering from some crazy level of Stockholm Syndrome, but regrets and shame could come later. Right now she wanted to feel every bit of his kiss and lose herself in it.

  Grigori grinned and the feel of his smile against her lips was the most exquisite pleasure she had ever experienced. It was a sweet intimacy in a moment built on the raging passions that would soon become an inferno and burn her to ash.

  Suddenly, she could hear a murmur of a voice in the back of her head, a low rough chuckle that sounded like Grigori. But he couldn’t be talking, he was kissing her . . .

  Love how she tastes, so sweet, so perfect, my little flower. I wish she would trust me, I would never hurt her . . . The voice faded but images began to flash in her eyes so brilliant that she felt she was inside him, feeling what he felt as a young man racing toward a cliff’s edge, throwing his arms wide and his body transforming, the pop and snap of bones, the stretch of muscles into wings and clawed feet. The vast drop toward a brilliant blue lake with waters as still as glass made her want to scream in in a mixture of exhilaration and fright but just feet from the water, she pulled up from the lake. Her wings flapped and she was flying high toward the sun . . .

  She knew this feeling, the feeling of flying. It was in her bones, not the dragon’s, her bones . . . but how could she know how to fly?

  “We must stop,” he growled before kissing her again.

  Madelyn blinked dazedly, the feeling of flying still within her, the wind in her hair, the air whipping beneath her limbs and the burn of the sun as she soared beneath its rays.

  “What . . . was that?” she asked in a shaky whisper.

  “What was what?” Grigori was murmuring against her mouth between soft, tender kisses.

  “The flying . . . the lake . . .” She closed her eyes, wishing to bring back the flashes of his memories.

  He stilled and pulled back to stare at her, surprise lighting his eyes.

  “You saw me flying over a lake?”

  She nodded. “It was so blue, almost aquamarine in color . . .”

  The emotions that danced across his face were something she would never forget. Endless wonder, pure joy, and a wildness that might have scared her earlier but not in this moment. Before she could ask anything else, he was claiming her lips again.

  Grigori cupped her face and brushed feverous kisses on her mouth, her cheeks, even her closed eyelids. Madelyn didn’t want to stop. She wanted this to go on forever. The man knew how to kiss, how to tease her with his lips, and when he fisted one hand in her hair at the nape of her neck, holding her, she felt possessed in more ways than one. A possession she didn’t mind at all. It was as though he focused every bit of himself on the art of kissing her, painting strokes of love with his lips, tongue, and hands.

  She slid her hands beneath the open collar of his shirt. When had he removed his tie? His skin was hot and smooth beneath her palms and she shivered, wanting to get closer to him. The way he held her, pinning her against the counter, his body surrounding her, she felt deliciously small and captive. She knew she shouldn’t like this, but something about him was different. If that other man, the one who’d been on the elevator had tried this, she would have kneed him in the balls and screamed her lungs out.

  But not Grigori. She couldn’t get the image of that man in the sketch out of her mind. The man with an indulgent smile and warm eyes . . . That man wasn’t the type to hurt someone. If he was that same man, he wouldn’t hurt her. She wasn’t sure how she knew it, but those same instincts that sent her running at the drop of a hat did not make her want to run now.

  A sharp clang startled her and Grigori. They broke apart. The man with the dining cart bent to pick up a silver lid that fallen off his cart, his face was red and he seemed to be apologizing profusely. Grigori murmured something in Russian, and the man nodded before he hastily rolled the cart into the hallway shutting the door behind him.

  Grigori, still holding onto Madelyn’s waist, brought her close for one last gentle kiss upon her brow.

  “You . . .” he shook his head, as though he decided not to stay what he’d been planning to. “Do you want to wash up before dinner?” He pointed at the bathroom and she nodded.

  Her body was trembling in the aftermath. She needed a minute or several to regain her sanity.

  She stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. Then she leaned back against it, trying to catch her breath. Her blood was still pounding in her body, so hard she could feel it drumming against her fingertips and toes.

  What’s wrong with me? I just mauled a total stranger . . . Not just a stranger. A dragon.

  A dragon! She didn’t fu
lly understand what he’d said. She thought of the diary by James Barrow and the sketch of the mighty, beautiful beast on the edge of the cliff, as it faced the sea, its wings spread as though it dreamed of flying into the horizon. He couldn’t have meant a real dragon, right? Yet she’d felt like she’d been in his body when they kissed and she’d flown over a glassy lake, the sun warming her wings. That wasn’t something she could have dreamt up.

  A little voice in the back of her head whispered. “You wanted dragons to be real . . .” But not this real.

  She pushed away from the door and approached the sink. It had beautiful white granite with flecks of silver in it. A silver basin sink sat on top of the counter with long slender faucets. Elegant. She was being held captive in a palatial penthouse in Moscow by a man who claimed he was a Dragon. A man who kissed like the world was on fire and her mouth was the only thing that could save him. She shivered with the memory of that embrace. The force of passion hadn’t been all his. She lost her self in that kiss as much or maybe more than he had.

  Madelyn blew out a slow breath and turned on the faucet. The cold water felt good when she splashed on her face. It woke her up. She knew she couldn’t hide inside the bathroom forever.

  Get a grip, girl. This is real . . . or you’ve totally had a mental breakdown and this . . . But surely it couldn’t be a delusion she was having. There was no way even in her fevered, virginal imagination she could have dreamed up that man or how he tasted, right down to the fullness of his lips. There were simply some things a person’s imagination couldn’t dream up. And the fact that she was letting the man who’d kidnapped her make her feel this way . . . There is something really wrong with me . . .

  She dried her face with a fluffy white hand towel and then took one more look in the mirror before she squared her shoulders and exited the bathroom. Grigori was at the dining room table, with two plates set out. He was staring at a pair of candles and then he did something that made heart stop.

  He reached over the nearest candle’s wick and simply waved his hand over it. A spark ignited on the wick and it burst into a healthy glowing light. He repeated the motion over the second candle and then looked, up, his eyes meeting hers.

  Madelyn knew her mouth was hanging open. Her mother would have teased her about catching flies, but she couldn’t stop staring. He’d lit the candles with . . . with his hand. There were no matches, no lighting sticks, just his hands.

  “Come and sit, please.” He waved at the food ready on the table. All of the dishes uncovered. Madelyn didn’t look at the food, she was too distracted by him and his apparent ability to start fires with his hands. The little voice in her head started to laugh. “He’s a dragon. They love fire, maybe they have the power to start fires . . .”

  He seemed to realize she was just staring at him and then he glanced down at the candles and made a little ‘oh’ expression, his eyes glinting with mischief. He looked younger, almost boyish, but with his completely masculine, muscled body, all it did was make her heart race even faster. He was lean but muscled and the pale gold of his hair combined with his blue eyes and perfectly cut features made him almost angelic. She hadn’t thought a man could be so beautiful, but he was and she couldn’t seem to look away.

  “I can explain what you saw, but all in good time. Please sit, Madelyn.” He caressed her first name in that decadent accent that sent little shivers of desire through her. Did he mean the fire he’d started or what she’d seen when she’d kissed him?

  His hands now rested on the back of the tall leather dining chair that he had pulled back for her. She came over and eased into the chair, brushing her hair over shoulders and watching him as he picked up an empty wine glass and a bottle.

  “Georgian wine,” he explained as he poured some into her glass. “Hard to find these days, as we are not on friendly terms with Georgia.”

  Madelyn tried to adjust to the oddly casual yet intimate scene after just seeing him light candles with his bare hands. She quirked one brow. “That’s probably because Russia has a way of trampling over the country’s independence. I can’t blame them.”

  Grigori chuckled as he poured wine in his own glass. “It is hard not to take something that you want.” When he said this, his eyes traveled slowly over her body. Had any other man done that she would have felt violated or threatened. But when he did it, she tingled as though his gaze had been a physical caress, a barest hint of his fingertips, exploring her body, whispering promises of passion to come.

  Swallowing, she tore her eyes from his and stared at the dishes. She hadn’t been too adventurous so far, but she was curious to see what dragons dined on.

  There were two bowls full of dark red substance with a swirl of white and a spring of what looked like dill in the center.

  “Borscht.” Grigori pointed at the bowls. “It’s a beet root soup with meat and vegetable juice. Sour cream and dill.”

  Madelyn leaned forward and inhaled. The smells were divine.

  “And this is my favorite. Kulebiaka.” He pointed at a crusty, buttery pie. “It is fish, hard-boiled eggs, rice, onion, and chopped dill.” Then he pointed to what look like a stack of small pancakes and a bowl of . . . Madelyn made a face. Caviar. Ick.

  Grigori smiled. “Not a fan of caviar? You should still try the blinis.” He gestured to the pancakes.

  “Something about eating fish eggs.” She shuddered. “I love fish, but not baby fish.”

  His rich, soft laugh made her smile despite feeling a little foolish.

  “Please, eat.” He waved at her fork and knife and he did not sit down until she’d taken a bite of the Kulebiaka. The fluffy pastry exploded with flavor on her tongue. When a little sound of pleasure escaped her, Grigori took a sip of his wine and grinned as though pleased by her reaction.

  The food was amazing, Madelyn wished she had been brave enough to try more of the dishes while she’d been in Moscow for the last week, but she was already feeling overwhelmed at leaving the United States for the first time. She’d always been a homebody. Traveling so far away seemed like such a frightening leap, but she’d known it was necessary to come here in person and see the books for herself. So many primary sources were kept safe under lock and key and had never been photocopied or scanned because exposure could damage the ink.

  “You came to Moscow to study dragons?” Grigori suddenly asked.

  She nodded slowly, wondering if now he would reveal what he meant when he’d said he was a dragon and she really, really needed him to explain that fire trick with the candles.

  He took a spoonful of borscht then spoke again. “Why are you studying dragons?”

  She didn’t immediately reply, but considered for a long moment how to answer. Depending on how her apparent interrogation went, she might be allowed to go free.

  “My specialty is mythology and as a professor, we have the pressure to publish or perish. I wanted to write an article on dragons.”

  “Publish or perish?” He looked taken aback and she realized he misunderstood.

  “It’s a saying,” she said between spoonfuls of borscht. “Professors have to write papers and articles in the fields we teach in. If we don’t write them or don’t get published it can make our university less likely to consider us for tenure. Hence the word perish.”

  “Oh,” he chuckled. “So you’re writing on an article on dragons?”

  The word dragons made Madelyn tense every time she heard it.

  “Yes . . . Well . . . Sort of.”

  He waited for her to continue.

  “Dragons are in every major culture’s mythology. I want to show that they must’ve been real at some point, like a line of creatures on the evolutionary scale that we aren’t aware of because they are no longer around. Like a holdover species from the age of dinosaurs that only died out in the last millennium.”

  Grigori played with his food and then with an odd expression in his eyes he spoke. “Many cultures have similar myths about vampires and werewolves or shapeshi
fters, but I sense you do not believe in those either.”

  She laughed. “No, of course not. They aren’t real.”

  This time when she met his gaze she expected him to laugh too but his eyes were hard and impassive.

  “You are quite wrong, little one. They do exist. Perhaps one day I will introduce you to a few of them.”

  Clink! Madelyn fork dropped from her hand to her plate, her heart pounding wildly again. “That isn’t funny.”

  He flashed a devilish grin. “It is quite funny.”

  Madelyn glared at him. “Look, why don’t you ask me all of your questions and then I can leave. I really don’t have time to play around.” She tried to fill her voice with what she hoped was bravado. “My university expects me to finish my paper, or else I might lose my job.” She didn’t want to admit just how dire the position she was in, but right there, facing a man who believed he was a dragon and was holding her captive, she felt the truth might be necessary.

  “Madelyn,” Grigori said. He propped his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers, looking at her.

  “Yes?” Damn, she sounded breathless.

  “You haven’t asked me one thing about James Barrow’s book. Why?”

  Because then I’d have to face everything about this being real, about you being a dragon, and I’m not ready for that. Even though she had proof in front of her eyes, part of her was still hoping this was some fantastical dream and she’d wake up alone and safe in her hotel room.

  He seemed to almost read her thoughts.

  “I won’t be angry if you question me. I know you don’t believe me.”

  “Of course I don’t. You said you were a dragon.”

  “I should be more precise, I forget that I must translate carefully. I am a dragon shifter. Fully man, fully dragon. There is a beast within me that I can become.” He peeled back the sleeve on his left arm, revealing a beautiful muscled forearm. A sapphire blue ink tattoo of a dragon coiled there along his muscles. It was stunning. She’d never really had a thing for tattoos, but something about his made her skin heat with a forbidden blush.