by Dannika Dark
He sat down at the other end of the table, across from Niko. “I should be snipping hair in no time.”
“I think someone is milking his vacation time,” Wyatt said to me. “Breakfast in bed, a sponge bath…”
I erupted with laughter. “Who gave him a sponge bath?”
He pointed both thumbs at himself. “Yours truly. Viktor’s orders. I just can’t figure out why it is I can’t offer my services to the opposite sex.”
I gave him a pointed look. “If you ever come into my bathroom with a loofah, I’ll lay you out.”
Everyone dug in, complimenting my food and conversing about the weather and other unimportant matters. Maybe I wasn’t such a bad cook after all, but I certainly didn’t want to make it a habit.
I glanced at Christian’s empty chair to my left but said nothing.
After Viktor finished his plate, he abruptly rose from his seat and tossed his napkin down. “Please excuse me.”
A few moments later, he returned from the kitchen with a round cake pan. A flame lit the top of a short candle, and my brows arched. Breed didn’t celebrate birthdays, so I looked around at everyone for a clue as to what was happening.
Viktor set the cake in front of me and took a seat.
“Uh, what’s this for?”
“I made this yesterday, special for you.”
“Day-old cake,” Wyatt said with an amused look on his face. “You’re special.”
“Let me finish. Spasibo. Raven, your week in the kitchen has taught me that this rotation is not going to work out between all of us. You have no concept of meals or planning ahead, Wyatt never reads directions, Christian boils potatoes with abandon, and Gem puts candy sprinkles on everything. Effective immediately, I will begin searching for a live-in servant. Someone who will cook our meals, do the laundry, and—”
“Keep our secrets?” Niko asked. “That’s a lot of trust to impart in someone.”
Wyatt pointed his fork at him. “Niko’s right. Maybe we should hire someone who’s deaf.”
Blue shook her head and laughed. “Deaf people aren’t blind.”
Viktor pinched the candle out and cut the cake as he would a pizza. “Would you all prefer to continue your life of servitude? I have a pile of underwear that could use a good ironing.”
“No complaints here,” I quickly added. “If you can find someone trustworthy, I fully support your endeavor.”
Wyatt gave me a smug look. “You haven’t cut your teeth in the kitchen like the rest of us. I say we let you practice for the next two months. You’ve already shirked your duties more than once.”
“You sure woke up with a mean streak this morning,” Gem remarked.
I picked up my fork and wiped off the prongs. “It’s only mean if you’re implying I can’t cook.”
She gave me a sheepish grin and scooped more pasta into her mouth.
Viktor passed out small plates, each with a slice of chocolate cake. It didn’t look pretty, but to his credit, it smelled delicious.
Wyatt gulped down his wine and then reached for the bottle. “I’m taking the day off.” He glanced at Gem, and they shared a private joke that had nothing to do with the wine or taking the day off.
The joke being Niko. Today he was wearing a hot-pink shirt—the one Gem had snuck into his closet. It generated quiet amusement among the team, but it was even funnier to me since they weren’t aware that Niko was in on their little secret. He drank his wine, pretending not to see the sparks of humor around him while Blue told a story about socking a male suitor in the mouth at the ball.
Claude suddenly spit his dessert out, a look of revulsion on his face. “What did you do to this cake?”
Gem’s mouth turned down when she tasted hers. “There’s no sugar.”
Wyatt gobbled up another bite and shrugged. “Just like my great grandmammy used to make.”
Claude pushed the cake away and resumed eating his pasta.
I mashed together the sweet icing and sugarless cake until I had a mushy pudding. “Looks good to me, Viktor. Sometimes you just have to be creative.” I took a bite, and it wasn’t half-bad. It wasn’t half-good either, but I’d had worse things in my life. In a gesture of appreciation to Viktor, others copied me and gulped down their wine after the first bite.
I quickly finished my plate and stood up just as Viktor popped the cork on the second bottle of wine. “I think that’s enough for me. There’s somewhere I need to go. Can I borrow a car?”
Viktor smiled warmly, his mood lightened. I couldn’t help but notice how the stress lifted off his shoulders after we closed a case. He was usually all business, but I liked when he cracked open a bottle and told stories about his childhood. “Take Shepherd’s. The van is still under repair, and his Jeep is reliable on ice.”
“Thanks.”
I left the room, relieved that no one had asked me where I was going. It was nice to have that kind of freedom where no one pried into my business. The laughter and boisterous chatter commenced as I left the room and journeyed down the long hallway toward the foyer.
A light knock sounded at the front door.
“Lock yourself out again?” I mused. It wouldn’t be the first time Christian had gone for a stroll and someone had locked the door.
When I opened the door, I looked up at a gentleman about Christian’s height, maybe a hair over six feet. His bleached-white hair was styled in loose, chunky spikes, and though physically he looked my age, I got a vibe that he might have been a few centuries older than that.
His hazel eyes sparkled when he smiled, and two vertical lines etched in his face at the corners of his mouth.
“How did you get past the gate?” I asked, noticing there wasn’t a car parked in the circular driveway.
While the collar on his grey coat was high, his earlobes around his black studs were bright red from the frosty air. “I walked.”
“Would you like to wait inside while I get Viktor? He’s just down the hall.”
“No. I’m actually here to deliver a message.” He handed me a sealed envelope. “You seem like you’re in a hurry.”
“I was on my way out, but I’ll be sure Viktor gets this. Can I have your name?”
He offered a friendly smile. “Let’s keep it simple. It was lovely to see you again, Butterfly.” He inclined his head and stepped forward, never removing his eyes from mine.
“Do I know you?”
“You always ask me that,” he said obliquely. “I wasn’t here. You never saw me, and you won’t recognize me if you see me again. You found the note slipped underneath the door.”
When he turned around and closed the door, everything got fuzzy. I held the card in my hand and flipped it over, tracing my finger over the gold sticker. Why would someone slip mail beneath the door when there were delivery boys for that kind of thing? Someone might have accidentally kicked it beneath a rug or something.
Viktor entered the room. “I thought you were gone?”
I flourished the card in my hand as I headed toward the stairs. “Someone shoved this under the door. It’s probably for you since I don’t get love letters from secret admirers.”
“Don’t be dramatic. I have no admirers.” He tore open the envelope and took out the paper.
“What’s it say?”
He gave a dismissive shake of his head. “Someone who enjoys playing games.”
Viktor handed me the letter to read.
“I’m taking what’s mine. Signed Houdini. What’s up with this Houdini guy and his cryptic letters?” I handed it back to Viktor. “Maybe he should just tell you what he wants instead of all the veiled threats.”
“I’ll have Wyatt add it to the collection of fan mail we receive. Christian and Shepherd looked into it but found nothing. We confiscate many goods from the pawnshops. Probably a disgruntled relative. Are you positive you won’t join us for more wine?”
“Maybe tonight if the party’s still going. There’s plenty of leftover pasta in the fridge if anyone g
ets hungry for more.”
“Splendid. Go. Have a good time. Shepherd’s keys are in the ignition.” Viktor strolled toward a room where he stored a modest collection of good wine.
“And, um… Mr. Kazan?”
The silver fox glanced over his shoulder, an inquisitive look in his eyes. “Da?”
“Thanks. For giving me a second shot in life. I don’t know if I ever really thanked you.” In some ways, Viktor was the closest thing I’d have to a father in my new life. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.
He gave a brisk nod. “Don’t let me down.”
Chapter 29
I never imagined that a graveyard could be so beautiful. My father would sometimes bring me out here to lay flowers on my mother’s grave. He would always remain behind for a few minutes longer after I went back to his bike or truck, whichever he had driven. I never understood why he wanted to talk to a tombstone. It wasn’t as if she were hanging around a graveyard. Then again, I never really knew her. Just a collection of random memories and a few photographs my father had kept.
“Sorry I haven’t been around much,” I said, still seated on the wet grass, the cold stone pressed against my back. I had kicked the snow away from my mother’s grave, but my trench coat offered a little protection from the wet ground.
I drank in the spectacular view of the setting sun. A buttery glow lingered in the air, caught within a thin veil of fog. It reflected off the crystalline snow and landed on the headstones in front of me, casting long shadows behind. The twisted branches of the trees were barren of leaves but glistened with melted snow. Icicles clung to the wings on a statue like ornamental jewelry.
“I talked with Daddy,” I continued. “I think we’re all good now. He doesn’t remember the conversation, but I’m sure you understand… wherever you are.” A long stretch of silence passed, the only sound being a crow in the distance. “I miss you. I didn’t really know you, but I can still remember the little things. Oh, who am I kidding? This is stupid. You can’t hear me.”
I packed a snowball and threw it.
When I thought of my mother, I didn’t think about heavenly angels or even ghosts. I thought about her remains locked in a coffin in the stone-cold earth, still wearing the same blue dress we’d buried her in, even though I never got to see it because it was a closed-casket funeral. I reflected upon my own death that would inevitably come, because even immortals could die. Even if I could live forever, who would want to? What would be the point?
Maybe the most depressing part about it all was that I wouldn’t have anyone to set flowers on my grave. No one would be around who loved me, who cared. No children. No family. Maybe not even a tombstone. I’d be one of the forgotten ones.
“Well, isn’t this a morose sight?” I heard Christian say.
Startled, I looked up to my left and saw him standing over my grave, which was next to my mother’s. I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I’d somehow tuned out the sound of his footsteps in the snow.
He did a little jig in a circle. “Got any goose bumps? I always wondered if that worked.”
I heaved a sigh. “How did you know I was here?”
“You drove me.”
I regarded him for a moment, noticing his messy hair and long-sleeved black shirt with the buttons undone at the top. “What are you talking about?”
He sat on my tombstone. “I was lying on top of the Jeep before you came in. Sometimes a Vampire needs a little privacy.”
“In the garage?”
“It’s quiet like the dead in there. You’re hardly one to judge a man’s hiding place.”
I stood up and wiped my hands. “So you rode all the way here on top of the car?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Always enjoyed a little wind in my hair.” Christian looked between the two graves and patted mine. “Your da forked over good money for these.”
“It doesn’t take much to impress you, does it?”
He looked long and hard at my grave. “A headstone does offer a peculiar sense of belonging. Perhaps you should say your farewells. You’ve been here for over an hour.”
I glanced down at my mother’s headstone and then squatted in front of it. My fingertips traced the letters that spelled out Bonnie. The worst part about leaving was always remembering how she died. That kind of knowledge changes a person forever.
My lip quivered, and tears spilled down my cheeks. I collected my emotions and pressed a kiss to the cold stone. “I love you, Mama,” I whispered.
As I hugged my mother’s headstone, I felt Christian’s hands on my shoulders. When I finally stood up, I turned around and didn’t look back, each step easier than the last.
“I never understood why they put fences around cemeteries,” Christian remarked, his breath clouding the air in front of his face. “Don’t you think it’s more likely that people want out… not in?”
“The spikes on top of the wrought iron fence are a nice touch. I almost impaled myself jumping over it.”
“’Twould be a shame if I had to put you in the ground for real.”
“As long as you put fake roses on my grave.”
He clasped his hands behind his back. “Fake? I’d plant a real one covered in thorns, just as prickly as your tongue.”
“If you had to care for a living thing, it would die from neglect.”
“I’d water it myself, right after a pint of ale.”
We laughed as we followed my trail toward the back where I’d snuck in. Visiting hours were over, because apparently the dead needed a break from the living. When we neared the mausoleums, I decided to get a better view of the grounds. One of them had a flat roof, so I climbed the statue next to it and pulled myself up. Once there, I kicked the snow away while Christian climbed up behind me.
“Would you look at that,” he said. “All those fecking bodies. It just goes on forever.”
With the sun at my back, I took a seat, my legs dangling over the edge. Seeing it from this angle gave me a new perspective. It suddenly occurred to me that death wasn’t a personal thing but a practical one.
Everyone dies… eventually. That’s the one thing we all have in common.
Christian kicked more snow away until half the roof was cleared. Instead of sitting next to me, he perched on the corner like a gargoyle overlooking his domain. “I never had a grave of my own. Even if someone had pretended to bury me, there would probably be a shopping strip over my coffin by now.”
“It makes you wonder if we’ll run out of land.”
“Perhaps they should put the dead on display like the clothes at the dry cleaners. You just push a button, and the body of your loved one comes out on a hook.”
“There you go again. Saying all the right things to make me feel better.”
He cocked his head to the side when a white rabbit scurried over our tracks toward the grave.
My hands squeezed the stone ledge, and I looked up at him. “Can I ask you a question?”
“I don’t see what’s ever stopped you before.”
“This necklace isn’t a fake stone, is it?”
He scraped his teeth against his bottom lip and then stood up.
“Did you steal it?”
“I don’t know what you’re prattling on about,” he said, moving out of sight.
I scooted back and stood up to face him. “No more bullshit. Why did you give me a Burmese ruby necklace? And not just any ruby, but one worth a lot of money? Tell me the truth, or I’m giving it back.”
Christian caught sight of me pulling it out from beneath my shirt. “Don’t give it back,” he quickly said.
“Someone could steal it.”
He chuckled softly. “The chain is infused with magic. Let them try.”
I blinked in surprise, his words tangling in my head.
Christian approached me and lifted the jewel between his fingers. “No one’s going to steal your heart. They create stones in labs now, and most dolts can’t tell the difference between dime-stor
e jewels and the real thing. I’ve had it for a long time. Seemed a shame for it to spend eternity in a box. I’m sure they would agree,” he said, jerking his head toward the graveyard.
“So then why not give it to Gem? She loves stones. Why me?”
A cryptic look flickered in his expression, and he gazed at me so intently that I found myself drawn to him. Christian had captivating eyes—like two obsidian stones encased in porcelain. Without warning, he cradled my neck and kissed me, his tongue delving deep and flooding my senses. It was the only warmth my body felt, and I surrendered myself completely. Christian’s kiss was like a passionate tide rocking and swelling against my shore, but it was the undercurrent of emotion that threatened to pull me under.
Christian softened the kiss and spoke against my lips. “That’s why.”
He tasted decadent, and I didn’t mind his scruffy beard or even the fact that there was a lingering flavor of mint on his breath. I melted beneath his touch, my heart quickening.
Christian drew back, his gaze so reverent that it gave me butterflies. “I’d walk through fire for you.”
I struggled for words. “You have.”
“And I’d do it again.”
“Why would you give me something so valuable?”
His thumb swept across my cheek. “It’s romantic, is it not?”
“But you’re not a romantic.”
“Aye. But maybe a heart made of fire is the best I can do.”
He pulled me tight against him and kissed me hard, deep, so our tongues married and thoughts disintegrated. I touched his chest but didn’t push him away. Energy flowed to my fingertips, and what would have knocked a grown man off his feet had no effect on this Vampire. Christian took his time savoring me, and my knees weakened at how tender he was. The kiss didn’t just end—it burned out slowly like dying embers.
“When did all this begin?” I asked in disbelief.
“The night we met, when you put a blade to my groin. That’s when I knew you were the one.”
“Don’t be funny. I’m serious.”
He swept a lock of hair away from my eyes. “There’s no one moment I can give you. Sometimes when we’re at the table, I tune everything out and listen to the sound of your heart beating inside your chest. I can’t help myself. You’re an addiction I’ve never known before.”
