The Devil's Russian Beauty

by Ana Lee Kennedy

  Frank gripped her hand. “Why is that mark glowing?”

  Slowly, she explained how she’d gotten it.

  “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about this?” he roared.

  Flinching, she snapped, “Don’t raise your voice to me, Frank Nightshade! You haven’t exactly been around a lot of late, and with all that you’re worrying about from the energy rights monies, the insurance claims and now this, I didn’t want to lay something else on you when I could solve it myself.”

  He wilted and let out a big sigh. “I’m sorry, babe.” He drew her against him and kissed the top of her head. “You’re right. So, so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  “Well, now that this episode of Sons of Anarchy is over,” Luella quipped, “I have a suspicion.”

  That grabbed Bernadette’s attention. “What is it?”

  “We obviously have demon women coming in to the house during sweetbutt nights, right?”

  Bernadette nodded. Frank waited expectantly.

  “Out with it, Luella,” Puppy urged.

  “Who’s to say that if these so-called women can change from human form to succubus form that this Ezra guy can’t do it too—providing he’s truly a demon, as Daffodil believes, or the right kind of demon to do so.” Standing with her hands on Daffodil’s shoulders as if to ground the woman, Luella stared directly at Bernadette.

  “Oh, hell.” Bernadette whipped her head toward Frank. “She might be on to something.”

  “Fuck,” he mumbled. “How do we protect you and Daffodil from something like that? Or anyone else here at the MC for that matter?”

  Frowning, Bernadette shook her head at him. “Why do you always forget that I’m a white witch?”

  “I don’t forget,” he stated firmly. “But you’re an apprentice witch, natural one or not.”

  “Daffodil”—Bernadette focused on her new friend—“as soon as we can get away, you and I are going to meet with Scary Mary.”

  “Scary who?” Daffodil asked, confused. “The big black woman people see around these parts?”

  “Yep,” Puppy confirmed. “She’s a bruja.” At Daffodil’s perplexed look, Puppy added, “A witch.”

  “Take a guard with you,” Frank groused as he ran his fingers through his hair.

  “I will,” she said and rose to pour herself a cup of coffee too. “I promise.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Phil had been looking forward to the Halloween party all week. Bernadette had taken Daffodil up to Wheeling to visit the costume shop early that morning, so he couldn’t wait to see what his lady had found for the party. He’d gone to the same shop earlier in the week and had rented a swashbuckler getup right down to the boots to finish it off.

  He had volunteered to go into town for more ice and pick up the cheese trays Luella had ordered for the kids. He parked and hurried into the store, picked up the required items and headed back out to his pickup, anxious to return to the MC and see Daffodil again, maybe this time in a scanty costume. Damn, he wanted her so much, but as of yet, her test results hadn’t arrived. It didn’t matter, though. She was definitely worth the wait, and the anticipation of making love to her for the first time would only make it that much sweeter.

  He stowed the cheese trays on the bench seat of his truck, and the third one he placed on the passenger floorboard, making sure the plastic lid remained tightly fitted to the tray. He slammed the door and headed over to the ice chest at the head of the next parking spot. He loaded two bags into the back of the truck, placing them against the cab, then returned for two more, then finally, the last two. He turned to walk around to the driver’s side.

  Someone’s fist connected with his jaw. Phil reeled back against the passenger door.

  Two River Rebels stood trying to menace him. A few feet behind the guys, stood a tall, golden-haired, blue-eyed man. They guy, impeccably dressed in shiny, dark cowboy boots and an expensive, black business suit, shot him a venomous look.

  “Hit him again,” the man ordered.

  This time, Phil ducked the blow, threw an uppercut into the guy’s diaphragm and spun away just as the second biker reached for him. Phil kicked the biker square in the gut, dropping him so that he collapsed face-first on the pavement, gasping and wheezing. The first man came at him again, this time with a knife.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Phil warned.

  “Yeah?” the guy sneered, his goatee peppered with what looked like corn chip crumbs. “Why not?”

  “Well, if you don’t mind taking it up the ass, you probably won’t notice when I shove that knife up it.”

  “Motherfucker,” Corn Chips growled. “You’ll be the one with this knife shoved into your gut.”

  “Better than my ass,” Phil shot back, “but you still gotta prove you can do it.”

  Corn Chips lunged at Phil, who blocked the knife every time the biker sliced or thrust it at him, but as Phil did so, a part of his attention flicked to the blond guy watching from a distance.

  The second attacker, his face twisted in agony, still lay moaning on the pavement. Corn Chips tried another round of thrusts, slices and jabs only to have Phil block him every time again.

  “Finish him!” the blond yelled.

  Biding his time, Phil slipped one hand into his pants pocket and withdrew his phone. In a few seconds, he’d hit nine-one-one, but his assailant struck at him, knocking the phone from his grasp. It hit the asphalt and plastic flew three different directions.

  “Dude, you better thank your lucky stars I have insurance on that cell.” With that, Phil disarmed Corn Chips, flung the knife toward the blond, then punched the Corn Chips so hard pain exploded in Phil’s knuckles and sang up his arm. The guy fell to his knees, his eyes rolling back in his head, then flopped to one side and lay still. Phil leaned over and checked him for a pulse as the second jerk still groaned and whimpered, his hands clasped tightly to his diaphragm.

  Phil rose and spun toward the blond. The guy clutched his upper arm where blood seeped through his fingers and had begun to soak his suit sleeve. The blade, shining with blood, lay at his feet.

  Sirens screamed from the sheriff’s department on the hilltop.

  “Such a stupid motherfucker,” the blond slurred. At first, Phil thought he might be drunk, but when the man bared very long fangs at him, he jerked in surprise. “I was only going to have you roughed up to warn you off from my Russian beauty, but now you are so dead!”

  Fury roared through Phil. He held his hands out to his sides as the sirens wailed even closer. “I’m right here, dude. Bring it. There’s no way I’ll give up Daffodil. I’ll die first.”

  “That will be arranged.”

  Two black-and-whites raced into the parking lot. Phil shot a glance over at the cruisers as they ground to sudden stops behind his pickup. He looked back at the blond—who was gone. “What the fuck?”

  He walked over to where the man had been standing. The knife was gone too, but drops of blood remained on the pavement. He scanned the grocery pickup area, then across the parking lot. That golden hair was unmistakable, but the man was nowhere to be seen.

  The officers approached him, each one with a hand on their holsters, the security straps unsnapped.

  Phil held his hands up and out. “Easy, guys. You can ask those people waiting to load their groceries about what happened. I just defended myself. There was another dude here too, but he took off.”

  As the officers started assessing the scene and asking questions, Phil couldn’t help but worry about Daffodil and Bernadette. Daffodil insisted Ezra was a devil, and Bernadette, from what he’d overhead last night, had been magically branded for some reason by a blond man with vivid, blue eyes.

  He might be taking a leap based only on coincidence, but he didn’t believe he was wrong. He’d just met Ezra Smith in one form or another. The devil wanted his Russian beauty back, but Phil wasn’t about to give her up.

  * * *

  �
�Why the hell are you so late?” Luella grumped at Phil. “You should’ve been here over two hours ago.”

  “I’ll put the cheese plates in the basement fridge, Luella,” Bernadette soothed. “Half an hour and they’ll be ready to put on the tables.”

  Daffodil looked up from the dining room where she worked with about a dozen women cutting streamers and taping them up along with decorations of funny jack-o’-lanterns, grinning skeletons, ghosts, scary witches—because Bernadette had insisted that bad witches could be used as Halloween décor—and comical-looking images of Frankenstein for the kids’ party.

  “Phillip?” Daffodil set the roll of black streamer down on a chair seat and hurried through to the kitchen. “Are you all right?”

  Bernadette paused with one of the cheese platters balanced on her hands.

  “I’m fine, baby doll.” He drew her into his arms, hugging her tightly.

  She breathed in the odor of his leather cut and the distinct spiciness of his own personal scent mixed with his favorite cologne. As usual, blood raced to her pussy and the expected throbbing began anew. His touch, warmth and intoxicating aroma soothed and simultaneously excited her.

  He released her, then quickly relayed what had happened to him just as Frank walked in.

  “So they didn’t detain you except to question you?” Frank asked.

  “That’s it,” Phil answered.

  “No cuts or wounds?” Bernadette asked, concerned.

  “No, but the two River Rebels can’t say the same.”

  “Don’t take it personally, Phil,” Frank said. “Deputy Williamscot wants to nail Ezra to the wall.”

  “That’s not all,” Phil stated and finished by telling them what the blond man had said about Daffodil. “I’m worried about Bernadette too. If this is the same guy and he’s able to take on different forms, both of our women are in more danger than we thought.”

  Bernadette stood eyeing Phil with her mouth ajar, eyes wide.

  Terror unfurled in Daffodil. There was no way she could stand being touched by Ezra again, no matter what form he might take on. She’d die first.

  “Hey.”

  Phillip’s voice brought her back to herself. She stared up at him.

  “He’s not touching you, understand? I won’t let him have you—ever.”

  She snuggled into him, wrapping her arms about his waist and squeezing as hard as she could.

  “I love you, baby doll.”

  Shocked, she gasped and stepped back. “You mean it?”

  Luella let out a snort that sounded like part sympathy, part “aw” moment.

  “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Phil replied with conviction. His lovely, dark eyes shone with love for her—indeed, he spoke the truth.

  Fuck. She hated it when her emotions took over. Ever since she’d found a home with the Werewolves of Rebellion, it seemed as though her sappy side dominated her now. “I love you too, Phillip,” she managed to squeak out through her tight throat. “With all my heart.”

  “Damn you two!” Luella groused and snatched a dish towel from the counter. “I just put on my makeup for the party tonight.” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “Now I’ll have to do it all over again.”

  Everyone laughed, and Phillip hugged Daffodil for a long, long time.

  * * *

  The community children and the few who resided in the main house with their parents all began gathering around four p.m. Bernadette made sure there were plenty of paper plates and cups, as the younger kids went through them so quickly, forgetting where they’d set the last ones they’d used or refusing to mix certain food items together on the same plate. She remembered how, when she was very young, she hated to have her spaghetti touching her garlic bread or salad. The memory brought a smile to her face.

  * * *

  “Don’t you want some spaghetti?” she asked Daffodil.

  The woman threw several sauce-covered plates into a trash bag and wrinkled her nose in distaste. “No, not me. I grew up eating so much macaroni and cheese that I can barely stomach any kind of pasta. Although I have to admit Luella’s chicken with noodles is rather good. When I ate that recipe, it was the first time in years I’ve had pasta.”

  “Well, there are meatballs and garlic bread,” Bernadette suggested.

  “If you don’t mind me taking a break,” Daffodil replied, “I think I will have some of that.”

  “Go on. I’ve got this.” She shooed her friend away.

  Phil intercepted Daffodil in the kitchen and took her into his arms, kissing her. Finally, Phil had a woman who made him happy. Although an intelligent and genuinely sweet guy, he’d always been so standoffish, a loner, but Daffodil brought something out in Phil that everyone around him said changed his whole countenance. Phil smiled more, laughed more, seemed more at ease with the world. Happiness for Phil filled Bernadette. Both he and Daffodil deserved the best out of life.

  She let her gaze wander over the children who ranged from just walking to nearly 12 years of age. They wore a mix of costumes from homemade to store bought, and from dinosaurs and bumble bees to scary witches and lovely princesses to mummies, zombie killers, goopy zombies and even a TV set constructed from cardboard and one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but she had no idea which one, despite the color of his bandanna.

  It would be nice to have two or three children of her own, but for now, she and Frank wanted to enjoy each other for a while. She had been considering Frank’s request of letting him turn her. The pain of the transitions would last for two or three years until it lessened to a tolerable level, and even though she’d have an elixir provided by Galina or Craig’s wife, Miranda, the few in the community who were turned lykoi had told her that, at times, the pain actually caused them to pass out.

  Shivering at the thought of such bone-bending discomfort, Bernadette set out another stack of foam cups. She retrieved a second jug of punch from the kitchen fridge, then returned to the dining room, where she poured the fresh bottle into the almost-empty punch bowl. She monitored the kids again, leaned back slightly and shot a glance through the farthest doorway into the living room to check on the others, then capped the jug and set it under the table.

  Most of the men were in attendance. They helped manage not only the children, but were keeping vigil for any unfamiliar faces that might appear in a corner or where the light of the evening didn’t quite reach. Bernadette tried not to be so uptight, but when dealing with demons, she didn’t know what to expect. With all the work that went into the little ones’ party then the stuff for the adults’ party afterward, she hadn’t had a chance to introduce Daffodil to Scary Mary and discuss their situation.

  Someone put a Halloween CD in the sound system and Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” began to play.

  “Come dance with me, gorgeous,” Frank said next to her ear, startling a gasp from her. “The family room is all cleared for dancing.”

  “Oh, I don’t know…”

  Frank led her through to the next room. “Watch me and you’ll get the basics of the dance moves. And don’t worry about getting them exactly right—this is all for fun.”

  After a few minutes of going through the moves, he had Tom restart “Thriller,” and soon Bernadette was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes, and Frank had to stop to lean against the fireplace mantle before he collapsed, roaring in laughter.

  “I had no idea you could dance like that!” Bernadette managed through giggles.

  Several of the male members all laughed too. “Do it again, Frank,” one of them hollered across the room.

  “Dude, he’s so damn scary-looking, he doesn’t need to zombie dance,” Beastman shouted back.

  “That zombie costume is amazing,” Bernadette told her mate after she finally caught her breath. “Where on earth did you find it—and no wonder you didn’t want me to see it until tonight. What a cool surprise!”

  “Actually, my mother found it online and ordered it.”

  Be
rnadette pointed to Galina, then to Frank and said loudly, “Awesome costume!”

  With a wide, wicked grin, Galina raised her glass of punch in acknowledgment.

  “What are you wearing after the party?” Frank asked, his voice low. “How about your birthday suit?”

  “And miss the party? Not a chance.”

  He growled, sending a thrill rippling over Bernadette’s skin.

  “Time for trick or treat!” Luella called. “All you kids line up on the carport. If anyone doesn’t have a bag or bucket, let me know. I have extra store bags.”

  Lost in the bustle of children rushing outside, Bernadette waved to Frank, then exited the house to help corral the kids on the carport. They walked as a large group down to the community, then spent the next hour, as full darkness settled over the farm, going door to door hollering, “Trick or treat!”

  Delighted to carry baby Jasmine, who was barely 16 months old and whose mother had broken her ankle a couple days ago, Bernadette breathed in the aroma of lavender baby soap that wafted from her headful of softy, downy, pale hair. The child clutched a pumpkin bucket to her chest and grinned each time someone dropped candy into it. Oh, to have a little one like this one who was part her and part Frank. Would becoming a lycanthrope make it any easier for their children? So far, what she’d witnessed among the lykoi kids, they lived normal lives, went to school and blended effortlessly with human children. However, would it be better to remain human and take the chance of one baby being human too, and the other with an inner, supernatural beast?

  She didn’t know what to think or feel. But she loved Frank and she would adore any children they had together.

  At her mother’s little cottage, Bernadette leaned over so her mom could drop lollipops into Jasmine’s bucket. The child uttered “kanku,” and her mother chortled with delight.

  “What a sweetheart,” she said. “You and Frank need to have a few of these.”

  “We’re talking about it.” When her mother’s eyes lit up, Bernadette rushed on. “But we want to enjoy each other for a while before we do.”