The brothers must have left it exactly as it was, taking nothing of their old childhood into their new lives. But why?
Konstantin catches me observing his countless ballet awards.
“My father left when I was seven years old.” He looks around the destroyed room with cold indifference. “I was a child prodigy. A ballet star. I practiced every single day and on weekends without fail. My father didn’t want to deal with a demanding child, one who was costing him money – so he left. But my mother struggled to remain strong for us. She took me to all my classes and recitals at first, but soon gave up and turned to drink.”
I wait for the pings, just in case this is some bullshit story he’s trying to sell me. But the pings don’t come.
Konstantin walks into another room. The only other room. In the center are a double bed and two cots. The entire family slept crammed together in here? Suddenly I feel bad laughing about his thread count.
“My mother wasn’t a strong woman – she needed a man to look after her. Anyone would have done. She moved my stepfather into our home weeks after my father left. My stepfather was also a drunk. He didn’t want to take on another man’s son, and when she got pregnant with Lukka straight away he wasn’t happy about that either. He was an angry man, impatient, cruel, and violent.”
His use of the past tense does not escape me. Are both these people dead? And did Konstantin have something to do with their deaths? I realize I’m holding my breath as he continues his story.
“I understood early on that ballet was mine and Lukka’s only way out of here. By the age of eleven, I’d secured myself a scholarship, walked miles into town every morning and took the train to the city, returning late at night. Lukka was three years old by then, a skinny weak child, but in order to pursue my career I had to leave my young brother behind. With them. I found fresh bruises on his body every night and he would beg me to take him with me, but I couldn’t.”
Tears sting my eyes as I imagine a young Lukka in this room. The squalor, the fear, the pain. I blink and look away.
“When Lukka became a teenager he no longer waited for me to come home, he would travel into the city and stay away as much as he could. He got into drugs and partying. After my performances I would look for him, sometimes it would take all night. This went on for years, and got harder as my job took me around the world. Then one night when Lukka was in his early twenties, about seven years ago, I found him at a rave. He’d pissed the wrong gang off, and he was covered in blood. We were both turned that night.”
I pause, not daring to breathe. I can’t believe it was Lukka’s fault that his brother got turned. It shouldn’t surprise me though. Konstantin isn’t a man that things just happen to. Images of him at the ballet make my stomach drop again - he lost all of that for the love of his brother.
“When we returned home our stepfather was stinking drunk. We’d been away for days. We were still confused, scared and so hungry. He punched Lukka in the face then he used an iron bar to attempt to smash my legs. He wanted to cripple me, the dream I’d worked so hard for, and my mother just stood there. But Lukka was no longer a skinny weak little boy, no longer the bruised child I was forced to leave behind every day. My brother tore him apart and I didn’t stop him.”
Tore him apart. Konstantin and his wild dog.
“What happened to your mother?”
Konstantin looks away.
“She died not long after that.”
I stay quiet. It’s clear Konstantin isn’t finished telling me his story. Although what I don’t understand is why he’s telling me in the first place. This will make a great exposé for The Blood Web Chronicle, yet I already know I won’t be telling a soul about this.
“How did you adapt to being a Vampire?” I ask.
Konstantin stares into the distance, as if he’s watching his life projected onto the decaying walls of his childhood home.
“Not being able to go out in daylight tore my heart out because it meant I was no longer able to dance. At first, I wanted to die, I couldn’t see what life held for me anymore, but then I began to pursue other avenues. Being a Vampire is a powerful thing, sweetheart. It gets you places faster than being human ever could. It didn’t take long until we could afford to leave our memories behind, and we never looked back.”
And just as he did seven years ago he walks straight out of the house. I keep behind him, blinking back tears. I don’t want to show him any weakness, and crying at someone else’s sad childhood is selfish. But it’s guilt I’m feeling. Guilt that I’m always complaining about my own mother but have never suffered this badly. Guilt that I’ve completely misunderstood the Volkov brothers. Guilt that I came to Moscow to take them down.
I think about my sister Mikayla. How last time I saw her eighteen months ago I suspected she was pregnant, then she disappeared. I’ve been searching for her ever since, hoping my job as a reporter will somehow provide a clue. It hasn’t so far. What if she ended up living a life like this? Her and her secret child, poor and scared? I want to open up to Konstantin, swap one pain for another, but I can’t run the risk of exposing myself...in more ways than one.
Snow crunches beneath my heels as we reach the dilapidated gate.
“Thank you for confiding in me,” I say. “But why did you tell me?”
“Because it’s time we got to know one another better.”
Does he mean romantically? Or…
He lets me through the gate. “And Saskia…”
I turn, blinking furiously at the tears still threatening to fall.
“You should know I’d never feed on you.”
He’s telling the truth.
“Because I’m a Witch?” I reply.
Konstantin smiles, all signs of melancholy wiped from his razor-sharp features.
“No. You wouldn’t be the first Witch I’ve fed on,” he replies.
What? How? He must have his own antidote. I make a mental note to be more careful. The fact that he could feed on me, even though he says he wouldn’t, changes the playing field.
He walks past me, and I realize he never answered my question.
“Wait. So why wouldn’t you feed on me then?”
He gives me a crooked smile. “You’re not my type.”
I stand outside the car, startled. Surprised to find myself waiting for a ping that never comes.
Chapter Nineteen
We arrive back at Konstantin’s mansion at four in the morning and I’m exhausted. The ballet feels like it happened days ago. The house’s columns and fountain shine under the full moon. Everything feels eerier when it’s covered in silver like this, but I remind myself the moon makes no difference to Vampires – they’re dangerous beasts every night of the month. Yet, I don’t know, the Volkov’s are feeling less dangerous every day that passes.
I think back to Ansel and her dead boyfriend. I forgot to text her. Earlier tonight I asked Konstantin how he kept the human police away from the crime scenes at his sites and he rubbed his fingers together. Money. Of course. But now that he suspects Boris, and Stepan mentioned his father’s cronies and their blood-lust, perhaps Ansel can help me with the missing pieces to this story.
We walk through to the foyer and Konstantin stops at the bottom of the sweeping staircase. On the journey home something changed in him, like a shutter had gone up between us. He was silent, almost angry, as if by showing me a sliver of who he once was he’s handed me some of his power. I don’t know how to undo that. Was I meant to have shared parts of my past with him too? Do I need to be more vulnerable around him? Because there’s no way I’m telling him anything true about me!
I take his hand and he lets me, but he won’t look at me.
“I had a wonderful evening,” I say.
The touch of his skin sends me straight back to the Bolshoi again and the feel of his fingers between my thighs. Then I think of the taste of his blood, my tongue coated with his power. Oh my god. I press my legs together and shoo away the images from my mi
nd. This isn’t helping anyone.
“Thank you for your assistance with the truth tonight,” he says, pulling his hand away. “I have some things to arrange before I go to bed. I’ll see you at work this evening.”
Then he turns around and walks up the stairs without a backward glance. Not even a goodnight, much less a second act to what we started.
Well, what did I expect? It’s not like we’ve officially been on a date!
I head to my room. I go to retrieve my burner phone to text Ansel when I see there are already four missed calls from her. Fuck! She’s my only lead and I haven’t had a chance to talk to her properly yet. I dial back but it goes to voicemail. Of course, it does, she’s already back at work. And instead of comforting her like a true friend, or interviewing her like the journalist I’m meant to be - I was getting ballet finger banged by a Vamp who no longer wishes to speak to me.
I listen to Ansel’s message, but all she says is thanks for getting her a night off work yesterday and that we should have a drink together one evening before her shift. She sounds awful. I really need to get back into reporter mode and keep away from Konstantin.
My stomach is rumbling so I head down to the kitchen. Mealtimes don’t exist for me anymore, but luckily the brothers keep their kitchen well stocked.
“Hello, little Witch.”
I let out a small yelp and Lukka laughs.
“Why the fuck are you lurking in the dark?” I exclaim, switching on the light.
“Vampires see better in the dark.”
He’s on the floor, his back to the fridge, eating cake in his underwear. The way he’s sitting I can see the expensive brand of his tight boxer shorts, and the shape of its generous contents. Damn you, Konstantin! There’s nothing worse than getting a taste of pleasure, then being left wanting more.
Lukka licks one of his fingers and I can’t help laughing. He has chocolate on his hands and down to his tattooed wrists. There’s also a huge smear on his chest and the side of his mouth.
My grin fades as I imagine him as a child in that shithole he grew up in. Bruises instead of chocolate smears. A tiny kid on a dirty kitchen floor, eating whatever he could find, waiting for his big brother to come home and rescue him.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Waiting for you. Eating cake.”
I sit down next to him, my red dress pooling around me, and take a slice from the plate beside him. It mushes in my hand and I laugh as I try to eat it without making a mess. I fail. But oh my god, this cake is delicious.
“I thought Vampires only ate blood,” I mumble.
Lukka fixes his milky eyes on mine.
“You think hot metal-tasting blood is better than chocolate? Only one thing better than chocolate, little Witch. Sex.”
At the mention of sex my stomach contracts again and now it’s all I can think about. I sigh heavily. The last twenty-four hours have been surreal – a failed lap dance for a lead, Ansel’s murdered boyfriend, sex dreams, ballet, foreplay, and a devastating glimpse into the horrors of the Volkov brothers’ childhood. Too many feelings to bundle up into one evening.
I look at Lukka, so different from his restrained older brother. His chiseled chest is covered in gold chains, his teeth not quite fangs but not entirely human either, and his crazy hair all mussed up.
“You want it?” he asks.
I swallow. I do want it. I really do.
“The last piece of cake,” he says. “If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it.”
Oh.
He stuffs the slice into his mouth in one bite and smiles.
“You’re an animal,” I laugh.
“You like animals. They’re cute. Where have you been tonight? You look very beautiful.”
“Your brother took me to the Bolshoi.”
A shadow passes over his face but he gives me another sticky grin. I’m not going to mention having seen where they both grew up, or that I know Lukka killed his stepfather. It’s hard to imagine this big clown baby causing such carnage – but I saw him at the restaurant. I know exactly what he’s capable of. Although now I’ve witnessed a glimpse of his past, everything makes much more sense.
“Ballet is boring. Cake’s better,” he says with a wink. He reaches out for something behind him. It’s a bottle of champagne, the same expensive label he was using to brush his teeth with yesterday.
He offers it to me, and I take a swig. Foam bubbles out of my mouth and dribbles onto my chest. I go to wipe it off but in a blur he’s there, at my neck, licking at the rivers of champagne dribbling towards my cleavage.
I don’t say anything, and he doesn’t stop. His hungry licks turn to sucking kisses, his mouth moving slowly over my bare collarbone, up my neck and to the side of my lips. I close my eyes, noting the chocolatey scent of his hands clasping my face.
“When we were children, Konstantin used to give me all his toys,” he says, his lips moving against my cheek. I have no idea how he’s done it, how he positioned himself kneeling between my parted legs without me noticing. His gold chains are cold against shoulder and I shiver. “My brother shares everything with me,” he says.
No ping. There never is with Lukka.
My eyes are still closed and all I can think about is Konstantin’s hands on me in the Bolshoi box. The way he looked at me when he told me about his cruel mother and wanting to look after Lukka. These brothers aren’t monsters, they were just raised by them.
“Konstantin can’t share me,” I say. “Because I don’t belong to him. And I’m not a fucking toy.”
Lukka makes the same sound he did when he was eating the cake. A hungry sound, like he can never get enough of whatever he wants. He works his way to my mouth, and I let him. I let him kiss me and I kiss him back. Konstantin doesn’t want me, he said so himself - I’m not his type. Everything is a power game with him. He just wants to know I’ll do what he wants, and I will…while it gets me to where I need to be.
But this? I need this. Because with Lukka, life is all the fun without the games.
“Not like this,” he says, pulling away and leaving me with a chin smeared with sweet champagne and chocolate.
I open my eyes, his face coming into focus. I feel queasy. The sugar and alcohol and everything that’s happened in the last few days.
“Not like what?”
He sits back beside me and takes another swig of champagne.
“If we fuck, it won’t be on the kitchen floor with you wearing that frilly dress. I want to take you out. Show you the real Russia - not the pretty golden lies we show tourists. Me and you and a good time. You want a good time, little Witch?”
I need to update Jackson. It’s ten o’clock in the evening in New York, and I know he won’t be able to settle for the night until he knows his intrepid undercover reporter is on to something. Except I don’t have the answers yet. I need more time...but I also need this. A night out with Lukka might be the last fun I get before my boss catches up with me and fires my ass.
Chapter Twenty
Light fluffy snow is falling in slow motion like silver glitter as I walk out of the Volkov mansion, the cold numbing my lips the moment I’m outside.
Lukka, leaning against his yellow Lamborghini in the bright white courtyard, is a sight to behold. His eyes, the same color as the snow, follow me as I walk down the grand steps. He grins his metal-lined madman grin and my stomach flips. His bleached hair is sticking up messily as usual, but the sides are now freshly shaved. Did he make a special effort for me?
He’s sporting a white v-neck t-shirt and a white letterman jacket. He’s not cold, because Vamps don’t get cold, but it’s a weird outfit choice for this weather, nonetheless.
He opens the passenger door of his crazy sports car.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“I told you yesterday. I’m showing you my favorite places.”
“Shouldn’t I be at work tonight?”
“We only get the night time together,” he says. “We ca
n’t work and play. So, I choose play.”
He plops himself in the front seat and I wonder why he would even bother showing me his favorite places. Is he trying to impress me? Or is this some kind of competition against his brother?
I barely get time to put my seatbelt on before I’m tossed backward with the g-force of his car. Lukka blasts his techno as loud as it will go and swerves onto the freeway.
Konstantin was wrong about his younger brother. Lukka is an expert driver. Even if his driving scares the living shit out of me.
Half an hour, and innumerable broken traffic laws later, we arrive in the center of town. The Kremlin flashes by me, epic and cartoon-like, and pull up by a large department store called Detsky Mir. Children’s world? Why are we going shopping in a toy store at night?
Lukka surrenders his keys to a very eager valet and a moment later his hand is on my waist guiding me into the shop. It’s more like a mall, all-white linoleum and spotless shop windows, but we avoid the designer stores and head straight for the giant toy shop.
I trail him as he heads to the Lego aisle.
“Why are we in a toy shop?” I ask.
Surely this is not what he meant by showing me the ‘real Russia.’
“Toys are like champagne,” he says, “The question is not why…but why not?”
I can’t help but laugh as Lukka grabs a cart and starts filling it liberally.
“But we’re adults,” I point out.
Lukka grins at me as he examines a My Little Pony set and flings it in the cart. “Would you rather I take you to a toy shop for adults, little Witch?”
I feel my cheeks heating and turn my attention to a packet of sparkly slime. My head is a mess. Thoughts of Konstantin and the ballet rush through my mind, swiftly followed by Lukka building Lego while naked, or perhaps both of them together while we… Get it together, Saskia!
He snatches the slime from my hand and adds it to the cart that’s already full to the brim. What the hell’s he going to do with all these items? Surely buying half a toy store is a little indulgent, even for him.
Vampires of Moscow (Blood Web Chronicles Book 1) Page 14
