Slowly, eyes wide in horror, Lukka shakes his head from side to side and starts walking away. When he reaches the wall, he slides down it and lands in a heap, knees raised and head in his hands. Then he starts to rock.
Konstantin walks over to him and lays a hand on his shoulder.
“Go home, Lukka. I’ll deal with the Witch. I won’t hurt her. Go and have some champagne, play some music, relax. Everything is going to be fine.”
My head rings with Konstantin’s lies, and Lukka puts his hands over his ears making himself smaller and smaller on the ground, rocking and mumbling something under his breath.
“I thought you were good,” he keeps saying. “I thought you were good.”
When he looks up his face is streaked with tears.
“You said our mother killed herself!” he screams. “You said it was because of what I had done. That it was my fault we’d been turned, and she’d killed herself because I was an uncontrollable Vampire and she was scared of me.” He’s shaking on the ground, his body curled up tight as I imagine he sat all those years as a neglected child.
“You shouldn’t mourn her,” Konstantin says, his voice void of any emotion. “She was a bad person and she killed herself. So what? I’m the only one who has ever cared about you.”
“Stop lying!” Lukka screams. “You killed her because she always stood in the way of your dreams. Because in having me she gave you something bigger to worry about than the ballet. But she was our mother, Kostya! A weak human who needed our help, but instead you murdered her. Because it made life easier for you! Just like the way you have manipulated Saskia.”
I sit up straighter at the sound of my name. The binds on my wrists are stinging, but the more I struggle the more they cut into my skin.
Konstantin leans into his brother, cradling his head. He’s speaking so softly I can hardly hear him.
“I promise to make all your pain go away,” he says. “My new pills will give us the power we deserve. You are all I care about, little brother. You are safe.”
No, he’s not. Konstantin’s lies are getting louder and louder and with every word he utters Lukka’s face twists in agony. Tears are streaming down his face, turning his cheeks pink from the blood he’s soaked in. He looks over at me and my chest feels like it’s been stabbed a thousand times. He knows I can hear the truth too, and it’s killing him.
“You will let Saskia live, won’t you?” Lukka says quietly.
Konstantin’s hands are still cupped around his brother’s face. “Of course,” he lies. “She’s worthless anyway. I’ve heard her sister is the one I should really be working with. Power like hers is worth harvesting. Maybe I will track her down.”
My head shoots up. What the fuck does he know about my sister? Does he know where she is?
“Tell me where Mikayla is!” I shout, trying to stand but only making the plastic dig deeper into my wrists. “Don’t hurt my sister, please. Just tell me where she is.”
Konstantin laughs, looking over at me like I’m something on the bottom of his Italian brogues.
“See, little brother? Sibling love is a hard bind to break. Go home and relax. Let me take care of this mess.”
Lukka slowly looks up from his crumpled position on the floor. His lips are turned down at the edges like a sad clown.
“Except this isn’t your mess,” Lukka says. His skin is as pale as his eyes and his face glistens with tears. “I did this. This is all my fault. If you hadn’t come looking for me all those years ago you wouldn’t have been turned as well. You’d have stayed a famous dancer, people wouldn’t have died and my mistakes would have remained my own. Because of me, we are both monsters.”
Konstantin shakes his head. “We aren’t monsters, Lukka. We are gods.”
“We are fools.”
Konstantin’s grip on his brother’s face tightens. “Listen to me, Lukka. I will always protect you. I love you.”
I close my eyes. The ringing of that lie is the loudest yet.
Lukka’s face sets hard, his pale eyes as empty and cold as a snow drift. “No, Kostya,” he replies quietly. “You love no one. The merciless cannot love.”
Suddenly Konstantin lets out a deafening scream – a sound I never imagined leaving his lips. His cry is followed by choking and a gurgling sound. Konstantin’s back is to me and from where I’m standing all I can see is his body slumped forward over his brother. I can’t see what’s happening. But I can see Lukka’s face and the expression on it chills me to the bone. His jaw is clenched, his face is still, and his eyes are glowing.
I jump as something makes a cracking sound followed by the tear of splitting fabric. Then Lukka’s hand explodes out the back of his brother’s suit.
And clenched in his fist, bloody and pulsating, is Konstantin’s heart.
Chapter Thirty
It’s been snowing all day. And even though it’s twilight now, the evening is lit up like day by the glare of everything coated white. After Konstantin’s death the city gained inches of snow, turning everything from smog-kissed to silver. I’ve never seen the Volkov mansion look so beautiful. So calm. So empty.
Konstantin’s elaborate funeral was two days after Lukka killed him, and was attended by every Paranormal of note in Moscow’s underworld. Although Lukka kept the news of his death away from the human press, refusing to give his brother the adoration and ballet martyrdom he so craved.
The Para community believed Lukka when he blamed the death on Rada, whom he had framed and killed the next day. The entire Volkov fortune passed seamlessly to Lukka, who took the entire process in his stride. Perhaps he inherited some of his brother’s control after all.
Lukka made a convincing mourner as he stood beside Konstantin’s body, adorned with one thousand red roses, flawless in the Italian suit that perfectly disguised his lack of a heart.
Lukka and I spent every day since making love and playing in the snow, erasing our dark memories with pleasure.
But the silver snow is a lie, neither of us can forget what happened. I can’t wait to leave this country – yet I’m not looking forward to saying goodbye. I’ve bought as much extra time from Jackson as I could, but his patience is wearing thin.
Lukka loads my suitcase into the trunk of a car I’ve never seen before. This one is gold.
“I could have gone to the airport by myself,” I say to him. “I could have left hours ago when it was still day and not bothered you.”
He turns to me, his ghostly eyes full of warmth.
“No. I told you, little Witch. I will stay by your side until I know you are safe.”
I don’t know how Lukka cleaned up the Black Rabbit, or killed Rada, or cleared up his tracks. What became of the pills? I presume he closed the club and has people to clear up the dead bodies he leaves behind. I don’t even know what he did with his brother’s pulsating heart after he ripped it out of his body. I suppress a shudder. I don’t want to know.
“Will you be OK?” I ask him as I settle into the passenger’s seat of his car.
He gives me a smile, his gold-capped teeth glinting the same shade as the interior of his hideous ride.
“You’re asking if I’ll be OK?”
I nod and he gives me a light peck on the cheek.
“What’s that for?” I ask.
“For caring.”
I swallow down the peach stone of a lump in my throat and stare out of the window so Lukka won’t see my eyes fill with tears. I don’t think he will be OK. I can’t imagine what he will do without his brother. Can Vampires drink themselves to death? Can Vampires kill themselves?
We pull up outside the departures lounge of the airport.
“I don’t think you’re allowed to stop here,” I say.
Lukka’s lips twitch in amusement. All this time together and I’ll never get used to how no law ever applies to him.
“Your plane leaves in two hours,” he says.
I nod but stay in my seat, my head flopping back on to the headrest as I
let out a deep sigh.
“What if I stay?” I say eventually.
Lukka snorts. More sad than amused. I never thought I’d find myself begging to stay with a Volkov brother. But as horrific as the last few weeks have been, my time with Lukka has also been some of the best moments I can remember since Mikayla’s disappearance.
“My world is too dark for you, little Witch,” he says.
He hasn’t mentioned his brother’s name since he murdered him. I wonder if he ever will.
“Just a little longer,” I say. “I can keep you company until you’re OK.”
“I will never be OK,” he says. “But I will dance and party and drink and fuck all the same.”
He places a hand on the side of my face and the warmth of a solitary tear scalds my cold cheek. “And someday I will see you again.”
I wait for the lie, it doesn't come. It never does with him. Lukka leans forward and slowly licks my tears away.
I laugh. His eyes bore into mine and I can’t read what he’s feeling.
“You don’t belong in my world, little Witch,” he says. “You’re fire. I’m ice.”
I take a shaky breath and turn for the door handle. Lukka spins me by my shoulder, grasps my face with both hands and kisses me. He puts everything into that kiss. I can feel it pouring out of him. Regret, passion, fear and determination. And I kiss him back. Wordlessly, I let him know he matters, he’s strong, and although I lied to him at first, he’s seen more of the real me than anyone has for a very long time.
And in that moment, I know Lukka Volkov will be just fine.
He lets go of me so suddenly I fall back against the car window.
“Leave,” he growls. “Write your story.”
We step out of the car together and he hands me my suitcase. I turn to go but he pulls me back, pushing something into my hand.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
I unfurl my fist. It’s Ansel’s Black Rabbit pendant, mine is already in my bag. I try and speak but no words come out. I close my eyes as I think of my friend – a girl who deserved better. All Ansel had tried to do was give her family a chance at living. She’d worked hard, so had her brother and boyfriend, and now two of them were dead and countless others. Fodder. Pawns. Nothing but cheap labor and free blood for the rich and powerful.
“Will you look after Ansel’s brother?” I ask. “He has nothing now. He’s lost everything.”
Lukka nods and I believe him. He kisses my forehead lightly and I close my eyes. When I open them again Lukka has gone, and all that’s left is the cold touch of his lips on my skin and the throaty rumble of his ridiculous car swallowed by the Russian night.
It’s cold on the plane, but I’m used to the cold now. I pull my laptop out of my bag and take a deep breath. I have a long flight home, and I no longer sleep at night. I start to write.
Have you ever wondered what Vampires miss most? Their humanity? The loved ones they lost to time and age? The people they used to be?
Ballet dancer Konstantin Volkov (34) missed the sun. And he was willing to pay a hefty price to get it back. Even if that price was the blood of hundreds of Vampires and hundreds of humans…
I don’t stop typing until I’m finished and proud of what I see on the page
For Lukka’s benefit I’ve slightly tweaked the article and let Rada take the fall for Konstantin’s death. For the benefit of humanity and all Witches I leave out Konstantin’s ambitions with the Witch blood antidote and the scope of his developments. No one needs to know how close the sun pills were to being a reality lest a bunch of copycats emerge from their coffins and try their hand at big pharma. So, I paint his projects as being doomed from the start.
Epilogue
It’s mid-March and I’m dressed for summer. After weeks in Moscow, an overcast spring day in New York feels like mid-August. The subway is crazy, as usual, but the bustle of people is somehow comforting. I don’t want to see snow or another concrete block for the rest of my life.
Jackson called me into the office this morning and, like the good girl I am, I got out of my stale pajamas and threw on some make-up. I thought about getting a cab, but the truth is I want to be around people. I’ve been on my own for weeks now and it’s not helping my mental state.
I squeeze on to the carriage and give a mom and her kid a tight smile as I shuffle past them. I normally hate packed trains, but this makes me feel safe. Because right now not a lot does. Every time I close my eyes all I see is Ansel’s throat being torn open and Konstantin’s beating heart in the hand of his brother.
It’s been over a month since I got back from Moscow. Jackson said I wasn’t to come into the office until all the fuss had died down – just in case people worked out it was me who wrote it and I was followed back to headquarters. The story broke three weeks ago, and I’ve had no contact with the outside world in all that time except for Jackson’s updates. Apparently, Lukka has been very co-operative and assured my boss he’d dealt with all loose ends. Whatever that means. More dead Vamps? No more rivals? A destroyed lab? I hope so.
I get off at my train stop. I’m early. I can’t believe, after all this time, that in just a few minutes I’m going to be back in front of Jackson finding out how I did. A few months ago, I was close to getting fired. My boss had told me this story would make or break me. Little did I know just how much it was going to really break me.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I take it out. I never gave Lukka my real cell number, yet every time I get a message my stomach flips thinking it will be him. It never is. He was right about fire and ice not mixing, he belongs in my past. I glance at my phone. It’s my mother. Of course, it is.
Why won’t you pick up the phone? I need you in Barcelona. The MA is in trouble and you need to be here.
I sigh. Is she for real? No hello, how are you? Just a list of commands. We haven’t spoken in a long time, not since Mikayla went missing in LA eighteen months ago. Sometimes Mom sends a cursory text, sometimes I ask her if she’s any closer to tracking down my sister, but we generally keep it simple and formal. She’s been calling me for the last two days and I’ve ignored her, deciding if it’s that important or about Mikayla she’ll text. And this is her big emergency - a summons to the Mage Association headquarters? I don’t think so.
I head for the train station exit, lost in an aggressive internal monologue with my mom along the lines of ‘why should I do you a favor when you do nothing for me?’, and as I pull my rail ticket out of my pocket I stop. And blink. It can’t be. On the other side of the train platform is Mikayla. My sister is on the other side of the platform!
I haven’t been sleeping well and the work therapist I spoke to on the phone told me hallucinations can be part of PTSD. I look again but she’s still there, her hair long and wavy over her shoulders, staring at me. She’s wearing that felt hat I always hated. The one with the green trim.
“Mikayla,” I scream.
I don’t care who’s looking at me, I need to get to her. But she doesn’t reply or wave, she just stands there smiling, like she’s been waiting for me forever.
I run along the platform towards the exit so I can reach the other side, so I can get to my sister, but then a train shoots by at full speed. I keep my eyes trained on here through the blur of the train windows rushing by, but it’s impossible.
As soon as the train has gone, so has Mikayla.
“How are you feeling?” Jackson asks me. He’s been doing that a lot lately, asking about my feelings in every email he sends me. It’s not like him.
My hands are still shaking from the vision I saw on the subway, from running around for another fifteen minutes screaming out her name.
I place my trembling hands on my lap. My boss doesn’t need to know that along with insomnia, night terrors (on the rare occasions when I can sleep) and the odd panic attack, I can now add hallucinations to my list.
“I’m fine,” I reply.
“You did well.” He gives me that famous look o
f his - like he’s both proud and disappointed, and like I’m sitting in front of him naked. Which just makes me think of him naked. Which is not helping the jumble of moods I’m dealing with right now.
“Your article was a great success. It’s had a record-breaking number of hits,” he says in his deep English accent.
“I’m glad my near-death experience has increased your advertising revenue,” I hit back.
He laughs and I realize how much I’ve missed the jerk.
“Saskia, I wouldn’t have sent you to Moscow had I known how rough things were going to get.” He leans forward, touching the tips of his fingers together into a spire. His eyes flash yellow and I’m reminded that he’s a Shifter like Dimitri. Except when I look at Jackson all I see is sleek panther muscles. He’d never hurt me.
“I can look after myself,” I say.
“You certainly can. A stiletto? Did I read that correctly?” He looks down at my boots and makes a face. “Glad to see you’re wearing flats today.”
I can always rely on him to say the unsayable. There’s no such thing as ‘too soon’ when it comes to Jackson and inappropriate jokes.
“Is Lukka OK?” I ask.
Jackson nods.
“You did the right thing,” he says. “Mr. Volkov gave a statement. He got a team in to investigate how far Konstantin had got with the drugs. You know, had you infiltrated the lab one week later the daylight-protection drugs would have been available to Vampires all around the world. You’ve saved a lot of lives, Saskia.”
“Not enough,” I reply, thinking of Ansel and her boyfriend.
“For someone who was asked to just write a story, you did well. Unfortunately, your death toll is rising, but you got the scoop.”
I know he’s joking, but he’s right. Merpeople, Shifters, Vamps. Who else am I going to have to blow up or kill just to get to the bottom of a story? Then I think of Mikayla and what Konstantin said. He had heard of her. I saw her on the subway. She’s out there somewhere!
Vampires of Moscow (Blood Web Chronicles Book 1) Page 21
