by Lauren Smith
He was not going to let one woman with a cell phone camera destroy his empire. For the last eighty years especially, Grigori had suffered the charade of “retiring” every thirty years and leaving the company to his son, also named Grigori. He’d spend the next few decades pretending to age, dying his hair silver and having new passports and forged birth certificates. The intricate lies he laid in place to keep the company going had cost him time and energy. He would not let his work be ruined by some overly curious human female.
His car was pulled out in front with his driver ready to take him anywhere he wished.
“The Russian State Library,” he ordered as he settled in the black leather seat of the sedan.
“Yes, Mr. Barinov.” The driver pulled out in traffic and began to head towards the library.
Grigori barely looked at the passing scenery of Moscow, his entire being focused on this mystery woman. Why was she researching dragons, and how had she found out about Barrow’s journal? She shouldn’t have even been allowed to take it off the shelf. Grigori acquainted himself with the new library director and informed him that should anyone ask for the book he must be called immediately and they were not to check it out. The guard had clearly failed in his duties and Grigori would make sure the library director would have him fired.
The time had come to take Barrow’s book home and destroy it once and for all. While he had fond memories of Barrow, the details and personal histories of him and his brothers must be protected and that meant burning the book to ash. And dealing with this woman.
The only mortals who knew of his existence, aside from the ones in service to his family, were supernatural hunters. Namely the international organization called the Brotherhood of the Blood Moon. Pesky creatures, hunters. They rarely came into dragon guarded territories; it was simply too dangerous. Maybe this woman was a hunter, or they had hired her to find and retrieve any info she could on his family. If that was the case, he had a very nice dungeon she could rot away in for the next fifty years.
“Here we are, Mr. Barinov.”
Grigori climbed out and told the driver to wait for him. Then he quickly ascended the stairs and entered the library. The guard, Yuri, was waiting for him at the security desk.
“Mr. Barinov?” Yuri held out the faded leather bound journal and Grigori took it.
The leather was warm to the touch and he lifted it to his nose, inhaling. A lingering scent teased his nostrils, the feminine aroma inviting and enticing. For a long second Grigori simply drank in the rich smell . . . it was pure. The pheromone sweet, like ripe dragon fruit. He had not smelled something like that in some years. The woman was a virgin of childbearing age.
Must have her . . . Need to find her.
His body went rigid as the scent continued to plague and torture his nose with irresistible sweetness. If there was one thing besides a true mate that a dragon couldn’t deny himself, it was a virgin. A growl began to rumble at the back of his throat as he pictured himself finding this woman and curling his arms around her and breathing in her scent before he seduced her.
The old Grigori, the wild beast he thought had vanished this last century, was roaring back to life. His dragon was pacing inside him, ready to be unleashed. He wanted to sink his teeth into this woman’s neck and hold her still while he thrust into her over and over until she screamed with pleasure.
“Mr. Barinov?” Yuri interrupted the sudden lust and hunger in Grigori’s thoughts.
“Who is she?” he demanded in a low growl.
Yuri swallowed hard and held out a photograph, a print of a security camera photo of a woman.
“She is American. Her name is Madelyn Haynes. She’s a professor at an American university.”
Grigori stared down at the colored photo. It was slightly blurry, but he could tell that the woman had long strawberry blond hair and soft features. An ordinary woman, yet there was something about her face that he found fascinating. The lush curve of her lips, a slightly upturned nose and eyes framed by dark lashes. He lived in a city where beauty was praised and often the only way to survive. This woman would not have been considered pretty by such standards, but Grigori liked her full curves and romantic features more than he did the harsh, bony runway models that populated the Russian nightclubs.
Yes, she would be quite a delight to lock away in his dungeon.
He turned away from the security booth and exited the library. Back inside his car, he texted Madelyn’s information to his brother. Within a few minutes Rurik sent the address for a hotel near the Red Square. He texted Rurik to meet him at the woman’s hotel. He had a plan to trap their cunning little virgin and he was not going to let her escape.
* * *
Alexis Petrov slipped into the ladies restroom close to her office in Barinov Industries. Flipping the lock on the door so no one else could come in, she checked beneath the stalls to make sure she was alone. This was one of the few places she could make a call without being seen on surveillance videos. She dialed a number on the screen, hit call and waited, her heart pounding.
“Drakor here.” The deep, growling voice sent shivers through her.
Dimitri Drakor was a veritable god, much like her own boss Grigori Barinov, but Drakor had promised her things Barinov never would.
Sex and power.
It had been too tempting to agree to spy on her boss the moment Drakor had taken her to his bed and promised her the world. All she had to do was tell him what Barinov was up to. It was her boss’s fault—if only he hadn’t ignored her! She was a former model and she knew she was gorgeous.
How can he ignore me? Me? I walked runways in Milan and Moscow! Resentment prickled her beneath her skin and she scowled.
“Barinov just left his office. He received a call from the Russian State Library.”
Drakor breathed softly on the other end of the line before replying.
“Do you know what he was going there for?”
Alexis flinched. “No. Only that the moment he hung up, he left. That means it’s important, right?”
“Yes, perhaps,” Drakor mused. “Call me immediately with any more news.” Then the phone connection went dead.
Alexis stared at her reflection the mirror for a long moment, her eyes haunted and her face suddenly showing her age. All of the parties, the drugs, the nights with powerful men who never called the next day had been a waste. She was past her prime.
Desperation drives us all. She forced a false smile on her lips, unlocked the bathroom door and stepped outside. She needed to be ready for when Mr. Barinov returned.
Chapter 3
I do not care what comes after; I have seen the dragons on the wind of morning.
—Ursula K. Le Guin, The Farthest Shore
No one followed me.
Madelyn sighed in relief as she peered around the corner of the next street and watched the tourists mingling by the entrance to the Red Square. After two hours of dodging through streets and ducking into shop doorways, trying to look too interested in cheap touristy knick-knacks, she was fairly certain the guard from the library hadn’t come after her. Her heart was still beating hard, but the panicked quick breaths had slowed.
“You’re fine, everything’s fine,” she whispered. She smiled at an old man who pointed at some Lenin-shaped figurines, and she politely shook her head and walked away from his shop.
A young man selling food from a cart on the street caught her eye. She dug her travel wallet out and bought a bottle of water and a meat and cheese pie called a pirozhki. Her stomach grumbled as she took the pie and inhaled the tasty aroma. She’d been so focused on running she hadn’t realized how hungry she was. As she ate, she kept her gaze alert for the guard, even though she was fairly certain he hadn’t followed her. Even if he could find out her name from the library system, she hadn’t had to supply any other information. The hotel would be a safe zone.
I hope . . .
Madelyn licked her fingertips as she finished the last bite of her pirozh
ki. She crumpled the wrapper of her pie and tossed it in trashcan before she sipped the last of her bottle of water. Then she followed the crowd across a busy street to her hotel. She was still a bit on edge, but if she got into her room, she’d feel more secure.
The hotel was a bit shabby on the outside, with a grey stoned façade. The faux glass windows of the lobby were slightly fogged with age, but she had a budget to live on and couldn’t afford anything more expensive. She wasn’t sure how long she’d need to stay in Moscow for her Russian dragon research. She would have been lying if she hadn’t glanced at some of the more beautiful five star hotels when she’d been making her travel plans. They had taken her breath away with underground pools and fancy suites with endless amenities. It had been fun to dream about them, but she could never stay at a place like that, even for one night—no matter how incredible it would be to live like a princess in a king-sized bed and look out across the city from a deluxe room’s balcony.
She pushed the doors to the lobby open and stepped inside. A faint tingling started beneath her skin, the fine hairs rising on her neck and arms in response. The air around her felt charged with energy, like the moment before a storm broke out. Madelyn paused, trying to assess the feeling inside her body as it responded to the sudden change in the air . . . A queer pulsing sensation began to build inside her, and a headache started to beat against her temples. She’d been fine just moments ago . . . Was her fear from earlier just now getting to her and her body was crashing from the adrenaline high she’d been on?
Maybe I just need to go take a quick nap in the room and take some Tylenol.
A man in blue jeans and a dark gray T-shirt was leaning against the wall by the elevators, his head down as he texted on his phone. Was he waiting for an elevator? He hadn’t pressed the button . . . Madelyn tried not to look directly at him, as some men viewed it as an invitation. Her backpack was still full with pamphlets her mother had sent her about how to travel safely in Russian alone.
She couldn’t help noting his muscled arms and the general attractiveness of his body. When she joined him at the elevator, she glanced down at her shoes, staring at the scuffed black boots peeking out from her own jeans.
A little flush heated her cheeks as she realized how boring she must have looked. Not that she wanted this man’s attention. She didn’t, but she’d been all too aware in the last week how unremarkable she was. So many women here wore bright sexy clothes or sleek business suits. She didn’t fit into either group with her jeans and a cream colored Cashmere sweater. Not to mention she was a bit on the curvy side and Russian women her age were rarely curvy. They all seemed to be rail thin and ready for the runways and catwalks.
The metal elevator doors swished apart. She and the man both entered the tiny metal cubicle and she hit the button for the fourth floor. He continued to text and didn’t hit a button.
Maybe we are on the same floor?
The second the doors slid closed her headache got worse. It was like two invisible spikes were being driven into her temples. She leaned against the side of the door farthest from the man, struggling to breathe. It was as though something inside was trying to claw to the surface.
What is happening to me? Fear clouded her rational thoughts. Am I sick? Was there something in her water from the vendor? Had she been drugged?
The man lifted his head a few inches, the fall of his brown hair still shadowing most of his features from view. The door opened to her floor and she stared at him. Was this his floor too? He still hadn’t pushed a button for a different floor.
Something was wrong. She swallowed and tried to stay calm.
“Excuse me,” the man waved her to go. “Please, go first,” he said. His voice low and soft with a musical accent.
“Thank you.” She took two shaky steps into the corridor before she realized that something was off. He knew she spoke English? How—she turned around to see him getting out of the elevator behind her.
Oh God . . . was he following her? She’d been warned before going to Russia that human trafficking was a risk and she had to be careful. She struggled to find her key, cursing as she walked to her door and trying not to look too panicked. Shooting another glance behind her, she saw the man was walking the opposite way down the hall.
She exhaled and sighed in relief against the door just as her hands closed around her keys. But she was still shaking and her legs were unsteady. The invisible knot of tension inside her was thrumming hard now, and every fiber of her being was on edge. That old instinct to run was whispering at her.
The key stuck in the lock and she had to jiggle the keys two times before the deadbolt slide back and she was able to get inside. The apartment was dark. Hadn’t she left the curtains open? I know I did . . .
The door clicked shut behind her and she set her backpack down on small desk. She took a moment to catch her breath, and let the last few seconds of fear subside. She was safe inside her hotel.
I just need to chill. Everything is fine.
Seconds later, the light next to her bed switched on. A man sat in the chair by her bedside table and lowered his hand from the lamp back to the arm rest.
Madelyn jumped, clutching her purse to her chest. Her throat worked but no sounds out. There was a man in her room. Oh God . . .
The light washed over his pale gold hair and the three-piece gray wool suit he wore. Her eyes tracked up his expensive shoes to the beautiful, masculine hands resting on the chair’s arms. A thick gold ring wound around the little finger of the man’s right hand. She squinted at it and then her heart leapt into her throat. The ring was molded into the shape of a serpent biting its own tail. It looked exactly like the ring in James Barrow’s book . . .
“Ms. Haynes, we need to talk.” The man spoke, his rich accented voice pouring over her like cognac.
She lifted her gaze to the man’s face and her heart stopped beating.
It was him.
The man from Barrow’s book.
Grigori Barinov. The melancholic look of an ancient king whose time of ruling had long since passed into the mists, like a Russian King Arthur. With blue eyes and blond hair, he was not what one expected of a Russian man. Most of the men she’d seen in Moscow had dark hair and dark eyes. Strength and virility rolled off him in waves with a dominant air of calm and control that came from years of mastering oneself. Something about that made her shiver deep inside.
“Who are you?” she whispered, her voice catching. Had she passed out in the elevator? Was she dreaming? There was no way this was happening.
He couldn’t be Grigori Barinov. Grigori was a man who had lived and breathed and died over two hundred years ago. There was no way he could be sitting in her hotel room looking like an intimidating fantasy. She wasn’t sure if it was a fantasy born of secret desires or a nightmare. He had broken into her hotel room whoever he was and that wasn’t a good thing.
The man reached up to remove the leather bound book from his jacket. Barrow’s journal.
“I believe you already know who I am.” As he spoke his blue eyes seem to turn to yellow, then to red and then they glowed white hot.
“But . . . You . . . It’s not . . .” She couldn’t wrap her mind around what he was trying to tell her. It was insane. It wasn’t possible.
“Possible?” His full, kissable lips curved into a slow cold smile that sent fresh shivers through her.
“How . . .” she struggled for words, picturing the massive dragon perched on the edge of a cliff by a sea.
Her skin was almost on fire now, the pain making her want to scream but she didn’t dare move or speak.
“‘How’ is not a question I will answer, at least not here.” He rose from the chair and she stumbled back a step. He was too tall, at least six foot four. So much taller than her own five foot five. His height made her feel too small, too vulnerable. He could easily overpower her if she couldn’t find a way to get out of here . . .
His perfectly cut suit molded to his muscled form
like a second skin and his throat above his collar was sun-kissed. How could he be even slightly tan in the middle of a Russian October?
“Look, I don’t want any trouble.” She backed up another step, glancing around. She needed to find her phone. It had some international minutes . . . but she had no clue how to call the Russian police. Never in life had she felt so foolish than she did in that moment. Why hadn’t she learned how to contact the police? Would it even matter? A panicked despair battled with her determination to survive.
“We are past that, Ms. Haynes. You’re a liability now.”
A liability? “But I don’t even know what was in that book that even matters—” She swallowed hard and took another step, praying she could get to the door, but then she’d have to beat him to the stairs, because the elevator was out of the question.
“Unfortunately everything in that book matters. You must come with me,” he said, taking another step.
Madelyn tensed, her hand searching for the doorknob behind her. When she found it, she wrapped her fingers around it and turned. The door opened with her body weight against it. Rather than fall into the open hallway, she bumped into something warm and hard.
“Going somewhere, malen’kiy tsvetok?” someone said from behind her.
“Ahh!” She screeched but the man behind her grabbed her around the waist with one arm and covered her mouth with his other hand.
“Little flower?” Grigori asked the man behind her.
“She smells sweet,” he replied gruffly.
Madelyn screamed against his hand but the sound was muffled. She kicked out her legs, knocking Grigori back a few steps. He clutched his chest and sucked in a breath, then lifted his head, scowling at her. She thrashed in the second man’s arms, but there was no getting free. Blood roared in her ears. Grigori’s eyes were blazing and he licked his lips before he spoke to the man behind her.
