Her chest didn’t rise and her face held on to its robin’s egg hue. Kirill growled and lowered his head, forcing breath into her mouth and then leaning back to press sharply on her chest in rhythmic motions. He repeated the process, trying to force the will to breathe into Irina’s still form by sheer willpower. Suddenly, on one particularly violent compression, Irina’s eyes flew open and she sucked in a sharp breath. Her hands flailed in the air, scrabbling to grasp Kirill’s arms. Irina stared up into his face, confusion and panic glazing her eyes.
“Irina, it is all right,” Kirill soothed, forcing his voice to come out calm and in control. He fought back his own panic and wrenched the edges of his mouth up into a smile. “It is all right, you are fine now.”
“What in the great rocks is going on in here?”
Kirill had to drag his gaze from Irina’s face to watch King Risi force his way into the ladies room, a thundering scowl on his face. When he saw Irina on the floor, he froze.
“Irina, what has happened?” he demanded.
“I’ll tell you what has happened,” Kirill spoke up, pulling Irina into his lap. She tensed briefly as if she would fight him but then relaxed against him. The shuddering quality of her breathing as she fought to re-oxygenate her blood fueled Kirill’s temper and he focused his ire on the king. “Irina was attacked in your court. If she’d been found a moment later, she could have died.”
The troll king crossed his arms. “Attacked how?”
“Her laces were bound to the point of cutting off her breath. She was suffocating.”
“She is not human, she would have been fine.” The king’s spoke in a confident tone, but Kirill could see the shadow of doubt in his eyes.
“Not if the person who did it was a magic wielder,” he countered evenly. “Physical bonds are easily touched with binding enchantments.” He didn’t add that troll women were known for their magic, but he let the implication hang in the air, looking around at the ladies room and fixing the king with a knowing look.
King Risi stared at him for a long moment, his gray eyes evaluating, weighing the truth of Kirill’s words. Kirill waited, his mind dancing over his options.
“King Risi, I would like to brush this off as the action of one rogue member of your court, a malicious prank that went too far. If we were allies, that would be the only logical assumption. However, if we are not allies, then I cannot help but wonder if this was an intentional message from you and your people that my companion and I are not welcome here.”
Irina went iron hard in his lap and Kirill tightened his grip on her, silently warning her to be silent. He had one chance to work this to his favor and one word from her could ruin it. If Irina’s reputation was as good as his research had indicated, then the troll king wouldn’t want it getting out to the other magic kingdoms that she’d been hurt in his home. It was a gamble, but it was the only chance Kirill had.
King Risi straightened himself to his full height, but Kirill didn’t miss the sigh that escaped him as he did so. Finally the monarch nodded. “We are allies. Please, accept my sincerest apologies.” He glared over his people. “And know that I will find who did this. And when I do, wherever you are, you will hear their screams.”
“I appreciate your dedication to doing what is just,” Kirill said, bowing his head at the king without lowering his eyes. “Now, I think I’d best get Irina to bed. She will need more care to recover from her frightening ordeal.”
Carefully keeping his triumph from showing on his face, Kirill gathered Irina into his arms and rose to carry her out. One glance down into her face gave him plenty of warning that once they left the troll court, the maiden in his arms would have something to say about his handling of the situation. He only hoped that her breath-stealing experience would somewhat weaken her voice.
The carriage door had barely closed when Irina loosed her tongue.
“You scheming, slimy, sanctimonious bastard!” she hissed. “You used me to manipulate King Risi into an alliance!”
“Which, if you will kindly recall, was the plan from the start,” Kirill reminded her calmly. “That is why you accompanied me, remember?”
“My chest is still burning from the grip of those laces, my lungs—What are you doing?”
Kirill smiled at her from where he was now kneeling on the floor. He slowly raised his hands to the shoulders of her dress, sagging slightly off her arms without the benefit of laces to hold the bodice tight. “You are right, Irina,” he said softly. “It was quite thoughtless of me not to check the…extent of your injuries. Your chest burns, you say?”
Heat filled Irina’s eyes, taking Kirill off guard. He halted his reach for her dress, feeling an answering heat swell to life inside him. The stinging slap to his face caught him completely by surprise and he shouted and threw himself back onto his seat. Irina grabbed the bodice of her dress, clutching it to her chest as she glared at him with eyes hot enough to catch the carriage on fire.
“There is a difference between asking someone for help and using their misfortune to your advantage,” she choked, her voice raspy. “It is not unlike the difference between trying to force an ally and trying to make a friend.”
A flicker of annoyance fluttered over Kirill and he settled back against the carriage, contemplating Irina in all her outraged glory. “Irina, it surely has not escaped your notice that I desire to succeed my father as king?”
“I’m not blind.”
“All right. And may I assume it has also not escaped your notice that my father is a vampire, and thus I am unlikely to succeed him in a…natural manner?”
“I’m not batty, Kirill, I know that you are building a force that will enable you to take the kingdom from your father by force. But what I don’t understand is why someone as intelligent as you, can’t see that there are other ways to go about it. You don’t have to be so conniving, so damned…disrespectful.”
It was an effort not to raise his eyebrows and betray his condescension. Fortunately, as conniving as he was, Kirill was not so easily controlled by his emotions.
“You believe I should work on making friends with the people I desire as allies?”
“It’s a thought. May I point out that it was my friendship with the trolls that gave you the in you needed.”
“And if you had needed King Risi to go to war with you, would your friendship have accomplished that?”
Irina frowned. “I wouldn’t have asked him.” This time he let his face betray his thoughts, crooking an eyebrow at her. Irina scowled. “I’m not saying that he wouldn’t have.”
“But he wouldn’t. Irina, you are wonderfully gifted at forging friendships, but you must understand that I am working on a much bigger scale. I don’t need one person to like me, I need one person, who controls many more people, to be obligated to help me if I need it. I need to be able to count on that help at times when to not have it could mean my death.” He shook his head, his brain toying with her idea. “Some of the individuals I must form alliances with are female. Can you tell me, my dear Irina, what would happen if I tried to form friendships with all those women?”
“Assuming you could prevent yourself from making it sexual, I don’t see why that would be a problem,” Irina countered. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Of course, based on your complete inability to keep your hands to yourself, I can see how that might prove difficult.”
Her words sparked something in Kirill’s mind and he tilted his head, considering her anew. “You know, now that you mention it, I do seem to have somewhat of a hard time resisting your…allure.” He tapped his chin, briefly letting his mind flutter back over the kisses he’d shared with Irina, the desire that seemed to consume him when he got too close to her warm flesh. Kirill was not a chaste man by any stretch, but he couldn’t recall the last time he hadn’t turned his sexual needs to politically advantageous couplings.
“Tell me, Irina, why is it that I feel so drawn to you?”
There. A flash of something in her eyes, a f
aint blush on her cheeks. Kirill leaned forward, his gaze boring into hers. “What are you, Irina? A siren? A rusalka? A nymph? Don’t be shy, I think you’ll find I’m quite…open-minded.”
Irina pressed back against her seat, shrinking away from him as he leaned even closer. Her movement loosened her gown and the bodice dipped lower, whispering against her flesh. Kirill didn’t fight his attention as it dropped to the tantalizing hint of her breasts, barely visible in the shadow of the gaping material. He drew in a breath, taking in her scent. Blood tickled his nose and he frowned even as his fangs ached to slide from their sheaths.
He raised a hand to pull her dress farther away, locking his gaze on her face when he heard her sharp intake of breath. Her hand was already in the air, no doubt about to sail into his cheek for another resounding slap.
“Irina, you’re bleeding,” he said quietly.
Her hand twitched and then she dropped it to her stomach. Her delicate features screwed up into a wince as she brushed a hand over her stomach. “Oh, bloody hell.”
All intentions of teasing gone, Kirill gently eased the bodice away from her chest. She tensed as her breasts were bared to the cool air of the carriage, but Kirill kept his motions respectful. He’d been so caught up in his own victory, he hadn’t thought to check the extent of Irina’s injuries. It was a grievous oversight for someone who wanted to be king someday.
Anger tightened his mouth as he noticed several welts across Irina’s stomach, at least one of them bleeding and another on the verge of doing so.
“Irina, who did this to you?” he asked quietly, cursing himself for not asking her sooner. He had little hope that she would be able to offer any helpful information. After all, female trolls were renowned for their magic and he had a hard time believing one would have been so foolish as to attack a guest of her king while wearing her true form. Still, the question should have been asked.
“She was a troll, that’s all I know.”
“Why would a troll have anything against you?”
Pain flared on Irina’s face and she looked away. “People don’t always need a reason.”
There was a story behind that simple truth, but Kirill knew now was not the time for more questions. He gently raised her bodice, and returned to his seat, pausing only to speak quietly to his driver through the window. He remained silent for the duration of the ride, contemplating his companion. He was still curious about what manner of creature she was, but it didn’t matter too much. The compulsion he felt to touch her wasn’t strong, and he didn’t feel any desire to submit to her will or any such thing. As the undead, there were very few creatures who could seriously bespell him, regardless.
Irina startled when they pulled up in front of the castle. “Why are we here? Aren’t you taking me home?”
“Is that what you consider the dwarves’ cottage?” he asked her, his interest sparked. “Your home? What about your family?” He frowned as it occurred to him he hadn’t made many inquiries about Irina after he saved her life and dropped her with the dwarves. At least not beyond her reputation with other factions. “Where did you live before I found you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Irina said quietly. “I can’t go back.”
Kirill considered her words and made a mental note to look into it further after he reestablished the treaty with the goblins. “Well, you will stay with me tonight. My physician will attend to your injuries.”
Before she could object, he raised a hand. “I will send word to your dwarf friends, so they will not worry about you.”
“You think sending one of your messengers to tell them I’ll be staying the night with the vampire prince will soothe their worries?”
Kirill paused. He leaned toward the window again and spoke softly. A moment later the carriage started moving. “We’ll stop by and you can tell them yourself.”
Chapter 9
“I smell blood.”
Irina squeaked and clapped a hand to her chest to keep her heart from leaping out. Fortunately, it also held up the drooping bodice of her dress as she stumbled back toward the castle wall. A muscled chest met her back instead of cold stone, as Kirill stepped up behind her.
“Father, was that completely necessary?” Kirill snapped.
A man stepped out from the shadows. His reddish brown hair fell to his shoulders, providing a perfect compliment to his goatee and mustache. Sharp brown eyes peered from a face that had just begun to wrinkle before his death. He was dressed in enough finery to make any thief drool, dripping with gold and jewels and covered in fabric designed for intimidation instead of comfort. It was astonishing that the man could move as silently as he had wearing all that treasure.
Irina reached through the slit in her skirt to grasp the knife sheathed to her thigh. King or not, the man had scared the daylights out of her and she’d been in no mood to be messed with to start. Now that her fear was receding, she was weighing how badly she wanted to stab something against how much trouble she’d be in for injuring a king. She glanced back at Kirill, wondering if he’d save her from the executioner.
Kirill must have read her thoughts because he quickly stepped in front of her. She frowned. He was the one who’d pissed her off in the first place. Maybe she should stab him? Her traitorous mind filled with thoughts of his mouth on hers and his hands dancing over her wounds with a touch as light as a butterfly’s kiss. Her cheeks flushed. Maybe she wouldn’t stab him…yet.
“The smell is getting stronger,” the king continued, his eyes now firmly resting on Irina. He seemed to take in her disheveled clothes with an unnecessary amount of amusement. “My boy, have you brought your food home with you? Surely you could have been a bit more gentle?” He sniffed the air. “Is there any reason you felt the need to finish eating in our home?”
“The leshii take it, Father, could you at least feign some manners? She is my guest, and you will by the gods show her some respect.”
“Or you’ll what?”
The humor that had been dancing in the king’s eye vanished, replaced by the faint beginnings of real anger. Irina’s heart pounded as she watched the king stare down his son without a trace of parental warmth. She opened her mouth to tell Kirill he needn’t bother. She’d been spoken to in much cruder terms and it wasn’t worth getting injured over.
“You reek of trolls, Kirill.” The king turned his grey-eyed gaze to her and Irina gritted her teeth against the bite of fear along her spine. “As does your…guest. Tell me, how is that alliance coming?”
“Why don’t you ask the troll king? I’m afraid I’m too busy to give you a lesson in politics tonight.”
Kirill wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her down the corridor, his anger apparent in the tension singing in his body and the quick steps that drew them farther and farther away from the king’s cold presence. Irina untangled her hand from the slit of her dress, trying not to dislodge the dagger. If she didn’t let it go soon, she’d be tempted to turn and hurl it down the hallway, good sense be damned.
“Thank you so much for bringing me to your lovely home, Your Highness,” she muttered. “To think I could be back in that little cottage being cared for by men who speak to me with kindness and pretty words instead of a drafty hallway being insulted by a king.”
“Do not concern yourself with my father,” Kirill growled. “He is far too arrogant to believe I have any chance of succeeding in taking the throne from him.”
“I’m not sure how that’s supposed to be comforting? And thank you so much for making this conversation about you and your paternal issues.”
Kirill turned a corner and stopped abruptly. Irina grunted as the sudden stop made her flex her stomach muscles, agitating her wounds. The welts burned as they rubbed against her dress and she gritted her teeth, debating whether it would hurt worse to let the dress rub, or try to suck her stomach away from it. Frustrated and needing a distraction, she turned to glare at Kirill. The strange look on his face made her hold the barb ready on the tip of her t
ongue.
“Irina,” he asked slowly. “I know I frighten you on occasion. I can hear your heartbeat, I’ve tasted fear in your blood.”
Irina scowled as she fought not to squirm. His words slid over her, coaxing her to remember the feel of his lips against her neck, the sensation of his fangs sliding into her flesh. Before she could gather her wits to object, he raised a hand.
“I know you fear me,” he continued, “and yet you continue to snap at me and insult me. You’ve even struck me—more than once, I might add.”
“So?” Irina grumbled. She looked away, studying a tapestry on the wall to try and take her mind off the prince staring at her with far too much intensity.
One Bite Page 9
