She greeted her sister with a joyful hug, dragging her to the sofa. “Tell me everything.”
Anya searched Sergey out, her brows arching in a question.
In answer, he turned to Dmitri. “Can we talk?”
The ex-boxer shrugged his massive shoulders and then followed Sergey into the bedroom. “You gonna tell me why you’re being a dick to your girl?”
“She’s not my girl.”
“No? Because it sure seems like she thinks she is, and before you went into those catacombs, you stuck to her like a guard dog.”
“I had to.”
“Don’t give me that shit. I know all about I had to.”
Sergey started to pace.
“Guess this is going to take a while.” Dmitri flopped onto the bed, his hands cradling his head against the wall.
In the catacombs, Sergey had hovered on the razor’s edge, so close to giving in, so close to challenging his father for the right to possess Anya, not as a lover, but as his prey. “When we were down there, Demyan got in my mind. He made me want fucked-up things.” He swallowed. “I don’t think it will go away.”
Dmitri scratched his chin. “So what? You want me to forbid you from going near her, make the tough decision for you?”
Yeah, that was exactly what Sergey wanted. “No, no. Of course not. I just want your advice.”
“Well, this is the only advice I can give you,” Dmitri said. “Being married has taught me women don’t like having decisions made for them based on what we think is best. You gotta talk to her.”
* * * *
Anya told the whole story to Sonya, who gasped and cheered and sniffed tearfully at all the right times.
“I am so proud of you.” She embraced Anya. “And while you were gone, I thought about what Sergey said. I was wrong to tell you to let it go. I was wrong about a lot of things.”
Anya’s smoke-burned eyes stung with tears. “It’s okay.”
“When I was in San Francisco, fending off the rusalka trying to steal my soul, I saw Mama and Papa’s spirits.”
“They’re ghosts too?” Anya leaned forward, confused.
“No, no. They were just speaking to me from beyond, and they asked me to come find you. They were so worried about both of us--that we hadn’t joined them in the afterlife”
The old Anya would have accused her of polite lying, but new Anya held her tongue. “Really?”
“Really. They loved you so much.” Sonya smoothed a lock of hair behind Anya’s ear. “If Mama knew the truth about Stas, she would feel terrible. If she’d known then, she’d have killed him herself.”
Anya chuckled to think of Mama, statuesque and always with a scarf tied under her chin, brandishing a broomstick at the charming man. Her sister was probably right.
“She was so proud of you.” Sonya took Anya’s hand. “But you rebuffed her when she told you as much, and so she gave up. She used to say, ‘If something ever happens to me, you make certain your sister knows I love her. She just makes it impossible to tell her.”
Anya sucked in a deep breath. She’d made things impossible for her parents sometimes, and her sister’s words were a balm on the ache of unresolved misunderstanding. Maybe they’d known her better than she’d realized.
She sank into the cushions on the couch and glanced at the closed door that hid Sergey and Dmitri.
Sonya yawned and waved at the same door. “It will be all right in there. If he’s feeling like he doesn’t deserve you, or he can’t trust himself with you, Dmitri’s the best one to talk sense into him. Do you want me to wait with you?”
“No. I’d kind of like to be alone.” The sentiment surprised her, but now that she was free of her slipper, she didn’t have to fear solitude anymore.
Sonya kissed her cheek and then quietly slipped out.
Anya stared at the door and willed it to open. When that didn’t work, she found a nightgown among the clothes Sonya had sent and put it on. Then she crossed the room, opened the window, and knelt with her head outside. She was free, fully human, and could command the wind like any vila. She should be thrilled. But Sergey was the one who had made her want to live again, and she wanted to share this life she’d been given with him.
She sent a gust rustling through the trees lining the street, just to test her powers once again.
“Queen Jerisavlja, what now?” she asked into the night, not really expecting an answer.
An icy blast of wind replied, knocking her onto her butt. When she got back up and peered out the window, they hovered at her eye-level, a cadre of pretty ghosts with their queen, sparkling and sylph-like. The one who had first spotted Anya on the riverbank waved shyly, and then Jerisavlja began to clap. The whole group broke into applause.
“You have shown both mercy and courage,” the queen said. “So in turn you have been rewarded an astonishing gift. The only vila who is also human.”
Anya might come to regret her flesh and her ties to gravity if she lost Sergey, and she might especially rue the loss of this sisterhood.
“But what do I do? I love a man who fears he is a demon, and I think he will reject me to protect me.”
“He is a nightmare like your Demyan? An incubus?”
“Yes. He’s Stas’s son.”
Jerisavlja’s ethereally beautiful face glowed with a smile. “Now I understand your extraordinary reward. He could not drain your vila power, even if he wanted to. You are the perfect mate for a zmora.”
“Truly?” Anya pressed her hand to her chest, recalling all Stas’s cryptic comments about her power withstanding his appetites.
“Indeed. And if your love did lose control, you could fend him off just as you did Stas.”
Instant relief bubbled up inside Anya. Surely that would convince him.
Jerisavlja continued. “Though it pains me to tell you these things. I had quite looked forward to your company.”
In spite of gravity’s power, Anya felt like she could float. “And I yours. Thank you for visiting me every year. You kept me sane.”
The queen bowed. “We may visit yet again. Kupula Night comes every year.”
“I would welcome it.” Anya returned the bow, her heart full.
“Who the hell are you talking to, harpy?” Dmitri asked.
She turned and found him standing there with Sergey, both watching what must look like her talking to herself.
“The vilas have come for her.” Sergey guessed the truth. Tension poured off him, but Anya couldn’t begin to read his intentions.
“What will you do, Anya? Go with them?”
Anya turned to see them already sailing away, their gossamer gowns billowing behind them as they sang.
“No. I can’t go with them. Which begs the question, what will you do, Sergey?”
Dmitri cleared his throat, already heading for the door. “I’ll just leave you two to work this out.”
* * * *
Sergey swallowed past the tension squeezing his throat.
“Anya--”
But still, he had no idea what to say.
She looked up at him, her eyes pitying but her lips quivering with repressed amusement. Neither emotion landed as especially reassuring.
He better just come clean. “Listen. When we were down there, Demyan put all sorts of evil ideas in my mind. He made me want things… Hell, maybe I always wanted those things.” It surely had something to do with his lackluster connection to all the women he’d ever dated until Anya. “I don’t trust myself with you. What if I hurt you? What if this love I feel turns into a selfish appetite?”
“Love?” Her eyes crinkled at the edges, and his heart thudded.
“Yes, but…” He wanted to fill her with hope and pride, but something deeper in him also wanted to possess everything that she was, to take her into himself and make her his.
She reached up and fingered the collar of his T-shirt, began tracing its lines and seams the way she had when
she’d first materialized. “You know, the queen of the vila just told me something interesting.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m still a vila, full of this power Stas called intoxicating. I’m strong enough to protect myself from you, even strong enough to let you do your zmora thing without hurting me.” She stroked her inner arm.
His mouth went dry and shame heated his face even as his cock began to throb. He shouldn’t even want that. “No.”
She walked her fingers down his torso to the waistband of his jeans, then stroked up his erection. “Your body is not saying no.”
“But I am.” He gritted his teeth and put his hands on her shoulders, keeping a fragile hold on his determination with an arm’s length between them.
“That’s because you aren’t just a demon. Your appetites would never control you.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“But you don’t have to be sure, because you couldn’t hurt me anyway. Like you always said, I’m strong.”
“You are, but…”
She was unbuckling his belt. “No buts. And you’re strong too. I think you could give in to all those demonic desires and still make love to me, none of that primal, debased fucking you warned me off.” She reached into his boxers and took hold of his cock. “And I think I would like it.”
He hissed. “That would be wrong and selfish and--”
“Stas was wrong and selfish, but he made me crave giving myself to someone completely. Now I want to give myself to you, because I know you love me unselfishly, and that whatever I give you, you’ll always give back to me.”
She dropped down to her knees and licked up the length of his erection. “Like this. I can give this to you, and you can give it back to me.” She sucked him into her mouth, licking and drawing on him, inexpert but exquisite nonetheless.
His balls tightened, and he wanted to lace his hands into her hair and drive deep into her throat. He fisted his hands instead.
She pulled back and licked her lips, gazing up at him with determination. “Show me what you want.”
“You’re sure?”
“Not just sure. I’m going crazy with wanting you, with knowing I can have this thing I craved without destroying myself. Won’t you give it to me?”
Could it really be this simple? Could he give in to this hunger and keep her, protect her the way he craved?
She took him in her fist, moved up and down his length and teased his tip with her tongue.
“Push me away,” he said.
“What?”
“Show me you’re strong enough to push me away if I get out of control.”
She turned up her palm and blew her vila’s breath over it, a bit of flourish he knew perfectly well was unnecessary, even if it was really cute. The gentle blast hit him and caused him to stumble backward.
“Harder.”
The second time, she only narrowed her eyes at him and the gust knocked him onto his ass. She was so strong, fierce, and gorgeous, her dark hair loose on her alabaster shoulders.
“Good girl,” he said, and then he pounced on her, pinning her arms over her head, yanking her nightie up over her waist. He dove his fingers into her sex and, God, she was wet, as turned on by her little game as he’d been.
Only, when his gaze fixed on that scar, the dark hunger promised it wasn’t a game.
Anya was offering him her very soul and life, trusting they could find their deepest pleasure together.
Writhing against his fingers, she turned her head to stare at the same scar. “When Stas kissed me there, it turned me on, and I hated it, I was so ashamed. But what you make me feel--it doesn’t shame me.”
He grazed his thumb over her clit, feeling her begin to flutter inside.
“Come inside me. Make love to me and kiss me here. Take what you want.”
“I don’t even know how.” But he had all those pictures Demyan had put into his mind and plenty of raw instinct to guide him.
“I trust you’ll figure it out.”
With his jeans still around his thighs, he thrust into her.
She gasped, squeezing him.
He lowered his mouth to her arm and traced the scar with his tongue.
“Oh!” She clenched around his cock.
He locked his mouth onto her soft flesh and drew gently. A rush of heat poured into him, and she clenched again.
“Harder, Sergey.”
He wasn’t sure what she wanted harder, so he gave her both, filling her body, drawing more firmly on her arm. He burned with a blistering heat that blurred the boundary between them. She spurred him on with her heels, her murmurs, her cries.
He pounded into her with more force than he ever would have dared if he were thinking straight, hard like he’d imagined a faceless Demyan using her against a wall. But he was the one riding her, and her every sound and movement assured him she liked it.
“I’m drowning in you, and it feels so good,” she said.
And then she turned into a liquid vise around him, hot and soft and squeezing so tight. He came, pouring himself back into her, wanting to give her everything he’d taken from her and more.
Epilogue
Sergey leaned against the brick wall of the building and took a swig from his bottle of wheatgrass juice as he waited for his brother-in-law to arrive.
Across the street, the young dancer’s class was winding down inside Oksana’s Académie de Ballet.
Holding on to the bar, one arm overhead, Anya bent both knees and lowered herself into a plié. The little girls copied the movements. Sergey couldn’t take his eyes off her belly, growing so round over her tutu. She was impossibly graceful, even pregnant. The sight filled him with joy, although they weren’t quite sure what to expect from a half-vila, quarter-zmora baby.
Dmitri strolled up, his suit uncharacteristically rumpled. He brought a cigarette to his lips.
“Thought you gave those up,” Sergey said, still watching his wife.
“Did. Started again. I’ve got a little problem weighing on me and found myself buying a pack without thinking.”
Sergey understood that compulsion very well. The only appetite he gave in to was the one for Anya, and it was never fully satisfied.
“What’s the problem?”
“Remember a while back, when I accidentally shot that woman?”
Sergey’s memories of that day were sharp. Dmitri shaking, vomiting, despairing. The girl had jumped in front of her scumbag boyfriend and taken a bullet for him. Her death had sent Lisko in to an epic bender that had nearly killed him, until Sonya had appeared.
“I remember.”
“Katya was her name. I guess it serves me right she’s come back as some sort of ghost, and she’s haunting the apartment building where she died, telling everybody Dmitri Lisko shot her.”
Once upon a time, Sergey would have laughed off such an absurd story. Not anymore.
“That can’t be good for business.” Since Gregor died, Dmitri had been working tirelessly to turn Lisko Enterprises into a legitimate company--no more shady deals, bribery, or violence.
Dmitri ground the butt of his cigarette into the sidewalk and lit up another. He stared into the window of the ballet studio. “I don’t know what the hell to do. If it weren’t for Sonya, I’d take a plea, serve some time.”
“But she doesn’t want you to?” Sergey asked.
As he exhaled, Dmitri lifted the corners of his mouth in the hint of a smile. “Nope. She wants to try to help the ghost instead. That’s why I need you.”
“Ah.” Sergey took another sip of his juice. He didn’t mind the idea of helping out a ghost. It went well with his determination to believe justice would prevail, as it had for Sonya and Anya.
At the door to the studio, parents retrieved the little girls from dance class. When the last had filed out, Anya waddled across Pidzemnyy Street--not quite as graceful as when she danced, but damn cute anyway. When she arrived
at the curb, she blew a lock of hair off her forehead.
“Gained some weight, harpy?” Dmitri asked.
“Don’t be jealous Sergey has proven himself more virile than you, Dima. I’m sure it’s the wheatgrass. And put out that cigarette. It’s bad for the baby.”
To Sergey’s shock, the ex-boxer obeyed, snuffing it with the toe of his boot.
Sergey grinned. The pair had developed quite a rapport, and he enjoyed their entertaining banter; genuine affection lay beneath it. He was almost as sure that Sonya wanted to finish fashion school before becoming a mother, but he didn’t pry into his sister-in-law’s birth-control habits.
He drained the last dregs of his juice and held the bottle up for Dmitri. “It is very healthy. I recommend it.”
Dmitri showed him his middle finger.
Sergey tucked Anya to his side and kissed the top of her head, his hand automatically curving around her growing belly. Maybe it was the demon in him, but he’d grown insanely protective of her. “Dmitri is asking me to help out another ghost.”
She glanced at her brother-in-law and back to Sergey. “Will it be dangerous?”
“Asks the cyclone starter,” Dmitri scoffed, shaking his head. “No. As far as I know, she’s a simple poltergeist without any evil demons lurking in her past.”
His phone rang and he glanced at the screen. “It’s Sonya. Gimme a second.” He strolled down the block.
Anya tried to free herself, and Sergey resisted for a moment before loosening his hold. She stood face-to-face with him. “You want to help him?”
“Yeah. I think I do.”
She smiled and rubbed her hands together. “Good. Sounds fun. Let’s get started.”
Panic squeezed his ribs and choked his heart. “No. You can’t help. You’re pregnant.”
She blasted him with a cool breeze right in the sternum, and he stumbled into the wall. “You don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Sergey Yuchenko.”
He inhaled through his nose, trying to calm his protective, possessive instincts. “Okay. You’re right. Sorry.”
“Good. Now that we’ve gotten that sorted out…” She took a step and rose up on her toes to kiss him, her round belly pressing him into the wall.
The Siren's Dance Page 21
