Frank Kurns Boxed Set

by Natalie Grey

  The scene the images depicted had been getting clearer as Bellatrix got older. Somehow the little black fuzz-ball was communicating with her. This latest image almost made her laugh. Bellatrix was the size of a mouse and the books in front of her took on the proportions of a mountain range.

  She turned to call back down the hallway, “What happened to my fierce Trix? You can do this!” By now, she was almost used to the flashes of what felt like Bellatrix talking to her.

  She hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else. It should be impossible. She probably just had a sense of the puppy’s emotions, she decided.

  That would be normal enough, right?

  Then she opened the door, and forgot all about the puppy.

  Her mouth dropped open, “Ciprian?”

  He stood outside the door, tight-lipped, in his elegant wool coat and plaid scarf. He still had his work shoes on, black leather, and his suit. He had taken the overnight train, it seemed, and he did not look pleased.

  The sight of him hit her in the gut, and a wave of anger followed right after it. She wanted to slam the door in his face and lock it.

  How dare he come here? Her voice dropped, “What are you doing here?”

  “Let me in.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He shouldered her aside and she fell back, rubbing at her arm where he’d pushed her out of the way.

  “What are you doing here?” She didn’t like the look in his eyes. “You should go.”

  “I will.” He rounded on her, his hand holding paper. “With you. I got us tickets back to the city.” He held them up as if they were a legal document.

  She slowly backed up and stopped when she ran into the door. “I’m not going back.”

  He walked next to her and slammed one hand against the wall. “You are! Stop this nonsense at once, Yelena. You are coming home!” His breathing was heavy, his frustration came broiling to the surface.

  “I’m not.” She wanted to roll her eyes at his childish banging around. What, did he really think he was going to intimidate her? “And that place isn’t home.” She turned around and pulled the door open. “This is, now.” She pointed outside, “You should go.”

  He spun her around, his touch sudden and unexpected, and pulled her close for a kiss.

  Normally, his kisses melted her. She would forget why she had been mad—it was another woman, it was always another woman—and she would forgive him everything.

  He would smile and say it was so much better when she was happy, wasn’t it? And the fight would be over.

  Now she felt a physical revulsion. Her hands were at his chest, pushing him away. She shoved, hard, his surprise evident as he watched her wipe her mouth with the back of her hand.

  She wanted to spit out the taste of him.

  Her eyes furious, she said low and slow, her anger barely held in, “I… said… go!”

  He stared at her in shock. “What did you just say?”

  “Go.” She flung her arm out to point at the still open door. “Is that too complicated for you? I told you ... we broke up! Why is that so difficult to understand? Aren’t you a full blown lawyer that can figure out the vagaries of documents and rules hundreds of years old? What is so difficult about we are finished that you can’t understand it?”

  “Yelena.” His voice was soft now, but something about it scared her. If she were a dog, her hackles would have gone up.

  She hadn’t ever heard him use that tone before, but she knew it instinctively. He stepped toward her, and it took everything she had to stand her ground. “We’re going home.”

  She said nothing. This was a side of him she’d never seen before. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it.

  “Yelena….” He was losing patience.

  And then she was furious. That motherfucker!

  “I’m not going.” She stood up straight. “I’m. Not. Going. You leave. We’re done. Go downstairs from your apartment and beat on 2G or go to a club and have them all rub up against you all night, I really don’t give a shit anymore.”

  He hit her.

  He moved so fast she never saw it coming, his boxing training giving weight to that single hit. His hand cracked across her face and she slumped against the wall as she went down. On her hands and knees, fingers tracing over her cheek in shock.

  Had that asshole actually hit her?

  “Get up.” His voice was ugly, his hands clenching and unclenching. “We’re going.”

  She didn’t think, she just reacted. Fury hot in her veins.

  Like hell he was going to get away with this. She launched herself at his knees and took him down, sprawling in the corridor that was now full of cold winter air. She scrambled up and ran for the door, hearing him yell behind her.

  He was raging.

  She ran out into the sunshine with him behind her and he grabbed at her, missed—and finally caught her hair. He dragged her back and she swung at him, a punch that went wild and hit his shoulder.

  She pulled her arm back and hit him again, in the jaw this time.

  He was angry? Well, so was she. She was fucking furious. If he wanted a fight, that was what he would get.

  But as strong as she was, as angry as she was, he was better. He knew how to fight and she didn’t. His punch, his first actual punch, knocked her down onto the gravel. There was a ringing in her head as he came to stand over her.

  “Get. Up.” He spat the words.

  The books were tall, but she was going to get over them. Bellatrix scrabbled for purchase on the covers and tried to push herself off the ground with her back feet. Her little bottle brush tail was wagging in anticipation. When Yelena came back, Bellatrix would be on top of the books and Yelena would be so happy.

  Bellatrix was absolutely going to make Yelena happy.

  She yipped to herself as she tried jumping, and shook herself off when she bounced off the edge of the books and fell on the floor. She rolled on her back for a moment, savoring the feel of the carpet under her back, and then scrambled up.

  She was going to do it this time. She wasn’t quite sure why Yelena wanted her to stand on the books, but she was going to do it.

  Then she heard the scream—and felt the pain. Bellatrix froze, looking over her shoulder. Yelena was hurt.

  Yelena was hurt. Bellatrix set off, tiny feet marching determinedly over the carpet. There was new, cold air blowing down the corridor and her fur puffed up, but she could hear Yelena—angry, scared.

  No one got to hurt Yelena. A growl burst from Bellatrix’s throat. She bared her teeth as she scrambled over the floor, little feet scrapping down as she tore down the hallway.

  There! Two figures, Yelena and a man. The man swung his arm and Yelena went down. Then she lunged at him and tipped him over, got up and ran.

  Bellatrix ran, too. She had to get to her mistress. She had to protect her.

  The man never saw Bellatrix coming after him. He picked himself up and ran, too. Bellatrix left the house and jumped off the step to the lawn.

  The man and Yelena grappled in the sunlight as Bellatrix tried to make her tiny legs move faster, faster. There was pain again—Yelena was on the ground. The man reached down and grabbed her shoulder—

  And howled as Bellatrix’s tiny teeth sank into the back of his ankle. He twisted, trying to see what caused the pain, and kicked his foot. Bellatrix hung on grimly, but when his heel hit her in the stomach, she flew away from him and landed on the frozen ground with a yip.

  “YOU LEAVE HER ALONE!” The yell burst out of Yelena, and in that moment, nothing mattered but Bellatrix.

  Not her jaw, not the ache in her shoulder where she’d slammed into the ground, not how angry Ciprian was. This bastard just hurt Bellatrix, and Yelena was going to kill him.

  She was on her feet in a second. As Ciprian made for the prone figure of the puppy, Yelena grabbed his shoulder and yanked it back hard.

  This time, her punch was dead on with all of the fury and fear in her heart. Her fist caught him in the nose and he doub
led over, blood spurting between his cupped hands.

  He gave a sound halfway between a moan and a wail as the blood flowed, getting both hands bloody.

  She laughed at his display. He was pitiful.

  She’d been scared of this man? God, she should be giving herself twice as much shit for her stupid decisions.

  The second she’d really hurt him, he was crumpling like a paper doll. She couldn’t believe she’d ever been glad to be with him, an asshole that hurt her dog!

  That righteously pissed her off all over again and before she even considered her actions, her arm was already poised…

  She hit him again, and once more for fucking good measure, “Asshole!” she spat out, “Kick a dog, will you? Kick my dog will you? I’ll kick your ass back to your apartment if you ever do that again.”

  His blood was on the snow and she didn’t care. He wanted to hurt someone he thought couldn’t fight back?

  His ass would be lucky to get out of this alive.

  She thought about how he had come into her home and slapped her. She hit him once more and he fell to the ground. She wound up, about to kick him in the side when she thought of whether Bellatrix needed her.

  Hurrying, she scooped the puppy up off the ground cuddling her close to her face. “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.” Bellatrix licked her nose and struggled to her feet in Yelena’s hands. She was wagging her tail proudly.

  “You have … blood on your teeth,” Yelena told her.

  Bellatrix only wagged harder, baring her teeth proudly. She stood up on her hind legs, unsteadily, to lick Yelena’s face.

  “Ew! Blood breath!”

  Bellatrix chuffed. It sounded like she was laughing.

  “Yelena!” There was the pounding of feet and Alec skidded to a stop by the house, Dmitri at his heels. “What happened?”

  Yelena looked over to where Ciprian was still moaning, his leather-gloved hands over his face. “He tried to get me to come back.”

  “Oh, my God.” Alec reached out to her face, his hands shaking. “Did he….”

  “Yeah. But we got him.” Yelena held Bellatrix close. “Didn’t we, Trix?”

  The puppy yipped.

  “I’d say you did.” Dmitri looked Ciprian up and down, clearly unimpressed by everything about him.

  He grabbed Ciprian’s arm. “Come on, now. The police are going to want a word with you. And in the event that they don’t, you can talk to me and Alec.” He guffawed. “Or you can have another conversation with Yelena, see how you like that.”

  He made to drag Ciprian away.

  “Wait.” Ciprian’s voice was muffled. He stood up. Blood was streaming over his mouth and chin. He glared at Yelena. “You’re ruining your life,” he spat. “You’re going to wind up with a lumberjack, a miner. You can’t do better than me.”

  The last shreds of fear bled away and Yelena shrugged. She cuddled Bellatrix close, and she smiled. “I think I’m gonna be okay. In fact, I’m gonna be just fine.” She turned away without even waiting for a response, and tickled Bellatrix’s stomach. “Come on, Trix. We’re going to teach you how to jump, and I’m going to learn how to box.”

  Chapter 4

  2 Years Later …

  “I’m fucking cold,” Cezar complained.

  Emilian lifted one lip in a silent snarl and savored the scent of fear as Cezar’s voice trailed away. It was always something with Cezar. If he wasn’t cold, he was hungry. If he wasn’t hungry, the job was too dirty, or too undignified, or whatever excuse he came up with.

  Cezar was always afraid, that was the truth. He never admitted it, he just stank of fear.

  All the time.

  And he was cruel. Always taking things too far. He never stopped a fight when his opponent was down (he never started a fight, either, just snuck in once someone else was fighting). He liked to kick people, keep hurting them once they were out cold. And the humans who trafficked girls through Europe wouldn’t keep working with Emilian’s crew if the cargo kept showing up damaged.

  Emilian should get rid of Cezar, he knew that.

  He’d have to do it permanently, though. Cezar knew too much of Emilian’s operations, and he was just slippery enough to make a deal with the police if Emilian kicked him out and left him alive. Hell, he might even convince one or two of them that Werewolves and vampires were real.

  So Emilian wouldn’t leave him alive.

  Simple.

  And with the money from this job, they’d have enough to start making some real strides toward power.

  There was a power vacuum in the underworld, left by goody-goodies and cowards who’d decided to clear everything out. They didn’t understand the world, but they were about to.

  Emilian had known some of the people killed by Stephen. He didn’t regret that those people were gone—he wouldn’t be anywhere near so close to taking their place at the head of the European underworld if they were alive—but he was looking forward to making a big show of avenging their deaths.

  This new matriarch was weak.

  At least Michael had had a code and implemented it in a way Emilian understood, strength rules.

  It didn’t matter. If she was weak, that was just better for him.

  It was time for the Wechselbalg to take their rightful place in the world. Emilian’s wolf-eyes narrowed in satisfaction. He was getting paid to help humans thin their own numbers. He might not enjoy other people’s pain as much as Cezar did, but he liked it enough to take joy in this.

  The radio crackled, and a voice spoke softly: “He just started down the hill.”

  Emilian smiled.

  His claws came out.

  Theodor Dimitru leapt off the ski lift and landed with a puff of pure white snow under his skis. He surveyed the valley below, savoring the silence. With the Christmas holidays over, he was one of the only people at the resort, and he liked that.

  He had even asked his wife not to come with him on this trip. He knew that hurt her, especially as he had been working such long hours while his firm tried to acquire Ionescu Corporation, their main rival.

  But, the truth was, he didn’t want her to see his weakness. He was badly shaken by the threats made by a man who had once been a friend—and was now a business rival. Theo had been finding messages on his work line, his cell phone, his email.

  The messages were graphic.

  If Theodor didn’t abandon his quest to buy Ionescu Corp, a business Virgil also wanted, Virgil would have him killed. Unpleasantly. “Ripped to shreds” was the term Virgil had used.

  It brought to mind claws and teeth, a sort of primal fear—even though Theo knew it couldn’t possibly be literal.

  He walked awkwardly in his skies to the edge of the mountain and stared down at the pristine white slope. Then he tipped forward and began to pick up speed along the first, straight piece of the path. He told himself he did not believe the threats. That was even true. He could not believe that Virgil would take a hit out on him, not over a business disagreement.

  Virgil had been at his wedding! Their grandparents lived in the same neighborhood and still met each week for tea.

  The calls rattled him, nonetheless. He had come here to regain the stability and calm he was known for. To regain his resolve. When he was pitting himself against nature, he remembered what it meant to be powerful. On mountains, as in business, there was no room for mistakes. Theo always came back from these trips refreshed and sharp, no matter what was troubling him.

  He told himself it would work this time, too.

  It was a little ways down the hill, coming around a tight turn, that he first saw the man behind him. The hair on the back of Theo’s neck stood up. He only just managed to stay on the course as he returned his eyes to the snow in front of him.

  Someone behind him. Had Virgil sent an assassin, after all?

  It wasn’t possible, he told himself. But the man was coming closer. He was dressed all in old, worn black gear. Most of the people who came here were wealthy, but
this man clearly was not.

  He had a simple mastery of skiing, moving lightly down the course that tested all of Theo’s skill.

  Theo gave a despairing look through the trees. They were not far from the resort, the way the crow flies, but this black diamond course had been designed to be both difficult and long. It wound back and forth many times between where Theo was, and the bottom of the slope.

  Fear began to hammer in his chest. He wanted to call for help, but he knew the wind would just take the sound. He really was alone on the course, just like he had wanted. He spared a thought for Mariana, his wife, who would be waiting at home for a call. He had been very short with her the last time they talked.

  Dammit, he regretted that now.

  He tried to focus on the tight turns of the path, but he was getting sloppy. Every time he looked behind him, the man was closer. Every time he looked back, he was a split second from catastrophe. He was still picking up speed. He could not afford to make a single mistake.

  He had to be faster than he had ever been. More controlled than he had ever been.

  And then he came around a bend, and there was the branch. It was laid out on the crisp snow in front of him, not at all touched by last night’s snowfall. Theo swerved to try to avoid it.

  Had it been left here as a prank? Or was it this man’s colleagues, hoping to lure Theo into a trap so they could kill him on the mountain with no one the wiser?

  He tried desperately to correct his course, but his speed was too much. One ankle twisted, he felt the agony as a bone snapped, and then he was tumbling end over end in the snow, branches whipping at his face, sliding downhill with the chill of snow shoved up beneath his coat.

  He came to rest deep in the trees. He tried not to sob with pain or fear, but it was difficult to control himself.

  He did not hear his pursuer come around the corner, but he did hear a startled shout as the man encountered the branch.

  What?

  Wasn’t it part of his plan?

  Theo tried to crane his head to see, and caught sight of a black-clad figure tumbling down the slope. And then….