by Anne Schlea
“I hope so.” He leans on the back of the chair, his head drops to his chest, his hands digging into the thick fabric. Closing his eyes, he stretches, then pushes away to get another drink. “God, I hope so.”
Chicago, 1921
Kristoff can see her from across the room. He straightens his jacket, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the bar. The wool suit, dark gray plaid, is heavy. Jacket, vest, white shirt with collar, tie, and matching pants keep him too warm against the early spring chill. The Boater’s Hat helps him to blend in with the dozens of other patrons in the illegal bar. At least he looks good, despite his irritation.
She smiles at his approach and turns in her seat to get the attention of the bartender. By the time Kristoff arrives at her side, she has two new glasses of whiskey waiting.
Wanting to be cross at her for choosing such a difficult meeting place, Kristoff glowers, but the irritation only lasts a minute. She makes a beautiful distraction; her white skirt ends just below her knees – scandalous – with lace and ribbons. Stockinged feet are hidden by high heeled shoes, the bodice to her dress is fitted and sleeveless save a three-inch piece of lace that covers the very tops of her arms. A belt of darker material is wrapped around her middle, strands of pearls hang from her neck, and her bobbed blond hair is covered by a tight-fitting hat with a large feather plume.
In short, Runa looks beautiful and perfect for Prohibition Chicago.
Before Kristoff can speak or lean in to kiss her like he would like to, a man steps between them. He’s shorter than Kristoff, less than six feet tall, and wearing a blue suit with fedora, his face marked by a scar. He touches Runa’s elbow lightly. “This man bothering you?”
“No, sweetie, he’s a friend of mine from the Old World.” Runa bats her eyes at the man and then leans over to kiss him on the cheek. “But I do appreciate you looking out for me. Al, meet Kristoff. He’s here on business.”
Al, apparently the bouncer for the establishment, casts a figurative glance at Kristoff. Dangerous as Al may be to a human, Kristoff isn’t the least bit concerned. “What kind of business?”
“The kind I worked out with the boss before I got here.” Kristoff smiles, keeping his voice calm and non-aggressive. He won’t be in town long, there’s no need to upset the natives. “I’m not a cop, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Narrowing his eyes, Al looks Kristoff over and then takes a step back. He nods once, the kisses Runa on the cheek before he disappears back into the crowd.
“He’s calling the boss to check you out.” Runa takes a drink from her glass, her eyes laughing at him over the rim. “I hope you didn’t make that up.”
“I didn’t.” Kristoff slides up to the bar next to her and takes a drink of the moonshine whiskey sitting on the counter in front of him. He grimaces. It tastes like what he imagines turpentine must taste like. With effort, he swallows the swill and feels it burn its way down his throat. “I had to have some cover story to tell Damian before he’d give me leave to enter Dinah’s territory. I’ll be taking several cases of this mash back with me to Russia. Why aren’t you hiding your accent?”
“Being foreign gets you places around here.” She looks him up and down, running her hand along his chest while she does it. She leans in and kisses him quickly on the mouth. “It’ll get you places, too.”
Kristoff murmurs a non-committal response and swirls the contents of his glass. It’s terrible stuff. “Tell me why we’re here?”
“This place has the best whiskey in the city.” Runa swallows another sip from her glass. Feigning some level of intoxication, he knows she isn’t feeling, she then leans closer into his body and giggles.
“If you wanted good whiskey, I could think of far better places to meet.” He keeps his voice low and glances around the speakeasy, wishing they were back in his territory. There might be a civil war in Russia right now, but at least no one had gone crazy enough to outlaw liquor. Honestly, what are the Americans thinking?
Runa waves her hand in the air, dismissing his concern. Looking at him from under her eyelashes, she sighs dramatically. “At least these people know how to have a good time. Can’t you feel the energy, the excitement? Truly, the last time I was in Russia, you were all too dour.”
With a smile and a sigh, he looks around the establishment. Fun was certainly being had by all, at least until the local police come, or possibly a rival bootlegger. If excitement is what Runa is looking for, she couldn’t have picked a better place in the world.
The Four Deuces is notorious, a speakeasy, a gambling hall, and brothel on the top floor. It’s the kind of place Damian, in all his white-clad goodness, warned Kristoff to avoid. And, of course, it’s exactly the kind of place Runa is drawn to.
“You understand there’s a brothel upstairs.” He whispers in her ear, not wanting the bartender or Mr. Al to get the wrong idea
“And a gambling hall.” She looks at him with mock reproach. “Please tell me you aren’t thinking of wandering up there for company! I should think, after I waited when you were late!”
“You know better than that.” Kristoff drains the glass of undrinkable whiskey and hands the bartender several rolled bills. It should be enough to take care of the tab. He then holds his arm out to Runa. “If the lady doesn’t mind, we should retire to my hotel where I have much better refreshments waiting. I might have even managed a bottle of French Champagne if you behave nicely.”
Runa’s lips curl up in a smile. She, too, finishes her drink and then allows Kristoff to slide her arm through his. “By all means, let’s go.”
Chapter 4
Kritsoff settles into an uneasy consistency of days. He rises early to handle his business assets back in Russia. He controls large properties and businesses and keeps the maji territories private and running. After that, lunch, then a meeting with Zartan – either in person or over the phone depending on where Zartan happens to be working. One of Runa’s sisters, usually Britta, comes daily to check on her early in the afternoon. If it’s Britta, she’ll stay and visit with Dinah for an hour before heading out again. Dinah, too, had become an ever-present fixture in the suite, sitting with Runa while reading an endless list of books. Then for Kristoff, the late afternoon means a tour of the hotel and assurance it’s running well.
Dinner, if he eats at all, is late. After dinner, he’ll take over for Dinah, usually reading in the chair next to Runa’s bed until his body forces him to sleep. He then sleeps a few hours in the chair, his gun on the nightstand beside him, ready to wake at a moment’s notice.
After the fourth day of this, Dinah knocks gently on Kristoff’s office door in the middle of the morning. “She’s awake and she’s asking for you.”
All work immediately forgotten, Kristoff drops his pen on the desk and brushes past Dinah. Laptop left open and cell phone next to it on the desk, he doesn’t even bother saving the file he’s working on. His only thought is to get to Runa.
In four days, Runa had barely moved in her coma-like sleep. Now she lay almost as he’d left her, in his bed with her head resting on a pillow, the covers tucked around her. He wonders in a frantic moment if she can move at all or if her body is still too badly damaged. She’s turned her head to look toward the window and the sunshine that comes through it.
“You’re awake.” He stops in the doorway, his hand gripping the doorjamb to keep himself upright. She still looks fragile to his eyes.
“And famished.” Her head turns slowly to look at him, her eyes still tired. There’s no color in her pale cheeks, her hair is limp and needs to be properly washed. The beautiful, vibrant valkyrie he’s used to is barely a shell of what he knows her to be. “Ugh, how long have I been here?”
“Four days.” Kristoff wants to come closer, to touch her, to feel her skin beneath his hands, but his grip on the door keeps him from taking a step. She’s probably not ready yet. He doesn’t want to scare her. Scare Runa? How much of the world has changed so quickly? “Do you remembe
r any of it?”
“Not at all.” Runa moves her hands like she means to slide upward in the bed, closes her eyes, and changes her mind. “One minute I’m standing in the hallway, fighting all around me, looking for Aiden, and then I’m here.”
She’s keeping her voice light and jovial, but Kristoff can hear the hitch under her words. There’s something she remembers that she’s trying to keep secret from him. To be expected. He moves forward to help her sit up in bed. When he gently grabs her elbow, she pulls quickly away from him with a quick intake of breath and then she laughs a strained laugh.
“Sorry.” Runa takes his hand and urges him to help her by gripping his with as much strength as he suspects she can. “Valkyrie here. We have a hard time accepting help.”
Kristoff doubts very much her valkyrie nature is the reason she pulled away but doesn’t mention his thoughts. Once she’s sitting upright, pillows piled behind her, she closes her eyes for a moment like she’s letting nausea pass. Still, no color returns to her cheeks, making him wonder how long it’s been since she ate anything more than the broth Dinah had gotten her to swallow over the last few days.
“What the hell happened to me?” She seems to need to catch her breath, her hand gripping the sheets. A light sheen of sweat appears on her forehead. “I feel like a baby here; I can barely sit up without help.”
“They built a machine that can drain your energy and keep you complacent.” He picks his words carefully and draws his body back, away from hers and the bed. The space seems to help Runa relax against the pillow. Carefully, he pushes down the rage he feels and keeps it locked away. He hates how fearful she is of having him near; it renews his urge to rip out the throat of the doctor who got away. “You were unconscious when we found you.”
“I feel like a human.” Making a derisive sound, she looks around the room, gaining some strength. “And hungry. I already said that. Can I get some food?”
A small bit of relief floods through Kristoff. It’s the first normal thing Runa’s said. He can always count on his girl for a good meal. Some of the tension leaves his body; there’s hope. If we can get through the fear, things can be normal again. “Let’s start with tea to make sure your human-feeling body will keep it down. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Can you send Dinah back in, please?” Her request is quick, spoken with enough force to let Kristoff know there’s fear behind it. The alpha male urge to protect surges forward again. He pushes it down, forcing himself to stay calm despite his thoughts. He doesn’t remember the last time Runa was afraid. Maybe never.
“Sure.” He turns back to look at her and smiles. In his mind he forces his body to relax. “You’re safe here. Zartan has men outside, I have my own men in the building, Dinah has stayed with you every day since we found you. Nothing will hurt you here.”
Runa meets his eyes, her hands bunched up in the blankets. After a minute, she nods, her mouth drawn tight. “Thank you.”
As Kristoff closes the door behind him, he realizes she never asked about her sisters.
After Runa is able to keep down a cup of gentle chamomile tea Kristoff pours from a porcelain teapot, he agrees to send for some broth-based soup from the kitchen. He’s still doubtful when it arrives, but he obligingly brings her chicken broth with rice and warm, crusty bread. She’s hopeful it will appease her appetite, but she only eats a few bites before she grimaces and pushes the bowl away with a shake of her head.
“It makes my stomach cramp.” She takes the cup of tea in both hands instead. She leans back on her pillows and sips the tea.
“You haven’t eaten anything since before the raid on the Blood Club, Runa.” Kristoff gently reminds her. He sets the “in-bed” service table on the dresser and returns to his seat next to her. He should probably take it out of the room, but he’s unwilling to leave her alone even for a moment. “Your stomach’s probably going to be a bit tender for a few days.”
“Valkyrie don’t have tender stomachs.” She makes a face, then gives him a begrudging smile. “Not normally, anyway.”
“Britta said you might be like this for a few weeks until you can build up your reserve power.” Kristoff has no idea how long they’ve been in the bedroom, mostly sitting in silence while Runa drinks her tea. Yet, he has no interest to hurry himself to other tasks, either. He feels perfectly content to sit still and wait with her. Whatever business needs to be done can be addressed later. “Don’t rush.”
“You talked to my sisters?” The light frivolity that Runa uses as a mask for life slips. There’s no mistaking the coldness in her voice. She doesn’t want to see her sisters; he files that information away for later. “When?”
“They came looking for you a week or so after the raid.” Kristoff understands why Runa had wanted to keep their relationship a secret – valkyrie are strictly forbidden from having long term relationships – he doesn’t understand her coldness toward her sisters. While, as a male, he doesn’t gossip or spend time doing his nails with his brothers and sisters, they’re cordial to each other. Even happy to see each other after long periods of time apart.
Not Runa. Any time her sisters are brought into conversation, or worse, if they show up, she shuts down. Runa would become the cold, distant woman the valkyrie are known to be. He’s grateful their interactions are limited. Her race stays to themselves, usually operating alone or holed up in their secret Valhalla compound. His, a more family dominated race, is generally welcoming and underfoot a lot more than hers.
“What did you tell them?” She moves on the bed, uncomfortable.
“Very little they didn’t already know.” Kristoff fights the urge to be resentful. After all, had Runa just stood up for herself in the first place and told them that they were together, then it’s possible he could have found her sooner. It would have at least solved the issue of whether he’d kidnapped her. “As soon as they arrived, they smelled you on me. Once we determined I hadn’t been the one to kill or kidnap you, they helped to locate you.”
“But not break me out.” Her voice barely wavers with a hint of betrayal. She knows they won’t assist her, but she’d hoped they would. It isn’t in their nature to help weaker beings; it’s their nature to dominate.
“No.” Britta had been specific in her instructions to Kristoff. Runa can’t know that she’d been there helping. It, also, went against some kind of valkyrie code.
“Of course not.” She sets her teacup aside, breathing in deeply through her nose. “I got myself into trouble, it’s up to me to get myself out. That’s the warrior code of the valkyrie.”
“That has to be one of the dumbest codes I’ve ever heard of.” Kristoff pulls his chair close to the bed. He wants to take her hand in his, but he knows she won’t welcome it. Maybe in time, but right now it’s too soon. “Had we, the vampires who are your friends, not gone in to get you, I don’t think you would have ever gotten out. You were unconscious.”
“I wasn’t fast enough, or strong enough, to stop them from taking me in the first place.” She crosses her arms over her chest, the edge of stubbornness creeping into her voice. She levels her gaze at him, the silver swirling. “I never should have been taken.”
“Then how did they catch you?” He mirrors her body language by crossing his own arms. Their battle of wills is more fun when it isn’t about her life or potential death. “What tactical error did you make that opened yourself up? What, exactly, happened in that battle that resulted in you becoming a nosferatu prisoner?”
Runa opens her mouth to respond and pauses. She closes it again, her face an image of confusion. Reaching up, she tucks her blond hair behind her ear and lets out a frustrated breath.
“Exactly.” Kristoff stands and grabs the tray of uneaten soup, intent on taking it out of the room. He doesn’t bother to hide the triumph from his voice, she’s wrong, she did nothing wrong. “In my lands, we have a different code, nosh. Never leave a wounded soldier behind.”
He closes the door behind him before she can r
espond. With measured care, he walks to the dining table to set down the tray. Dinah, sitting quietly on the sofa reading a book, looks up at him with a puzzled expression.
They’d reached an unspoken agreement the first day of Runa’s return. Knowing that she wouldn’t want a male tending to her, Dinah stayed to help. When she needed to, she slept in the extra bedroom, and left only for short periods of time to shower and change her clothes at her own place. Where that place was, Kristoff doesn’t know. His focus had been so squarely on Runa that he hadn’t thought to ask. Nor had he been aware of the passage of time while Dinah is gone. Every moment is focused on Runa’s recovery.
“Is everything okay?” Dinah carefully marks her spot and lays the book down on the end table. From across the room, he can see it’s an old Italian text with a gilded cover and delicate pages. It looks out of place among the modern décor of his suite.
“No. It’s not okay.” Kristoff paces away from the table, his blood boiling. He needs to find a way to work off his aggression, and soon. Being locked up in this hotel for days on end hasn’t done well for him. “She thinks it’s her fault. Her damn valkyrie code tells her that if she can’t get out of it on her own, then she deserves whatever happens to her.”
“They’re solitary warriors, Kristoff.” She stands and stretches, her modest sweater rising up enough to give Kristoff a glimpse of her flat stomach. Kristoff adverts his eyes, feeling like he’d just accidentally seen a nun changing clothes. “I’ll go sit with her for a while. She probably will want a bath and to wash her hair. I’ll take care of her.”
Kristoff watches Dinah disappear through the bedroom door and close it again quietly behind herself. It’s a crippling feeling, not being able to do anything to help. Even worse, he’s afraid being near her will only make things worse. He can’t begin to imagine what she’s feeling right now.
