by Amy Sumida
“I hope it's good for parents too.”
We pulled up before an adobe-brown building, several stories tall. The bottom floor had blue awnings over the windows and a covered entrance with stairs. The word “restaurant” in block letters hung above the awnings on the left and the word “pectopah” on the right. Russia was good about having English translations everywhere.
“I thought you said the place was called Severyanin?” I asked Kirill after he'd paid the driver and we were climbing out of the cab.
“It is.” He frowned and started to jostle Lesya awake.
I looked pointedly at the sign that said “pectopah.”
Kirill chuckled. “Zat means 'restaurant' in Russian, Vervain.”
“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Lesya, wake up. You're just in time to witness your mother being an ass.”
Kirill chuckled more as our daughter lifted her head, blinked her sleepy eyes, yawned, then curled back onto her father's shoulder. We went into the pectopah and Lesya perked up. Not just because it smelled wonderful but because it was an odd-looking place.
“Where are we?” Lesya mumbled.
“We're getting dinner,” I said to her as her father spoke to the host in Russian.
“Are we at someone's house?”
“No, honey, this is a restaurant.”
It did indeed look like someone's home. Or, rather, like someone's rich, grandmother's home. Wallpaper in a dizzying design of deep green, muted yellow, and black covered the spaces that weren't taken up by framed black and white photographs and paintings of flowers. Floor lamps cast circles of light in addition to the soft overheads, their shades hung with tassels. Decorative plates, displayed on easels, stood on a mantel, and there was even a piano. Oh, and lots of doilies. The host led us to a linen-covered, round table with hand-carved chairs upholstered in chintz.
This was supposed to be a place good for children?
Kirill got Lesya settled in her own chair before taking a seat. The host handed us menus—thankfully with English translations beneath the Russian words—then said something that sounded sweet to Lesya as he patted her shoulder and smiled. Lesya gave him an I-don't-know-what-you're-saying-but-I'm-polite smile and he left to summon our waiter.
“He said you're beautiful girl,” Kirill translated for her.
“Thank you,” Lesya mumbled as she rubbed a fist into her eye. Then she frowned at the menu. “Can I have steak?”
Yes, welcome to my world. My children don't ask for hamburgers or pizza, it's steak. Meat; give the wild things meat. Or something sweet. They're like other children in that respect.
“Let me see if they have steak,” I said. “I'm sure they do. Here's the meat section. Um... venison, beef stroganoff, veal tongue... dear Gods, Kirill.” I looked up at him in horror. “Tongue?”
Kirill laughed. “Zere is beef tenderloin, right zere.”
“With pepper sauce,” I said. “She won't like that.” I looked further down the menu. “Meat dumplings, mutton with porridge? Mutton? What are we in the 1800s?”
“Vervain,” Kirill said sternly.
“I can't have steak?” Lesya asked forlornly.
“Da, you can,” Kirill assured her. “Ve ask for it vithout sauce. No problem.”
I sighed and continued to read. “Oh, here are some venison dumplings. They sure do like their dumplings.”
“Tima, you are sounding like stuck-up American,” he chided me.
I sighed even more deeply. “Yeah. Okay. Fair point. But I've never seen so much venison on a menu before. Oh, look, it's caviar Wednesday.” I grimaced at him. “I wonder if they have squished duck.”
“You like caviar.”
“In small amounts. I don't want a vat of it as an appetizer.” I nodded subtly to another table whose diners were scooping huge amounts of the stuff onto little pieces of bread.
“What's caviar?” Lesya asked.
“Fish eggs,” I said, knowing exactly what response that would earn me.
“Eww!” My daughter did not disappoint.
“I zink Mommy is hangry,” Kirill whispered to Lesya, which changed her disgust to giggles.
“You can have steak too, Mommy,” Lesya offered. “You don't have to eat baby fishies.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
“You vant appetizer?” Kirill asked me.
“Sure.” I warily checked out the appetizers. “Oh, more tongue,” I said brightly. “And something called an omul that comes in a fur coat.”
Lesya giggled again.
Kirill rolled his eyes. Then he saw what I had and they widened. “It does say fur coat.”
“Told you.” I smirked at him. “What's an omul and why does it need a coat after it's dead, much less a fur one?”
“Vhat vas it you said to me about coats?” Kirill challenged.
“If you're going to wear one, it might as well be fur,” I answered, grinning. “But I don't want my food in one, honey.”
“Nyet, me either,” he agreed. “No fur coat appetizer for us. And omul is a type of fish, by the vay.”
“Ah, well that makes sense then. Dead fish need fur coats.” I winked at Lesya. Which, of course, set her to giggling again.
We settled on an appetizer called; traditional Russian appetizers for vodka. Yep, nice and generic with a good helping of alcohol. Even after eating it, I have no idea what most of the appetizers were; only that I didn't like them. Kirill finished most of it, though I was surprised by Lesya, who helped quite a bit.
For the main course, I did end up having the steak; I'm—ironically—not a fan of venison even though my lioness adores it. My human taste buds disagree with her on the gamy flavor. And if you think it's strange that one aspect of me likes a certain food while another doesn't, I'd like to point out that my dragon eats people. And she doesn't even bother cooking them first. But back to our meal. I wasn't exaggerating when it came to the selection of meat. There were two beef dishes; the tenderloin and the stroganoff. I suppose I could have gone with chicken, but they were served with things like corn porridge and for me, the word porridge calls to mind dirt-smudged orphans with wooden bowls full of goop. Please, Sir, can I have another?
That left the steak.
But I didn't mind the pepper sauce, and Lesya loved her steak without it. Kirill had gone for the venison with baked apple cream, spelt, and pine cone sauce. I just shook my head at that. When it arrived, it did look better than it had sounded and Kirill seemed to enjoy it. But the best part of the meal was the Anna Pavlova we had for dessert. A fluffy cloud of meringue covered in cream and fruit. Lesya loved it too; it being practically pure sugar. And the coffee I had with it was divine.
After dinner, we walked through the city, did a bit of shopping, and bought some souvenirs. In particular, I found a metal construction kit for Vero. It made a boxy truck that looked similar to a humvee. He'd love it. The city was beautiful at night, with snow falling gently and the muted sound of lively music seeping into the quiet streets. Lesya skipped a little ahead of us, stopping to catch snowflakes every few steps, the hood of her fur coat up over her head and her long curls bouncing out of it. We let her have her fun since there weren't too many pedestrians out. And a bonus was that by the time we reached the hotel, she was ready to collapse. Kirill had to carry her inside.
My husband tucked our daughter in while I put away our purchases and got ready for bed. Then he came and stood before me so I could get him ready for bed. I braided Kirill's hair—not too tightly or it got uncomfortable for him—and fastened it with one of the black, cotton-coated bands I'd bought for him.
Then he turned to face me. “Maybe we should go home.”
“Right now?” I asked in surprise.
“Something feels off.” Kirill frowned as if he couldn't quite place the feeling.
“We just had a... nice... dinner, shopped, and walked through the city without incident. Now, we're up in our hotel room, totally safe. Why are you worried?”
“I don't
know.” He scowled deeper.
“Our daughter is asleep and it's just us here,” I reminded him as I slid up against him. “Do you really want to go back to Pride Palace?”
Kirill started to grin. “Good point.”
Then he struck.
Clothing went flying and the fatigue of the day faded instantly. The scent of lion and man rose around me, making my mouth water. I had to taste him. Now. My beasts rose in growling, purring, roaring delight, and we pushed Kirill down on the bed as if he were prey. Kirill grinned, backing up on his elbows as he watched me crawl up his body, grazing the tips of my breasts against his legs as I went.
Kirill growled back at me, low in his throat as I bent and nudged my face upward against his shaft. It bobbed against me, hard and hot and velvety with a glistening tip. I licked my way up its length then filled my mouth with a low moan. Kirill matched my sound with a deeper one, his hand sliding into my hair as his legs shifted out to embrace me. I flicked my gaze up at him and it collided with deep indigo. Kirill stared down at me as if he couldn't decide whether to pull me up for a kiss or slam me down.
I released him slowly and made the decision for him. Thick thighs slid inward as I straddled him and strong hands moved up my hips to wrap tightly around my waist. When I sank down on him, Kirill pulled me even further, his head tossing back with a low snarl. Hips bucking and hands holding me fast, Kirill's darkened stare sought mine again.
“I vish I had a kingdom to give you,” his voice was deep into his beast, more growl than words.
“You were the one who said that there are more important things than kingdoms,” I reminded him.
“Still, I feel as if you have given me all, and I give you nothing.” His eyes went solemn and liquid.
“You call this nothing?” I asked with a grin as I leaned down and kissed him. “You give me your all, Kirill, and that is worth more than any kingdom.”
He closed his eyes as if in prayer and when he opened them again, they were clear, bright, and so very beautiful. “I love you.”
“That's all I want from you. Just never stop doing that, and we'll call it even, Lion.”
Kirill's smile clenched things low in my body which, in turn, changed his expression into sharp desire. He rolled me suddenly and surged above and into me, his body pushing mine open, my legs falling out to the sides. I lifted them around his waist and pulled him deeper, urged him on faster.
With the pound of hips and slap of wet flesh, I shivered my way up into ecstasy, clawing Kirill closer and thanking every chance of fate that had worked to bring us together. Love could get difficult but it had never been so with Kirill. Not when he was himself, at least. The Black Lion had been mine from the moment I pulled him out of madness.
When we came, roaring and screaming together, his name was on my lips, and I felt it vibrate between us; one of our words of power. As a witch, I know there's magic in a name, and Kirill's was inscribed on my heart; a piece of me forever. Speaking it did things to me.
I wrapped my arms around Kirill and spoke that powerful word once more.
Chapter Ten
“You have a credit card?” I asked Kirill the next day as we drove away from the car rental in Alūksne, Latvia.
We had traced there after checking out of our Saint Petersburg hotel then Kirill had collected our rental car. Now, we were driving to our next hotel, passing through the small town that spread along the shores of a huge lake. Forests crowded around the town, the treeline going right up to the water in several areas, and within the lake four islands rose. Only one island appeared to be connected to the mainland by a bridge, near a structure that had the architectural signature of a castle. Picturesque was the word that came to mind.
“Vhat did you zink I paid hotel vith?”
“I wasn't thinking, obviously.” I laughed and winked at my giggling daughter, strapped into the backseat. “But it didn't occur to me that you had human identification, much less credit attached to it.”
“Torrent,” Kirill said as if the name explained everything.
It did.
“Ah. He worked his Internet magic for you.”
“He has his uses,” Kirill said with a grin.
For someone who had once been a party to torturing me—in the most horrible way I've ever been tortured, I might add—Torrent had come a long way with my family. I considered him family now too and there wasn't a single person I knew who didn't like him. It's hard not to like someone with an honest nature, a kind heart, and the open-mind of a five-year-old.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we left the town behind.
“I rented cabin in woods. Small cabin,” he added before Lesya could ask if it was like Uncle Trevor's.
“You want me to spend most of our vacation in a cabin?” I whispered. “Do you know how many horror stories take place in cabins? One of my favorites is literally called The Cabin in the Woods.”
“Zis is not horror movie,” Kirill said sternly as Lesya giggled again.
“Fine, but if there's a moose head on the wall, I'm leaving.” I crossed my arms. “And I'm definitely not making out with it.”
“Vhat?” Kirill cast me a baffled look.
“What's 'making out' mean?” Lesya asked.
“Kissing,” I shot over my shoulder before answering Kirill. “Come on, you remember the movie. They get into the cabin and there's a big moose head on the wall and one of the guys—”
“Dares voman to kiss moose,” Kirill finished for me. “Da, I remember now. Awkward.”
“She kissed a moose?!” Lesya screeched then laughed hysterically. “Was it a weremoose?”
“It was a dead moose,” I clarified then blinked. Weremoose? Did such things exist?
“Eewwww!” Lesya exclaimed.
Kirill and I shared a grin as we turned off the main road and headed into a forest.
“Oh, here we go,” I lamented. “At least there wasn't an old man warning us not to go to the cabin. But that might be because we didn't have to stop for gas.”
“It vill be private.” He gave me a look; an adult look.
I gave him a considering adult expression back.
“Zere is sauna and vood-burning stove inside. Outside zere is fire pit and forest; it vill be fun. Trust me.”
“Yay!” Lesya shrieked. “Marshmallows!”
“I hope they have marshmallows in Latvia or your daughter will be very disappointed,” I said dryly to him.
“If not, I go get for her. It's not as if ve are trapped here.”
“Fair enough,” I conceded.
It turned out to be a beautiful forest and a pretty nice cabin too. Lesya went screeching out of the car as soon as she was unbuckled, running into the woods like a wild thing let out of a cage. The car ride was the longest span of time that she'd had to sit still. Perhaps ever.
“This is great!” Lesya screamed.
“And zat is another reason I vanted cabin.” Kirill waved at our hoyden as her delighted squeals pierced the silence.
“Fair enough,” I repeated.
There was indeed a nice-sized fire pit with a few chairs around it, off to the side of the cabin. I spotted it as we walked from the parking at the back around to the front. There wasn't any snow—though it felt cold enough for it—and a palette of neutral browns painted the landscape with only a few splashes of green to add pops of color, but it was still pretty. The cabin itself was rustic, in the way of cabins; a little thing, though bigger than I'd expected, with a slanted roof and two stories. A porch with a couple of chairs greeted us, set over a brick courtyard that had a little dining set beside a boxy grill. Around us, trees creaked in welcome and the air blew fresh and sweet. I gave Kirill an approving look; I was reserving my verbal approval until after I'd been inside.
Kirill bent over and peered beneath the porch steps then came up with a key in hand. He thumped up the steps, across the slim porch, and unlocked the door. It opened directly into a combination kitchen/living room with a counter
to the left, complete with a small cooking range and a sink. A padded bench sat beneath the room's only window with a table in front of it, and a wood-burning stove in front of that. A stack of firewood waited beside the stove in an iron basket. In the left corner, between kitchen and stove, a set of stairs was tucked into a nook. I scowled at its open risers. I have an irrational fear of someone grabbing my ankle when I walk up steps like that. It didn't help that we were in a horror cabin.
To be fair, even though it was small, it was lovely. The entire thing—walls, floors, and ceiling—had been paneled in golden, polished wood. To our right was a tiny bathroom with only a toilet and sink then a bedroom was to the left of that. Basically, the size of a townhouse in Hawaii.
