Authors: Amber Belldene
She pointed the tip of the weapon at his head. “Continue.”
His head jerked away from her, as if repulsed. Then he shook it. “No. You are not her. Just finish it.”
Inside her living flesh, very nearly gone forever, his cock withered.
No!
She wanted that hard thing back, wanted his desire, wanted him to slake her body’s appetite for the very last time. She opened her mouth to demand, to use her power to command his arousal.
Then they appeared—the man and woman in bloodstained pajamas, faces twisting in furious rage. They tore at their clothing to no effect. The woman shrieked, pulling her hair. The man waved his fists, his mouth wide with a desperate roar.
“Kill him. Be with us. Kill him.”
Recognition flickered in her mind. She belonged to those souls, could join them in eternal rest, if she only achieved her vengeance by spilling his blood. She tilted her head, curious. Did she want to be with them? Or did she want to remain like this—powerful and full of intoxicating fury?
“Kill him. Be with us. Kill him.”
Their cries grated against her bare skin and tangled her racing thoughts. If only they would be silent and allow her to choose.
The man yanked at the weapon. Instinctively, she pulled back with all her strength. He didn’t let go, only pressed the thing into his chest—a broad, beautiful expanse of male flesh that she’d already marked with her talons. Capturing her gaze, his icy eyes pleaded for her to kill him quickly. Her delay must be testing the limits of his courageous sacrifice. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his nostrils flared.
His suffering was delicious. With a deep breath, she called up all her power. “You will serve me. You are mine to do with as I desire.”
His square jaw jutted and his eyes narrowed with rebellion, even as he grew hard again inside her. She thrust her hips up to take him deeper.
He recoiled, turning his face. Only after a deep breath filled his chest did he face her again. “Please, don’t do this. Have mercy. I pay my father’s debt willingly.”
The spirits wailed,
“Kill him. Be with us. Kill him.”
“Silence.” They were ruining her fun with the human. She jerked the weapon, firing at the shrill phantoms. Its bang rang in her ears, and her arm ached with the force of its jolt. The projectile embedded itself in the wall, and the ghosts clapped their mouths shut, their vague faces puzzled.
“Fuck.” He trembled, and his sweat dripped onto her belly.
“Precisely. And now.”
Gently, he reached for her arm and re-aimed the weapon. “Security will be on their way now. This is your last chance.”
Security? She could kill them too. Delightful.
The phantoms appeared alongside the couple, bending to peer into her face and then straightening up to see his. Even silent, they were distracting. Their faces took shape, sharpening into familiar features—features that stole her breath and her will.
“Mama? Papa?” Sonya cried. She sat up, scrambling for a blanket to cover her nakedness.
Dmitri sucked in a breath, shifting his hips away from her and helping to drag the sheets over them.
She couldn’t take her eyes off the beloved faces of her parents until his big palm came to cup her face. When she looked up at him, the gun trembled, so heavy in her hand. In his glassy eyes shone some torture she didn’t understand. But she grasped what he’d done. “You promised.”
“Sonya, I don’t want you to become that—”
An echo of bloodthirsty rusalka thoughts whispered in her mind, hinting at what he’d seen. A strange scent tickled her nose, and somehow she knew it was his blood.
The ghosts of her parents took hold of her arm, sending chills through her veins. Papa seized her hand and pulled.
“Sonya, come with us. He offers himself willingly.”
“If you do not, you will become that monster.”
Mamma tugged at her elbow.
Their efforts had no physical effect, but the mesh of her soul stretched, as if after everything, she were merely a spider web.
“I’d rather be a monster.” She laid the gun at her side. “I love him. I can’t—”
Was the whole building shaking, or just her?
The door burst open, and people stumbled inside. The rusalka clawed at her insides, trying to break free. The fragile threads of her soul shook at the evil force possessing her. Thrashing, she dug her nails into the sheet so she didn’t rip at his flesh again. Her guts wrenched and her skin burned.
“Oh, dear God,” said a woman, either Mama or Elena. “Are we too late?”
Something exploded.
“What was that?” said a man.
“Window,” said another.
She raised her head to see the beautiful view obscured by a million tiny cracks, the glass shattered but held in place as if by magic. At any moment, the whole window could collapse, and a sky’s worth of wind and fog would barrel through the tiny room and carry her away like a cobweb.
“Hurry. She’s almost gone.”
“Sonya, listen. We have a plan.”
She tried to focus on the voice, definitely Elena, but the rusalka filled her vision with green-black ink.
“You must forgive the debt.” This voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
The rusalka fought. A frightening battle cry ripped out of Sonya’s throat, and the evil power used her hand to grasp the gun.
Her parents shrieked, their wails flaying her nerves.
“Say it, dear. Say, ‘I forgive the blood debt owed me by Ivan Lisko, and free his son, Dmitri, from its burden.’”
The rusalka seized control of her tongue, wouldn’t let words form.
“Kill him. Be with us. Sonya, we are your family. You belong with us.”
A firm hand caught her wrist, claiming hold of the gun. Another pressed into her chest with a soothing pressure. “Will this work?” Dmitri’s rough voice held a hint of hope.
Her mind cleared, and she drew in a full breath.
“Maybe.” The familiar voice did not offer more reassurance.
Dmitri settled alongside her and whispered in her ear. “I know you’re still in there. You are so strong, sweetheart. So strong.” He stroked her hair. “Do you want to forgive the debt? You won’t be reunited with your parents.”
They were so close, almost real. How could she choose to say good-bye to them? But kill Dmitri? Unthinkable. It took all her strength to fight the rusalka enough to nod her head.
“Can you say it?”
Her jaw locked, her tongue twisted.
Somehow, his voice remained calm. “Because if you say it, and by some miracle you get another chance at life, I would never, ever let you go.”
Well, that was worth fighting for, if anything was. With her last drop of strength, she forced open her mouth and took control of her tongue.
Her words slurred and spittle flew from her mouth. “I forgive the blood debt owed me by Ivan Lisko, and free his son, Dmitri, from its burden.”
Everything stopped—the shrieks, the clawing, the tremors. No one spoke. Maybe the turmoil had all been inside her.
“Sonya?” As usual, his lips were pressed thin.
“I’m here,” she croaked.
His eyes crinkled, his mouth formed that beautiful smile, and he laughed.
The ghost of Mama cried, clinging to Papa’s neck.
“No, no. Don’t cry. Please understand. I love him. I will come to you in time.”
“Who is she talking to?” Elena asked.
Sonya ignored her, speaking to Mama and Papa, grief hanging heavy on their faces. “It wasn’t him. It was his father. He is a good man.”
“We forgive the debt as well,”
Papa said.
“His willingness to die for you proves he is honorable, and will care for you.”
Even as a ghost, he wore his spectacles. Sonya had never had the chance to tell him about her internship with the National Opera. Now, instead, she had taken a much bigger leap.
Mama wiped her spectral eyes.
“I am happy you will get to live.”
“Mama, are you okay? Are you happy there?”
“Yes, dear. Our sadness is only for you and your sister.”
“Anya isn’t with you?”
Mama stifled a cry with the back of her hand, and Papa wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
“No. We do not know where she is. For all this time, we had hoped you were together.”
“I see.” But she didn’t, couldn’t begin to decipher what this news meant.
Papa cleared his throat, or at least pretended to, since he didn’t really have a throat.
“Sonya, dear, please tell your beau that I expect him to make you his wife immediately.”
She pulled the blanket up to her chin, her face heating with a blush. “Yes, Papa.”
“And now we must go, darling. We love you.”
“I love you too.” She sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.
And they faded away.
Dmitri squeezed Sonya’s hand, witnessing what could only be her side of a good-bye to her parents. She’d chosen to stay with him.
A humbling decision.
After several long beats of silence, Elena cleared her throat. “Dmitri, dear, some decency, please.” She spoke as if nothing at all unusual were underway, and he just happened to have forgotten his clothes.
He should toss off his blankets and chase them all out of the room stark naked, but Sonya was a little pink and trying to sink under the blanket. Otherwise, she seemed normal—more calm and solid than ever. He wrapped his arms around her like a tight belt—afraid she would disappear or that the monster would reappear. His heart galloped in his ears and pounded against his sternum.
Seeming to forget her shyness, her soft hand answered his fear, sliding to place over the center of his chest. She raised her eyes to his and smiled a brave smile.
He squeezed her tighter.
A small thud sounded. Gregor had thudded the foot of his cane against the floor—a silver-handled deal that confirmed he really was sick. Well, hell. Gregor was a rock, the boss, the bastard with all the rules. He’d been all Dmitri had for so goddamn long. And he was a murderous, lying prick.
“What are you doing here?” Dmitri sat up, dragging Sonya upright. She clasped the sheet to her breasts.
“I was worried for you. And I knew you needed answers before you would come home.”
Home? How could Dmitri go home?
“You ordered them to kill her,” he roared.
Gregor studied Sonya for a moment. “I didn’t understand, son. I feared for your safety, and rightly so. She was trying to kill you.”
Boris snorted, echoing Dmitri’s thoughts.
“Not her, the rusalka. And you only wanted to keep the truth buried.”
“That’s true. Because I feared if you knew what we had done, you would not come home. And I need you, Dima. I don’t have much longer.” Gregor raised up the cane as if it explained everything.
Elena came to his side but held herself stiff and distant. “Many secrets have come out tonight. I don’t know when I will be able to forgive Gregor. But he’s telling the truth, Dmitri. He’s dying.”
Sonya rubbed soothing strokes up and down his spine. Some part of his overworked heart clenched. But mostly, he was numb to his uncle. After all the lies and the attack on Sonya, he owed Gregor less than nothing. “I’m not coming home.”
“But everything depends—”
“Then everything is screwed. I’m done with it.” He grabbed his gun from the nightstand and handed it to his uncle.
Gregor took the weapon, pointing it down. “Son, I—”
Boris slid into the space between his aunt and uncle. “For Christ’s sake, Gregor, leave the boy alone. He’s been through hell.”
“Which all started with your betrayal of Ivan in the first place.”
Boris raised his fist, winding up for a punch with perfectly adequate technique. Dmitri wholeheartedly approved of the gesture. Given Gregor’s pasty face, Boris probably could have blown the man over with a puff of Troika smoke.
Elena sidled in between the men just in time. “Gregor, we know what you and Ivan did. You started the whole thing. Forbidding him from seeing me, telling me I’d been jilted. You left him no choice.”
“Or Elena either.” Boris wrapped a long arm around her shoulder, drawing her near in a striking likeness to the enshrined photo.
She stiffened, shifting to face him. “What do you mean?”
His features had softened into the picture of sympathy. “You know, my heart, when you decided to end your preg—”
The rapid shake of her head cut him off. “I didn’t decide. I lost the baby…” Her chin trembled. “Perhaps from the stress, perhaps not. One never knows with a miscarriage. It was terrible, and I wanted to hurt you, so I said I’d done it. At the time, I suppose it made me feel better to lie.”
Boris stared at her, and Dmitri pulled Sonya closer, willing the old man to do the same with Elena. Her narrow shoulders rose and fell with rapid breaths. Sonya was so still in his arms that she must have been holding hers.
Finally, his auntie spoke. “Boris?”
The man smiled—a huge, lopsided grin that altered all the lines of his face and wiped away years. Then he frowned again, growing older before Dmitri’s eyes. “I’m so sorry. And yet I am so happy to know.”
Elena blinked several times before her lips formed a shy curve. She held open her arms and Makar fell into them, nearly toppling her over. The movement brought Gregor into Dmitri’s line of sight. His expression was unreadable—not pleased but not angry. The man had never had a halo, but like Boris said, it was damn hard to actually hate him.
As if he heard the thought, he met Dmitri’s gaze and his throat rippled with a swallow. He bobbed his head, accepting something, and strode out as fast as the cane would allow. The tiny part of Dmitri that still gave a shit about his uncle—yeah, it kicked.
Elena and Boris were locked in a kiss that seared a blush on Dmitri’s cheeks. Sonya giggled, rousing them. Scuffing their feet, they shuffled away from each other like teenagers. They’d been little more than that the last time they’d kissed.
Dmitri chuckled. “Get your own room. Sonya and I have some things to discuss.”
“Wait.” She squeezed her eyes shut and then held them open very wide. “I don’t… I just… Am I alive?”
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Dmitri gulped.