Blood Price (12 page)

“Don’t worry.” Atar shook his head. “It isn’t my fertile time and my species has a notoriously difficult time mating with each other, let alone someone outside the Makheet. That’s probably why our race is dying out, despite lifespans of a couple thousand years.”

“I see.” She frowned. “Your time? What does that mean?”

“Makheet women are always fertile and ready to breed but our males go through fertility cycles. I am in the latter quarter of my lifespan, meaning my cycles come farther apart now. I probably won’t be capable of impregnating a mate for at least four more decades. It’s been twenty years since my last heat cycle—a frustrating one, spent alone. There are some drawbacks to my race’s preference for solitude.”

Her interest focused on his explanation, even as her hips rose, taking his cock deep inside her. “How do you know when it’s your time?”

His eyes twinkled. “I’m driven solely by the need to mate. It consumes my mind, blocking out all other concerns. If I have a partner at that time, she can expect to spend at least three months doing little else besides being in my bed, with my cock inside her.”

Nikia shivered with anticipation at the thought, even as her insides withered. His noted use of the word “if” hadn’t escaped her. He certainly wasn’t extending the invitation to her to be his mate.

As he began thrusting in and out of her, she banished the depressing thoughts and let the rhythm he set sweep her away. She strained against him, matching each movement of his body, alternately accepting and rejecting his cocks, while gasping with the pleasure at the way he filled her so completely. As her orgasm overwhelmed her, she clung to him, pulling him closer and pretending the drops of moisture in her eyes came from the sweat on her brow and not the pain of not having his love and trust.

* * * * *

She slept curled against him, with her body pliant against his. Atar stared down at her, absently stroking the strands of hair sticking to her forehead. Confusion filled him, as he tried to reconcile the woman she was supposed to be with the woman she had been thus far. Could she maintain her pretense so well for so long? Was there truth to her claims of her mother’s possession?

Even if there weren’t and she was as evil as he had heard, could he turn her over to Anca to for execution? She needed to be punished for her crimes if she had been the one to commit them but after making love to her, how could he even think of being the one to hand her over to justice?

Nikia sighed in her sleep, cuddling closer. Atar put his arm around her, pulling her tighter to him, wondering what he could do. If she was being honest about Illiana, she needed to go to Belarus. Yet, it wasn’t safe for either of them to travel around Europe until they discovered what interest the men had in them. She believed the men were after him but why would they be? Atar had lived quietly in his mountain cabin the past four centuries. As a youngling, he had made a few enemies in the service of various kings or in errant pursuits of adventure but those men were long dead.

No, the men had to be after Nikia. The dart in the tranq gun had been for him but probably only so he wouldn’t give any resistance when they took their quarry. His stomach churned with nausea, imagining what secret she was keeping from him. What had she done to attract the attention of those men? Would she confide in him if he confronted her? How could he trust her until she was honest about everything?

His mouth tightened when he looked at her peaceful expression. She slept the sleep of innocents but her life had been anything but. As much as it pained him, he had lost his heart to a woman who, in all likelihood, was pure evil. There could be little doubt to the contrary. Her manipulative nature made it easy for her to try to trick him. His attraction to her had allowed him to let her fool him long enough to slake his physical need for her. He squirmed at the thought, wondering if he had used her just as cavalierly, despite the emotion behind his desires. Was the emotion genuine? How could it be? He didn’t think he knew the real her. She was too much of a contradiction for him to sort out how he felt about her, whatever her real personality was. Maybe if he had a hundred years with her, he would feel as though he really knew her. Part of him wanted to take her back to his mountains and keep her there for the rest of her life. Never in fourteen hundred years had he experienced the urge to permanently introduce another person into his solitary existence. That it would be someone as ambiguous as Nikia, when it finally happened, scared him.

Regardless of what he wanted to do, he had to take her back to Corsova. There, she might stand a chance of rehabilitation at Anca’s mercy. There might even be a future for them someday. After all, he had an excess of time and patience. But in the hands of the men pursuing them, he knew not what fate she faced and cold shivers raced down his spine when he speculated.

Firm with resolve, he slipped from the bed, careful to disentangle her body from his and hopeful of not waking her. In the dim glow of the single lamp, he searched for his pants, finding them discarded in a heap in the middle of the room. A quick search through his pockets revealed his wallet, their passports and the tickets were missing. By some miracle, the tiny cell phone Anca had assigned him was still in his back pocket and he pressed one to autodial the queen’s private chamber.

She answered on the third rang.

“Your Highness, this is Atar. We’ve had some trouble.”

“What’s wrong?” Underlying her business-like tone was a note of concern.

“You didn’t send another team after your sister, did you?”

“No. I trust you implicitly, Atar. I know you’ll bring her back and I’ve respected your wishes to work alone.”

Her confidence might have moved him, if the aching hole in his heart hadn’t swallowed all emotion as it registered. “I didn’t think you had sent them. Men are hunting us. I don’t know their intentions but we need to get back to Corsova as quickly as possible.”

“Has your flight changed? Are you coming sooner?”

He paced around the room, stepping quietly to avoid waking Nikia. He tried to tell himself he was being considerate of her need for sleep and wasn’t trying to sneak around to arrange things she wouldn’t be happy about behind her back. His heart wasn’t in believing that. “No, but we’ve lost the tickets, passports, credit card…everything. You’ll need to sort this out.” He stopped speaking when his random pacing led him to the table, where he saw his wallet. “Hold on.”

He bent his neck to secure the phone against his shoulder while opening the wallet. The credit card she had given him was there, along with cash. Lying next to the wallet were their passports but no tickets. “Never mind the passports and funding. I’ve found those. The tickets are still missing.” He turned to look at Nikia, curled with her front turned away from him, her back moving up and down as she snored softly. Had she destroyed them in a vain effort to keep him from taking her back? “I believe the airline can issue replacement tickets when we arrive.”

“I’ll handle it, if you still plan to fly back to Constanta alone. Would you rather wait where you are for an extraction team to assist you?”

He hesitated, tempted by the thought of turning over Nikia to authorities of the queen, turning his back on the situation and returning to isolation. His brow furrowed as he wondered if their hiding place was suitable for an extra day’s occupation. Going with instinct, he said, “No. I don’t think we’re in a secure enough location to stay here very long. It’s best to stick with our original plan of flying from Prague to Constanta.”

“Very well. I’ll have Sorin and Lucian meet you there with a security team.”

“Yes, Highness.”

Anca’s tone warmed a bit, as she switched from matters of state to a more personal subject. “Watch yourself. This worries me, Atar. I’m frightened my sister is attempting to carry out a scheme to escape your custody. I would hate for you to be injured while doing my bidding.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. Atar grimaced at the way his heart squeezed when the queen suggested the possibility that Nikia was in collusion with the men pursuing them. “I am always cautious. I know I can’t trust Nikia. Your warning is appreciated but unnecessary.”

“I’m pleased to hear you haven’t dropped your guard. She can be…charismatic.”

The queen didn’t know the half of it, Atar mused, as he ended the call and placed the phone beside his wallet. Absently, he picked up the passport of Nikia and examined the face staring back at him from the small photo. There wasn’t a trace of warmth in her green eyes. The tilt of her lips suggested a malicious smirk more than a smile. Looking at her gave him a chill, while confounding him at the same time. How could she be so warm and responsive in his bed and still be so ruthless? It made no sense.

With a deeper sigh, he dropped the document beside his and started to turn back to the bed, thinking he would join Nikia for a while longer. He wanted to hold her, whether or not her warmth was a front. She drew him like a moth to the flame and if he was going to burn because of her, he wanted the fire to be all consuming. He attempted to ignore the voice of conscience whispering it was wrong to make love to her without trusting her, knowing he planned to betray her. Maybe it wasn’t betrayal in the strictest sense of the word but she would view it as such.

He didn’t see what hit him but pain exploded through his head, eliciting a cry and breaking his chain of thought. He reached out blindly, touching Nikia’s smooth skin as he fell forward. Atar was vaguely aware of the careful way she helped him land. Her fingers were soft on his forehead when she stroked it, a marked contrast to the rough carpet against his cheek. He thought he heard her whisper, “Sorry,” as consciousness slipped away from him.

* * * * *

Nikia checked Atar’s pulse, finding it steady and strong. He would have nothing more than a headache from the blow to the head. She cringed with guilt but what choice had he left her? His conversation with Anca had driven knives through her heart. After everything, he still didn’t trust her. If he hadn’t seen and felt her love while they made love, he never would, meaning he could never trust her.

She left him on the floor, deciding not to try to wrest him back to the bed. Her heart burned with love for Atar but she was also sizzling with anger at his betrayal. Aside from the renewed intensity of the migraine building behind her eyes limiting her ability to lift him, his comfort wasn’t her primary concern right then.

The passports and his wallet were still on the table. Nikia availed herself of his available cash, leaving the credit card and phone untouched. There should be enough Euros to fund a plane ticket to Minsk. Once there, she would need only enough to pay for a room if she couldn’t find her grandmother’s people right away.

She shrugged off the tattered remains of Maria’s gown and slipped on the uniform she had worn before. Hesitating, she put five Euros back on the table, atop the nightgown, hoping Atar would realize the money was to compensate the woman.

With a brief glance at Atar, whose eyes were moving rapidly under his lids, she walked to the door. A pang in her chest caused her to hesitate with hand on the knob. She turned back to look at him, wondering if she would ever see him again and then wondering if she cared. The pang deepened, forcing her to admit she would. She opened the door and stepped through, closing it quietly behind her. There was no wrenching sense of goodbye assailing her. She knew Atar would find her. He knew just where to look and he was determined to return her to Corsova. She just needed to stay a step ahead of him until exhausting all chances of ridding her mind of Illiana’s presence.

Chapter 9

Belarus in general and Minsk in particular, surprised Nikia. She had expected a primitive country existing in obscurity. Instead, she found a bustling capitol city with a population of nearly two million. In other circumstances, she would have been charmed by the curious mix of modern and ancient architecture, culture and technology, old ways and new. But in her current predicament, she had no time to focus on such things. The large population was a frustrating deterrent to finding her family. Three fruitless hours of searching had contributed to the migraine feeling as though it had expanded to encompass her entire body. It had also led her to this tavern on the edge of town. Nikia eyed it doubtfully as she picked her way through the soggy street, where tenacious reeds shot up in places. Unlike most of the municipality, no one had made an effort to beautify this area of the city. Perhaps it was out of official jurisdiction.

A series of rough planks led to the opening of the tavern. The door was open, allowing the cool breeze of the crisp summer night to blow in. A cloud of smoke emitted from the top of the doorway and Nikia took a deep breath of fresh air before entering.

Every eye focused on her, and she got the sense her new outfit of jeans and a rough wool sweater the shade of oatmeal did nothing to help her blend in as a local. The tavern was a mix of men and women but all had a similar look of despair.

She held her head high and walked to the bar, taking a stool after eyeing the wooden surface for stains. It wasn’t pristine but she sat anyway, needing a chance to rest. Like the rest of the room, the bar was shabby, made of rough wood losing its smooth sheen and complete with a surly bartender eyeing her with unfriendly eyes. She nodded to the woman and asked for a beer in English, hoping she would be understood. Within seconds, a draft beer in a clean mug appeared before her.

Nikia took a sip, hiding a grimace at the bitter taste and leaned forward to speak with the bartender. “I’m looking for a Kosmistan who might work here.” The owner of an antique shop had directed her to this place after she followed an old address from the public records’ office to his business, only to learn the Kosmistans had moved out long ago.

The woman frowned and her distrustful expression turned suspicious. She said something harsh in Russian and crossed herself. Before Nikia could blink, the woman whisked away the beer and made a shooing motion with her hand.

She didn’t budge. “Please, I need your help. I must find the Kosmistan family.”

“ведьма.” She made the sign of the cross again, much to Nikia’s consternation. As she repeated, “ведьма,” in a louder tone, the bar fell silent, with every eye blatantly focused on the drama playing out at the bar.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose and Nikia whirled away from the bartender to examine the room. Several patrons were crossing themselves and all watched her with a combination of fear and loathing. She heard someone murmur, “Witch,” in English. Apparently, her family wasn’t well-regarded in this area.

The tense silence held, with the seconds ticking past audibly from a crudely carved wooden clock on the wall. Slowly, Nikia slipped from the barstool, knowing she would find no help here. All eyes followed her slow movement to the door. She tried to hurry without appearing to hurry and her heart sped up as she neared the open door. She could taste freedom and took a larger step. An arm blocked her way and she came to an abrupt halt.

An old man stood there. His slight build and hunched posture indicated he was no threat to Nikia. She could have shoved past him and been on her way but his expression gave her pause. He didn’t look at her with fear. Curiosity filled his eyes and he inclined his head, saying in broken English, “I Yuri Kosmistan.”

She sagged with relief and barely kept the story from pouring from her in a tidal wave of words. Weakness swept through her, prompted by a surge of relief and she had to restrain the urge to throw herself into the old man’s arms. “Please, can you help me?”

He hesitated for a long second before nodding. “Come, ребенок.”

Although she had no idea what he’d said, Nikia had no qualms following the man from the tavern to a rusted out Chevy truck at least forty years old. His intentions seemed pure and she placed her trust in him by climbing into the truck. He joined her in the cab, got behind the wheel and started the engine after half a minute of the starter grinding. The gearshift crunched gears when he shifted but he seemed unconcerned.

They left the tavern via the muddy road, traveling almost a mile before Nikia spoke. “Do you know of an Elsa Kosmistan?” She watched the old man’s face, not missing the flicker of surprise in his eyes. He shrugged and said something but it was Russian and beyond her comprehension.

She tried a different question. “Where are we going?”

“Temhoe. Kosmistans.”

She sighed and gave up conversation with the man. He didn’t speak enough English to answer her questions and she spoke no Russian. Once they reached the village—Temhoe, was it?—she hoped there would be someone in residence who spoke better English.