The Siren's Touch (18 page)

Suddenly, a hand gripped her wrist, yanking her from the fountain. He laid her in the concrete passageway behind the falling water.

“Sonya. Sonya. Fuck. Please come back, ghost. Please don’t be gone.”

She sputtered, coughed up river water, shivered with cold, and then she reached up to touch his face. “I’m here.”

He blew out sigh and handed her the towel. “Sweetheart, you went all green-eyed on me, looked pretty damn scary, like you might eat somebody alive.”

She rubbed her eyes, grimacing. “That’s kind of what I wanted to do.”

“But now?”

She took stock—no voices, no shaking. But her parents’ words lingered, as did the anger. Kill him, kill him.

“I’m all right. But, Dmitri, if I do go nuts like that, don’t leave me in a place like this with so many people. Take the teapot somewhere far away where no one will stumble upon a bloodthirsty rusalka. Okay?”

He pressed his lips together before nodding. “Yeah, if it comes to that. But instead, let’s find your killer. I have a lead.” With a firm hold on her wrist, he stood and extended his other hand.

She took it and pulled herself up to standing. “And if it’s your uncle?”

“Then you, me, and the teapot are going to Kiev.”

His unwavering commitment reassured her more than a promise of success would have. He’d remain beside her until the end, regardless of what that end was. It was no small comfort.

“Um, where should I get dressed?”

He glanced around at the damp surroundings and shrugged. “Here. Move fast before we get overrun by tourists.” They stood in a walkway, hidden behind an angular concrete pillar. The wall of water offered a modicum of privacy. The sterile scent of chlorine hung in the chilly air, and she shivered. Lights illuminated the fountain, which would probably have been beautiful if she happened to be a visitor instead of a vengeful ghost.

Dmitri wrapped her in the thick towel, cradling her in his arms for a minute before he allowed her to dress. They were getting pretty good at the dance steps, squeezing into the jeans and the camisole without breaking contact. The Eskimo boots she’d borrowed from Elena were a warm luxury on her icy-cold feet.

Once she slipped them on, he looked around. “Great. Let’s go. I feel exposed out here.”

“Where are we going?”

He yanked on her arm. “I need to track down Boris Makar. I think he knows what happened to your parents.”

Good news. What the rusalka wanted, and what she wanted too. But a lump blocked her throat and her feet refused to budge. Right now, she desired something else even more.

He twisted to look back at her. The strong lines of his face tipped her past the point of decision. She flung her arm around his neck and dragged his face down. Mimicking what she remembered of their first kiss, she plunged her tongue into his mouth without giving him a second to breathe. He responded by pulling her close and groaning.

Their tongues twisted and tasted for a long time, and she was so drunk with it that she very nearly forgot her goal—not just a kiss, but everything.

“Dmitri?”

“Hmm?” He nuzzled her neck.

She hugged her arms around his waist. “Before we go looking for him, I want to finish what we started in the fitting room. I want you to make love to me.” Romantic words, maybe, but his every touch had already proven them true.

He stilled. By the particular way his lips pressed together and quivered, she could tell he wanted to argue.

She went on the offense. “Please. This may be my only chance.”

“That’s crazy. Your little light show in the fountain’s got me more than spooked. Sonya, you’re running out of time.”

She closed her eyes and took stock. Even though she was real and alive, the spectral threads of connection that made her Sonya and held her soul together were frayed and growing looser every second. He was right, but it hardly mattered. Her mission for vengeance seemed doomed to fail. With only a little life left, there was one single thing she wanted—him.

So she lied. “I’m sure there’s plenty of time. When you’re holding on to me I feel fine. Please, can we go back to Elena’s and search for Mr. Makar tomorrow?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Girl. This is your forever you’re risking, and all you can think about is getting laid.”

No. She could think about how she was letting her parents down, and what a selfish, reckless choice she was making. But it was still her choice. “I want to live. And you’re my chance.”

“You’re willing to trade a night with me for a future as an evil poltergeist?” He crossed his free arm over his torso and bumped one lean hip against a dry stretch of wall, resting there while she held his hand and chewed her lip like a schoolgirl.

Urgh. He’d never been this infuriating before. She wanted to pound on his chest. Not like she could hurt him. So what if she was willing to make that trade? It was none of his business. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

“Because I could never forgive myself if we wasted your chance—”

Wasted? She understood his meaning perfectly, and yet the words stung. No, more than stung. They cut her down the middle, baring her poor heart to the cold night air. Of course, it would just be sex to him—not a one and only, not a single and last attempt to cling to life in its most basic form.

She swallowed her pride. So sex wouldn’t mean the same thing for Dmitri. It was still what she wanted. And she knew how to get it.

“Dmitri.” The rusalka voice rolled off her tongue, sultry and rich, as if it had been waiting for her permission. The air rippled around her.

He stood straighter, at attention, his eyes suddenly glassy.

“Will you deny me my one desire?” Power tingled down her arms and legs and coiled low in her belly. Her body shifted subtly of its own accord, angling breasts and hips and chin in a suggestive posture she would never assume on her own.

His gaze traveled the length of her and he licked his lips. “I couldn’t deny you anything.”

The soft flesh under one of his arctic-blue eyes twitched.

Her insides turned icy. This wasn’t right. Commanding him held no appeal. His consent, his desire—they mattered. She wanted him to want her. And if he didn’t—

She clamped down the seductive anger trying to take control of her and gasped. “Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

He blinked, wiping the damp off his forehead—sweat or mist from the fountain or both. “Sonya?”

“Forget it.” She tugged his wrist. “Let’s go find Makar.”

He yanked her back, catching her chin in his hand. “Did you just—?”

“I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again.”

The corners of his lush lips turned down and she braced herself for a rebuke.

He squeezed her hand. “You want it that bad?”

She hung her head and nodded.

He took hold of her chin and forced her to look at him. “Believe me, sweetheart. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of getting inside you since the moment you came out of that teapot, and the rusalka had nothing to do with it. But I want to do right by you, not act like a teenager trying to get into your skinny new pants when you need my help.”

“I don’t know how to make you understand. Making love with you is what I need.”

He pressed his lips together as if he was actually considering it, and she saw her chance.

“Maybe just once? And then we can go looking for this Mr. Makar.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Girl, that magic sexy voice is wasted on you. You could talk a man into anything as regular ol’ Sonya.”

Before he could change his mind, she said, “Great. Back to Elena’s then?” Her grin was audible in her own voice.

“No. Her place isn’t safe. It’s where they would look for us, and I don’t want her involved any more than she already is. Let’s check into a hotel.” He took a hold of her elbow, his eyes sparkling with some mischievous light. “I know just the place.”

Sonya’s limbs still tingled and anticipation still coiled in her belly, but it was with pure joy that he had agreed. She might have floated, even in her human form, if he weren’t holding on to her elbow so tight.

He marched her away from the park for a few blocks, toward the little shops they’d visited earlier. The doors of brightly lit restaurants were propped open, and exotic scents wafted onto the sidewalk.

Her stomach growled loudly.

“Are you hungry?”

It seemed like she’d just eaten, but she was starving all over again. Still, she was running out of time, and the last thing on earth she wanted was to stop somewhere for dinner before she got what would probably be her last and only night to be alive, and to be with him. She put on an innocent face. “No.”

He chuckled. “Liar. We’ll order room service.”

They zigzagged a few blocks before he stopped in front of a nondescript building and flung open the door. The entryway led into a gorgeous lobby. She gasped at the luxury. It was a modern palace, and she was very out of place.

“No. Dmitri. This is too much. Let’s find somewhere simpler.”

“Nope. Pretty ghosts whose time is running out don’t stay in hotels with only four stars. We’ll stay here.”

At the reception desk, he arranged for a room and handed over that little plastic card. Only this one was a different color than the other.

“Thank you, Mr. Luchenko,” the receptionist said.

Sonya tilted her head.

They followed behind a bellhop with nothing to carry since Dmitri only had his pack.

“Who’s Luchenko?”

“
Ssh
.” He pressed his finger to her lips. “That one’s a backup. Don’t want Gregor finding us.”

“How do those little cards work anyway?” she whispered.

Still, the bellhop gave her an odd look. “Up this elevator and to your right, sir. Enjoy your stay.”

Dmitri handed him a tip, but all she had to offer him was a smile. “Thank you.”

Inside the upholstered walls of the elevator, Dmitri answered her question. “The cards are tied to bank accounts. When I use the other one, Gregor can see all the transactions online.”

“Online?”

“Sweetheart, can I explain it later?”

A wave of sadness overtook her. So many mysteries in this new world, and there wouldn’t be a later to figure them out. She really wanted to know. “But I—”

He silenced her with a kiss, and twenty-first century banking technology seemed suddenly less fascinating. When he touched her, she became real, she became solidly Sonya again, but who knew how long that would last?

The elevator halted, its doors opening with a ding. Fresh flowers adorned a table in the elevator lobby. They strolled arm in arm down a quiet hallway lit with brass sconces.

Another one of the magic cards appeared from his pocket to open the door. People probably used them to brush their teeth and comb their hair too.

Inside, a high bed dominated the small room, its striped satin cover as luxurious as the one in the department store. The walls were papered with a matching stripe, ivory and silver and celery green. Gilded frames hung on the wall, housing oil paintings of garden scenes that looked familiar but not recognizable. She’d never stayed in a hotel, but this was a far cry from how she’d imagined the inside of a Kiev pension. A wall of windows displayed San Francisco’s lights twinkling in the nearly dark sky and stealing her breath.

She dragged him over and touched her fingers to the window. Time seemed to stop as she stood there, entranced by the fog pouring down the hill and through the streets as if they were canals. Lights were everywhere, illuminating the shape of the skyscrapers and the movement of traffic, a white garland on the bridge, and blinking red in the sky.

“What are those?” She pointed.

“Airplanes.” His gravelly whisper raised goose bumps on her arms. It astonished her that a dozen of the planes passed by in just a few minutes.

“Let’s sit down and order some dinner.” He kicked off his shoes and she followed suit.

Together, they climbed onto the bed, holding hands.

When he dropped his weight against the pillow, the firm mattress bounced. A surprising memory surfaced, of sitting in a rowboat across from her father when a motorboat went by and set them to rocking. Papa’s hat had flown off and they’d paddled fast to catch it, laughing all the way.

Those moments made up a life, but a person never took note of them at the time.

From the telephone on the nightstand, which was the first telephone to look anything like the devices Sonya knew, he ordered what sounded like an enormous meal and a bottle of champagne. Then he flipped off the lights so they could enjoy the view.

“Champagne?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “I need a little courage to do this thing you’ve asked of me.”

She punched him in the arm, and he chuckled. She rolled onto her side, studying his flawed profile in the golden light. “Tell me the truth. What things do scare you?”

He stared at the ceiling for a long time. Was he ignoring the question? She sat up to see his face straight on. His soft lips had parted and the vulnerability on his hard features astonished her. She pressed a hand to his chest.

“I’m not a good man, Sonya.”

She shook her head. “We’ve already ta—”

“Listen to me. I need you to know.” He captured her wrist roughly.

“It won’t change my mind.”

“I killed a woman. Just like you. With a shot through the chest.”

Her blood turned to ice. No. He was lying. Trying to push her away. “I don’t believe you.”

But then she remembered his reverent caress over the scar.

His voice flattened. “It happened last month.”

“Why?” Sonya whispered, her body already trembling.

“She got in the way.”

Sweet Jesus. Where had her gentle Dmitri gone? “Of what?”

“The bullet.”

“An accident, you mean?” Well, that counted for something. “Who was the bullet meant for?”

“Her boyfriend. A drug dealer who’d double-crossed my uncle, stolen a boatload of money, and quadrupled it by selling heroin on the streets of Kiev.”

“Why not call the militsya?”

“The cops can’t be trusted. Good or bad, they all want a piece of you. We can only do business if we are our own enforcers.”

“So you decide justice on your own?”