Selene

“Kristian Muller.” Selene stared up into the red velvet. Nikolai traced the curve of her ribs, spread his hand against her side. His skin slid against hers, two perfect textures. Selene caught her breath. “I wanted to visit him, see what he knew. Danny wrote that G. was coming to collect the Seal, and. . .” She gasped again when Nikolai’s hand trailed fire across her belly. Her eyes were dry and full of sand, her cheeks raw and inflamed. Even a Nichtvren couldn’t cry prettily.

Dawn was coming. Lead weighed her arms and legs, started creeping up her limbs.

“G as in Grigori.” Nikolai set the manila folder on the nightstand. The picture of Grigori stared up until he turned it over and tightened his arms around her.

Selene shuddered. Her head moved slightly against his shoulder. She shut her eyes. “I guess so. Grigori killed Danny. Played with him and killed him.”

“It would appear so. Grigori stole from the Sitirrismi, they contracted me to bring the Seal back without telling me who had stolen it. I contracted Danny to find it, he stole from Grigori, and Grigori. . .You were expected to be at his apartment, Selene.”

Cold. . .Lena, don’t. . .don’t. . .Danger. . . Danny’s voice on the phone echoed in memory. The smell of the rain, the heat of her panic as she raced to his apartment—and the front hall, bloodsoaked and scattered with little bits. Nikolai said Danny was shot before. . .that. A shiver spilled through her. Nikolai was silent. I hope so. Jesu, I hope it was quick for him. “What if Grigori was in the apartment? If I hadn’t run across Bruce I might have been there earlier, and he alerted you, didn’t he? Or if I’d caught a cab, I’d have been there.”

Nikolai’s hand tensed. “I owe both Stirling and the cab service distinct gratitude, then.” But he didn’t sound as amused as he usually did. He sounded, in fact, like he had something in his throat.

I don’t have to breathe. Why am I yawning? “Nikolai?”

“Hmm?” He moved, his hair sliding against the pillowcase and making a low sweet sound. His lips met her temple.

“When I. . .fed from you, I saw—no. I felt like—or maybe I saw something, like it was a dream.”

He was utterly still. “A dream?”

“I was tied to a post and being whipped while they screamed for me to recant.” She swallowed dryly. “Is that where the scars come from?”

Nikolai didn’t move. The silence returned, and she knew it had been the wrong question to ask. If there were any right questions, she hadn’t learned what they were—and he probably wouldn’t answer them anyway.

Just like a Nichtvren.

Selene finally sighed. I don’t know why I even try. It took every scrap of energy she had left to hitch her hip up, as if she was about to move away. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

“No.” His arm tightened under her head. He pushed her hip back down with his free hand. “I do not like to speak of it. Before I was Turned. . .yes. I was tied to a stake and lashed as a heretic.” His voice was low and even, emotionless. “It was dusk.” The rhythm of another language wore through the English, accenting strangely. “There were dark clouds in the sky. Dark comes early in winter, that far north. Then Kelaios Grigorivitch Grigori came.”

“He saved you?” The blackness of approaching dawn swamped her. She couldn’t feel her hands anymore, or her legs.

He kissed her temple again, the touch burning through the lassitude creeping up her body. “Yes.” Very softly. “But you see, it was Grigori who arranged for the punishment when I would not submit to him. He wished me broken so he could Turn me. But the torture, starvation and whipping was too much for mortal flesh, he had no choice but to Turn me unbroken. He thought he could finish the process at his leisure.”

Selene would have spoken, but the blackness was closing over her head like deep water.

The last thing she heard was Nikolai’s sigh. “I will not lose you to him, Selene. I swear it.”

Irritation flooded her. Goddammit, Nikolai. As if I’m a bicycle chained to a rack, and you don’t want him making off with me. But the words refused to come.

Darkness, then. Dawn.