Selene

The iron gate was slightly ajar. Selene squeezed through, her canvas bag knocking against it and producing a hollow muffled clang. Lightning lit the sky overhead, forked diamonds thrown across the dark-orange glow of a cloudy city sky. The air was pregnant with storm.

She limped, her left calf spiking with pain. Good thing I found that car. She winced when she thought of the way she’d wrecked it. I hope they had insurance, I haven’t driven in years and those hybrids are stupid. They wallow like politicians.

She shuddered. I’m a thief as well as a murderer now, just to top off a life spent being a paranormal tramp. Christos. Really racking up the score here, Selene.

The nest loomed up at the top of the hill, defenses shimmering in the rain-laden air. Selene’s nostrils flared. She smelled like petroleo, and her camel coat was scorched almost beyond recognition. She ran her hands back through her hair, trying to smooth it down, flinching when she felt crispy, charred bits. I always did want a short haircut. Her breath jagged in. Maybe I’ll cut it all off. When would she learn not to breathe?

Give me a little while. I’ve only been Nichtvren for two nights. She limped up the graveled drive. Two wonderful nights. My entire life’s gone into the Twilight Zone—well, more than usual.

The nest was huge, a sort of neo-Victorian spread out in two wings and a main complex, with the windowless garage off to the side. There were no lights, no signs of life, just dark empty windows and the exhalation of some cold Power living here. The manicured grounds lay uneasily under that chilly cloak, Power flicking in Selene’s peripheral vision.

I’ll be lucky if his defenses don’t fry me.

By the time she reached the front door, dime-sized drops of rain were beginning to plop down onto the paved drive. Rosebushes bowed under the sudden wash of cold wind—there were obedient ranks of them folding away on either side, low laurel hedges, an ornamental fountain standing dry and cold off to her left. The fountain sent up one metal spike like a warning finger. Selene shivered. Her coat steamed.

She climbed the seven granite steps between the two stone lions, walked across the flagstones that led up to the door. Carved gargoyles watched her from heavy iron-bound wood, their mouths open in silent screams. The man just has no taste. She shivered, raised her hands and was about to pound on the door when she noticed the button for the bell tucked to one side on a copper plate.

The shivers had her again. I can’t believe I got away. Maybe I’m luckier than I thought. The hair on her nape rose up. Her knees buckled, and she almost fell against the door, catching herself just in time. Her palms sang with pain, she pulled back as if the door had burned her.

“Nikolai,” she whispered, and rang the bell.

Nothing happened.

She waited, her heart pounding in her ears. Pushed the button again.

Still, nothing.

The rain began to come down in quarter-sized instead of dime-sized drops. Her face throbbed with pain. Had she been burned? She couldn’t remember. Shock was closing in, cotton wool wrapping her ears and nose.

She rang the bell a third time, a short sob escaping her. “God,” she whispered, “don’t tell me you’re not home. If I have to break into your house after all this. . .Jesu, Nikolai, open up.”

Nothing again. The house rose up over her, a wave of stone and glass about to break.

Selene stepped up to the door, found the handle, and pressed it down. It swung open easily, on eerily quiet hinges. Revealed an expanse of white and black marble, checkerboard squares, a narrow strip of red carpeting running up two flights of stairs, one on either side of the foyer. Fred Astaire could have danced down those steps.

She stepped inside. The cessation of the rain’s pounding made her head ring. The door swung closed behind her, latched shut.

Relief made her knees weak and her hands cold. Now she was here, in Nikolai’s house. At least here, she could sleep for a little bit. Wait for him to come home. . .maybe.

And then he and Grigori could kill each other all they wanted, and she’d be able to go on her way. Only where would she go, now?

And would Nikolai let her vanish? That was the million-credit question, wasn’t it.

Selene’s legs gave out for the last time. She slid down the inside of the door and sat on the floor. The marble was cold, and her ass went numb almost immediately. There was a grandfather clock set off to one side, an awful, heavily-carved thing ticking and tocking like a demented rocking chair.

“Nikolai,” she whispered. “Please be home.” I didn’t shoot you enough to kill you. Go figure, I’m suddenly okay with the idea.

Light seared through her eyes and she blinked, resting her head against the door. There was a chandelier overhead, tinkling crystal drops that were now glowing from several incandescent bulbs. It hurt to look at, but she was too tired to glance away.

“Jesu Christos,” Price Netley said. “Selene? My God. Call the Master. Tell him she’s here. Selene, we’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Running footsteps.

Her eyes fell closed, shutting out the glare. “I ran into some trouble,” she husked. Her throat seemed far too dry. “Netley—I’ve seen Grigori. He killed Danny. You’ve got to tell. . .got to tell Nikolai.” So they can fucking do each other to death and leave me alone.

And yet she came running back to Nikolai’s house, hoping he was home so he could take care of this, bail her out like he’d done so many times before, all the time she’d known him. Or maybe because it was the only halfway-safe place left to her. Between what Grigori wanted and what Nikolai wanted, she’d probably pick Nikolai every time. Since Nikolai seemed to want her alive so he could fuck with her.

Selene, you are a piece of work, aren’t you. She was too tired to feel the bite of self-loathing under the thought. She had a whole lifetime’s worth of things to loathe about herself. One or two more wasn’t going to make a damn bit of difference at this point.

“You need blood. Come on, Selene, stay awake.” Netley patted her cheek. The feel of warm damp human flesh against her skin made her fangs slide free, and Selene made a small pleading sound. “Here.” He pressed his wrist against her mouth. Her eyes slid open. She saw the lawyer’s blond face, his hair mussed, his cheeks paper-white. “Come on, feed. Nikolai will come back as soon as he gets word. Whatever you did knocked him for a loop, he’s searching high and low for you.”

Selene clamped her lips together. Netley’s legs stuck out of the bottom of his flannel shirt and blue boxers, hairy and knob-kneed. He wore a pair of fuzzy blue slippers too, and smelled like pipe tobacco. The smell took her back to the war profiteers in the camps, they’d smelled the same way.

Selene’s throat closed up.

Bite him,Nikolai’s voice whispered in her ear. You need blood, and he is my thrall. Take what you must, what is mine is yours.

Selene shook her head again, but Netley jammed his wrist against her mouth again. “Don’t make me cut myself, Selene, please. Drink. You must, or Nikolai will be very angry with me.” Running footsteps behind him. Someone was talking—it sounded like one half of a phone conversation.

“—right here,” Jorge said. “She’s talking about Grigori. Master—” The sound of a cell-phone flipped shut was sharp in the quiet. Fabric moving, people running. “Damn. He’s on his way. Bring a bloodpack. Selene, you need to feed, you’re going into shock.”

Tears trickled out between Selene’s eyelids. Of course I need to feed, but Netley. . .I know him, goddammit, I know him, I can’t bite him.

DRINK! Nikolai’s voice, a gong ringing in the very center of her head, rattling her skull. Selene found herself opening her mouth, her fangs driving into Netley’s wrist. Blood filled her throat, hot and tasting of human, and she choked. Then her body took over, drinking, swallowing, it tasted good. She made a small mewling sound while she drank, like a kitten.

The entire world faded out, replaced by the sound of Netley’s pulse. That’s enough, Selene. Nikolai’s voice, again, filling the world, impossible to disobey. Selene retracted her fangs. Her tongue lapped across the marks—the coagulant her tongue secreted would help take care of the wounds.

She let go of his wrist. Choked on the last mouthful of blood, gagged, swallowed it. The world returned, a fresh rush of color and sensation. New heat blurred through her veins, tingled in her fingertips. The blood she’d taken from Grigori had done something funny to her, sealed some part of her away. He hadn’t expected her to keep it, the blood so much more powerful than hers.

What would it do to her, so much precious fluid from an ancient Master? It had given her the strength and speed to run without her heart bursting, but maybe there were deeper effects.

If it made me fast enough to outrun him I’m all for it. I’ll figure out the rest of it later. If Nikolai doesn’t kill me for shooting him.

Great. What a lovely thought.

Jorge was dragging her over to the stairs. She was denser now, he grunted as she gained her feet and tried to help. “Lock down the defenses,” he said. “Bradley, help Netley. We’ve got a transfusion pack in the medroom. Clark, get me some alcohol swabs. Jesu, Selene, what did you do to yourself this time?”

The doors boomed as something hit them from the outside. They shuddered theatrically and swung open. Nikolai strode in from the rain, water running off his black hair and long coat. He didn’t bother to close the doors—they simply slammed shut without any help.

The air ran with hot prickles of tension. Nikolai’s footsteps echoed against the marble.

Selene dropped down on the steps. She could sit up now, and she pushed her hair back, tucking charred strands behind her ears. The bag miraculously rested against her side, slumping against her, a faithful little dog.

Jorge stepped back. She didn’t blame him.

“Leave us,” Nikolai said. Footsteps resounded, running away, someone dragging Netley. Jorge stayed long enough to look at Selene as if he wanted to say something, but then he shook his head and retreated up the stairs.

Nikolai halted six feet from the steps. Water streamed off him. He slicked his hair back with one hand, looking down at her, his eyes black from lid to lid, sparks of blue-green glittering on the surface of the blackness.

Selene swallowed dryly. “I saw Grigori,” she said, pointlessly. “He wanted. . . he said one phone call, to lure you into a trap. He’s a beast-master, isn’t he? I forgot about those, we didn’t cover them much in school.” She dug in the bag at her side, came up with the lump of fabric and its terrible secret weight. “Then he tried to kill me. I have this.” She unwrapped the fabric with shaking hands.

The Seal glowed under the warm electric light from the chandelier. Its emeralds flashed. She tossed it at him, and his white hand flashed out and caught it. “Danny had it hidden in his apartment. It’s why he died, maybe. I don’t know. But Grigori. . .he killed Danny, Nikolai. He tried to kill me, I. . .” I heard your voice inside my head. Did you help me?

And if you did, do I owe you for that? What the fuck do I have to pay you now, Nikolai? You’re a monster, I’m a monster, even God is a monster. We’re all in this together.

“Why did you not betray me?” His voice slid through the air, made Selene’s entire body go cold. He sounded bored. Goosebumps rose on Selene’s skin. She shivered, unable to look away from him until he blinked, deliberately, his lids closing over his eyes and releasing her.

She looked down at her hands. Her palms were black with soot and there were little beads of dried blood marching across her hand. Would I have tried to, if he hadn’t tried to kill me? Who knows? Her face ached. “He said he wanted you back. T-t-to serve.” How could she explain it, to him of all people? “I know what it’s like to be trapped. I don’t want to do that. To anyone. Ever. Not even someone I. . .hate.” Her palm was slashed too, from the fence at the church. That wound was rapidly closing, flesh knitting itself back together. Then she tipped her head back up, looked directly at him. “If anyone kills you,” she whispered, “it’s going to be me.”

Unless you and Grigori take care of each other. I can’t be that lucky.

His gaze met hers. Heat slammed into her belly and she bit her lower lip, forgetting her teeth were sharper now. Something warm trickled down her chin.

He approached cautiously, his boots making wet squeaking sounds against the marble tiles. Then he crouched down right in front of the bottom step. He reached up, touching her chin with his free hand, smoothing the blood away. His fingers were warm and hard. “Why do you fight me so hard, Selene? All I wish for. . .” Here, maddeningly, he stopped. “You saw Grigori? How do you know it was him?”

“I know, I saw him through Danny’s wards. He wanted me to feed from him.”

“Did you?”

“I. . .” She stole a glance at him under her lashes. How could she tell him she had heard his voice during the whole thing?

He was watching her face. “I see.” He nodded.

Then he took her scraped and slashed hand and held it up, placed the Seal in her palm. “There. Hold it until we can give it back.”

“I don’t want to. You had Danny steal it.”

“I wanted Danny to locate it for the Sitirrismi,” he corrected. “You are so willing to believe the worst of me.”

Did he sound hurt? Wonders never ceased. “You’re a bastard.” The rain was a distant drumming against the roof, muffled by the bulk of the house. “You deliberately Turned me. I’ll never be human again.”

“I sought to save your life, since a Nichtvren’s blood can cure many ills. And now you are immortal, and what you call your curse does not rule you. I should think you would thank me, but you are ungrateful as well as spiteful—”

“Thank you,” Selene said immediately, interrupting him.

He smiled, the black shrinking until his eyes were normal again—or as normal as Nikolai’s eyes ever got, the catshine across his pupil and iris contrasting with the perfect whites. The smile was gentle, tender, and ironic, the most human expression she’d ever seen on him.

It was terrifying in a whole new way.

Her heart thudded in her throat, a red tide of fear slamming up her spinal cord. “I hate that you Turned me.”

He nodded. “Hate me if you like. As long as you are alive to hate me, I can bear it.”

“You keep saying that.” Her head dropped forward. A few strands of singed hair fell in her face. Her heart pounded harshly. Why? She wasn’t running anymore. Or was it thunder from outside echoing in her bones?

“You need more blood. How did you escape Grigori?”

“I ran. He caught my coat—I outdistanced the werecain, then I stole a car. They almost caught me on the bridge, but the car wrecked and blew up. I barely got out. I have this thing for cars blowing up, I guess. Did I ever tell you about my prom?”

He was still brushing her hair back. He murmured very softly, Selene didn’t hear quite what. Then he cleared his throat. “Come. You need to feed, and to rest.”

“There was a werecain in my apartment. It tore everything up. I had to hide in the closet at the bus station.”

“If I were mortal, you might kill me with worry,” Nikolai said dryly, brushing her shoulders. “Your coat is ruined. Come with me, Selene.”

She nodded. Held her hand up to him. “I don’t think I can stand up,” she admitted. “He’s scary, Nikolai. He’s really scary. I wish you two would kill each other and leave me alone.”

There. It was out. It was said. Her hand quivered in midair.

Nikolai nodded, his black hair slicked back from his face. The warm electric light glowed down, highlighted his hair, his charcoal eyebrows, glimmered in his black eyes. His fingers threaded through hers. “Indeed he is frightening. More terrifying than me, I would suspect, since you have run from him straight to my door.”

“He said he couldn’t see me under your hand.” Shivers racked her. Her palms were sweating. His voice did something strange to her head, her entire body changing into warm oil.

Nikolai let go of her hand, took her shoulders and stood up, which dragged her upright. The Seal weighted down her fingers, bumped against her hip. “I hate this thing,” she continued. “You can have it, I don’t want it.”

He nodded. “You’ll have to feed, Selene. You used more Power than you should have, running from him. I shall teach you better.”

“I can’t do this.” Selene leaned into him. “I don’t want to be a bloodsucking monster.”

“We are all God’s monsters. You only doubt yourself.” He folded her in his arms. Selene’s body unstrung, her arms and legs weighed down with exhaustion. “It will pass.”

“Did Grigori make that thing kill Danny?” She tipped her head back to look up at his face.

“It is certainly possible. The spent shell casings inside Danny’s apartment would lead me to the conclusion that altered beast was simply to find Danny. Danny was shot twice before Grigori worked his will. I did not want you to see his body, Selene. You had enough to bear. You are more fragile than you think.”

Selene blinked. Fragile? I don’t think so, but if you—“Shot? But I didn’t see that in the wards.”

“Did it ever occur to you that the wards would not have cared about bullets? Or that the presence of a werecain and a Nichtvren might have confused the issue? And that you were already shocked by grief and drained of Power—perhaps the wards did not tell you the complete tale?” His voice rumbled in his chest, stroked her skin, slid down her back and ruffled her hair. “Had you simply let me do what I intended, we could have discovered all, with little trouble and effort, and Grigori would have been forced to show his hand.”

“Did you intend on me getting shot, then?” Her cheek was pressed against his chest, so there wasn’t much of a challenge except for her tone. I don’t think anyone else could talk to him like this, she thought, and was going to bite at her lower lip again before she remembered her teeth were much sharper now.

Her legs completely failed her, and she dropped against him, her head lolling. The Seal bumped her hip again. Her fingers wouldn’t quite let go of it.

“I am a fool. Come, dear one.”

He half-carried her through the halls, carpet barely muffling the sound of crisp measured steps. Her boot-toes dragged against the floor, but Selene was past caring. For the moment she was warm, and Nikolai was carrying her, and she felt reasonably safe.

Funny how my idea of safe changes from minute to minute lately, she thought dimly. He’s definitely not safe. He’s as dangerous as Grigori.

“Stay awake, Selene.” He set her down on something soft. A door creaked closed, and there was the sound of an iron bar clanging. “Here, take this off.” His fingers, stripping her bag away, the Seal slipping away from her hand and hitting the floor with a clang. The rags of her coat were torn off, and the sweater and dress shirt were charred and useless. Her back ran with pain.

He hissed in a breath. “You’re burned. And he marked you.” He sounded shocked.

“Always trying to get my clothes off,” she heard herself say. Her voice had a funny breathless tone she didn’t like, dreamy and disconnected. She smelled something very sweet, fermenting. That’s my blood decaying. Weird. How do I know that?

“Drink, Selene,” he whispered, his fingers closing around the back of her neck. “Take what you need.”

The pulse beat against her lips. It wasn’t his wrist—it was too strong, and his skin was too soft.

Her fangs slid out, her jaw distending, and he pushed gently on the back of her head. Drink, Selene. His voice whispered in the center of her head again. For the love of God, drink.

It was like breaking a crust, his skin cool and resistant until her newfound fangs cracked through and the taste of him flooded her mouth. Heat poured down her throat. Selene’s eyelids fluttered, shutterclicks of light burning through her eyes. His hair brushed her face. Her entire body pitched forward, melding against his, the sliding perfect texture of his skin now rubbing over hers. His pulse pounded, forcing hers to follow, a tandem beat that strained at her ears and wrists and throat.

His pulse continued for an eternity, blood murmuring in her ears, and Selene’s entire body flushed with heat.

And then she fell.

***

Rough wood against cheek, screaming of the crowd, chanting deep voices. “Recant! Recant! Recant!” Smell, human smell of offal and sweat and garlic and the cold.

The first lash. For a moment the impact didn’t hurt, it was so deep and huge, but then the skin tore and the agony ripped flesh from bone. Screams of a wounded animal—a familiar voice. Knees against stone, slipping greasily in ice and the offal the crowd hurled at the heretic.

The sun had fled behind a bank of cloud, premature winter darkness falling. Uneasiness slid through the chanting voices. It was dangerous to be out after dark. Screams bounced off the ice-frosted flags, knees aching, back on fire, hoarse sobbing, throat cut with screaming.

“Recant! Recant!” The chanting of the crowd frayed, dissolved into an animal roar. The whip cracked again. And again.

“Enough!” The voice roared through the crowd.

But the animals bayed. They wanted blood, and death, and more blood. There was not enough red in the world to fill their thirst.

The whip descended one last time. Blood, dripping onto the flags. A red haze descending.

Selene slammed back into her body. Her fangs slid free of Nikolai’s throat. He hadn’t told her to stop, she was simply gorged with blood, a queer bloated feeling under her ribs as her body tried to cope with the sudden influx.

Nikolai fell back onto the bed, landed against the pillows. Her skin crackled, shedding burned tissue, fresh healthy skin suddenly shrinking from the chill.

Selene stood at the edge of the bed, a sharp edge digging into her shins. Nikolai was paper-white, wheezing. He was old, and powerful, but even a Master could die of blood loss. She’d taken too much.

Nikolai’s eyes were shut, sharp black lashes in an arc against his too-white cheek. He drew in a shallow gasp. The horrible choked sound rattled inside Selene’s head, bounced off the walls.

Call for one of his thralls. She looked at the heavy wooden door. It was barred inside and out, probably. She could see the heavy iron bar, set in brackets driven deep into the dark wood paneling. Oh, no.

“Nikolai!” Before she knew it she was on the bed, her knees on either side of his hips. His back arched, his fangs distended, his skin was almost translucent. The pulse beat under the thin skin at his temples, swelling and retreating strongly.

She had her wrist halfway to her mouth before she realized what she was doing, her teeth set just against the skin. I bet I could break the door down or figure it out, she thought blankly, looking down at his face. He was choking on the still air. He would probably survive. Then he and Grigori could fight it out and I can get away.

Maybe.

“If anyone kills you,” she repeated softly, “it’s going to be me.” Her throat closed against the words, her pulse suddenly racing, rapid and thready, something uncomfortably like bile pressing against the back of her throat. Nichtvren don’t throw up, she heard herself saying in a lecture hall years ago, heard the shocked titters of the students. There is no gag reflex, since they have no need to void; there is no such thing as poisoning a Nichtvren. They can rupture their stomachs, though, with gorging. She shook the memory away. She’d probably never teach again.

What are you doing? her own voice shrilled inside her head. You can’t—you won’t!

He’ll be crippled if he goes for too long without feeding on something, she told the shocked little voice. He gave me too much.

Why would he do something like that? Probably to trap her again. He never did anything without a reason, did he. It was the only thing he understood, the planning and the reasons.

So maybe she should do something just for the hell of it. Like saving his life.

Her teeth scraped over the throbbing in her own wrist. Nikolai’s blood wasn’t silty and thick like Grigori’s. Instead, it was like brandy, a smooth fire that exploded in her stomach and tingled against her skin. And it fed her even deeper, flushing her body with even more Power. Most fledgelings didn’t get to drink more than once from their Master, she’d fed from two Masters now. And Jesu alone knew how much of Nikolai’s blood she’d taken down when she’d been shot in the back.

You’d better start thinking about why he would do these things, Selene. And why you’re doing what you’re doing.

The dim lighting of Nikolai’s sanctum was now perfect for her night-hunting vision. The greenish glow that was almost-total darkness retreated under the faint light from the lamp with the red lace shade, and the red velvet was soothing. The blank dark walls held none of the painful brightness of the human world.

Inside this cocoon, then, she looked down at the pale dish of Nikolai’s face. He drew in a long shallow rattling breath, his body tensing under hers.

Selene drove her own teeth into her wrist. A bright spike of pain made her eyes roll up.

What are you doing? You hate him! Her own voice scraped against the inside of her mind. He Turned you into a sucktooth! Made you a murderer! And he. . . he. . .

He protected me. From my own Talent, and from Grigori. So she owed him. And she needed him to settle things with Grigori so she could escape—for good this time.

Her fangs retracted. Blood dripped down her arm, and she shoved her wrist against Nikolai’s mouth. “Come on,” she whispered. “Come on.”

He fastened on the wound. The feel of his mouth on her skin, drawing from her, made her gasp, fire pulling against her veins.

I didn’t know, she thought, as her head dipped forward. Her body settled against his, she felt the definite start of something hard pressing against the juncture of her legs. Warmth flooded up, and she felt wetness trickle down, threading along and soaking into denim. Sweat sprang up along her forehead, under her arms. Selene moaned.

He drew in another long mouthful and she arched her back. This was familiar—the swimming weakness, fear and a slight edge of pain making her legs faraway and dim, her wet jeans and her singed bra too confining, rasping against her skin.

He took another endless pull against her wrist, swallowing four times. His eyes closed, his face losing some of its translucence. Selene cried out, the sensation exploding through her body, her head now flung back. If he does that again I’ll die. But it was an eager disconnected thought. She didn’t care. Dying of this kind of sensory overload would almost make it worthwhile.

Nikolai pushed her aside, one hand clamped around her wrist, Selene’s entire body unstrung and languid, falling through space. Her nerve endings sparked like Roman candles, and she wondered vaguely if her hand would glow in the dim light if she held it up enough to see. He knelt on the bed, holding the wound on her wrist closed, his other hand pushing her shoulder. She fell against the velvet, cloth rasping at her skin.

“Enough,” Nikolai said, harshly. “Stay here. I’ll return.”

“No.” It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself, Selene caught at fingers on her wrist with her free hand, her own fingers clamping home with more force than she thought possible. “Nikolai.”

He went still, looking down at her. His face was gaunt—he gave me too much, she thought, incoherent, her mouth falling open as she looked up at him. I could have let him die here.

She pulled at his hand. More. She wanted more.

He still didn’t move. He might have been a statue, unblinking, unbreathing. His cheeks were hollow, and there were dark bruised circles under his eyes. How much did I drink? Selene stared at him. His eyes scorched the darkness around his face, a pulsing haze of cold Power. His hand fell away from her shoulder.

Selene swallowed. The tang of his blood still stained the inside of her mouth. It took an effort of will to let go of his wrist, one finger at a time. “Where are you going?” she asked, barely believing that she would even care. A shudder raced through her entire body. Aftershocks.

That was one hell of a feeding. We know exactly what that is, too. It’s the curse again.

He moved then, brushing strands of sweat-damp hair back from her forehead. Well what do you know? The cheerful, lunatic side of Selene said in a bright jolly voice. Nichtvren do sweat. All it takes is a little sex, and they sweat buckets. Get it, buckets? As in buckets of blood? Ha ha?

“I have thralls, and bloodpacks. Time to use them, verscht za? I will return to let you feed again. Until then, I will leave the door to my sanctum closed, for your safety. You have escaped Grigori, dear one, and he will not take that kindly.” Nikolai’s black eyes with their layer of predatory shine met hers. “He will, in fact, be furious. If the nest is attacked and broken, you will find a safe passage out. It is hidden behind the bed, and will respond only to the medallion.” He looked as if he would say more, shook his head, smoothing back another charred strand of her hair. “I would ask that you stay, Selene. Please.”

Miracles do happen. Now that it’s too late to do any good, he starts asking instead of telling me. A hazy amazement settled over her. She nodded, curling into the velvet coverlet. Her cheek slid against the velvet. She nodded again, to feel that slight touch against her quivering skin. “I’m sorry,” she managed. “I took too much.”

“I allowed it, did I not?” He slid away from her to come to his feet, soundless and lithe as a giant cat, on the other side of the bed. “Rest, Selene. You are still new to this. No other fledgling has escaped Grigori’s pursuit in over six centuries.”

“Great. Bully for me,” Selene muttered, suddenly acutely aware that she was wearing a torn, stained bra and a pair of ragged jeans that were slick and damp, wadded between her legs. “How do you know?”

“Because I was the only one who ever did, before.”

Selene swallowed, curling into a ball. Her body slumped gratefully into the softness of the bed. “Maybe he let me escape.” But Grigori’s roar, and the marks of his claws on her back, told her otherwise.

“That,” Nikolai replied, “is why I will bar the door. We cannot trust each other too much, dorogaya moya.”

With that, he left. Selene lay in the half-dark, thinking it over. “No,” she finally said to the silence of his absence. “I guess we can’t.”