Page 25 of Crimson Oath (The Firebird and the Wolf #2)

Danior pursed his lips. “I know nothing of Truvor’s clan.”

Oleg’s arm darted forward and his hand closed around Danior’s neck, collaring the vampire with an iron grip.

As the vampire watched with wide eyes, the flames crept down from Oleg’s shoulder, inching closer and closer.

“Stop,” he whispered. “Stop.”

“ My clan.” Oleg kept his voice mild even as his hand tightened. “Did you have something to say about my clan?”

“I misspoke,” Danior choked out. “I only meant that you and Ivan?—”

“You mean my governor?” Oleg said. “My inferior?”

“Yes.” Bloody tears leaked from Danior’s eyes. “Forgive my mistake, Lord Oleg.”

Oleg pulled back his fire and released Danior’s neck. Then he took a long breath and let it out slowly. “I feel as if you’re still holding something back from me, Danior. This is disappointing.”

“Perhaps he needs to stay in the citadel for a bit longer.” Mika stared at the man like a snake watching a mouse.

“I think you are correct,” Oleg said. “I’m sure he’ll be able to dig himself out tomorrow night. There’s no rush. ”

Danior’s fangs jutted from his mouth, cutting the edge of his lip, but he remained silent.

“After all,” Mika said, “Vano and the rest of the clan already think Danior is dead.” He stood up from the chair. “You’ve paid the blood price to his clan.”

“Which means that technically” —Oleg waited until Danior met his eyes— “your blood belongs to me.”

Oleg stayed in his chambers the following night, enjoying the solitude and the quiet. He was working on a new piece, a round table with a blue-eyed wolf in the middle of a dark forest. He set sapphires for the eyes and used milky-white glass pieces in grey and white for the fur.

Along the edge of the table, surrounding the forest, was a border of dancing fire.

“A bit obvious, don’t you think?”

He turned and saw her rolling her eyes from where she lounged in an upholstered chair in the corner of his room. Her smart mouth was pursed in wry amusement, so he set down the tesserae in his palm and walked toward her.

“Do you like interrupting my work?” He spread her legs and knelt between them, running his hands up the soft flesh of her outer thighs.

She was wearing a floating blue dress that reminded him of a ballet costume. It glittered in the low light of his day chamber, the soft lamplight picking up the silver threads woven through the fabric.

The softness of her dress contrasted with the sharpness of her tongue. “Is it even possible to distract the great artist when he is at work? ”

“Yes.” He leaned closer, nipping at her chin before he captured her mouth. “You distract me. You won’t leave me alone.”

She lifted her chin. “Says the man who would have me under his thumb.”

“I don’t want you under my thumb.” He pulled her hips closer, pressing his erection into the soft juncture of her thighs. “But I do want you under me.”

“If you had me every night, Oleg Sokolov” —she lifted a hand and threaded her fingers through his hair— “you’d quickly tire of me.”

He heated his lips and trailed them along her jaw. “I could never be tired of you.”

“Liar.”

“Can you read my mind now?”

“Maybe.”

He pulled back and stared at her. “I wanted to see you in sunlight with the light in your hair.”

Her blue eyes met his. “That can never happen now.”

“If it was possible, I would build you a world where the day belonged to you.”

“Not even you are that powerful.”

“I would lay waste to an army for you. Conquer an empire.”

“Do you think that would impress me?”

“I don’t know what would impress you.” He frowned. “I really do not.”

She pressed her hand over his chest, where his heart used to beat. “I don’t want the things you care to give me.”

“So what do you want?”

“What do I want?” She slid her hand up and stroked the back of his neck. “What do I want?”

“I want to know.”

“I cannot tell you.” She pulled him closer and pressed her lips against his in a kiss that tasted of a spring morning and smelled of night-blooming jasmine .

Oleg slid his arms around her waist, intoxicated by the delicate kiss.

It was a taste of tenderness when he wanted to gorge himself on her. He wanted to sink his teeth into her flesh. Wanted her fangs to bruise him.

But instead, she teased him with tenderness.

“Oleg,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“Oleg.”

“Oleg!”

His eyes flew open at the sound of the banging on his door.

He had been dreaming. Oleg couldn’t remember the last time he’d dreamed. He could still feel the infuriating delicacy of her kiss.

Throwing his legs over the side of his bed, he walked to the thick oak door that blocked his day chamber from the rest of the castle, pulling on a pair of pants and trying to ignore the raging erection his dream had provoked.

“What do you want?” He threw open the door to see Mika on the other side.

His boyar frowned. “Were you still sleeping?”

“No.”

Mika opened his mouth, then closed it. “Grisha has a hit on the phone.”

“She turned it on?”

“Apparently.” Mika cocked his head. “But the location appears to be in Sweden.”

“Sweden?”

Mika shrugged. “Grisha thinks it’s a false trail. She must have figured out a way to hide the location. ”

“Of course she would.” His little wolf was a genius with her electronic toys. “Where is my phone?”

Mika held out the black device in the rubber case. “Don’t break this one too.”

“Go.” Oleg took the phone and slammed the door shut. Then he threw a blanket over his shoulders and sat in the chair where he’d been dreaming about Tatyana.

Using the stylus attached to the case, he touched the button with Tatyana’s name, then tapped the icon to make the speaker work.

He waited to hear her sweet, sarcastic voice.

“This has gone on long enough,” he muttered. “Tatyana, you need to come home.” He mentally rehearsed what he would say.

Her mother missed her.

She was needed at the company.

He needed her.

No. That sounded desperate.

“Hello?”

Oleg jumped to his feet when a man’s voice answered the phone. “Who is this?”

“Who is this ?”

“Look at the phone and you know who this is,” he snarled. “Where is Tatyana?”

There was a pause, then a hesitation. Then a low, familiar laugh.

“She’s safe, old friend. Very, very safe.”

The line went dead, and Oleg threw the phone against the stone wall of his day chamber before he let out an angry roar.

He knew that voice.

And he knew exactly where Tatyana had fled.