On the Hunt

Chapter One

Meal-on-wheels, eighteen-year-old Rose Pascal thought hysterically. That's me.

The bars of her cage rattled as the creatures who'd captured her only an hour before steered her toward a large tent hidden among a thicket of gnarled trees. What awaited her in there . . .

Would it be worse than what surrounded her?

Bile burned her throat. These men—things—were tall and muscled, with razor-sharp horns spiking down the center of their skulls, black scales that somehow looked as smooth as glass, and too-white fangs peeking from between bloodstained lips. The worst, though, was their glowing red eyes. Hungry eyes. Watching her, eager.

Frigid rain pounded from an onyx sky, splashing between the four-by-four iron that imprisoned her. She huddled in a corner, arms around her middle, shivering and freaked. Today was her birthday. She'd stayed up late, hoping to greet midnight—and thereby the shedding of her adolescence—with a laugh and call to her best friend, Claire. But the moment her clock changed from 11:59 to 12:00, her world had utterly shifted.

The indigo walls of her bedroom had faded, as had her bed, her desk, and her computer, only to be replaced by this dark, hammering rain. She'd spun, searching for something, anything familiar.

No panic, though. Not yet. Perhaps she'd fallen asleep, she'd mused, and nightmares now plagued her.

But the silly hope had lasted only a moment. The monsters had already scented her, racing to reach her before she could figure out what had happened and where she was. Panic? Oh, yes. A tidal wave of it. The creatures had pawed at her, uncaring as she fought and screamed, and tossed her into this cage.

What she'd known then—she'd never been here before. What she knew now—she never wanted to return. How had she gotten to this place? She still had no clue. The . . . things had tried to talk with her before jolting into motion, but they spoke in a language she'd never heard and they clearly didn't understand hers.

The cart stopped abruptly, and she gulped. They'd reached the tent. Her heart pounded against her ribs as one of the creatures unlatched the door, the heavy thunk jolting her into action.

"No!" When he stretched an arm inside, she kicked, batting his claws—so sharp and deadly—away. "Leave me alone!"

A grunt, a snarl, and then those claws banded around her ankle, jerking. Rose slid forward and onto her back, skull slamming into wood. Icy air sawed between her lips as her vision swam with winking stars. Another jerk, and she was out of the cage entirely, staring up at the dark, endless sky, raindrops like little needles against her skin. Then multiple sets of those red eyes were peering down at her.

I'm on my own. Helpless. Tremors rocked her, destroyed her, because she could no longer move. Death watched her, but she couldn't freaking move. Her blood was like sludge in her veins, weighing her down, pinning her in place.

Tears caught in her lashes before flooding down her cheeks, and even those were cold. "Let me go. Please." A mere shimmer of voice this time.

Angry muttering assaulted her ears. Demands? Threats?

"I don't know what you're saying!"

Firm hands hauled her to her feet and shoved her forward. Rose stumbled, but managed to remain upright despite the rigidity of her body. When she reached the tent flap, one of the monsters held the material up and out of the way, and motioned for her to go inside. Shaking her head, she tried to press her heels into the ground and slow her momentum. Finally, movement, just not the right kind. Her efforts earned her another shove, and this time she fell straight into the tent, smashing her belly, lungs, and face on the ground. More of those stupid stars flashed through her vision.

The flap closed behind her with an ominous swish.

Silence.

Her tremors intensified. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.

No sudden moves, but you have to find out what you're up against. Slowly she raised her head and cast her gaze wildly about. To her left was a bed of furs. Avoid! In the center blazed a crackling fire, licking her with welcome warmth. Every cell she possessed craved more. Just beyond those flames was a wooden tub, a shelf of books. To the right, a table piled high with platters of food. Food. How long since she'd eaten? But her empty stomach didn't have time to twist hungrily. Beside that table stood a man. A man who was studying her, casually sipping a glass of amber liquid.

Gasping, Rose jumped up. At six feet, she usually towered over the people around her, yet this man towered over her. He was as muscled as her escort, but unlike those monsters, this man had sun-kissed skin, tousled black hair, and violet eyes framed by thick, spiky black lashes.

His face was . . . beautiful. Haunting, like that of a favored angel. Seriously, airbrushed models weren't this perfect. He wore a black shirt and black pants, and if he'd unfolded white, feathered wings from his back, she wouldn't have been surprised.

Was she, dared she hope, safe now?

"Deutsch? Francais? English? Espanol? " he asked.

And he purred. The oh, God s in her head instantly changed in tone and volume. From frightened and screeching to awed and whispering. None of the boys at her school spoke like that. "I'm A-American," she said, smoothing the dripping hair from her face. Her black nightshirt and leggings absorbed every drop, and she was suddenly painfully aware of how terrible she must look. Silly girl.

"English, then. How many times have you been here, darling? Not many is my guess."

Darling. The endearment soothed like balm. "Th-this is the f-first time." Stupid chattering teeth.

The cold and waning shock had caught up with her.

He smiled over the rim of his glass. "Happy eighteenth birthday, then." Gaze never leaving her, he drank what remained, ice cubes clinking, and set the cup on the tabletop.

That smile nearly stole her thoughts as well as her breath. "How did you know today is my birthday?" For that matter: "Where am I? Wh-what are you going to do with me?" Chattering teeth couldn't be blamed for that last stutter. She wanted to blame renewed fear, but . . .

"One question at a time, yes? After we're comfortable. Be a good girl and sit down for me."

"N-no, thank you. I prefer to st-stand." She was less vulnerable that way.

His eyes darkened, narrowed. "I don't recall asking what you preferred, darling." The purr was gone, and in its place was a cold demand for absolute compliance. Instinct told her that refusing meant suffering.

Yes, renewed fear. Though she wanted to run screaming, Rose sat, her knees buckling under sudden pressure. She tried to scramble backward, but again, her body acted the traitor and remained in place.

There was something odd about this immobility. Immobility that was far worse than what she'd experienced outside, because there was absolutely no hope of overcoming it. She was stuck.

Why can't I move? Because of him? Quaking, she fought a fresh round of terrified tears. She wasn't safer with this man, this fallen angel, she realized with certainty. Not even close.

"Good girl. Now." He dragged a chair in front of her and eased down, resting his elbows on his thighs and leaning toward her. He smelled of peat smoke and wildflowers, of all things, and the fragrance made her . . . ache. From more of that fear, surely. "What's your name?"

Too close. He was too close. And that ache, it was too unsettling, born of fear or not.

"Name." Another demand.

"R-Rose."

"Pretty. My name is Vasili, and I'm going to ask you some questions, Rose, and you're going to answer. If you lie to me, I'll know, believe me, and I will not be happy." He waited until she nodded in acknowledgment before continuing. "Do you know what happens to people who fail to make me happy?"

She gulped, shook her head.

"They die. Slowly, painfully."

Said so easily, he left no room for doubts. One lie and he would killher. Dear God. Breathe.

"Why are you here, Rose?"

"I—I don't know. I swear to God, I don't know," she rushed out, expecting him to punish her for her ignorance.

He merely arched a black brow. "You weren't told to spy on me? To hurt me?"

"No! I don't even know who you are."

"What a terrible blow to my ego," he said, clutching his heart.

Life and death rested in his hands, and he . . . teased? Sparks of anger bloomed inside her, numbing some of the fear and kicking her common sense in the teeth. "I'm sure you'll survive," she replied before she could stop herself. "Unfortunately."

"What's this? Spirit from my little mouse?"

Now he mocked her. Several more sparks joined the fray.

Don't forget a predator lurks under that easy charm.

Thank you, Common Sense, for finally coming out of your coma. Wisely, she offered no reply to him.

"Do you know what you are, Rose?"

What kind of question was that? "I'm human. Educated. Civilized. Unlike—" Uh-oh. She'd forgotten. Rein in the temper—a temper that had always been her downfall.

"Unlike me?"

Her lips pressed together in a mulish line. Again, he'd get no reply from her. Her, a "little mouse." Oh, how that still burned. She liked to hunch her shoulders, sure, to make herself appear smaller, and she'd always preferred to blend into the background of a room, rather than stand out.

And yes, she avoided confrontation whenever possible. But sometimes she snapped and lashed out, consequences be damned, and those "sometimes" were not pretty.

"In this, you clearly have no education," he said, tapping the tip of her nose with a strong finger.

As if she were a naughty child. "But allow me to instruct you. You are what's called a Dimension Walker. You crossed from your dimension and into this one, the dark side of your golden world."

"No." What was he talking about? Dimension Walker? "No, that isn't possible. That only happens in books and movies."

"Then you tell me. How are you here?" He spread his arms. "What is this place?"

"I don't know. All I know is that what you described is—"

"Ridiculous?"

She nodded firmly. "Yes."

He ran his tongue over his perfectly white teeth, considering her for a moment. Firelight glimmered over his fallen-angel features, stroking him with loving fingers. "Your father and mother . . . tell me about them."

The subject change threw her, a pang of homesickness suddenly bombarding her. She was about to graduate high school, and for the past few months had most looked forward to moving out of her parents' house and into a tiny apartment she'd already picked out with Claire. But oh, just then, she wondered why she'd ever wanted to leave. Just then, she wanted to cuddle into her mother's arms and never let go.

"Rose. I issued a command." Steel seeped into Vasili's voice. "Do I really have to remind you what happens when you fail to please me?"

She swallowed the lump growing in her throat. "My father is a science teacher, junior high, and my mother is a receptionist at a law office." Perfectly middle-class, which was why they'd placed such strong hopes on her medical degree. Only, she didn't want to be a doctor. She didn't know what she wanted to be. Or do. Nothing . . . fit. Yet. She'd figure it out, though. She always did.

Problems were simply opportunities for finding solutions.

"Well, that doesn't help my case as I'd hoped, does it? So, let's pretend for just a moment that I'm right. That I've met others like you." Bitterness joined the steel. "Let's pretend for just a moment that of the two of us, I'm the more educated. I would know that you were born to your world, but are bound to this one. Now, does anyone in your family disappear every year on their birthday? Maybe they say they like to be alone for the big event."

She didn't have to think about it. "No."

"Are you sure? No one has told you they were moving away, yet never wrote or called?"

"No." Truth.

"No one has told you scary stories about a land that has no sun? Where monsters roam and a cruel king slaughters?"

"No." Those kinds of stories a girl would remember.

"Pity." His gaze raked over her, hot, lingering. "If you'd had just one Dimension Walker in your tree, I would have had a use for you."

So. His questions hadn't been asked for her benefit, to convince her. He'd merely sought to learn about her family. Cruel of him. Still. That sultry gaze made her think of one thing and one thing only: sex. And she liked the shiver that followed—which made her feel stupid. And guilty.

She had a boyfriend. Hoyt was an inch taller than she was, which was why she had asked him out. (See. She wasn't a mouse!) They'd dated for seven months, he'd been her first, her only, and she loved being with him. Loved how gentle he was with her.

"Y-you shouldn't look at me like that," she said.

"Well, you shouldn't enjoy when I do. But concentrate on my threats, darling, nothing else." So amused. "I can't be interested in bedding you. You're a little too . . . young for my taste."

The hesitation implied he'd wanted to say something else. Like . . . too silly? Too timid? "Good," she found herself snapping. Temper, temper. "Because you're far too old for me." And too dangerous. And too mentally unstable.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I'm not too old for anyone."

Clearly, she'd made a direct hit, and the idea of besting him, even in so small a way, filled her with a sense of power. "Whatever you say," she replied, offering him a sugar-sweet smile.

"That's right. As I was saying, darling"—a growl now—"you're of no use to me."

Which meant . . . what? Nothing good, that was for sure. Get yourself under control before you push him too far! "I just remembered! I know someone who, uh, disappears. Like you said."

His own smile was slow and wicked, the best of a charmer and the worst of a bastard. "Now you're lying, and I believe I warned you of the dangers of that. I murdered the last Walker who did."

The rest of her anger drained, and more intense tremors rocked her. He'd committed murder— do not think about that; don't you dare think about that— and once again she tried to pop to her feet and run. Still her body refused to obey. "I . . . You . . . Please. Let me go. I'm not a walker or whatever you think I am. I'm just a girl."

"Ah, there's my little mouse. I missed her."

This time his mockery failed to chase away a single thread of terror.

"I wonder . . . Do you have any fighting instinct?" Before she could form a reply, his fist whipped out.

She didn't have time to flinch. Could only squeeze her eyelids closed . . . waiting . . . dreading . . . but impact never came, and her lashes cracked open.

He had stopped just before contact. Now he sighed and lowered his arm. "None, then. Too bad." He unfolded from the chair, his form as dark as the sky outside and as menacing as a blade.

"That would have made our next dealing more entertaining."

Oh, God. "What are you going to do during our next dealing?"

One step, two, he strode away from her. At the table, he poured crimson wine into a waiting glass. Rather than drink it, he stood there for a moment, his back to her, fingers drumming against the surface. Thinking of the best way to dispose of her?

There was no better time to run. But yet again her brain issued the command, and yet again her muscles ignored it. Truly, what held her down? She wasn't bound. That you can see . . . She shuddered. If he really was responsible, that would mean he was powerful in a way she couldn't comprehend. And maybe . . . maybe he had been telling the truth.

Finally, he nodded, as if he'd just reached a decision, and returned to her, arm outstretched, eyes glittering. "Drink this."

Hell, no! If he thought to poison her... "I'm not twenty-one." The only excuse her frantic brain could come up with.

"Well, I won't tell if you won't."

"No, I—"

"Drink."

Another steely command. With trembling fingers, she claimed the glass. She drained the contents before she could talk herself into defying him. And possibly getting herself killed "slowly and painfully." The thick liquid burned her mouth, leaving a metallic taste, then scalded her throat before cooling in her stomach.

After taking the cup from her and tossing it aside, he knelt in front of her, clasped her wrist—his skin, so warm, so calloused—and lifted. She was ashamed of herself for not trying to pull away.

But how could she? Where he touched, the ache inside her finally subsided, offering her the slightest glimmer of relief.

Gaze intense, he stared down at her open palm. And there in the center, her skin split. He hadn't moved, hadn't even raked a nail over her, yet blood welled. Her jaw dropped in shock. She'd felt no pain, then or now.

Oh, yes. Powerful in a way she couldn't comprehend. "What—"

Without a word, he raised the wound to his mouth and licked.

Her stomach quivered and she told herself it was in disgust. "That's gross." Oops. She'd sounded breathless rather than creeped out. "Why did you do that?" Still embarrassingly breathless.

Another sweep of his tongue, and the skin wove back together. Rather than answer, he said,

"Wherever I walk, so, too, shall you. Now you," he prompted. He maintained a firm grip on her.

"What?"

"Say those words. Only I want you to say them for yourself, not me."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. " 'Wherever you walk, so, too, shall I'? Like that?" What did that mean?

"Yes. Now, this next part might hurt a bit. Say my name."

"Vasili." A wave of heat suddenly slammed through her, burning her up, blistering her inside and out, and flaming her to ash. But before she could scream, cry, beg for mercy, those ashes began to rebuild, locking together, re-forming her into a new person. A person who hungered for the man in front of her. Desperately. The ache he'd assuaged? Once again caught fire and spread, leaving no part of her untouched. It was harsher now. Harder. More commanding and utterly consuming.

What. The. Hell? She tried to jerk free, but he held firm. "What did you do to me, you—"

"Hush. Vasili's talking. I've decided I can use you after all. Tomorrow, you'll wake up at home. I suggest you do whatever it takes to find out if there are others like you. Find out who they are and when they travel here."

"And if I don't?" Breathless again, damn it. All that ferocity could be hers—all she had to do was lean into him. . . .

"Then you'll be of no use to me when you return, just as I first assumed, and I'll have to kill you."

This threat lacked heat and conviction, something the others had had in spades. She trembled.

Don't lean. Don't you dare lean. Wait. When she returned, he'd said.

"How am I supposed to find them?" she squeaked out. She'd address his concern first, then hers.

"I'm sure you'll find a way. Also, you should know that you can return here anytime you'd like now. The gate will always be open for you, but you should also know that I will —"

No, no, no. "I don't ever want to return." She shook her head to emphasize her refusal.

"Sorry, darling, but you'll return on your next birthday whether you wish to do so or not." His thumb traced the lines in her palm. "You'll return every birthday for the rest of your life. That's just how the bond to this world works."

She had trouble focusing on his words. That touch . . . the intensified ache . . . She moaned.

More. Discarding all common sense, she finally allowed herself to lean toward him.

"Another suggestion," he whispered, stopping her. The space between their gazes crackled.

"Use the next year to prepare. Learn how to fight, and fight dirty. With guns, blades, even your hands." He placed a soft kiss on the hammering pulse in her wrist before at last releasing her and straightening. "Or don't. Survival will be up to you."

Chapter Two

One year later . . .

Exactly five minutes until midnight.

Perched at the edge of her bed, Rose stared at the clock sitting on her desk. Dread coursed through her, as did anticipation. And fury—so much fury.

Would she or wouldn't she?

Would he be there or not?

In the twelve months since meeting Vasili, she'd had time to build him up and tear him down.

Romanticize and vilify him. She'd had time to accept what had happened and rationalize what couldn't possibly have happened.

After his parting words, she must have slipped into a deep sleep, because the next thing she'd known, she'd woken up in the hospital, groggy and incoherent, her parents frantic. She hadn't responded to their morning knock or subsequent shaking, so they'd called 911.

The doctors claimed she'd suffered from a drug overdose, though they hadn't been able to identify the drug. Clearly, Vasili had slipped something into the wine he'd forced her to drink.

Bastard.

Four minutes.

Something had happened to her that night. Something besides the drugging. In the weeks that followed, she'd tried to move on with her life. Tried to forget. Only, everything had changed. She'd been irritable, hungry, aching unbearably, unable to focus or sleep. Her parents had tried to talk to her, and at first, she resisted. But finally she'd broken down and hinted at what she'd seen. They told her she'd hallucinated. She insisted. They asked her if she was stilll using. She really insisted, giving them every single detail.

They had her committed.

Upon her release, she'd begun searching online for others like her, desperate to prove herself sane. What she found shocked her. There were others like her, and their experiences matched her own. Their description of the world—Nightmare, they called it—matched, too.

Sometimes people "stepped over" and never returned, she'd been told, and the other Dimension Walkers suspected the monsters had butchered them. Which was why they were looking for ways to sever the "birthday bond." So far, no luck.

She'd spent so much time researching, she'd failed to enroll in college. She hadn't gotten an apartment with Claire, either. And Hoyt . . . The first time he'd kissed her upon her return, she'd begun to sicken. And the more his tongue had twined with hers, the sicker she'd felt—until she'd finally had to pull away altogether. Miraculously, she'd felt better an instant later.

Still. She'd assumed she had caught a virus. Until he tried to kiss her a few days later. That time, there'd been no warning. She'd jerked away, her body wanting no part of him, and vomited.

A few days later, she'd tried to kiss him, hopeful, perhaps desperate to make things work. But once more, she'd vomited.

There'd been no fooling herself after that.

And there'd been no keeping him. He'd moved on, leaving her brokenhearted. For a few months, at least. Eventually, she'd gotten over him and tried to move on herself. That ache . . .

Then a new guy had finally caught her eye. Nick. Handsome, sweet, with blond hair and brown eyes—she now avoided guys with dark hair and light eyes because they made the ache so much worse—and, best of all, six foot one and a Dimension Walker.

Three minutes.

Everyone used fake names online, but after trading war stories with Nick, she'd given him her phone number. Their first date had been amazing. They'd understood each other, talked, laughed, connected. He'd walked her to her door, and she'd hugged him, once again hopeful for the future.

Until their second date. He'd walked her to her door, and that time, she'd tried to kiss him.

Immediately, her stomach had threatened to rebel. She'd jerked away and barricaded herself inside. She'd avoided his calls ever since.

The only time she left the house anymore was to train. Guns, knives, hand-to-hand combat, just as Vasili had instructed. She would never be so helpless again.

Two minutes.

A cold sweat beaded over her skin. Each minute seemed to tick by faster than the last.

Would she even see Vasili this go-round? According to her sources, she would land in a different place every time she traveled.

One minute.

Rose stopped breathing, stood. Steady. She had a semiautomatic stashed in the waist of her pants, extra clips in her pockets, blades sheathed inside her boots, killer barrettes in her hair, and an innocent-looking pen strapped to her thigh. That pen was actually a syringe filled with enough sedative to knock out an elephant.

Kill as many of those monsters as you can, so many Walkers advised. She couldn't, she wouldn't, unless they threatened her. Vasili, though . . . she owed him.

Twelve o'clock.

Would she—

In a single heartbeat, the world around her vanished, a new one taking its place. Indigo walls were replaced with the white fabric of a tent, and her bed and desk with furred rugs. This time, there wasn't a table. Not even a single chair. The books and tub were gone, too. There was only open space and that fur. And rather than a crackling fire, torches hung along the walls.

But she'd landed in Vasili's tent. She knew it.

"Well, well, well. The mouse took my advice and armed herself like a lion. I'm impressed."

Rose nearly swallowed her tongue as she spun. And there he was, golden lamplight caressing him. The dark prince of her nightmares. He hadn't changed. Same inky hair, though the strands were now wet and slicked back, and same feralleyes. Same imposing height and muscled width.

Same haunting beauty.

Just as before, he clutched a glass of liquid amber and ice, sipping as he studied her. He wore a black shirt that hugged his massive biceps, and black pants that were ripped and stained with . . . blood?

"Forgive my appearance, darling." Oh, sweet heaven. There was his seductive purr, all magic and moonlight, shivering over her. "I had to race to get here."

Her gaze snapped up, and his lips lifted in a slow, sensual smile, revealing those perfect teeth.

Her heart finally kicked back into motion, fluttering wildly against her ribs. He's a self-professed murderer. Don't forget.

But, God, he's gorgeous.

Concentrate!

I'm trying, damn it. But already the ache, that constant, cloying, demanding ache, had sprouted wings.

"What? Nothing to say? Well, no matter. I'm not done talking. Happy birthday, darling. You're a stunning nineteen. Almost a woman."

The mocking tone hadn't changed, either.

"Did you do as I asked?" A casual question. "Did you search for others?"

"Yes. I did. And you were right. There really were others like me."

He stiffened. "Their names. Tell me." No longer casual, but almost . . . desperate.

"I didn't get them," she lied. The only name she had was Nick's, and she wasn't sharing that.

The hand at Vasili's side fisted.

Attack him before he attacks you. She merely shifted from one foot to the other, glaring over at him. Too well did she recall how he'd frozen her in place. And she would learn how he did that—and how to combat it. "Plan to kill me now?"

Disappointment and anger battled for supremacy on his face, but all he said was, "I'm feeling generous. I'll punish my bad, naughty girl for not doing as she was instructed rather than kill her.

How's that?"

"How about you answer my questions, before I punish you." He would find she wasn't as easy to intimidate this time. "What did you do to me last time I was here?" No one else had experienced anything like that stupid ache or comalike sleep. Not even a little.

"Better question. What kind of greeting is that? We've been parted for so long, yet chastisement and an inquisition are the best I get?" He tsked quietly. "Someone in this room needs to work on their manners, and I'll give you a hint. It's not me."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I fail to make a proper introduction?" She closed some of the distance between them, that ever-present temper making her braver than was probably wise. She didn't stop until she could smell the peat smoke and the wildflowers that wafted from him. God, she'd missed that scent.

Missed? No, no, no. Wrong word. She'd dreaded that scent. Better. "Here, let me fix that," she said. "Rose's knee, meet Vasili's ball—"

With a laugh, he stepped backward, out of reach. "None of that, now."

God. Even his laughter was perfect, taking his sexy voice and mixing it with velvet and melted chocolate. Her nipples pearled, the ache intensifying. Concentrate. "If we're done with introductions, then, why don't—"

"Vasili's turn," he interjected, serious again. "Has anyone contacted you? Asked you to hurt me?"

"No." Truth. No one had contacted her specifically. But a lot of Walkers wanted the creatures here destroyed. Some even bragged about the ones they had killed.

"That's good."

"I answered you, so answer me. What the hell did you do to me?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. Explain."

"Liar! You know!" Steady. Slowly she reached back and curled her fingers around the handle of her gun. Good, that's good. "You did something. I can't desire a man without—"

"Sickening. Yes. I know," he said dryly. "But, darling. One thing you should know about me. I never lie. There's no need. Lying is for those who fear consequences. I do not. Now, then. What type of man—men?—did you desire, hmm? Whom do I have to kill? The boyfriend you mentioned last time?"

She didn't know Vasili well enough to know whether or not he was teasing about the men he needed to kill, or whether he could even travel to her world. "Answer me. Please, Vasili. What did you do?" Hopefully her pleading would keep him distracted while she did . . . this—metal whizzed through air as she aimed the barrell of the gun at his chest. She tried not to smile at her success.

"Tell me or I'll shoot."

He rolled his eyes. "Put the gun away before you hurt yourself."

Not the reaction she'd expected. Why wasn't he scared? Did he think she lacked the guts to squeeze the trigger? Could he freeze her finger in place before she moved? Or would bullets not hurt him?

Her stomach twisted into hundreds of little knots. She hadn't considered that possibility before, but . . . Was he even human? Or was he more like those monsters than she'd realized?

"Rose. Gun. Now." Gone was the charmer, and in his place was the commander. "Right now, there's only one thing you need to know about me. I will slaughter an army before heeding an enemy's demand. Put the gun down and ask nicely for the answers you want. That's the only way you'll get them."

"So I'm the enemy?" Another distraction meant to keep him talking despite his objections.

One that failed. "Gun," he growled.

Clearly, he'd answer nothing until she complied. Biting the inside of her cheek, she sheathed the weapon and waved her empty fingers at him. "Happy?" If he made an aggressive move in her direction, she could withdraw a blade and gut him. Simple, easy. I've got this.

Negligent shrug.

All that protest, and that was what he did when he won? Bastard. He really hadn't changed. But at least he wasn't gloating. "What. Did you. Do to me?"

"Now. Isn't that better?" He tossed his glass over his shoulder. "I did what was necessary. I bound you to me."

She watched the ice scatter across the furs. Anything was better than peering at Vasili. As he'd spoken, heat had sparked in his eyes. So much heat. Her skin tingled, pulling tight over her bones, and she had to fight the urge to rub her arms, her thighs. Had to fight the urge to beg him to rub her arms and thighs. "What does that mean? Bound me to you?"

"Anytime you enter this world, you will come directly to me."

"Imposs—" No. She had long since struck that word from her vernacular. Nothing was impossible. "How? How did you do that?"

"Remember the words you spoke? The wine you drank?"

"The poisoned wine," she snapped, at last facing him again. He was closer to her, so close.

More tingling . . . no fear . . . "Because of you, my parents thought I was doing drugs."

He reached out and smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. "And that pained you. I'm sorry."

Ignore the contact . . . the fever now spreading . . . the shock of his words. "Thank you," she said, backing as far away from him as she could get. "Now stop threatening and stop stalling. The wine? What was in it?"

Another shrug. "My blood, among other things."

"Blood?" No. No way. She would have known. Wouldn't she?

"Afraid so. Must say, watching you drink it was the grossest thing I ever witnessed." He shuddered.

Gross. Exactly what she'd said to him when he'd lapped up her blood.

Rose's eyes widened as the consequences of his consumption hit her. "You licked my wound."

A wound she'd later convinced herself she'd imagined, since a scab had never formed.

"Yes," he agreed easily. "I did."

"So you can't . . ."

"No. I can't." Anger had infused his voice that time. "And yes, that makes you my child bride. No need to thank me. Twelve months of torturous abstinence is thanks enough."

Hell. No. "Why would you do that? And by the way, we are not married."

"A moment of insanity, that's all. And yes, we are. But really, I suffer only as long as you're alive."

She raised her chin. "You don't scare me, Vasili." Much.

"Don't I?" He closed some of the distance between them. "Let's see if I can change that."

Steady.

More of the distance was swallowed by his steps. When their toes touched, when she could once again smelll the peat smoke, the corners of his lips twitched as if her refusal to run amused him. She didn't mean to, but she breathed deeply, savoring, wanting so badly to arch into him.

Why had she let him come? Why hadn't she pulled a knife?

"We're going to spar, you and I, whether you wish to or not, so I can judge your skill. But how about this? Every time you strike me, I'll answer a question."

She gulped. The one thing she couldn't resist: information. "No threats of endless pain to get what you want?" Of course, he could be lying, meaning to attack to kill, as he'd implied, and not merely to judge.

"Not this time."

She didn't trust him, but she said, "All right," and meant it. And her capitulation had nothing to do with a raging desire to put her hands on him and have his hands on her. If necessary, she would force the information out of him. "Just to be clear, I can ask any question I want?"

"Absolutely any."

"And you'll answer honestly?"

"I always do."

"Even if I ask how to divorce you? And live?"

He pretended to wipe away a tear. "That hurts, darling. It really does."

"That's only the—"

She never saw him move, but he managed to kick her feet out from under her while shoving her down. On impact, her brain rattled against her skull, and she choked on that delicious breath she'd just taken.

No time to react. He pounced while she was prone, pinning her shoulders with his knees and her stomach with his ass. I shouldn't like this. Yet her body sighed in contentment, as if this was what it had craved the past year.

"First order of business. Disarming." Five seconds flat, he had every single one of her weapons thrown to the side. Would have been two seconds, but he studied the syringe before chucking it over his shoulder. "Bring a machine gun next time, darling. They pack more of a punch."

Terror should have filled her, but anger did instead. Mocking bastard. At least he didn't go for the killshot. And how did he know so much about her world? Had he been born there? If so, did that mean he was a Walker, too?

"Second order. Distraction." He waited, peering at her expectantly. When she remained silent, he sighed. "Darling, this is the part where you apologize for being so distracted during my brilliant tutorial."

She flashed her teeth in a snarl. "No, this is the part where I—" Smash your nose into your brain, she thought as she jabbed the heel of her open palm toward his smirking—kissable—face.

Wouldn't do to warn him.

Just before contact, he rolled out of the way. Suddenly she could breathe. She found herself gasping, sucking in mouthful after mouthful of air, shocked that she'd gone so long without it and hadn't suspected.

"Third order. Fighting past the pain. You're just lying there, daring me to attack while you're vulnerable. Were you anyone else, I would. Up."

With stars winking behind her eyes, she pushed to her feet and faced him. "You rotten piece of —"

His laughter was the only warning she had. In the next instant, he was on her, once more shoving her down. This time, he didn't pause and explain his actions. He simply taught her the consequences of daring someone to attack. For hours. She grunted, she groaned, she ached—a far different kind of ache—and she bled. Oh, did she bleed.

A few times, she thought he even broke her bones.

That didn't stop or slow him. He really was determined to killl her, she supposed. That didn't stop or slow her, either. Every time he knocked her down, she got up. Every time he cut her, she wiped the blood on her shirt and smiled. After her second smile, the instructions began. In English at first, and then in his language. She shouldn't have understood him, but as he translated his meaning, she began to learn far more easily than should have been possible. As if the language had always been stored in her brain, and she just hadn't unlocked it yet.

Vasili told her what she was doing wrong and what she needed to do to improve. Again, for hours. An eternity. But not once did she strike him.

"Stay down, damn you," he finally snarled after tossing her to her ass again. "Stay down, and the pain ends. You've had enough."

Never. Rose lumbered to her throbbing feet. Her eyes were swollen, her line of vision shit, but she waved her fingers at him. "Come on," she said haltingly, the harsh words of the new language weird on her tongue. She would not give up, and she would have her curiosity assuaged.

For a long while, he remained in place, a few feet away, panting, studying her. Then he tangled a hand through his hair, disrupting the dark locks and sending them falling over his forehead.

"Stubborn little baggage, aren't you?"

"What? Too sweet to take me?"

His lips twitched again, and her heart raced. No one should be that handsome. Especially a man who had just kicked her ass. Although, in his defense, he'd never struck her in anger. Every move he'd made had been designed to teach her.

"Darling, you just asked me if I was too sweet to take you."

As her cheeks heated, she switched to English. "You know what I meant. Too tired to fight me."

He laughed outright, then frowned, as if the laugh angered him. "One question," he said flatly.

"You can ask me one question."

Not enough, she wanted to scream. One wasn't enough. She wanted to know about this world—what he called it, what the monsters were, why those monsters deferred to him. She wanted to know what else Vasili knew about her origins, what he planned to do with her, why he'd bonded them. She wanted to know how he'd controlled her body that first time and why he hadn't this time.

She wanted to know . . . what he thought of her, if he liked her. Who he was. What he was.

"Hurry. Before I change my mind." Disgust layered his tone, as if he couldn't believe he'd even made the offer in the first place. "You don't deserve it, after all, and I have never—"

"How—how do I come here at will?" The words left her mouth before she could snatch them back. She never wanted to come here again. Even on her next birthday. Damn, damn, damn. Of all the stupid things to ask! But to her knowledge, no one else could do so. They traveled only on their birthdays.

He spun away from her—but not before she saw the flicker of surprise in those magnificent violet eyes. He strode out of the tent, leaving her standing, stunned, and unsure. Should she follow him? Should she—He stomped back inside, holding two glasses of that amber liquid.

His hair was wetter, his clothes plastered to him. He demolished the distance between them, steps clipped, his expression blank. "Why do you want to know how to return?"

"I don't have to answer that." Besides, she didn't have an answer. "Explaining the reasons for my questions wasn't part of the deal."

A pause. Then, "When you want to return, say my name, the vows we spoke to each other.

Picture me. Your body will find me." He held out a glass. "Drink."

She shook her head and twined her swollen fingers behind her back, and oh, that hurt. "No way.

I'd rather fight you again than let you drug me."

"I hurt you; I'll make it better."

"And your liquor can heal me?" she asked dryly. "Rather than make me pass out?"

"Yes." Perfectly serious.

Was that why he'd been drinking it earlier? Had someone hurt him? That blood on his pants . . .

Her stomach clenched. In fear? At the thought of this man injured? What was wrong with her?

Angry—with him, with herself—she claimed the glass and drank. Unlike the red wine/blood of last time, this went down smooth and warm, little butterflies taking flight inside her and spreading fairy dust. "If you poisoned me, I'll. . ." Within seconds, cuts wove back together, bones realigned, and the threat died on her lips.

"There's my pretty girl," he said, and if she wasn't mistaken, there was affection in his tone.

Affection? No way. Her imagination, surely. Not once had he copped a feel or tried to kiss her.

The bastard.

Yes, something was definitely wrong with her.

"Rose, darling. You should know that next time, if you don't have the answers I want, I'm going to push you harder than you've ever been pushed. I'm going to make you bleed and beg for mercy I don't have. So I'd be careful about visiting unannounced, if I were you."

Chapter Three

Vasili remained in his war tent a long while after Rose disappeared. Twelve hours. That was as long as a resisting Walker remained before their world sucked them back—unless they were bonded to someone here and returned on their own. Then they could decide how long to stay.

Would Rose dare?

He breathed deeply. The scent of her lingered. Roses, like her name. Dewy, uncut. Unexpected.

Beautiful female. Foolish female. She had no idea of the danger she was in.

She should have died a spy's death that first night here, for that was what his army had assumed she was. A spy from one of the three kingdoms surrounding his. And as protective as they were of him, spies suffered. But Vasili had been in camp and they'd given the honor of killing her to him. One look, though, and he'd known. Not a spy. A Dimension Walker.

Had his men realized the truth, a spy's death would have felt like foreplay to her. But unlike Vasili, they hadn't spent most of their life hunting Walkers. Slaughtering them. Most Walkers were male, and that was what his people expected, but every so often, a female came. Rose had been far too timid to be a spy, and he'd recognized that wild, confused look in her eyes. Many a Walker had died by his sword wearing that same expression.

Foolish man. He should have killed Rose himself. Anyone else would have.

Walkers were born in her world, but bonded at least one day a year to this one, just as he'd told her. Why, he didn't know. What he did know: Walkers were the only ones capable of moving between the light—her world—and the dark—his.

Decades ago, his people had welcomed them. Given them food and shelter, protection. They had been taken to the royal palace, questioned by the king himself, for the king had hoped to find a way for his people to travel into the light. But though many Walkers had mated and decided to stay here, they'd never gotten over their fear of the Monstrea, the "monsters," and decided to destroy them.

Thus began the process of the Walkers finding one another, building their army, planning the perfect way to strike and cut down the royal family. Vasili's family. As a boy, he'd watched his father, mother, all three of his sisters, and one of his brothers fall to guns and grenades. He and Jasha, his youngest brother, had barely escaped alive.

The Walkers would have gotten away with their crimes, never to be punished, but like Rose, they had to return at least once a year. Though Vasili had been crowned king of the Northern Realm immediately after his father's death, he'd spent most of his time hunting—and slaying—

Walkers rather than leading his people.

And even though he'd already punished the ones who'd taken his family from him, others still came. Others he hunted. They'd learned how to hide, and hide well, but he always found them. Or so he'd thought.

Rose might not have hurt his family, but she was one of them. And if she was to be believed, she had found Walkers he had not. What if they did as before? What if they worked together to destroy him?

Yes, he should have killed her. But at that first meeting, he'd thought, I can use her to learn about the ones I cannot find. He could learn how many were out there, where they traveled, when they traveled, their strengths, their weaknesses. Yet at this second meeting, she'd given him nothing. And still he hadn't hurt her.

And he looked forward to their third meeting, not to learn from her but to see her.

"I'm more than a fool," he muttered.

He'd had his men prepare this tent in the woods surrounding his palace. On his way here, he'd been ambushed. A fight had broken out—damn King Greer and the Eastern Realm—and he almost hadn't reached the tent in time. Rose would have appeared wherever he was, out in the open and in front of his men. There would have been no denying her origins then.

She would have been put to death, and his questions wouldn't have been answered. Questions he'd had no business entertaining. Like, how had time changed her? Like, how would she react to him? Like, what would she say to him?

Like, would those liquid silver eyes of hers sparkle as her temper flared?

Time had indeed changed her, adding more curves to that slender body. She'd lashed out at him, dared him, defied him, and yes, those eyes had sparkled.

His neglected body had reacted. He'd wanted to touch and to taste. Too young, he'd had to remind himself. Over and over again. That hadn't stopped his mind from screaming, Mine. A hazard of the bonding, he knew, and not of a particular woman's appeal. Though she was.

Appealing. God, was she appealing. She'd been soft under his hands, her height making her a perfect fit to the hard line of his body.

Would she have welcomed a kiss?

He was thankful he hadn't found out. Sex with a Walker—he would never live it down.

Should have killed her, he thought again. Instead, he'd tested her strength, her endurance, her combat skills. He'd even instructed her on how to be better, wondering how her people would react to her origins if they ever found out. Thinking he wouldn't be there to protect her. Thinking if she ever decided to live here, she had to be prepared for his people.

What was wrong with him? Live here? She couldn't live here. His people hated her kind. And if Jasha ever found out . . . Vasili sighed. There'd be no living that down, either. Worse, his brother's disappointment and hurt would slay him.

As if his thoughts had summoned his brother, the tent flap rose, and Jasha strode inside. His right-hand man, Grigori, trailed behind. Both were dressed in the clothes of a warrior. Leather breastplates, pants, and dusters. Boots with daggers in the toes. Both men were dripping wet.

Jasha was a less . . . hardened version of Vasili. Wavy black hair cut haphazardly, violet eyes, tall, muscled. Though his first instinct wasn't always to kill—as Vasili's was—he was no less skilled with a sword. And no less savage when riled. Vasili had made sure of that. He loved his brother more than anyone or anything, and had wanted the boy well able to care for himself. He'd trained his brother exactly as he'd trained Rose: without mercy.

"There you are," Jasha said with a grin. He spoke in Drakish, their language, and Vasili made a mental note to do the same. No more of Rose's English for him. "Are we interrupting something?"

Clearly, he'd been hoping to do so. "Not at all," Vasili offered casually.

His brother's expression fell. "We heard female grunts and groans. Which means that after a yearlong abstinence, our king has finally shown interest in a woman. Who is she? More important, where is she?"

"Long gone," he answered truthfully. And was that . . . displeasure in his tone? That she hadn't stayed?

Well, he hadn't wanted her to stay. After he'd so stupidly told her how to return to him at will— after going to such lengths to keep her out of the palace and hidden—all he'd wanted was her absence. No question.

His hands fisted. What would he do if she appeared in front of his brother? What would he do if she appeared during a battle? Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought again. He'd known it then, yet still he'd told her.

And now he wondered if she would visit before her next birthday. If they'd spar and tease and touch . . . Blood . . . heating . . .

"You should be embarrassed to have finished so quickly." The picture of a confident male, Grigori crossed his arms over his chest. "Had I been here, she would still be shouting my name."

Twelve hours was finishing quickly? What the hell did Grigori do with his women? Like half the beings in this world, Grigori was of the Monstrea. He possessed sharp, poisoned horns along his hairless skull, black-diamond skin, claws, fangs, and glowing red eyes.

The other three kingdoms considered the Monstrea to be nothing more than expendable soldiers. Slaves. Unworthy. Vasili did not and never had. He respected strength and loyalty, and that was what he got with the Monstrea.

"You wear them out, so they never want to come back for more," Vasili told his favorite warrior.

"Mine always come back." Not that he welcomed them. When he was done, he was done.

He should take Rose and finally be done with her.

"I just wish I could make one come," Jasha muttered. His cheeks reddened when he realized what he'd admitted.

Vasili slapped his brother on the shoulder. His easier manner should have brought him favor with the ladies of their kingdom. Not so. Well, not anymore. Jasha was shy and bumbling around the fairer sex, and always had been.

At first, when he'd reached maturity, they'd wanted him feverishly and had thrown themselves at him. He'd had difficulty speaking to them, had sweated uncontrollably, and hadn't looked anywhere but at his feet. They'd teased him, which had only made his shyness worse. Now he avoided them.

"You can have any woman you want. You just have to stop running from them. They only bite if you ask them nicely."

Grigori laughed.

"What's her name?" Jasha asked, refusing to be baited. "The one you were with today?"

He saw no harm in answering. "Rose."

"Rose?" His brother choked on a gurgling laugh of his own. "Rose?"

"What? It's a fine name," he growled, unsure why currents of fury blew through him. Rose was the enemy. Anyone could make fun of her. Especially his brother.

"Yes, but Rose? Like the tattoo you had inked into your arm last year?"

His jaw clenched so painfully he feared the bone would snap. "No. Not like that," he managed, the words so raw they sounded as if they'd been pushed through a meat grinder. "Not like that at all."

He didn't know why he'd gotten the tattoo. He hadn't wanted to analyze the desire then, and he didn't want to analyze the desire now. He knew only that when he looked at the night rose, he wanted to smile.

"You've known her all this time?" Grigori tsked, just as Vasili liked to do to Rose. Surely he wasn't that irritating. "And yet you never breathed a word about her."

"He must have feared one of us would steal her away," Jasha said with a mystery-solved nod.

Before Vasili could form a reply, not that he knew what to say, they turned to each other, cutting him from the conversation.

"No wonder he raced from the warm, dry palace to get here. He missed his woman," Grigori said, then cooed mockingly. "The poor baby."

Jasha stroked his stubbled chin with two fingers. "She must be hideous if he feels he must hide her away like this. Or perhaps she's too precious for our poor baby to share."

Vasili felt privileged. No one else ever saw them like this, relaxed and teasing. To the rest of the world, Grigori was a snarling beast, too savage to handle, and Jasha was quiet and withdrawn.

They saved their charm for him, as if he were special to them, and he was glad. They were the most important part of his life. Therefore, he didn't mind their teasing. Much.

"So, what are you doing here?" he asked, inserting himself back into their chatter.

They chortled.

"We must find him someone new," Grigori continued to Jasha. "This one obviously didn't work him from his yearlong temper."

More stroking of that chin. "We've tried, placing female after female in front of him. He sends them away in tears."

"I asked you a question," he said on a sigh.

And still they continued.

"Perhaps we should ask around," Jasha said. "Find out what others know about this Rose.

Where she lives, why she leaves her man in a bad mood."

Grigori massaged the back of his neck. "And we should instruct her on the proper way to treat a king. I do my best instructing naked."

Oh, no, no, no. He couldn't have them asking others about her. And he couldn't even contemplate Rose and Grigori in bed. Not without foaming at the mouth. "Why. Are. You. Here?"

Finally. They focused on him. To his irritation, both flashed him unrepentant grins.

"We heard of the ambush," his brother said, slapping him on the back now. "We came to offer you our aid."

"As if I can't handle a few enemy soldiers on my own." Greer, the king of the neighboring realm, wanted possession of Vasili's, and constantly struck at random times, in random ways, before scattering with the wind. "I sent the men back to their leader. Minus their heads."

"Perhaps that's why he failed to satisfy his Rose," Grigori said to Jasha. "She was too frightened of him to enjoy him."

"Surely not. That would mean she rejected him, and my brother will be the first to tell you how irresistible he is."

Enough. "Let's return to the palace. I'm in need of dinner and a bath." And a woman, damn his always aching body, but he couldn't have one of those. Unless Rose returned.

Too young, damn it! She'd lived nineteen years. He'd lived thirty-three. Until twelve months ago, she'd been his fearful little mouse. He'd been a lion his entire life.

Part of him wished he could have followed her to her world, though, where he could have her without (much) worry. No one to disturb them, no one to threaten her, no painful past to remember.

He hated that part of himself. This was his home. He wouldn't leave for any reason.

"Look at you. So serious all of a sudden," Jasha said. "You're right, Vash. It's time to return to the palace and feed you. I want my impious, pain-in-the-ass brother back."

He snorted, but allowed the men to lead him outside, puddles splashing at his feet. As the rain continued to pour from the darkened sky, he mounted his horse. Many Monstrea and human guards waited nearby, acting as his protection as he'd ordered, ensuring that no one entered—or left—his tent without his permission. Except for Jasha and Grigori. They always did what they wanted.

"Leave the tent," he told them, "and go home." No reason to have them out in the rain. Not that the rain ever stopped this time of year. And the command had nothing to do with maintaining a hideaway for Rose in case she visited without warning. Of course.

Everything taken care of, he spurred his animal into motion. He almost hoped someone else ambushed him tonight. He itched for another fight. Something, anything to release some of the tension coiled inside him.

Yet, deep down he suspected only one thing would release that tension—and he might not see her for another year.

Chapter Four

She didn't visit.

For the next year, Vasili looked for her in every shadow, waiting. Hopeful, damn him, for a glimpse of her. He spent more time in "their" tent than he did in his palace. Or training. Or hunting.

Because of Rose, he was distracted, on edge, and too fucking needy. His people were now leery of him, afraid he'd snap their heads off. And he just might. Damn her!

He liked women, and he liked sex, but the two had a place in his life—and that was right after everything important. Doing without shouldn't have bothered him. But he kept thinking about Rose, and his body kept reacting. He wanted her. Badly.

In one week and twenty-three hours, she would be twenty years old. No longer too young for him.

And despite her origins, he could finally have her. But only after he punished her for reducing him to this. A grumpy king, a disgruntled suitor, and a terrible brother.

She owed him, and he would collect. You didn't ask someone how to reach them, and then never try to reach them. It was rude. And Vasili had always believed in the power of civility. Fine.

He was a recent convert. But because she'd made him wait—and wait and wait—he was having one of his night-rose tattoos removed.

Yeah, he'd gotten another one. Stupid wine. He hadn't meant to consume so much last week, but his mind had wandered—about Rose, of course—and he'd thought a second tattoo would look amazing on his other arm.

Jasha hadn't stopped teasing him since.

He would punish Rose for that, as well.

After he tasted her. By now he'd realized that she was nearly too lovely to resist. Too stubborn, too. Which, despite everything, made him proud of her. Hell, these days he was always proud of her.

She was resisting him with a strength he himself did not possess, and he was proud.

Last time, she'd armed herself, and every time he remembered it, he was proud. She'd fought him with more skillthan he would have guessed, and he was proud. She'd asked him how she could return, and he was fucking proud. It was disgusting. Next he'd be claiming his husbandly rights. Not just sex, because that was on the menu no matter what, but everything. Her presence, her constant attendance to his needs. Her heart.

Rights that belonged to him. No one else. Any man who touched her would—Nothing. His shoulders slumped against his throne. He couldn't reach them. Which was frustrating and damned irritating. He was a king. He could control people with his mind. Their actions, their words—even rip their skin open with only a thought. Yet he couldn't cross a stupid threshold of shimmering air and check on his property.

Yes. Property. That was what she was, he decided with a smile, already imagining how she would react when he informed her of her new status. Most likely, she'd finish the introduction of her knee to his balls.

"You're scaring the guests." Jasha's deep voice drew him from his dark musings. "Honestly, that smile is evil. You look ready to torture someone."

They were seated side by side on their royal dais, a party in full swing around them. Soft music played, every note perfect. It should be; the orchestra was comprised of the best of the best.

"They don't like the look of me, they can leave." But even as he spoke, he gentled his expression. He needed a distraction, damn it. Otherwise, he'd never survive the next seven days, twenty-two hours, and forty-three minutes until Rose's birthday.

He scanned the room. Gold filigree lined the walls in circling patterns, gleaming in the light cast by the many chandeliers. Windows arched under each golden circle, rain pattering against the glass. There were too many lords, ladies, and Monstrea dancing and laughing to see the gold-veined marble floors he wanted to lay Rose upon, stripping her, touching her, finally tasting her.

His fingers curled around the arms of his throne, and if those arms hadn't been made of onyx, he was certain he would have bent them. As it was, his fingers cracked the stone.

Distraction. What to do, what to do. He continued his study until his gaze caught Grigori's. The Monstrea stood in the far corner of the ball room, armed for war.

His friend nodded, silently telling him all was well. A surprise. Half of the attendees were from the neighboring kingdom—and his enemies—so he'd expected a fight to break out. But they were here to make nice, to offer him a peace settlement, as well as one of their princesses, so they were on their best behavior.

Relax. He returned the nod.

Grigori's glowing red eyes shifted back to the dance floor, and for a second, only a second, Vasili would have sworn utter longing claimed the man's expression. Interesting. Now, there was another surprise. Vasili followed the line of his friend's gaze, but couldn't pinpoint a specific female. Just a group. What he did notice, however, was that everyone in that group was human—and all four of the visiting princesses were there. Twice as interesting. One, Monstrea usually mated only with other Monstrea, and two, King Greer was especially prejudiced against the warriors.

In fact, the king had threatened to leave if Vasili didn't send them away. After Vasili showed the king to the door, the man had grudgingly withdrawn his ultimatum.

"Is Grigori seeing anyone?" he asked his brother.

Jasha's head tilted to the side as he considered. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"Just curious." If the warrior hadn't talked about his love life with Jasha, Vasili wouldn't do it for him. "How about you? Anyone special?"

"No." Hard tone, no room for discussion.

Hint taken. And discarded. "I've been wondering something. Are you still a virgin?"

His brother sputtered, cheeks red. "I'm not answering that."

So yes, yes, he was. Unbelievable! "Let me pay for—"

"But you . . ." his brother interjected loudly, as if Vasili hadn't spoken; then he lowered his voice.

"You're still seeing your Rose." Wouldn't do if one of the princesses overheard. They were currently walking to the dance floor, all four of them, though each continually cast hopeful glances his way.

Peace he would give. Marriage, no.

"Yes. I'm still seeing my Rose." No reason to deny it. Not when she would be here in one week, twenty-two hours, and thirty-seven minutes.

"Two years, and there's been no one else for you."

He wanted to say, That you've seen, but the words refused to form. They would disrespect Rose. Stupid! When she arrived, he planned to disrespect her plenty. In a bed. In a tub. On the floor, as he'd already imagined.

"I want to meet her."

"No," he rushed out. Jasha wouldn't recognize what she was. Not on sight. But if Rose were to accidentally reveal the secret of her origins . . . Not just no, but hell, no. Change the subject. "Think Greer truly wishes peace with us?" Excellent. Bloodshed and mayhem. A much safer topic.

"Hardly. He's wily, always planning, and, as you know, his offer of alliance makes me uneasy."

Vasili sought the man in question. He stood at the back of the ball room, three lovely ladies surrounding him. They fed him tiny pieces of fruit, caressed him, doted on him, laughed at his coarse teasing. He was older than Vasili by at least twenty years, yet no less muscled and honed.

"But I hate the danger you are continually in," Jasha went on. Then he sighed. "Perhaps you should take him up on his offer and wed one of his daughters. Perhaps that will finally mellow him."

"And be stabbed while sleeping for my efforts? Please." But to be honest, Vasili might have risked such a union had he not already bound himself to Rose. Like Greer, he now wanted peace.

His people deserved it, he would be able to hunt other Walkers on a permanent basis, and, well, he didn't want Rose in danger when she visited—and eventually moved here.

Which he wanted her to do. Desperately. But only because he could not bed another female.

Not because he couldn't get her out of his mind. Not because she intrigued him and made him laugh. Not because the scent of a night rose now caused his cock to stand at attention.

He shouldn't have married her, he thought darkly. Look what she'd reduced him to. An obsessive, frustrated, pathetic bag of hormones. After he tasted her, he should killher rather than convince her to move here with him. Finally give her what she deserved. That way, he would stop craving, stop waiting. He was so sick of waiting. He was—

Seeing things. Rose had just appeared in front of him. Not on the dais, but just below, dancers twirling behind her. She shook her head, pale hair waving around her shoulders, and blinked, gaze roving, searching....

Vasili leaped to his feet, blood heating in his veins. He should be worrying that someone had seen her simply appear out of nowhere. But all he could think was, She's here. At least she wore clothes similar to what his people usually wore. Black shirt, black pants. Though right now his followers were dressed in gowns and formal attire.

Still. His woman was lovely. The loveliest in the room. And she was here.

"Brother?" Jasha said. "Everything all right?"

"Better than all right." Touch . . . He had to touch her.

He pounded down the steps, hands clenching and unclenching.

Rose spotted him, raked that silver gaze over him, and her jaw dropped. She'd never seen him in the royal uniform before. White shirt, dark breeches. Knee-high boots.

Did she like?

When he reached her, he grabbed her by the forearm and ushered her into the nearest hallway, away from the crowd. Such small bones, easily breakable. He gentled his hold. He was thankful she didn't struggle.

That lack of struggle could mean only one thing: She liked.

"I warned you of the dangers of coming unannounced, Rose." But thank you for ignoring me.

"I can't believe it worked." She spoke in Drakish, his language, halting and stilted, but understandable. "I can't believe I'm here."

Her voice . . . richer than before. Huskier. His shaft twitched, thickening, hardening. And he'd thought his body desperate before. Now that she was here . . . "So you thought to test my claim?"

"No. I had a question for you. But before you interrupt me, no one has contacted me, and no one has asked me to hurt you. I know you always want that information first."

He believed her because he wanted to, he was stupid, and his cock was thinking for him, but he didn't care. "What's your question?" Any chance it would be, Will you strip me?

Silence.

Guess not. He glanced at her, just a quick look. One he hoped would not affect him. Fail. His blood heated another degree, and his cock filled the rest of the way. Soft lamplight caressed her, highlighting the delicacy of her skin, the frosted pink of her cheeks.

She was studying the murals on the walls with wide eyes and awe, her lush lips parted, just begging for a kiss.

He hardly noticed those murals anymore, but just then he studied them through new eyes.

Armies marched, human and Monstrea, attacking a neighboring kingdom. Blood spilled, and victory awaited.

She should have been disgusted, not awed. That she wasn't . . . Damn it. He was proud of her.

Again. She must appreciate strength as much as he did. He guessed he'd have to take her against the wall, as well. For her. Since she liked them. Would be a favor to her. Of course.

"Beautiful," she said on a wispy catch of breath.

"Yes," he said, his voice breaking.

Her gaze flittered to him. "Where are you taking me?"

"To my chamber. The walls are just as lovely there."

"Why does that matter? No, wait. Stop." Finally she tugged from his clasp, forcing him to come to a halt. There were guards posted at every door in the hallway—all Monstrea—but she paid them no heed. Or perhaps she hadn't noticed them, too focused on the scenery and then Vasili. "My question."

His jaw tightened as he turned to her completely, allowing only a whisper of air between them.

He motioned to the closest guard with a tilt of his head. Her gaze followed, and she gasped. She even scrambled backward several steps before realizing what she'd done; she rooted her feet in place and withdrew a semiautomatic.

The guards reacted instantly, jolting into motion, meaning to take down the threat to their king.

Vasili froze them in place with only a thought, swiped the gun from Rose, and sheathed it at the back of his waist.

"She means no harm," he told the men. Then he released them from his mental hold and they stumbled over themselves in their efforts to slow their sudden, renewed momentum.

Every member of the royal family possessed an ability like his, though everyone's was different.

His father had smoothed the harshest of emotions with a blink of his eyes. His mother had pushed images into other people's minds. Jasha could listen to a conversation from hundreds of miles away—if he so wished. But his brother never intruded upon Vasili's privacy, and Vasili never held his brother immobile. A courtesy to each other.

He wondered, now that Rose was wed to him, if she possessed a new ability. Or perhaps her ability to walk from one dimension to the other qualified.

"Leave us," he added.

With only the slightest show of hesitation, they marched away. And now, Vasili was alone with his Rose. As he'd dreamed for nearly a year. Unable to help himself, he crowded her, getting in her face and backing her into the wall. Why wait until they reached his room?

When she could go no farther, she flattened her hands on his chest. Warm, soft. But she didn't push. His heart thundered to meet her touch as he breathed her in, all the floral sweetness of her.

Too long. He'd been without her for too long.

She gazed up at him, lashes long and black and gorgeous, and gulped. "Why do they defer to you?"

"Is that your question?" He leaned down and nuzzled her neck, not quite touching but close enough to tease. "A question you risked your life to ask?"

"No."

He answered anyway. "I'm their king."

A gasp. "I think the meaning of what you just said was lost in translation. You're a king?"

What was so hard to believe about that? He exuded power, just as a king should.

"Never mind," she said as if she didn't care. "Can I bring someone here?"

Every muscle in his body locked down on bones. He cupped her chin, lifting her head so that he could glare into her eyes. "Who do you want to bring?" If she named a man, he would find a way to reach the bastard. Tear him from limb to limb.

"My parents."

Vasili relaxed. "No. You can't. They'll die. Only Walkers can cross. Why do you want to bring them, anyway?" And why did he suddenly want to meet them? To see the man and woman who had created her?

She traced the collar of his shirt. "I no longer have any kind of relationship with them, and I miss them. I just thought that if I proved myself to them, they would know I'm not crazy or on drugs and . . . I don't know . . . like me again."

His skin tingled where she stroked. "You can't tell anyone what you can do, Rose. It's dangerous for you. For them."

"But I'm . . . lonely."

He didn't like the thought of her alone and sad, and now wanted to meet her parents for an entirely different reason. To destroy them for causing her pain. "Is that how Walkers are treated in your world? With disbelief?"

"Yes. We're considered crazy. Locked away."

"You were locked away?" The words lashed from him.

"Only for a little while."

Rage hammered through him. "If that ever happens again, come to me. Immediately." Calm.

She's here; she's fine. Desire returned, blending with the declining rage. "Now, is this the only reason you came to see me early?" he asked silkily.

"No." Defiance suddenly flashed up at him. "I wanted to tell you how much I hate you."

"You hate me?" Anymore, females ran from him. With good reason. He had a fierce, frightening temper and held life and death in his hands. Still Rose clashed with him, unconcerned. Oh, yes, he felt pride. "Prove it," he said in that same silky tone.

She shivered. "You've threatened me, fought me—I'm better now, by the way, and will kick your ass if we spar—and cursed me. I should hate you."

He settled his big hands on her hips, allowing the tips of his fingers to slide under her shirt. More skin, more warmth and softness. "I taught you to fight, to speak properly. And you've been practicing, haven't you, Rose?"

A grumble.

Because deep down she knew she belonged here. "I know you have."

"Did you hear nothing else I said?" she demanded.

He sighed. "Cursed you how?"

"To suffer." Accusing.

To ache, she meant. "But I can ease your . . . pain." Oh, the ideas pouring through his head . . . the many ways to sate her. He'd start with her breasts, tonguing her nipples, and work his way down. But not yet. First, he'd gentle her. He wanted no resistance when the passion claimed them.

"Did anyone hurt you during your training?"

A tremor, a slight arch of those hips, closing the distance. "Of course." Breathless.

Another inch and her core would brush his throbbing cock. Was she as eager as he? "Bring them here."

"But that will kill. . ." Slowly she grinned. "Why, Vasili. I think you're a romantic at heart, wanting to slay my dragons."

"Romantic, no. Desperate for you, yes."

She licked her lips. "I thought I was too young for you."

"That was when you were a mere nineteen."

"My birthday isn't for another week. I'm not officially twenty."

"Did I fail to mention we celebrate early here? Also, I have a present for you."

"If you say it's this"—she trailed her hand down his stomach and cupped him—"I'll accept."

Yes. She was eager, and there would be no resistance from her.

His restraint broke. "Then let's get you ready to accept." With a groan, he fisted her hair and smashed her lips into his.

Chapter Five

Finally.

A man's tongue in her mouth, thrusting, tasting, taking, giving. Rose's stomach clenched in pleasure rather than pain. A man's hands on her body, squeezing, kneading, rough, calloused. Her blood heated rather than chilled. And that the man was Vasili . . . heaven and hell, salvation and ruin.

His face could reduce a woman to a slave. His scent could reduce a woman to a slave. She was a slave. One sweep of those dark lashes, one curve of those soft lips, and one thought would prevail above all others. Yours. That was what she'd come to realize this past year. He'd enslaved her, changed her entire focus to being with him. Like this.

Shouldn't have allowed the kiss.

But she'd had to know his taste—a dark, spicy drug. Had to know his touch—an electric current.

Had to immerse herself in the peat smoke and wildflowers. All dangerous. Had to have more. Had to let him please her. Had to force him if necessary. Just once. Then she would know. Then she would stop wondering, stop remembering the way he'd taught her to fight, his hands all over her but not where she needed them most. Then she could finally think straight, recall just how mad she should be with him for bonding them, making her feel this way, and finally demand the answers he'd never given her.

Nothing else had helped. In the last year, she'd gotten her own place, started teaching others self-defense, and trained with a vengeance herself. But always she thought of this man, wondered what he was doing, whom he was with.

If he'd turned those violet eyes on another woman, Rose would killher.

A thought she'd had before, and one that scared her. Because she meant it.

She was too obsessed with him. She knew it, hated it, and had tried to prove to herself that she could live without him. That this man who liked to threaten her, but only ever protected her, wasn't the only reason she lived.

Only one more week; that was all she'd had left to wait. But then she'd thought, How wonderful to catch him unaware . To see him outside the tent, if at all possible. To see him interact with other people—and warn away any women who thought to win him. Mistake. He'd stridden from that platform, black hair in disarray, eyes bright with welcome and longing, biceps hugged by soft white fabric, cock practically on display in fawn-colored pants.

To hell with yours. She'd thought, Mine.

"Someone could see," he said roughly. His lips moved to the base of her neck, and he licked and sucked at her pulse. "You've been warned. Now you'll be allowed no quarter."

"You're a king." What, exactly, did that mean here? The same as in her world? Not that she would ever obey him. "Make them go away."

He uttered a rasping chuckle. "What my queen wants . . ."

They'd switched to English, she realized, as he kicked her legs apart. Unprepared for the action, she could only fall. Until he inserted his hips between her thighs and her core rubbed against his erection. A needy gasp escaped her. She closed her eyes and clutched at his shoulders, nails sinking deep.

"Again," she demanded.

He pushed against her. Another gasp. Hers, his, she didn't know anymore.

He plumped her breasts. "I want to see them. Show them to me."

Maybe she would obey him just this once. Too hungry, too achy to be shy or modest, she ripped her shirt over her head and dropped the cotton to the floor. The black lace bra latched in front, so she snagged her finger in the center and tugged.

A low, base curse filled the heated air between them. He stared, just stared while she panted, trembled.

"Mine." His pupils expanded until black overshadowed violet. He bared his teeth, feral just then.

Losing control. "These are mine." He squeezed, hard. "Mine."

Thank God. She remembered how much she'd liked Hoyt's gentle caresses. Silly girl. So far Vasili had been anything but gentle, and she'd never been gladder. "You like to prove things.

Prove it."

As he squeezed, she rolled her hips forward, once again sliding against his thigh. Yes! The pressure that had been building since their first meeting expanded, drawing her taut, like a rubber band ready to break.

"Taste."

His head swooped down, his tongue flicking out, back and forth, before his teeth nibbled. There was a sharp sting. She moaned. More.

Had to have more. Two years, damn him. Two years she'd lived without this, hungry, sensitive, dreaming of him at night, fantasizing about him during the day. So many times she'd almost come to him. Once, while pleasuring herself in bed, not that her own hand ever brought her relief, she thought she had. She'd cried his name, his image in her mind, and in the next instant, she'd thought she spied him sleeping next to her, but she'd panicked and rolled away, only to fall onto her floor.

Now she was here. She was with him, and he was still cupping her breasts, his finger toying with her nipples in between bites. More.

"Had I known these awaited me, I never would have resisted you this long."

"Sweet words later." She jerked him forward, meshing their mouths, feeding him a kiss, her soul—whatever he wanted he could have.

Their tongues thrust together in a fight for dominance. Their teeth scraped. She swallowed his breath, desperate to have any part of him inside her. All the while she writhed against him, trying to pump herself to orgasm, so when he moved back, preventing her from touching him that way, she bit his bottom lip in a fury.

"More."

"Yes." His fingers ripped at her darkened jeans, popping the button, almost breaking the zipper, revealing black lace panties. He didn't pause to look. Just sank his hand inside. Warm skin on wet flesh, past her small thatch of curls and—

"Yes !" There.

One finger pushed deep while the heel of his hand pressed against her clitoris. She should do something for him, touch him like he was touching her, reach into his pants and fist his cock, but as he inserted a second finger, her thoughts fragmented. More. A third finger. More!

Stretching, burning. So long, too long. He drove those fingers in and out of her, and she was so wet they glided smoothly. Pressure, still building. Blood, like fire in her veins. She wanted to come, was desperate to come, but just as she neared satisfaction, he stopped.

"Bastard!" She slapped his shoulders.

"This bastard wants you to come in his mouth." He dropped to his knees.

Oh. "Good . . . boy . . ." Rose lost her anchor and fell back against the wall, giving it all of her weight. Vasili didn't bother trying to remove the panties; he just shoved them aside, and his gaze again locked on hers.

Hoyt had never tasted her. She wasn't sure she would have let him had he tried. Those days, she'd been self-conscious. Had preferred to be with her man in the dark. Had been too unsure of herself to say what she needed. Now she had no more experience than she'd had then, but she was a different person. Stronger, more confident. Haunted by desire. She doubted Vasili would have let her hide in the dark, anyway.

He was too sensual a man. More driven than she was. "Do it. Please."

"Pink. Wet." His words were slurred. "Mine." And then he was there, tonguing her clitoris, and she was moaning, fingers tangling in his hair, arching into every stroke, gasping his name, shouting his name.

He sucked and he devoured.Anyone could have walked out of the ball room, just as he'd told her, but she didn't care. Was lost. Was climbing higher and higher, the pressure finally uncoiling, promising satisfaction. Almost . . .

"Harder. More. Don't stop. More. Stop and die." The commands left her in a rush.

His fingers joined the play, three thrusting up inside her without any more preparation or warning, and she shot off like a rocket, screaming, pressure finally breaking completely, stars exploding behind her eyes, inner walls clenching around him, holding him captive.

"Fuck," he growled, and she wasn't sure if the word was a command or a curse. He jolted to his feet, those fingers sliding out of her, and she moaned. She might have come, but she wasn't done with him. Needed more, still had to have more.

His lips smashed against hers, and she tasted herself. She ripped at his pants, finally freeing his cock. Her fingers curled around it—but only briefly before he batted her away, positioning himself for penetration. In those brief seconds, she thrilled at how big he was, how hot and hard and ready.

"Do it," she commanded. Please.

"Vasili?"

He turned his face away from her with a snarl. "Leave!"

It took Rose a moment, but she snapped out of her sensual haze and followed Vasili's example, turning and looking. Several men stood at the end of the hallway, peering over at them. Two were grinning—one of them a monster, one of them a younger version of Vasili—and the rest quickly spun, offering their backs.

The monster caught her eye and his smile fell away. Shock registered on his features, then fury, hate.

She shuddered and switched her attention to the Vasili clone. He continued to radiate absolute amusement in a way that Vasili never had. Was that what Vasili would look like if ever he lost his dark edge?

She adored his darkness, but also realized she wanted to make him smile like that.

"Go," Vasili snapped, even as Rose disengaged from him and, like the guards, gave the newcomers her back.

She bent down, blindly reaching for her shirt and bra, and tugged them on as she straightened.

Dear God. Now she cared about an audience. She would have run, but Vasili clasped onto her arm, holding her immobile.

"Now!" he shouted.

"You can't . . . do that here," the younger version of him said. "There are guests, and they can hear you. Greer can hear you, and he isn't happy."

Rose's cheeks flamed. She was as embarrassed as she was suddenly curious. Who was Greer? Why did his happiness matter? "I should go," she whispered, careful to use his language.

She'd practiced at home, alone, and quite often, but even though the language seemed to be embedded inside her brain, she had yet to master it, because no one could tell her what she said correctly and what she didn't.

"No," Vasili snapped. Then more gently, "No. Not yet. Please." Finally he released her and fixed his clothing. "I'll be right back," he threw over his shoulder, ushering her farther down the hall and away from the men.

She didn't protest. Not until they'd snaked around a corner and were once again alone. Then she pulled from his grip and whirled on him. "I should go," she repeated.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. "No. We're not done. Wait in my room, and I'll return as soon as I can."

Wait for him to fuck her? Hardly. No matter how much she wanted it. "Is that an order, Your Majesty?" she asked dryly.

"Yes."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not your—" Shit! What was the word? She didn't know, so she ended with, "I'm not yours."

He got in her face, madder than she'd ever seen him. "You are. You're my wife."

Oh, how her body liked hearing that. Every cell she possessed purred. "By force, so it doesn't count," she said, lifting her chin.

"Many women would killto be in your position, Rose."

"Yeah, well, many men would killto be in yours."

His nostrils flared. "They try, and they'll die."

There was a commotion around the corner, voices—male and female—then stomping feet.

Then the clone, the monster, four females and another, older male were bearing down on them.

Vasili stiffened as he turned. He stepped to the side, in front of her, shielding her.

"Who," the older man snapped while trying to glare at Rose, "is that?"

A moment passed in heavy silence. During that moment, Vasili's entire countenance changed.

From glaring, snarling beast to wicked charmer. "Greer," he said. "Princesses. So lovely to see you."

Princesses? Were they his sisters? His daughters?

Rose studied the females. Three were petite, slender. One slightly taller, but plump. Two had silky brown hair, one red, and one honey blond. The brunettes were pretty, the redhead plain, and the honey blonde stunning. Each wore gowns of sparkling velvet, jewels dripping from their ears, necks, and fingers. They radiated wealth and confidence, even the plain one.

"The girl," Greer insisted. He had thick silver hair, scars lining his face, and the body of a warrior.

"My apologies if I gave you the impression you had the right to question me about my people,"

Vasili replied in that smooth, humming tone, and the older man narrowed his eyes. "Now let's all return to the party, shall we?"

"Father," the redhead said in a gentle voice—to the old man. Not Vasili's sisters or daughters, then. Potential girlfriends? Rose wanted to hate them, but their eyes were kind. "Perhaps the girl would like to change into a gown first?"

"What a kind little thing you are, darling." Vasili patted the top of her head. "But she won't be joining us."

Darling. He'd called the redhead darling. A moment ago, he'd called Rose by her name. And with that thought, she realized that he hadn't called her darling. Not once during this visit. Not while he'd had his fingers inside her, not while he'd tongued her to orgasm.

Disappointment rocked her. No endearments. Did that mean his affection for her had waned?

Oh, he wanted her; she knew that much. He was still hard, after all. But you could screw a woman, even a wife, and not truly like her. And he'd bonded them, so he couldn't sleep with anyone else. She was the only outlet he had.

"May I escort you back to the ball room, Your Majesty?" the redhead asked. Without waiting for a reply, she reached out and took Vasili's hand.

Now Rose hated the girls. Mine, she wanted to scream. He's mine. No one else was to touch him. Ever. Even so innocent a touch. He'd just had that hand on Rose's body, inside Rose's body, and to casually touch someone else . . . Her teeth ground together.

"Actually," she said, raising her chin, "I would love to join the party. As is. So . . . let's do this.

Maj-ass-tee."

Chapter Six

He'd had her, Vasili thought, but he hadn't had her. And now he had to parade Rose around the ball room with his enemies surrounding her—and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop the madness. Not without drawing more attention to her. Worse, he had to do it with the intoxicating taste of her in his mouth, the feel of her burned into his hands. And a hard-on only she could relieve.

She remained by his side, at least, as she watched the happenings through wide eyes. Both a blessing and a curse. She was here, but he couldn't claim her. Couldn't stop every single man from staring at her. Men he wanted to kill, his own as well as Greer's. But he couldn't blame them.

She was enchanting. That fall of white-blond hair, those cherry red lips swollen from his kisses.

Even dressed like a warrior, she was the most elegant woman in the room.

And she was his. He wanted to announce that fact more than he wanted to throw her on his bed and strip her. well, maybe not quite that much. But damn it! Everyone needed to know whom she belonged to! In time, he promised himself. After he'd assured her safety. Maybe.

He led the group—Rose, Greer, Jasha, Grigori, and the princesses—to a quiet corner, as far from the masses as possible. There, he positioned Rose against the wall, with half of his body shielding her from the others.

Awkward silence seized them. He was glad. He preferred silence to questions. But, of course, a few minutes later Greer had to ruin everything. As always.

"So tell me, King of the North. Which of my daughters do you favor?" Greer asked him. "Which will you choose to be your bride and end the war between us?"

Rose stiffened. "Bride?"

He reached back, grabbed her wrist, and squeezed, all without looking at her. At the moment of contact, he hissed out a breath. So hot, so soft. So his. He wanted more. Wanted her under him, over him, shouting his name. "Now is not the time for such a discussion."

"When, then?" the king insisted. "That's the reason I'm here, isn't it?"

Rose dug her nails into Vasili's hand, drawing blood.

"You're here for peace talks, nothing more," he said.

A vein nearly burst from the king's forehead as another bout of silence settled over them. The princesses inched away from their father, as if they feared being struck. They probably did. Vasili had heard about the king's fearsome temper.

"Prince Jasha," the redhead said with a shy—desperate?—smile. Funny. She knew all of their names, yet Vasili couldn't recall hers. "Would you care to dance?"

His brother's violet gaze dropped to his boots. He opened his mouth to reply, but no words emerged. Finally he shut his mouth and gave the redhead his back, glaring out at the circle of ladies closest to them.

Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment as she lowered her arm.

"Men," Rose grumbled with sympathy, speaking in Vasili's language. "Forget him, sweetie. He's obviously an ass."

Vasili pressed his lips together to stop his laugh. At least she'd spoken the correct words.

"What's your name, girl?" Greer snapped at Rose.

"She's mute," Vasili said. "And her name is unimportant."

"What's the matter, darling?" Oh, the anger in that tone. She would punish him later, though he wasn't exactly sure of his crime. "Embarrassed of me?"

Embarrassed? When he wanted to beat his chest and warn every other man away? When he would have been happy if she tattooed his name on her chest? A suggestion he would later make.

Still. He wasn't sure how she affected him like this when no one else ever had. Surely the bond wasn't fully responsible. He'd reacted to her before bonding them, or he wouldn't have fucking bonded them.

"Like I said," he snapped. "Mute. "

Greer watched the entire exchange with anger sparking in his eyes. "A slave would never make a good wife, you know."

She isn't a slave! "You know this from experience?" he asked smoothly.

Rose's nails were now embedded in his bone. He could feel warm drops of blood sliding down his arm. He reached back with his other hand and applied pressure to the center of her palm, harder . . . harder . . . but she held steady. Damn her, when would she give?

He eased the pressure rather than break her bone. Finally she released him. He wanted to smile. She'd outlasted him, and he was irrationally proud of her. Again.

"Yes," Greer said. "I do. Though I have not bonded with any of my women, I keep five of them to attend my needs. One is a slave, and she is by far my biggest mistake. Greedy, grasping, desperate. So keep your girl, if that's what you wish, but take one of my daughters. I want peace, but I cannot trust you without the marital bond."

Nails raked down his back, hard, and he nearly hissed in pain. And pleasure. He'd endure Rose's torturing over any other woman's caressing. The little wildcat. "When you yourself refuse to wed any of your women? Besides, Greer, I'm not the one who attacks without provocation."

Those nails began to pet him. Again, he wanted to smile.

Greer ran his tongue over his teeth. "I have other offers, you know. Other kingdoms eager for an alliance."

"Yet you came to me first. I'm moved, really, but that doesn't mean I'll give you what you crave."

A growl. "The Western and Southern kingdoms despise you for your strength, yet they have not risen against you. Yet. But they will. Mark my word, they will. There is already talk."

He reached back a second time—he couldn't not touch her—and traced his fingers along the waist of Rose's pants. Felt her belly quiver. Cut off his possessive grunt of approval. "They fear my strength as much as they hate it. They will not attack."

"They will when I agree to help them defeat you. Which I will do if you refuse this opportunity."

He stiffened. "I don't like threats."

"And I don't like issuing them. But I want this alliance, more than anything."

The man's desperation relaxed him. He resumed his exploration of Rose's pants, twisting the button, moving the zipper. His finger glided over her panties, and she gasped. Her nails dug into him once more, but not to hurt. To urge him on. "And what's in this for you, hmm?" Had that breathless tone been his?

Greer sighed. "I'm old. I'm tired of all the fighting. I want to ensure my kingdom is properly cared for when I'm gone."

Truth or a lie, Vasili didn't know. But the sentiment he understood. He wanted his kingdom safe, as well —but he wouldn't be backed into a corner. "I could killyou and place a new king on your throne. One who will adore me. What think you of that plan?"

"I like it," Rose whispered. She arched against him, a command to attend her. He did. He cupped her between her legs, rubbing. Even with the thin cotton barrier, he could feel her moisture, her need for him, and he reacted. His cock, which had never truly deflated, grew and hardened.

He fought the urge to whip around, press himself against her, drop to his knees, taste her again, to have her, here, now, in front of everyone, or drag her away without a word to his guests. He needed her, wanted her, had to have her, and the wait was impossible. But he didn't allow himself to do any of that. He would be patient, take care of territory business like a good boy—no matter the cost to his sanity—and then himself.

"You need a new plan," Greer said. "Before I die, I'll either have joined with you or defeated you.

That, I swear."

Vasili stilled, the vow ringing in his ears. If he failed to wed one of the princesses, Greer would ensure their minor skirmishes became full-blown battles. That was what he was truly saying.

People would die. Lands would be burned. Was one life—Rose's life—worth that? These people trusted him. Needed him. Relied on him.

"I need time," he gritted out.

Greer nodded, as if that were the answer he'd expected. "Do not take too long. But meanwhile.

Girls." He waved them closer. "Tell King Vasili all about yourselves so that he might know you better."

"Wait, what?" Rose suddenly demanded, pulling from his touch entirely. "Did you just say you needed time? To decide among them?"

He wanted to howl.

"Isn't that just a party in a box?" she gritted out. "I'm outta here."

"No! You—"

"I'll do it," Jasha said, cutting him off. "I'll wed one of the princesses."

Vasili stopped breathing, afraid he'd misheard. "Are you sure?" Whether his brother's claim was a token or not, Vasili didn't care. He grasped onto the offer like a lifeline.

His brother nodded. "I'm sure."

To save Vasili from losing Rose, or because Jasha desired one of the princesses for his own and was too shy to say so? Again, Vasili didn't care. Sweet, sweet lifeline.

"Do you find this acceptable, Greer?" he demanded.

The old king thought for a moment, then nodded. "A union with royalty is a union."

"Good. It's agreed. Jasha may choose one of your daughters and wed her, and you will leave my people and my lands alone. Forever."

"Agreed. But the wedding must be soon," the old king insisted. "I was willing to give you, the king, time. The prince will not be afforded the same luxury."

Jasha gave a stiff nod. "I don't care when it happens. A wedding is a wedding."

Vasili could have kissed him. "Enjoy the rest of the party, men, ladies. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Vasili grabbed Rose's wrist and dragged her out of the ball room for the second time that night.

"Dismiss the guard," she ground out when they reached the hallway. "I want to talk to you. And by talk, I mean peel the skin from your bones and hear you scream."

"Kinky, but no." He wasn't taking a chance that they would be interrupted again. "This area isn't private enough." He didn't turn back to her, but coiled around several corners, pounded up a flight of stairs and down another hallway. Finally, he reached his wing of the palace.

Servants were tending to the party, so each room was deserted. He bypassed the bathing room, his workout room, his entertainment room, and headed straight into his bedroom.

Large bed. Four posters, velvet sheets. Silver, the color of her eyes. He'd had them made earlier that year. He stopped at the edge and turned to face her.

Her eyes were narrowed, her lips pulled tight in a scowl. She was panting, shoulders lifting and lowering in quick succession, as if she wanted to punch him but was restraining herself. Just barely.

"You needed time?" Although they were alone, she still spoke in his language.

She wanted to hash that out now? Fine. He would multitask. "Yes," he said, unbuttoning his shirt.

"I called you a slave and a mute, too, so feel free to slap me around while you shout."

"You threaten me and call me names, and that's always been foreplay. But the fact that you needed to think about whether or not to killme so you could marry one of your princesses is insulting!"

Insulting? Try ingenious. His shirt fell from his shoulders, leaving his torso bare—except for the blades he had stashed on his arms, both of his tattoos covered. "I would never kill you, Rose. Ever."

"Rose." She laughed without humor. "There you go again, calling me by my name. You bastard!"

A bastard? For that? "I'm lost," he admitted, kicking off his boots before unfastening his pants, pushing them to the floor, and stepping out of them. There were blades strapped to his thighs and ankles, too.

"What happened to 'darling'?" she lashed out, careful not to look at the hard cock peeking from the waist of his underwear.

He blinked. She was angry that he hadn't called her darling? A meaningless endearment he used for everyone?

"Were you going to pick the redhead?" Her voice rose. "You called her 'darling' fast enough.

Never mind. Don't tell me. Just tell me how you were going to manage a new marriage if you weren't going to off me. I seem to recall you telling me death was the only way out of the first one."

"And that's still true, baby, but here are the facts. I can't think when I'm with you. I'm reduced to two words. Mine and more. And I don't call you darling anymore because—" He pressed his lips together. Do it. Tell her. But he'd never said the words before. Never thought them before.

"Because I don't want to call you what I call everyone else. You're special." She meant something to him.

Her features softened, those silver eyes going liquid. "Really?"

"Yes." He closed the distance between them and cupped her jaw. So soft, so delicate. "And I never would have abandoned you. I was going to toss the princess in a palace far from here, let her call herself my wife, and shack up with you." War averted, body and mind satisfied. "But now I don't have to. Now we can be together." In secret, he thought with a frown.

He didn't want to hide her, though. But he would. To keep her safe, he would do anything.

Rather than softening her further, his admission left her sputtering. She jerked from his clasp and backed away, his hands already mourning the loss of her. "How sweet of you. And how about this? I'll go find another man, let him live in my apartment, let him tell everyone he's my husband, and then I'll return to you."

Oh, hell, no. He got in her face, breath suddenly like fire in his nose. "Touch another man, call another man anything, and I will find a way to enter your dimension and murder him in front of you."

"I'll take that as a 'Do whatever you want, Rose.' " She pushed him, hard, and he stumbled backward. "To get here, all I had to do was think about you. To go home, I figure all I have to do is think about my apartment. Right?"

"You're staying right here." He lunged.

She waved her fingers, smiled too sweetly and—

Disappeared.

He flew through air, just missing her. "No. Rose!" Righting himself, he swung left and right, searching for her, any sign of her, his heart pounding against his ribs, that heated breath still sawing in and out. There wasn't a single trace of her.

"You little witch!"

She'd gone home. well, this was her home now, and it was time she learned and accepted.

She'll be back, he told himself. One week, and she would be back. She wouldn't be able to stop herself.

He almost rubbed his hands together as his blood flamed yet another degree. He did laugh.

This, he realized, was just foreplay for him. Like the threats and the name-calling were foreplay for her. Every time she left, he only wanted her more.

Oh, how he enjoyed her.

Oh, how he would have her. In every way imaginable.

One week, he thought again. He had some planning to do.

Chapter Seven

Maybe she'd overreacted, Rose thought the next day as she cocooned herself in the cold sheets of her bed. Alone. Aching. As if the fire Vasili ignited had never been doused. Had she stayed with him, she could have woken up in his arms. They could have made love. Down and dirty, nothing taboo. She was more certain than ever that he wouldn't allow insecurities or hesitation on her part.

He would demand everything. And she would give it. Willingly. Eagerly.

But he'd thought about making another woman his "wife" and she'd felt as if he had just punched her in the stomach. Her fury and her jealousy had raged out of control. She couldn't stand the thought of him with someone else, even for appearances. Even to save his people and his land.

Selfish hussy.

She wished she had a girlfriend to talk to about him, but over the years she'd cut everyone from her life. Or they had run from her. She worked, she trained, she thought about Vasili, and that was it. Which was his fault, damn it! After that first visit to his world, she'd begun to pull herself out of this one. She knew that now. As if she'd known she no longer belonged here. As if she belonged with him.

I want to be with him. Forever. She should have shied away from the thought, but couldn't. It felt too . . . right. Too perfect. To be pleasured every day the way he'd pleasured her yesterday . . . yes, yes, a thousand times yes. But . . . did he want forever from her? They'd never been together more than a day at a time. Maybe they'd hate each other after a week. Maybe they weren't compatible. Except in bed. There they'd be magical. No question.

But the get-along thing she couldn't work out in her mind. Would they or wouldn't they?

There was only one way to find out....

Return and stay, without letting him drive her away. No matter how much he annoyed her. She nodded, instinctively liking the thought. Yes, she would return and stay for a week.

But first, she wanted to find out some stuff for him. He'd asked her numerous times for names of other Walkers and the dates they visited. She would find out, but she wouldn't give him the info until she knew why he wanted it.

Moaning, she lumbered from the bed, showered quickly, and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

Then she made a call.

"I was surprised when you contacted me."

Rose peered over at Nick. Her kind-of ex. They were inside a coffee shop, a round iron table between them, people coming in and out, and bright, hot air blustering through the door. Too bright, too hot. She suddenly missed the dark and cold of Vasili's world.

What did he call his land, anyway? "Nightmare" just didn't fit anymore.

"Sorry," she said, fingers tightening around her mocha latte. "About ignoring you." For more than a year. "That was rude, and immature, and I feel terrible."

"I would have appreciated a reason," he said. His hair was a darker shade of blond now, and his face a little lined. From stress? His cheeks were gaunt, as if he weren't eating properly, and his clothing was wrinkled, as if he no longer cared about his appearance. Still, he was a handsome man, and more muscular than most humans.

"I . . . kind of have a boyfriend. We're on again, off again." Truth. Vasili claimed they were married.

And part of her believed him. Because part of her wanted them to be married. Even though they saw each other only once a year. That's about to change. Soon you'll have your week.

And then . . . more?

Hopefully. He'd put his hands on her, kissed her, tasted her, and oh, she needed more. With every minute that passed away from him, being with him stopped being a want and became a need. Like breathing. She had to have him. More of his touches, all of his kisses.

"I see," Nick said, drawing her from her daydreams.

"I really am sorry," she repeated. "I liked you, I did, but . . ."

"You liked him more." A defeated sigh. "Does he know?"

About Nightmare, Nick meant. "Yes. He knows." Because he lives there.

"Is he a . . . you know, too?"

She shook her head.

Nick's dark eyes widened with shock. "And he accepts you?"

"Yes."

He frowned, but that frown soon became tinted with sadness. "You're very lucky."

Lady troubles? Had someone rejected him because of what he could do? Probably. Rose could relate. She hadn't lied to Vasili. Her parents barely spoke to her anymore, and each encounter stung worse than the last.

After they'd institutionalized her, she'd never again spoken to them about Vasili or his world, but that hadn't mattered. The damage had already been done. They'd known her before, seen the changes in her, and hadn't liked who she'd become. No longer their sweet little princess, but someone a little dark, a lot stubborn. Beyond harsh.

Finding a way to escort them into Nightmare had been a last-ditch effort to salvage their relationship. To make them believe. But she was almost relieved that she couldn't take them.

Vasili was her safe haven, her fantasy in the flesh. She didn't want to share him. With anyone.

"So why'd you call, Rose?"

Nick's question once again dragged her back into the present. God, she was easily distracted today.

"I have questions. About"—she looked around, made sure no one was paying them any attention, and whispered—"Nightmare."

He, too, looked around. A habit every Dimension Walker probably possessed. "Okay. Ask."

"Why us? Why can we do this and no one else? I mean, none of us are related that I'm aware of, so it isn't genetic."

A shrug. "You've read the theories online, I'm sure."

She nodded. "One is that we're supposed to study them, learn from them. Another is that we're ambassadors, meant to pave the way for when the two worlds collide." But no one could prove the two would ever collide. "Another is that we're supposed to killthem. What do you think?"

He shrugged again. "I believe that last one. That we're like vampire hunters, special, meant to destroy evil."

Destroy evil. The words echoed through her skull. She sipped at her mocha, though it had chilled and settled in her stomach like lead. After that first visit, she would have agreed with him.

Now? Not even a little. Vasili was important to her, and the thought of him being hunted, hurt, caused rage to burn through her. A lot more Walkers probably thought like Nick.

She released her latte before she crumpled the cup. "Have they ever hurt you?"

His chest puffed up with pride, and for a moment, she saw the man she'd dated: strong, healthy, determined. "I haven't given them the chance."

"And yet you still think you're supposed to killthem? What if they're chasing you to talk with you?

To learn from you?" She remembered the people at the party last night. How they'd laughed and danced. How harmless they'd seemed. Even the monsters.

Nick gaped at her. "You've seen those red eyes, right?"

"Yes. So?"

"So, you know those creatures don't want to talk to us."

But they hadn't hurt her. That first night, they'd taken her to Vasili. "Can they travel here?" She would love for Vasili to show up unannounced and uninvited—at least she would pretend he was uninvited—and sweep her off her feet—only to throw her on her own bed.

Wait. He'd said only Walkers could travel between the worlds. But maybe there were Walkers in his world, too.

"No." Nick shook his head. "Many have tried to bring one over, you know, to prove there's another side, but the bodies disintegrate every time. Dead or alive, no one from here or there can be taken from one world and placed in another unless they're a Walker."

Wow. She felt no pain when she traveled. Just blinked, and boom, she was in another time and place. Yet others burned to death? Just . . . wow. "Can any of us go there on our own? You know, without it being our birthday?" She could, but what about the others?

"No, and thank God for that." Again, he frowned. "Why ask? Tell me you don't want to spend more time there."

"Of course I don't," she rushed out. A lie, and one she didn't feel guilty for telling. She didn't need him trying to talk her out of returning. Or rallying others of their kind to do so—forcefully. But why could she travel at will and no one else? Because she was "bonded" to Vasili?

"So why all the questions, Rose?" Nick asked.

"My birthday's approaching, and I'm just trying to figure things out, that's all." Good, that's good.

Keep it casual. "So . . . when do you go back?"

"Next month." Bitterness laced his tone. "August eighth."

She made a mental note.

"I've always dreaded going back, but now . . ." He shuddered, the action making several strands of hair dance over his forehead. "In the last year, several Walkers have failed to return. Did you know that?"

"No. How do you? Hardly anyone shares their name." Too afraid of being labeled a crazy, as she well knew.

"The day before their birthdays was the last time they posted online."

Yes. Telling. Or maybe not. "What if they just decided to stay?" Could they stay, though? Maybe she was the only one who could stay for extended periods of time, just like she was the only one who could travel at will.

Nick snorted. "Who would want to live in constant darkness?"

If you were in bed with a sexy man who had his hands and mouth all over you, there was a definite appeal to all that darkness. "Have you ever met a man named . . ." She hesitated, as if saying his name were a betrayal to him. But she had to know. "Vasili?"

"Met? No." A hard glint darkened Nick's eyes. "But heard of, yes."

"Tell me!" Did she sound too eager? Look too eager? She was leaning forward, hands wringing together.

Clearly. Nick regarded her strangely as he pushed aside his cup and drummed his fingers against the tabletop. "He's the king of the Northern Realm. Have you met him?"

"Well, uh, I . . ."

He took her stuttering as a yes. "Can you get close to him? Kill him?"

"No! " And anyone else who tried would feel the sting of her wrath. Sadly, that "anyone" might be Nick. At the moment, he glowed with determination.

But if she had to choose between them, she would choose Vasili. Always.

"Too bad. See, from what I've been able to piece together, I know there are four realms. North, South, East, and West. A different king rules each. The North and East are at war, and the South and West are allies who refuse to take part."

Vasili, at war. With Greer. But that war had been averted, since Jasha was marrying one of Greer's daughters. She mentioned none of that, though. She wouldn't aid Nick's cause with information.

"If we could killVasili," he continued, "one of those realms would fall and that's one less to worry about."

Now her eyes narrowed, and she knew the hard glint he'd had earlier was suddenly mirrored in hers. "That would make you a murderer, Nick." And me, as well, since my first reaction will be revenge. "You don't want to go there. Believe me."

"Well, I'm sick of the birthday curse," he burst out. "Sick of dreading the darkness and the rain, the monsters and their chase. They always scent me out immediately, and I always spend the entire twelve hours I'm forced to stay there running for my life."

"I'm sorry." And she was. But she still would not accept his intentions.

A sandy brow arched. "That hasn't been your experience, has it?"

"No," she admitted. "They aren't so bad."

"They're monsters, Rose."

"Yes, but they've never hurt me." Sure, Vasili had threatened—she shivered, still uncertain why the thought of Vasili's naughtiness thrilled her so much—but he'd helped her instead.

Nick scrubbed a hand down his face. "Look, there are others like me. Tired and craving an end.

We want those things dead."

"What are you planning?" she whispered, gripping the edge of the table.

He shrugged. "We've been talking about it, trying to plan. But that's hard to do when no one trusts anyone else, so nothing's been solidified yet. I've got an idea, though. One that might bring us all together."

Oh . . . shit. Another reason to visit Vasili. To warn him.

The next day, Rose shimmied into a lacy ice-blue dress and matching heels. Vasili had never seen her in anything but pants, and at the ball, as all the women had danced around her in those velvet gowns, she'd felt drab. She'd wanted to show Vasili that she, too, could look pretty.

After doing her makeup and hair, she packed a bag. All her toiletries, lots of lingerie, a few more dresses, and some pants and tees. She'd stay all seven days, no more, no less. No matter how much he pissed her off. Then, if things worked out as she hoped, she'd return here, say good-bye to her parents, find out if Nick and the other Walkers had "solidified" anything yet, gather the rest of her things, and finally shack up with Vasili for good.

If he was on board, of course.

He'd better be on board. Rose strapped her blades onto her wrists and thighs. She recalled the weapons Vasili had worn last night, and shivered. Sexy. She'd wanted to eat him up. Now you can. She grinned as she checked her .45, threw a couple clips in her bag, and tried to anchor the gun to her waist—oops, no room. The blades took up too much space under her dress.

She slung the bag over her shoulder, keeping the gun in hand, safety on. She wouldn't use it on Vasili, of course. Unless he pissed her off. Better to shoot him than to leave before her time ended. And the monsters she'd seen last time had looked so civilized, she doubted she'd have to use it on them. Besides, they hadn't attacked her, and hadn't acted as if they even wanted to attack her. For the most part, they'd kept their eyes averted. They'd even danced with the humans, those claws gentle on their partners and not drawing a single bead of blood.

Vasili clearly liked them, and they clearly respected him. So Rose planned to make an effort to befriend them, too. That didn't mean she'd head into that palace defenseless, though. Last time, she'd meant to stay only a few minutes, so she hadn't armed herself quite so fiercely. Plus, if another Walker showed up looking for trouble, she would be able to deliver.

With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, the white walls of her bedroom fading away. For a moment, she remembered Vasili's bedroom. The difference between hers and his. Hers, plain.

His, decadent. Hers, small. His, unbelievably spacious. Hers, dowdy. His, a rainbow of colors, textures, and patterns. Murals painted along the walls, murals of the sun and flowers and battles.

Marble floors veined with gold. Alabaster columns, windows of sparkling crystal. Dark velvets and—Her mind locked on that thought. She would wrap Vasili in that velvet, then unwrap him, one inch at a time, kissing every piece of skin she bared.

His eyes would be heavy lidded, his lips parted, his expression strained.

Perfect. She repeated her vow to him, and her feet lost their anchor. For a moment, she was weightless, a little dizzy, and then all was well. Except for the sudden blast of noise and the shower of pounding rain. Her eyelids popped open, and she gasped in horror.

The dark of night, just like that first time, and hammering rain. Somehow torches were lit and remained so, illuminating a battle scene of violence and fury, far worse than anything that had been painted on the walls. Swords arced. Blood sprayed. Mud splattered as bodies fell. Monsters, so many monsters. Eyes red, glowing. Teeth bared, chomping. Men flailed, grunted.

A tremor slid down her spine. Where was Vasili?

Had the Walkers already attacked? Had Greer betrayed him?

Her wild gaze scanned, searching . . . searching . . . so many bodies, so many injured. . . .

There! He held a sword, swinging the long blade, connecting with a human. That human hunched over and Vasili kicked him, sending the man reeling backward. He didn't get up.

She wanted to shout Vasili's name, but knew she would distract him. As every single one of her instructors had told her, distraction could killyou faster than an opponent. She looked around. She was a few yards from the action, and hadn't been noticed yet, hidden by shadows as she was.

She would have joined the fray, anything to protect Vasili, but she didn't know who was on his side and who wasn't.

What should she do?

Calm, steady. She couldn't leave. Or rather, she wouldn't. She would not be able to live with herself if something happened to him and she hadn't been here to save him. So she dropped her bag and slinked farther into the shadows, inching closer to him. When she was but a few feet away, she crouched, wiped the frigid water from her face, and looked him over. He was cut, bleeding. Mud was splattered all over him.

Two humans launched themselves at him, and her breath caught in her throat. His swords whizzed through the air, slicing through the one in front and the one behind at the same time. Yet he didn't see the third man running toward him, blade raised high, descending....

Rose aimed and fired, no hesitation. Kill shot. The man grunted and fell. Vasili must have heard the boom because he whipped around, searching the dark. When he spotted her, he snarled.

"Go home!"

"After I rescue my damsel in distress," she called.

Another man raced up behind him. She switched her attention, fired again. He, too, fell to her bullet. She'd never purposely hurt anyone before—not with the intention of utterly destroying—and would have thought she would feel guilt and sadness. All she felt was savage satisfaction that she'd protected her man.

For a moment, she thought she saw sparks of pride in Vasili's violet eyes. Then he spun from her and rejoined the fray. If she'd thought him brutal before, he soon proved her wrong. Now he was ferocious. He gave no quarter. Showed no mercy. Moved with lethal grace, blades slicing and dicing. Men fell all around him, and every so often he looked back at her. To make sure she was watching?

Was he . . . showing off?

She nearly grinned. He was. He really was. And she was impressed. Here was a man who would always be able to protect. He would defend with a strength few possessed. He would—

Someone grabbed her from behind, hard arm winding around her neck, choking, hot breath fanning over her cheek. The other arm batted the gun out of her hand.

"Who are you?" a male voice demanded at her ear.

"Let me go," she snapped.

"What are you? A Walker? Yes, I think so. I saw you appear. I saw your weapon. Saw you help that bastard king."

This was not Vasili's man, then. No panic. She'd trained. She knew what to do. Rather than tug at the arm choking her, as instinct demanded, she reached back and jabbed him in the eye. His hold loosened, enabling her to turn. Immediately she slammed her knee between his legs, and he doubled over.

She kneed him in the face, sending him flying to his back. When he hit, he gasped for breath he couldn't quite catch. As she approached him, withdrawing her knife, he regained his bearings and kicked her, hard. Now she lost her breath and stumbled backward and he was able to hop to his feet.

"Bitch."

He flew toward her. To his surprise, she met him in the middle. He was able to disarm her as they punched and dodged, punched and dodged. She landed three hits. He landed one, and for a moment, she saw fireflies dancing around her and had to spit out blood. But she didn't slow or stop or cry or panic. And soon she landed her open palm against his nose. Crack. Blood sprayed and he fell.

An unholy roar sounded behind her. Then there was a whirl of black, a hard breeze wafting over her, and she could only stand there, amazed, as she realized Vasili was on top of the man and beating his face into pulp.

At first the man struggled; then the struggling ceased. Vasili continued to punch and punch and punch. Rose approached him slowly, gently, and flattened her hand on his shoulder.

"Stop now, darling," she said. "Yes?"

He did, as if her voice had penetrated that fog of rage. Panting, he swung narrowed eyes to her.

Blood and mud were caked all over his bruised face, the rain dripping over him and streaking both along the rest of his skin. He was brutal and all the more beautiful for it.

"You're all right?" he demanded.

"Yes. You?"

"Yes."

"But he hurt you," was the ragged reply, as if he couldn't believe that fact.

"I'm fine. I've endured worse during training."

"But he hurt you. I saw him." With that, Vasili turned back to the man and punched him again.

"He's already dead," she told him gently. No way anyone could survive that kind of beating.

"But he needs to die again." Another punch.

Rose tugged him to his feet, forcing him to face her. For a long while, they simply stared at each other, the rain pouring between them, the darkness thick, their breath rough and misting.

"You came back early," he said, and reached for her. Gently, so gently. His fingers traced over her bruised jaw.

There was a tingle, that ever-present ache. "I couldn't stay away. I . . . missed you."

Before he could reply, a hard voice called, "The rest have fallen back, my king."

Vasili's hands didn't leave her, but he did move his gaze to the newcomer. "Gather their dead and send them back home with a message. 'Attack again, and the same will be done to your families.' "

She looked and saw Grigori, the monster from last night. He nodded, his red eyes bright, and swung around to instruct the men.

"You won," she said to Vasili, returning her attention to him.

"Yes."

"Against Greer?" Had the old king tricked Jasha into agreeing to wed one of his daughters, and then attacked while everyone was complacent? "Or Walkers?"

Vasili gave an abrupt shake of his head. "Neither. The other realms heard of my alliance with Greer, and attacked to prevent it. He warned me they would try, but I didn't believe him." He dropped his forehead to hers, his hands spanning her waist, and tugged her close. "I saw you here, amid the battle, and I almost died. We have to work on your timing, sweetheart."

Sweetheart? She melted against him. "You have to admit I saved you."

He snorted. "I'll admit no such thing. I saved you."

Now she snorted.

His heated gaze traveled the length of her, and he licked the raindrops from his lips. "You're wearing a dress." He sounded shocked, awed.

"And heels. Not that you'll get to enjoy them. They're trash now."

"They were for me?"

A nod.

"I love them."

"I'll love them when you peel them off me."

"My little Rose is eager. I'm a lucky man. But I'll never hear the end of bringing a female into battle."

"You didn't bring me. I brought myself."

"You are never to admit that." Harsh, rough again. "Promise me."

He would rather be teased than reveal the truth? Why? He'd once told her that he never lied, that he didn't care about consequences. But he kept doing so. She's mute. She's a slave. For her.

A hard shake. "Promise, Rose."

"Promise." She wound her arms around his neck, so happy to be here, enjoying him, touching him. So happy that they were both alive. "Can we go to your bedroom, get cleaned up, and argue about who saved whom there?"

He placed a soft kiss at the base of her neck, where her pulse hammered wildly. "Oh, yes. But you should prepare to admit defeat, love. The things I'm going to do to you . . ."

Chapter Eight

The battle had taken place right outside the palace, so the walk to Vasili's wing wasn't a long one.

And yet to Rose, every step was torture, every second an eternity. People tried to stop them along the way, but Vasili kept moving, dragging her behind him, directing the intruders to Jasha and Grigori, the two he'd left in charge.

Finally, they reached his chambers. When she was inside, he released her, faced her, and leaned into her. She tingled, expectant. Only, he didn't touch her. He flicked the door with his wrist, sending the wood slamming closed. Then he straightened—and still he didn't touch her. He pivoted on his heel, gaze locked on her until the last possible second, and freaking walked away.

What the hell?

There was a wet bar in the corner, she noticed. He poured two glasses of that amber liquid and returned to her, one hand extended. She accepted with a small smile. A fire blazed in the hearth beside her, the heat licking over her wet skin, making her crave this man so much more.

"What is this stuff?" she asked just to break the taut silence.

"Medicine." He drained the contents, and she did the same. Then he claimed both glasses and returned them to the bar.

Warm and sweet, the medicine slid into her stomach and quickly spread through the rest of her.

The little stings and abrasions she'd acquired began to heal. "How are you so advanced in this way?" Her world had nothing that healed instantly. "Yet so antiquated in others?"

"We were once so highly advanced we managed to destroy our sun and most of the population."

A few steps, and they were facing each other again. "What you see now is centuries of rebuilding."

"Oh. Neat." Shaking with anticipation, she glanced at the four-poster bed. "Do you want to . . ."

"Yes, but we can't. Not yet. We need to talk."

Guttural tone, ominous words. She licked her lips, nervous and achy at the same time. "Okay.

What about?"

"Outside, you mentioned other Walkers." His eyes blazed.

A stark reminder of what she needed to tell him. "Yes." Now she gazed down at her feet, cold seeping through the heat. His safety came before her pleasure. "Why do you want to know who they are and when they come?"

"That's not important now. We need to—"

"Why?"

He sighed. "To protect my people."

"How do you protect them from Walkers?"

Silence.

She looked up at him through the shield of her lashes. He plowed a hand through his hair.

"How?" she insisted.

"I killthem."

He'd stated the words so simply, without a hint of remorse; she could only blink at him. "Without knowing their intentions?"

A nod. Stiff, suddenly angry.

Clearly, she couldn't tell him when Nick would come. Not yet. "Why?"

"They're dangerous."

"I'm not. Others aren't."

"You're different. They aren't." Firm, flat.

"How do you know?"

"Rose!" Hard fingers twined around her upper arms and shook her. "That doesn't matter. And I've changed my mind. I don't want to talk about the other Walkers. Let's discuss the fact that you showed up unannounced. Again. And in the middle of a battle, no less."

Having him this close, finally touching her, yet not skin on skin, was complete torment. Her breathing quickened, and goose bumps beaded. Her chest constricted, even as her belly quivered. She loved looking at him. Especially now, as water dripped from his hair and caught in his eyelashes. As color deepened his cheeks, and mud and blood streaked his bare arms and torso.

"No. Let's continue talking about the Walkers. I met with one," she said. "And you're right. Some of them are dangerous. This one told me he's been talking to others, and they want to plan a way to destroy this world. He has an idea to join them, to team up with others who share the same birthday week, and each bring their weapon of preference and strike, so it's one tragedy after another here, and there's no time for you guys to protect yourselves. But that's because they're scared. If you showed them a bit of compassion, they would—"

"No." still stiff, again angry, though far more so now, he dropped his arms away from her, severing all contact. "That's not up for discussion."

"Fine. Then maybe we should take sex off the table, too." If he wanted to play stubborn, so would she. This was important to her. He was important. "I need a bath and a change of—" Shit! Her bag. "I dropped my bag outside. When I . . . landed."

There was a glimmer of fear in his eyes, there one moment, gone the next. "I'll return shortly." He didn't wait for her reply, but strode to the door, tossing over his shoulder, "Do not leave this room. Bathe, eat, whatever you want, but do not leave."

"I didn't mean you had to—"

Thud. Alone. Frustrated, she glanced around.Through an open set of doors on the left, she spotted a large pool, steam curling in the air. He'd mentioned bathing. She stripped along the way, leaving her wet dress and heels strewn on the floor, part of her grateful for the reprieve. She stepped into the hot water, submerging herself, and sighed with pleasure.

Though she wanted to relax, she hurried through the bath, lathering hair and body with a bar of soap that smelled like wildflowers. No wonder Vasili always smelled so sweet, though she was surprised he'd chosen such a feminine scent for himself. Unless a female had chosen it for him.

Did he entertain women here? Let them bathe? Watch them? Pleasure himself while doing so?

Probably.

The jealousy and possessiveness that swept through her were hot and undeniable. He was hers now. She would be seeing to his needs, just as he would be seeing to hers. If he would just return with a better attitude, the jackass.

After she rinsed, she stepped from the pool and searched for a towel. She found a closet full of his clothes and weapons, but no towel. Not knowing what else to do, she used one of his shirts, dabbing the material against her body to absorb the moisture, then grabbed a soft sheet from the bed, wrapped it around herself, and sat in front of the fireplace to dry her hair. And plan. If she could negotiate a peace treaty between Vasili and the Walkers, they wouldn't try to hurt him, and he would be safe.

An eternity later, hinges creaked, and then Vasili was striding back into the room. No closer to answers, Rose popped to her feet. He was wetter than before, muddier, and had her bag slung over his shoulder. He had a new cut on his cheek, and blood trickled. He threw the bag down as he searched.... Their gazes collided. He stilled, jaw clenched.

"What happened?" she asked.

He looked her over, nostrils flaring, pupils expanding. "You're naked under there." A growl.

"Yes, but—"

He was in front of her a moment later, gripping her waist and hefting her up. He turned without setting her down and tossed her. For several seconds, she was airborne and confused. Then she hit the bed, bounced on the mattress, and knew. He was going to have her.

"Vasili, we really should talk about how to combat—"

"I don't want to talk about the other Walkers anymore." He strode to the side of the bed and ripped off the sheet, his hot gaze raking over her. She didn't move, allowed him to look his fill. And look he did. That gaze was as intent as a caress, lingering on her breasts, causing her nipples to pearl for him, then dipping to her thighs. "I don't want to talk about the danger you placed yourself in. Not now."

Something had set him off. Something had shredded his control. She liked it, loved it, wanted it, but all that ferocity . . .

"Spread your legs," he commanded harshly.

She trembled. "What's wrong with—"

"Talk after. Spread."

Seriously. What had come over him? she wondered, even as she obeyed. As she'd already learned, sometimes doing what he wanted paid off.

He sucked in a breath. "You're wet."

For you. "Always."

His lips pulled tight as he reached out and ran a finger through her tiny patch of curls, then through her lips, then against her clitoris. "You're mine."

Her back arched, and she had to grip the sheets to keep from grabbing his wrist and holding his hand in place. "Y-yes." She couldn't deny it.

He severed the contact, and she moaned. But then he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked, his lids dipping to half-mast. "You're not going to leave this time." A brutal command. "Not until we're both sated."

"I'll stay."

As if the admission broke him down into nothing but sensation, he ripped at his pants, kicked off his boots. When he was finally naked—gloriously, wonderfully naked—he pounced, diving on top of her. His weight crushed her, but she didn't care. They were skin to heated skin at last, his long, thick erection rubbing against her core.

His tongue thrust into her mouth, as demanding as his tone had been. Savage, showing no mercy, dominating. She loved it, meeting him thrust for thrust, taking and giving. One of his hands squeezed at her breast, his naughty fingers tweaking her nipple and shooting sharp lances of pleasure through her.

She bent her knees, rubbing them against his hips, offering a deeper cradle for his penis. He didn't take the hint. Rather than push inside her—even the thought made her moan—he inched down her body and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. He played for a little while, teeth nipping, hands lowering, exploring, tracing over her core, but never actually touching. Mostly, he dabbled behind her knees, at her ankles, the curve of her ass after flipping her over.

"Vasili," she moaned. The ache was consuming her, that ever-present ache. She was leaning into his every glide, trying to force him to head in the direction she wanted.

He flipped her again and kissed a path to her stomach, tongue swirling in her navel. Her muscles quivered. He followed that quiver with his tongue, licking straight into her core. Finally, blessedly. A moan tore from her.

The other day, she'd come and he hadn't. She should be going down on him. "M-my turn to do that to you," she rasped. But don't stop. Please don't stop.

He didn't pause, just kept lapping at her, sucking on her clit, making her writhe and pant and pull at his hair. Heat poured through her, burned her up, singed, then exploded, careening through her, at his hair. Heat poured through her, burned her up, singed, then exploded, careening through her, spinning her mind, flashing white lights.

As she cried his name, he flipped them both over, and she found herself on top of him. His features were tight with tension. Seeing him like that, so aroused for her, had the ache roaring back to life as if she'd never climaxed.

"Stroke me."

She rose up and straddled his thighs. His erection strained proudly between them, and she wrapped her fingers around the thick base, gliding upward, engulfing the head and dampening her palm with the moisture beaded at the tip. "Like this?"

His hips arched into her touch. "That's good, but I want—"

She didn't let him finish. She bent down and sucked him into her mouth, until he hit the back of her throat. He bucked, a hoarse groan leaving him. God, he tasted good. A sweetness that could only be passion. Her jaw stretched and burned to accommodate his width as she rode him up and down.

He fisted her hair for a moment, then released her, as if afraid to hurt her. She heard flesh slap against metal and assumed he was now gripping the headboard. She didn't stop to look, just kept eating that hard length, consuming it.

"Going to . . . if you don't want . . ."

Faster . . . faster . . .

"Rose!" He roared her name as his seed jetted into her mouth.

She swallowed every drop. And when he calmed, she lifted her head with a satisfied smile and a lick of her lips. The ache hadn't left her, had only increased. She wanted more, needed more. He would, too. She knew it.

He was panting, gripping the headboard as she'd supposed, his lips bleeding from chewing them. Her gaze moved to his arms, to the muscles straining there, and she gasped. There, on both of his forearms, were roses. Roses, like her name. Once again her chest constricted. He'd marked himself permanently, inked those symbols on his body for all of his days. For her . . . She knew they were for her.

"Lift up," he suddenly growled.

"Am I too heavy?" She climbed to her knees.

"Hardly." Immediately he inserted two fingers inside her.

Her head fell back, hair tickling her skin, breasts arching toward him. She cupped them, moaning and pumping against his fingers. Fucking them the way she wanted him to fuck her.

"My Rose is still wet."

"I liked the taste of you." Up, down. More, more. She knew there was something they should discuss, something all lovers should discuss . . . oh, yes. "I'm on the pill, can't get pregnant, not diseased." There. "Vasili, please. Unless . . . unless you need time to recover."

"I'm not diseased, either." His fingers pulled from her. He gripped her hips, lifted her, and slammed her down, his cock suddenly filling her, stretching her. She had to brace her hands on his chest to hold herself upright. But finally, he was inside her, all the way, hers.

"Yes!" she screamed.

Air hissed from his teeth. "Move on me."

"Yes, yes." At first, she moved slowly, torturing them both, driving them to insanity. As he began to thrust up, meeting her downward glide, his fingers digging into her waist, bruising, spurring her on, she increased her speed, taking more, giving more, demanding more. Soon they were both writhing, both reaching, hands everywhere.

"Kiss." He cupped the base of her neck and jerked her down, tongue stabbing into her mouth.

She came instantly, inner walls clenching around him. That was when he flipped her to her back, thrusting harder and harder, deeper and deeper, one of her knees caught under his arm, allowing even deeper penetration, his cock like a jackhammer against her clit, and then he was shouting her name, spending himself inside her, and she was shouting his, clamping around him yet again.

When he collapsed on top of her and rolled them to their sides, she was still twitching from that second—third?—consuming orgasm. He didn't release her, but held her tight. Thank God. She couldn't have existed on her own, she didn't think. She was panting, sweating, floating. Lost.

Her eyes were heavy, and she wanted to sleep. Was even drifting off, content for the first time in years, when his voice roused her.

"Did I take you from someone you loved, the night I bonded us?" he asked gruffly.

Was that what had been bothering him? She forced her lids to remain open. "Yes. No. I don't know. I thought I loved him at the time, and I thought he loved me, but he ran pretty quickly when I could no longer put out."

"Poor, stupid bastard. The running, though, is what has saved his life."

She chuckled. "Did I take you from anyone?"

"No one special." His fingers stroked her back.

"Good. Because I brought my gun, and I'm not afraid to use it."

"As I have seen." His fingers lowered to her ass and spread, squeezing. "I must admit, I like my woman jealous."

She liked when he called her his woman. She liked this. Being snuggled against his side, listening to his heart pound, rubbing her knee up his legs, feeling his shaft harden again.

"Stay," he said, suddenly serious. "With me."

Hearing the words—he wanted her the way she wanted him!—caused relief to bloom. "For one week, I'm all yours."

His grip tightened. "Stay longer."

God, she liked the sound of that purring, commanding voice. The needy ache sprang back to life, joining her relief, and she rubbed against him like a cat. "We don't even know if we're compatible."

He rolled her to her back, his weight nearly crushing her. "We're compatible."

"Here." Would she ever get enough of him? She arched against him, breasts pressing against his chest. "But what about out there?"

His nostrils flared. "In the palace?"

"In . . . life." Her legs wrapped around him, ankles locking on his lower back.

He considered her for a moment, pushing all of his weight between her thighs and holding her steady. "We will take this week, then, and see how we get along. But you aren't leaving. And you can't tell anyone what you are."

"Why can't I tell anyone? And will you please get inside me? Unless you need that recovery time?"

"That's the second time you've asked if I need recovery time. How you wound me. You, I always want." His cock twitched against her, slid inside her, and his pupils expanded. "Just don't tell anyone what you are. Please."

Yes! "Thank you." There was something he wasn't telling her, but she didn't have time to reason it out. He was inside her, but he wasn't moving. "I won't tell. Now thrust!"

"Lusty wench. But let's see if I can finally sate you."

He spent the rest of the night trying.

Chapter Nine

Vasili held a sleeping Rose tight against his body, breathing her in, savoring her warmth, her softness. He hadn't pleasured a female in two years, but he'd never slept near one. He'd never trusted his lovers enough to be near him during his vulnerable sleeping hours, and besides that, he hadn't wanted to promote a familiarity he hadn't—and would never—feel.

Attachments weren't something he formed.

Until now.

He'd had Rose in his bedroom, and rather than strip her as he'd planned, he'd found himself scared. For her. She'd met with other Walkers. That was what he'd always wanted. That was why he'd bonded them. For information. But the thought of her with other Walkers, so far away from him, him unable to protect her . . . He'd wanted to roar. And then, when she'd mentioned she had left her bag outside where his army roamed, searching for the dead, true panic had set in. If they found the bag, they would know a Walker was nearby. And they'd seen her, so of course they would know she was that Walker. They wouldn't simply think she'd been living in the woods, seen the fight, and decided to help, as he had planned to encourage them.

He'd found her bag in Grigori's possession. His favored guard had been livid with him, though the Monstrea had admitted he'd known what she was the moment he'd seen her at the ball.

You have to kill her, Grigori had said. Otherwise your people will revolt.

Vasili had been terrified of just that, which was why he'd rushed back to Rose, to guard her. One look, though, and he'd had to bind her to him sexually. He'd had to have her, to reaffirm that she was here, she was his, and to prove to her that they belonged together. Forever.

He loved her.

His world might be dark, but she was his light. She amused him, challenged him, fought for him, delighted him. Pleased him. Oh, did she please him. He had never enjoyed a woman the way he enjoyed her. Her taste was addictive, her long, slender body the perfect fit to his bigger, harder one. She wasn't shy or coy, but gave herself fully.

She'd ruined him for anyone else, and it had nothing to do with their blood bond and everything to do with her smile, her stubbornness, her wit, her playfulness, her lustiness. Perfect. Fit.

Now he had one week to convince her to stay with him. Because he couldn't live without her.

Wouldn't live without her. The risk from the other Walkers, the risk from his own people, he would figure out, deal with. Somehow, some way. But he would have to do so without alerting Rose. If she discovered how much his people hated her kind, she would be hurt and afraid, and would possibly leave.

That, he couldn't allow.

Only two days into her stay, Rose realized she could live with Vasili forever. Sex anytime she craved it—and she craved it often. Vasili ensured she was fed, and the food was divine. He dressed her in lavish gowns, like the ones she'd seen at the party. He made her laugh, touched her often, even when he didn't realize he was doing it. If she neared, he wound his arm around her waist. If she placed her head on his shoulder, he petted her hair and urged her into his lap.

They rarely left his rooms, but when they did, he had rules for her. No speaking in English, and no mentioning the word Walker. The only dark spot on her happiness was that Vasili refused to explain why. Yeah, he'd told her the Walkers were dangerous. But why were they dangerous—

besides what Nick and others might be planning? What had been done in the past?

Anytime she asked, Vasili changed the subject.

But now he'd been called away by his brother. Why, she didn't know. But he'd left her sleeping in bed. Or so he'd thought. Rose hopped up, quickly bathed, and dressed in a violet gown to match his eyes.

She left the chamber and strode along the halls, down the winding stairs, and into the dining room. The few times they'd roused from bed, this was where he'd taken her, and she'd memorized the path. Someone was always in here, she'd noted. Maybe because there was a long wooden table always piled high with food. Like an all-day buffet.

The walls here were the same as those in the ball room: swirling gold circles surrounding windows that looked into the dark, rainy ever-night. The royal colors must be burgundy and gold, because those colors were everywhere: tapestries, carpets, furniture.

Today, there was only one occupant. One of the Monstrea, as Vasili had told her they were called. Grigori was his name. She wasn't afraid of him. He might look like a demon, but his love for Vasili was proved every time he spoke with his king.

"Has Jasha picked a bride?" she asked as she filled her plate. She was careful to pronounce her words slowly, just right.

"Greer died in battle the other night." His tone was gruff. "The rush for the alliance has ended."

"Poor princesses." To have lost their father to violence. "But Jasha still intends to wed one?"

"Yes."

That was good. "Who?"

"The redhead." Eye twitch.

Interesting. "Want her for yourself, do you?"

Silence.

She'd take that as a yes.

"Enough talk of unimportant issues. What are your intentions toward the king, female?"

"Dishonorable," she said with a grin, and claimed the seat across from him.

His claws scraped at the table. "You mean to kill him?"

Don't provoke the beast, idiot. "Hardly. I lo—like him." She loved the man—she had to, since she was willing to give up everything for him—but Vasili hadn't said the words to her, so she wouldn't say the words to him or anyone else. Another game, she thought with a secret smile. The first one to crack would be teasingly tortured forever.

"I know what you are, you know. I remembered the talk about you from that night, so long ago. I wasn't there, but I heard. You were thought to be a spy."

"So?" She popped a grape into her mouth, the sweet juice running down her throat. She'd learned that they had greenhouses and other places that were able to grow the fruits from her world.

Those fiery eyes widened. "So?" he whispered darkly. "You are no spy. Twice I have seen you dressed in pants, and your language is rough. You appear out of nowhere, and no one has ever heard of you. You are a Walker, and you're going to get him killed."

Her brow scrunched. "What are you talking about?"

"Your kind is hated here. Slaughtered."

Answers. He offered answers. All she had to do was ask and finally, she'd have them, but just then she wasn't sure she wanted them. still, the first question rushed from her mouth: "Why is my kind hated?"

"You once destroyed our royal family. Vasili's family. His parents, his siblings. He watched, bound, helplessly waiting his turn. They even held a gun to his father's head and made the man choose which of the girls, Vasili's sisters, would die first. And die they did. Every one of them."

"Not me," she said brokenly, tears springing to her eyes. Poor Vasili, losing practically everyone he loved in a single night. But now she understood why he had refused to answer her questions while she'd held a gun on him. He must have been reminded of that night.

God, the fact that he hadn't killed her astonished her.

"Not you, no. You are too young. But those like you. My people couldn't help all those years ago because you went after us first. Explosions everywhere. So many fires. Innocents, children. All gone in a single night."

"I'm sorry." So sorry. She wanted to stop this now, run away, but persisted anyway. "How . . . how did Vasili escape?"

"So many of us were running around, screaming, confused, but he managed to get free while the Walkers were distracted, find Jasha, and haul him into the forest, where they hid for days before the remaining army found them. That's when it was decided—by all of us—that Walkers would be killed the moment they entered our world."

Poor Vasili, she thought again, the tears running freely now. She wanted to hold him, to chase away his pain.

"He bonded with you, did he not?"

She nodded, unable to speak. There was a lump in her throat she couldn't manage to swallow.

"Foolish man, thinking with his cock. Some of our people did the same with other Walkers all those years ago, but those Walkers were put to death after that night. The wives fought us. Their Walkers were peaceful, they claimed. But still we killed those bound to your world. How would it look if they discovered Vasili, the king, had kept you alive?"

Bad.

"If the people ever find out, they will rebel against him. They haven't forgotten what was done to their loved ones. And if his own people rebel while he battles other kingdoms . . ."

Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. She swallowed the lump. "I'll. . . I'll leave." She would have to. To save him. Oh, God.

"But you'll return." An accusation.

"Because I can't stop myself," she growled, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"He knows what you are, but pretends you are one of us. How long do you think that lie will last, since you'll appear right in front of him every time you arrive?"

She closed her eyes, heartsick.

"The bond must be broken."

Her lids popped open. "I'm not going to killhim, and I'm not going to killmyself."

"And because you are his, he will never forgive the one who does killyou."

Does kill, as if it were already a fact. No wonder Vasili had taught her to fight. He'd known what would happen if she were ever discovered. He'd wanted her to have a chance. But why had he wanted her to have a chance? He should have hated her. Yet he'd bonded her, saved her.

Would the hate return in time? Would he grow to resent her?

"When is your next birthday?" Grigori asked.

"In . . . three days."

"So you came early. To see him." A statement, not a question.

She answered anyway. "Yes."

"You love him?"

"Yes." No denying it now, as she thought about losing him forever. The game was over.

"Do not tell him what we discussed. There is much I need to think on."

She nodded, even though she suspected he meant to think about ways to killher without Vasili finding out who had done the deed. She had to find a way to stop traveling here. Not just her, but all the Walkers.

She could travel at will, so it stood to reason that she could prevent herself from traveling through that same will. Right? But the others couldn't travel at will. So they wouldn't be able to stop themselves.

Damn it!

That would save her—and save Vasili. Except for the bond . . . They couldn't be with other people. But she couldn't deny that she was glad he couldn't be with other people. Even if that meant suffering herself. Because she couldn't imagine wanting anyone else. Not after experiencing that tongue, those fingers . . . him, only him.

She needed distance, time to deal. To think. Surely she could find a solution if she tried.

"Tell Vasili I said—No." Any parting words would only deepen the connection between them.

She needed anger. His, hers. For with anger would come distance. "Just tell him I left."

Grigori nodded.

"Thank you for the . . . conversation." Translation: I hate you, but I can't hold it against you because you did it for him.

Another abrupt nod.

She closed her eyes, pictured her house, and let her body do the rest. Seconds, that was all it took, but she knew it had worked, because for a moment she felt weightless. Dizzy. Then perfectly fine. Physically, at least.

She opened her eyes, and four white walls surrounded her. There was her couch, the fabric torn.

There was her coffee table, the wood scratched.

Walkers had killed Vasili's family. Walkers were even now trying to think up ways to hurt Vasili.

She had to talk to them. Give them the facts, bare her soul. No matter what they thought of her or tried to do to her. She had to make things right.

Chapter Ten

"Vasili."

He must be imagining things, Vasili thought. There was Rose's sweet voice. But he was drunk, as he had been for the past three days, sitting in his room, alone, all lights extinguished, rain pattering outside. After a panicked, frantic search for Rose, Grigori had admitted what had transpired.

If he heard "for the best" one more time, he was going to stab someone. Namely Grigori. The bastard was lucky to be alive. To have sent Rose away like that . . . He would kill him, Vasili decided.

"Vasili, darling."

There was her voice again. He closed his eyes, savoring. She wasn't due to arrive until later tonight, just four hours away. He was going to punish her for leaving him—the chase-and-retreat game no longer amused him. He wanted her always. Then he was going to make love to her, beg her to stay, tell his people to fuck themselves, and if she still refused to stay with him, he would try to cross into her world. To do so, he'd have to hold on to Rose until they both left his world. If he died, so what? He couldn't live without her. Not anymore.

"Are you listening to me? No? Let me help you." An open palm slapped his cheek, leaving a heated sting.

He blinked. A hallucination wouldn't have been able to hit him, would it? "Rose?"

A sigh. "Who else?"

He hopped to his feet, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. There she was, right in front of him. His arms banded around her—solid, warm, real—and he jerked her into his chest, all thoughts of punishment fleeing. "I thought I'd lost you. Don't ever do that to me again."

She hugged him back. "I want to be with you," she said, shocking him. "Forever."

"Thank you. Thank you. You won't regret—"

"But the hate has to stop."

"Anything." He would deny her nothing. Not anymore.

"There can be no more killing Walkers just because of what they are."

"Done." He wouldn't argue. He would outlaw the practice immediately, and his people could protest all they wanted. They could rebel, kick him off the throne. Whatever. As long as he had Rose, nothing else mattered. Hopefully, his people would learn, as he had, that these Walkers were not the vicious race from the past. How could they be, when Rose was among them?

She cupped his cheeks. "I love you."

"And I love you. So much."

Slowly her lips lifted in a beautiful grin. "Call a meeting with your people. As many as you can fit inside the palace. And no weapons. They aren't to bring weapons. And they aren't to attack, no matter what they see or hear."

"What are you—"

"Please, Vasili. No questions. I need you to do this quickly. One hour. Please."

"It will be done."

With that, she disappeared.

Vasili had his army gather his citizens and "gently" usher them inside the palace ball room. Yes, threats of force abounded, but finally the task was done. Jasha and Grigori were beside him, the princesses seated on the dais but against the wall. They weren't sad that their father was dead and, in fact, seemed lighthearted.

And, in fact, seemed lighthearted.

Jasha had decided to wed the redhead, to which Grigori had only this morning said, "Not that one." Which meant the Monstrea wanted her for himself. Jasha had shrugged—almost with relief, as if he hadn't wanted to pick her but, because she was the plainest, thought she would have been the easiest to deal with—and next decided on the blonde, who watched him now with awe in her eyes. Jasha continually cast her stealthy glances.

It would be a good match, Vasili thought, making Jasha king of the East. He'd take care of that just as soon as he finished with this.

The crowd grew restless, their curiosity intensifying, and his army had to form a blockade around them. Vasili had only one order for his soldiers: Kill anyone who threatened Rose.

When would she appear? What did she plan? He would support her, whatever she did. He should have talked to her, told her, but he'd feared losing her.

She suddenly materialized in front of him, pale hair cascading down her back, silver eyes bright.

She wore jeans and a T-shirt, every inch the Walker. Their gazes met briefly, his heart slamming against his ribs, before she turned and faced his people. They gasped in astonishment, in disgust.

In hatred. Murmurs of, "Murderer," arose.

Vasili leaped to his feet, a brutal scowl contorting his features.

"Yes," Rose said, splaying her arms. "I'm a Walker."

"She's also my wife," he shouted, daring them to comment.

She tossed him a quick smile over her shoulder. "There are others like me. They come here on their birthdays, and you chase them. Hurt them. Kill them. They fear you, which makes them want to hurt you in return. But it doesn't have to be that way."

Silence. Perhaps because he scowled at them murderously.

"Yes, Walkers hurt you in the past." She cast Vasili another glance, this one sad and apologetic.

"But to condemn them all for what others did . . . I'm sure you wouldn't welcome being condemned for the sins of your fathers."

More murmurs. Fortunately, these weren't quite so rancorous.

"I went online and told them who I was, where I was, and what I could do. I told them I could stop their visits to Nightmare. That's what they call this place, you know. They fear the people here. But it doesn't have to be that way," she repeated. "Not for you, and not for them. And so, they came to me. I want you to meet them. See them. Welcome them. I promise you, be nice to them and they will be nice to you."

With that, she disappeared.

Now there were gasps.

Meet them? How was she going to—

She reappeared, holding the hand of a young man with pale hair. That man gaped when he saw the crowd of people and tried to back away.

"You didn't say you were bringing me here," he growled.

Vasili hopped from the dais.

"Nick. Just stay here. Nothing bad will happen to you," she said. "Vasili," she then called. "He's not armed. Protect him." She disappeared again.

Vasili went to Nick's side. "Don't hold her hand again," he said, patting the man on the shoulder and nearly drilling him into the floor. He'd never thought to find himself the protector of a Walker—Rose excluded—but he did so now without reservation. Just because his woman had asked him.

Dark eyes swung to him. The man remained in place, though he trembled.

Rose reappeared with someone else, introduced him, then left again. Over and over she repeated the experience, until there were sixteen Walkers. They were scared, but didn't move from their spots. Perhaps because they were surrounded.

"How did you get them here when it isn't their birthdays?" he asked her when she settled beside him.

"I think because I'm bound to you, I can move between the two worlds at will. And I figured I could move other Walkers with me whether it was their birthday or not. I was right."

Smart girl.

"Now let's make nice between your people and mine so we can be together. Unless . . . I understand if you can't," she said, unsure. "If it's too painful. Your family was taken. All I ask is that you let me return these men without harming them. I just thought this would be—"

Vasili planted a kiss on her lips for all to see. "You are my family now, and I will do whatever is necessary to protect you. Even this."

Grigori stepped from the army ranks and joined them, placing his hand on Rose's shoulder in a show of support. "You have my protection, as well." His voice was gruff, but he was not a man to make false promises. He always meant what he said. "I have never seen my king so happy—or so upset when he thought he couldn't have you. I will do whatever is necessary to give him the life he deserves."

Tears filled her eyes. "Thank you."

"You have my support, as well." Jasha closed in their little circle and placed his hand on Rose's other shoulder. "Like Grigori, I want my brother happy. Always. No matter what that entails."

God, I love my family. They might not agree with him, but they would support him. Even in this.

"Thank you," Rose said again, chin wobbling. "I won't let you down. I swear."

Vasili's people watched, listened, and issued no more protests. That was a start.

And so, with Jasha and Grigori at his sides, he introduced himself to the Walkers and offered a vow to protect them. Most flinched under Grigori's stern gaze, but they seemed to lose a sliver of their fear.

"You don't have to run from us anymore," he said. "Our goal is no longer to harm you. You are my wife's people, which means you are also mine." He reached back. "I protect what's mine."

Rose knew what he wanted, and once again settled in at his side. She twined their fingers and gave a comforting squeeze. "Let's learn from one another," she said, the tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. "Let's embrace peace."

She waited until each Walker nodded before at last taking them home. Vasili rushed to his bedroom, and when she next appeared, he jerked her into his arms. "You've given me so much, I'll never be able to repay you," he told her.

"I can think of a few ways you can try."

"It's like my birthday today."

She chuckled, the sound of her amusement warming him. "Then happy birthday, love."

He grinned down at her. "Are you my present?"

"Well, my heart is yours. Now, forever."

"Good, because that's exactly what I wanted."

EVER NIGHT

GENA SHOWALTER

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