From Russia With Fangs Read online

  She gave him the barest of air-kisses on the cheek. “I’m sorry. I was putting away some laundry.”

  Alexei’s too-warm hand closed around hers, dragging her until she was almost pressed against his chest. His manic, overwrought energy set her teeth on edge and made heat prickle underneath her arms. “Irina, I don’t see why you don’t just move back into Papa’s house. You know Magda loves to fuss and take care of silly things like laundry. And you would be under Papa’s roof, where you would be protected,” he said, his tone sickly sweet and soft as rotten fruit. He rubbed his hand down her shoulder, making her shudder. His blown pupils struggled to focus on her face, despite her being so close to his. “I don’t see why you’re being so stubborn about staying in this place. It’s not right, you being alone.”

  “I’m not alone,” Irina protested. “I have a security detail. Surely you saw them parked right outside of the house. And Viktor is upstairs.”

  “Hmmph,” Alexei muttered. “I’m not thrilled about that development either.”

  “I’m safe as kittens,” she assured him.

  A kitten who wanted to trace the path of water droplets down Viktor’s happy trail.

  A smirk that was damn near a leer curled Alexei’s lip back from his white teeth. “A kitten, eh?”

  But before Alexei could elaborate on this, Viktor tromped into the kitchen like a werewolf in a china shop, sliding his shoulder holster over his shirt. His brow furrowed at the sight of Alexei’s proximity to Irina, but he said nothing.

  “Where were you?” Alexei snapped, pulling Irina that much closer in the presence of another wolf. The heat radiated off of his skin and made sweat bead over Irina’s brow. She tried to shy away, but she was effectively trapped between the counter and her brother.

  “In the can,” Viktor said, casually. “I get a fifteen minute break every few hours.”

  “And so you let my sister answer the door on her own? What do we pay you for?”

  Viktor shrugged with nonchalance, as if the eldest son of his boss was not reading him the riot act, and poured himself a cup of coffee. “The guys outside would have kept you from barging in if you were a threat.”

  “You think they could have stopped me if I wanted to come through the door?” Alexei demanded as Viktor frowned at the empty coffee pot.

  Viktor shrugged again. Irina wondered if he was trying to provoke her brother. If there was anything Alexei hated more than being challenged, it was being ignored, treated like he was of no concern. But the distraction was enough to let Irina ease out from Alexei’s “cage” and dart across the kitchen. “Here, Viktor, let me start a fresh pot.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Volkov.” Viktor allowed her to pass, subtly situating himself between Irina and her brother as she pulled filters and coffee grounds out of the cabinets.

  “You let my sister serve you?” Alexei yelled as Irina measured coffee grounds into the filter.

  “He’s a guest in my home, Alexei,” she said softly, pressing the “brew” button on the coffeemaker. She stripped off the black hoodie she’d paired with her jeans and tossed it to the counter. It was just too damn hot in her kitchen, with two angry wolves giving off waves of hostile, dick-measuring energy.

  “He wouldn’t have to be if you would just come home, where you belong.” Alexei’s head snapped toward Irina and his eyes glowed gold. He growled and Irina glanced down, trying to figure out what had changed to make Alexei so angry. She wasn’t wearing anything remotely provocative—a long-sleeved red T-shirt supporting the Gonzaga Bulldogs, a smartass Christmas gift from Nik, who knew Irina bled UDub purple. But the moment Alexei’s eyes fell on her, he seemed to lose his mind.

  “Red, again?” he yelled. “Always with the red, even now?”

  “What are you talking about?” Irina asked, her voice shaking as Alexei whipped a butcher knife from the block on her counter. Viktor crouched in a protective stance, one arm curved back to keep Irina behind him, but Alexei pushed by them toward the hallway. They heard him stomping up the stairs, raging in a garbled mix of Russian and English. Viktor and Irina shared a confused look.

  “What the hell is he doing?” Viktor asked, tugging at her arm as she moved toward the hall, staring up toward her ceiling.

  “He’s in my room,” Irina whispered, shrugging off his hold and running toward the stairs. “Why would he be in my room?”

  “Irina, no!” Viktor called as she cleared the steps two at a time.

  By the time she reached her bedroom door, Alexei was in her closet, tearing all of her clothes from her hangers, hacking at them with a butcher knife as they flew over his shoulders.

  “Alexei, what the hell?” Irina gasped as the remains of her dresses and suits landed in a disheveled pile on the floor. She’d intentionally saved cleaning out her closet for last. She’d planned to carefully pack it up and ship the clothes to a women’s shelter that helped domestic abuse victims dress for job interviews. But now, all she could do was watch as her brother reduced her expensive clothes to a pile of rags on the floor.

  “This mourning, it’s over!” yelled Alexei, When the knife didn’t produce the damage he desired, he tossed it aside, letting it clatter across the floor, under the bed. He let his sharp, yellowed claws extend and tore at the clothes with his bare hands, wiping his shoes on the wreckage.

  “Alexei, what are you doing?” Irina cried, as he stomped all over her ruby red Sonia Rykel suit.

  “I’m freeing you,” Alexei exclaimed, grabbing her shoulders between his meaty hands and pulling her close. “Closing yourself off in this den of Sergei’s, it’s not healthy. You need to get out, end the mourning period, come back to Papa’s house for a while to stay.”

  Irina’s stared at Alexei in disbelief. Had he not just walked through her stripped-to-the-walls house? Did he not see that she was freeing herself of Sergei’s influence? Or did he only see what he wanted to see—helpless, frightened Irina, who needed to be rescued by her big strong brother?

  Irina gritted her teeth as his claws sliced through her T-shirt, digging into her arms. Over Alexei’s shoulders, she saw Viktor advance, fangs bared. But she gave a slight shake of her head. She could calm Alexei down from this state. She’d done it before. And if Viktor jumped Alexei, even if it was in Irina’s defense, the damage Papa would inflict on Viktor would be far worse than anything Alexei would do to her. Viktor hissed in frustration, but nodded, circling behind Alexei’s back, continuing to look for an opening to attack.

  “But, Alexei, what does that have to do with you destroying my clothes?” Irina asked, trying to keep her voice soothing, anything to keep those razor-sharp claws from sinking deeper into her skin. “Alexei, I need you to let go of me. You’re hurting me. You forget your strength.”

  But Alexei was far past hearing her. “I know all about your clothes, Irina. I heard Galina telling Nik all about it. Sergei only let you wear red, always red, to let the world know that he controlled you. He made you his whore.”

  Irina bared her blunt human teeth at the word, “whore,” but Alexei didn’t notice. While he raved, Irina eyed a heavy marble sculpture of an Artic wolf mid-lunge, a twenty-first birthday present from her father that she kept on a table by the window. It was a reminder that no matter where she was, the pack would look out for her. That she was always protected. But with her brother’s claws piercing her flesh, it took on a new meaning. She was trapped. No matter where she went, the pack would always catch up to her with Alexei leading the charge. She eyed the sculpture and wondered if she could heft it high enough to bash Alexei over the head. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would knock him out long enough to get Papa’s men over here to retrieve him.

  Alexei butted his forehead against Irina’s. With every bit of will she had, she resisted the urge to shrink in on herself, to submit. She stiffened her spine and clenched her jaw, even as Alexei’s head pressed painfully against her brow. Her breathing was uneven, shaky, as she felt tiny rivulets of blood dripping down her arms and soaki
ng into her shirt. She leaned toward the sculpture, stretching her arms toward the base, but Alexei pulled her back into his fucked-up hug. “I would not do such a thing to you, Irina. I want you to paint the world with all of the colors of your soul.”

  “What in fucking fuck are you talking about?” Galina asked from the doorway. Their sister leaned against the doorframe, arms casually crossed over her chest, but Irina could see the tension in Galina’s body. Viktor stood behind her, practically vibrating with unease, pacing, but keeping his eyes trained on Irina’s arms and the blood seeping through her sleeves.

  Alexei neither backed away nor loosened his grip on Irina. She wanted so badly to pull away from him, but in this agitated state, Alexei could lash out and kill her with a distracted swipe of his hand. All she could do was breathe through the pain.

  Galina stepped over the ruins of several blouses, nudging a Calvin Klein sleeve with her toe. “What is going on in here? Irina, did you decide to do a makeover without me? I’m hurt. I make a much better fairy godmother than Alexei here.”

  “This is none of your concern, Galina,” Alexei snapped, clearly displeased at her use of the word fairy. “Get out of here.”

  “Oh, matters of fashion are always my business, brother dear.” Galina smiled ever so sweetly as she wandered closer. Her claws were extended, smaller than Alexei’s, but twice as sharp. But Alexei was too caught up in his rampage to notice.

  “You don’t know what is your business,” Alexei snarled.

  “Oh, I think what is and isn’t my business is about to be redefined, Alexei.” It always amazed Irina how quickly Galina’s smile could turn from sickly sweet to poison. The expression of mockery on her face, the vague threat to Alexei’s position, had their brother roaring with rage.

  Snarling, he tossed Irina aside like a ragdoll, sending her sailing toward the bedroom wall. Somehow, Viktor was there, catching her before she collided with the plaster. He cradled her body against his as they fell, taking the brunt of the impact with his shoulder. Viktor displayed his canines as he growled at the Sudenko son.

  Through it all, Galina was grinning, as if Alexei’s fit of temper was hilarious. Alexei swung his massive hand toward her face, and Galina easily side-stepped the swipe. She stuck out her dainty, Louboutin-clad foot to catch Alexei’s ankle, sending his over-extended frame toppling to the floor in a heap.

  “Are you ever not going to fall for that one?” she asked him as he howled and beat his paws on the floor.

  Viktor hauled Irina into the bathroom and sat her on the vanity, ignoring the chorus of growls and yelling coming from her bedroom. Without so much as asking, he gingerly pulled the long-sleeved top over her head and tossed it aside. He scented the blood already drying on her arms and whirled toward the door, fangs bared, clearly wishing to join the fray.

  “Viktor, please,” Irina whispered. Her long, pale arms were crossed over a lacy peach bra that cupped breasts which threatened to spill out as she shivered. She rubbed her hands over her bare arms, wincing when her palms made contact with the tacky, rust-colored splotches on her skin. Viktor sighed, running a washcloth under the tap and wiping her right arm clean.

  “I’ve got it,” she said quietly, lifting the washcloth from his hand and moving to her left arm.

  While Viktor rummaged in her medicine cabinet for antiseptic and bandages, she saw him frown. He was staring at the sheer number of treatments Mama Yaga had given her for bruising or bite marks. Each was stored in little brown tincture jars, carefully labeled in Mama Yaga’s spidery handwriting—Arnica, Comfrey, Balm of Gilead. Irina snatched out the peroxide and Band-Aids and shut the medicine cabinet with a snap. Viktor took the first aid supplies from her and gently dressed each wound, a lingering growl rumbling from his chest.

  “What the hell are you even doing here, Alexei?” Galina demanded from the next room. “You haven’t bothered visiting Irina during her whole seclusion, but you swing by now to rough her up and play Edward Scissorhands with her work clothes? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “You have no right to question me!” Alexei exploded. “My relationship with Irina is none of your business!”

  “There are not enough Greek tragedy jokes in the world to cover what’s going on with your brain, are there?” Galina said, shaking her own golden head.

  “Watch your mouth when you talk to me!” Alexei barked.

  Irina heard the clink-swish of a belt being unbuckled and pulled, a noise with which Irina was all too familiar. She gripped Viktor’s arm as he sealed a bandage over her last claw mark. “Go out there. You can’t let him take a belt to her.”

  “Galina can take of herself,” Viktor said. “I stay with you.”

  “Really, a belt, Alexei?” Galina scoffed. “You’re relying on an arsenal of accessories? What’s next, you’re going to come at me with your necktie?”

  “Mark my words, Galina, you will learn your place!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Galina sounded like she could yawn at any moment. “Hey, instead of hitting you with my shoe, you don’t mind if I shift into a state in which I have claws and fangs and twice your body mass, do you, genius?”

  Irina tried to dash out of the bathroom to talk some sense into her siblings, but Viktor caught her around the waist and dragged her back toward the sink. “No.”

  “I can get them to settle down,” Irina protested.

  “I’m not going to let either of them hurt you, Irina.”

  “Viktor—”

  Just then, Irina heard her father’s booming voice echoing from the bedroom, “What do you think you are doing? Is this how my children behave when I am not here?”

  Irina and Viktor crept to the bedroom door in time to see Galina giggle and cross the room to kiss their father’s cheek, as if he hadn’t just walked in on Galina mid-shift and Alexei in the midst of a psychotic break. “Papa, so good to see you. Alexei was just having a little temper tantrum. I think he needs a nap.”

  “I was not having a temper tantrum,” Alexei snarled. “I was just teaching your little princess how to speak with respect to her betters.”

  “Tell you what, you bring me my betters, I’ll be sure to speak to them respectfully,” Galina snorted.

  “You see?” Alexei whined. “You see how she speaks to me, Papa?”

  “Everybody will calm down, now!” Papa yelled. “Where is your sister? Have you forgotten that you are standing in her bedroom, screaming at each other like a couple of fishwives?”

  Irina slipped into a semi-clean white button-up shirt from her hamper and walked out of the bathroom. Viktor gave her several seconds before he followed. “I’m right here, Papa.”

  “Irina, what is this madness? Why are your clothes in ruins on the floor? Why are your brother and sister fighting? Tell Papa—” he demanded, stopping mid-sentence as Viktor came out of the bathroom. Before he could ask what his daughter and her bodyguard were doing in the bathroom, he inhaled sharply and snarled. “Why do I smell your blood?”

  “She fell,” Alexei said quickly. “It was an accident.”

  Galina snorted loudly. “If by ‘fall,’ you mean Alexei getting rough with her.”

  Ilya shot her a warning look and turned to Irina. “Irina, how did you fall?”

  Irina’s eyes darted from Galina to Alexei, who was buckling his belt and acting as if he were not hanging on every word said. It wouldn’t do any good to tell him. He wouldn’t believe Alexei would hurt her unless he saw it with his own eyes. And even then, he would find some justification for what happened. Telling Papa that Alexei had lost control and clawed her would only lead to Alexei making excuses and Papa rationalizing the whole thing away. Irina just didn’t have the stomach to listen to Papa explaining away Alexei’s madness—again.

  “I tripped, Papa, and cut my arm. Viktor patched me up. I’ll be fine,” she said, even as Galina huffed out a frustrated breath.

  Ilya examined Viktor’s face, which remained blank as a slate. “Well, Irina has always been a bit c
lumsy.”

  Apparently dissatisfied with this turn of the conversation, Galina piped up, “By the way, Alexei destroyed all of Irina’s clothes, Papa.”

  “Alexei, why would you do such a thing?”

  Alexei looked decidedly un-wolf-like as his mouth flapped open.

  Galina grinned. “Yes, Alexei, what possessed you to shred all of Irina’s clothes?”

  Alexei snarled at her.

  “Alexei, control yourself,” Ilya warned him.

  “It was a misunderstanding, Papa,” Alexei protested. “Right, Irina?”

  Irina’s mouth dropped open. “Uh…”

  Ilya surveyed the damaged clothes scattered across the floor. “Do you have anything left to wear, Irina?”

  Irina was honestly afraid to answer. If she told Alexei about her hidden stash of cardigans and yoga pants, would he come back for more pants-slayage? Papa seemed to have taken her silence for a no, and began patting his jacket pocket for his wallet.

  “Well, Alexei, since you have left your sister without any proper clothes, I suppose she must go shopping for more. On your account. Clearly, you’re not ready to have this back yet.” Ilya pulled a shiny black credit card from his wallet and tried to press it into Irina’s hand. “Go now, babochka, buy yourself some pretty things. Enjoy yourself. You deserve to have a little fun.”

  Ilya did everything short of patting her on her head, which Irina was shaking back and forth in refusal. This wasn’t what she wanted. She’d wanted a leisurely shopping trip where she carefully built a wardrobe to her tastes, not some panicked retail whirlwind sparked by an annihilation of perfectly nice designer suits. “Papa, I can’t let you or Alexei pay for—”

  “What a generous gesture, Papa,” Galina said sweetly, snatching card from Papa’s hand. She whispered, “Don’t be an idiot, Rina. Grab your purse, I’m calling Franny.”