From Russia With Claws Read online

  “Be careful, Galya. I don’t know what’s going on but there wasn’t even a hint of a hit out on Serg anywhere in our information network. It came out of nowhere.”

  She assured Nikolai she’d be careful, and then ended the call. She put her phone on the teak table next to the tub and lowered herself into the water. The hot water hit her like a welcoming wave, making Galina realize just how tired she was after a night spent in the emergency room. She sank into it gratefully, pulling the pins from her hair. She felt like she was covered in blood and grime, like she might never be clean.

  Ducking her head beneath the water, Galina soaped her hair. She was rinsing the shampoo from it when her phone rang again. With a sudsy, tired hand, she hit the Send button. “Hello?”

  The voice on the other end of the phone made gooseflesh rise along her arms. Andrey’s deep voice. “Hello, Galina.”

  Galina swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “How did you get my number?” It was private and she kept her direct number as guarded as she could. Short of asking her family or employer for it, he should not have been able to get it.

  A deep, throaty chuckle was answer enough to her question. “Your friend, Sveta. She called one of my men. He got your number from her.”

  Galina remembered her friend Sveta getting the number of a guy they’d been drinking with at the bar. She would have to have a talk with her friend. Giving out her own number to anyone who asked was one thing, but Galina didn’t want hers handed out, no matter how handsome the guy asking for it might be. She knew Sveta was just trying to help find her a mate—Galina’s friend despaired of her ever finding someone who was “boyfriend” quality—but that didn’t excuse this breach of trust.

  She let the matter drop for now. “Why are you calling me?” She peered at the clock sitting on the marble vanity. “And why at three in the morning? Why not call at a decent hour?”

  Again the throaty chuckle. It made her insides liquefy with want. “But you and I aren’t decent people, are we, Galina?” he said and Galina clenched her thighs together.

  He had a point there. She knew she wasn’t decent in the traditional sense of the word, but traditions weren’t made for people like her. “No, I suppose we aren’t.”

  He changed tack suddenly. “How is your sister?”

  Galina nearly got whiplash from the conversation switch. “She’s holding up okay,” she answered, though how one could be okay with the events of the night was anyone’s guess. “I don’t think it’s hit her yet.”

  There was a pause. Then Andrey spoke. “And you?”

  Galina slid further down in the water, until it was up to her neck. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

  “Where are you?” Amusement colored his voice. “It sounds like you’re in a tunnel.”

  “I’m taking a bath.” She splashed some water for effect. The sound echoed off the walls of her cavernous bathroom; the size and the tub was why she’d chosen this condominium.

  When he spoke again, his voice had gone low and even deeper, like smoke given sound. “You mean to tell me you’re in the bathtub right now? Naked? And wet?” Galina felt her body tighten as heat rushed through her.

  “Yes,” she said, surprised when her answer was so steady.

  Andrey growled. The sound seemed to reverberate throughout the bathroom. Her nipples hardened painfully. God, how could he possibly affect her like this over the phone? It wasn’t normal, even if they were both werewolves. He was ridiculously good looking, with a body built for sin, but she’d had lovers before. None of them had made her this turned on just by speaking. Granted, none of them could actually growl like that either.

  Galina trailed a hand across her breasts, before dipping it down to follow the line of her sternum to her stomach. She heard Andrey take a deep breath and slipped her hand between her thighs. Her body throbbed at the sound, and her memories of his searing kisses in the kitchen flooded her with heat.

  “I wish I could see you now,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  “Maybe next time. Good night, Andrey.” She ended the call and turned her phone off. She didn’t want to be disturbed for the next few minutes.

  Her fingers pressed into her flesh beneath the water, the warmth of the bath rivaled by that between her legs. Her eyes drifted closed as she called up the memories of the sensations that she’d felt with Andrey. Her breathing was shaky as she recalled the feel of his hands on her back, of the way he’d lifted her up to him, of the way her legs felt wrapped around his waist. Her fingers moved faster beneath the water and she could feel the world spiraling down to a point as her body tightened into that familiar coil of need.

  Galina sighed, remembering the heat of Andrey’s mouth, the way the callouses on his hands felt against the smooth skin of her inner thighs. She was close to the edge now, arching up as her fingers pushed her to her climax. She cried out as her release hit her, leaving her shuddering in the hot bathwater. She lay still for a few minutes, feeling the shakes in her legs subside.

  This thing with Andrey might be a problem. Especially since she still wanted to march over to wherever he was and demand they finish what they’d started in the kitchen. Galina finished cleaning her hair and rinsed out the conditioner. She stood, grabbing a towel from the stack she kept by the tub and wound herself in it.

  Andrey was a Rom. He might be the Alpha of his organization but her father would still have pups if he found out she was anywhere near him. Galina was a rare she-wolf, not to mention the youngest daughter of the Sudenkos. There were expectations. And slumming with a Rom—because that’s how her family would see it—wasn’t one of them.

  Galina didn’t give two figs about him being Romani. She thought the old ways were just that: old. People should rise through the ranks of the Volk Organizatsiya based on merit, not on birthright or were-status or family background. It was ridiculous how many talented and capable people were shunted off into lesser jobs just because they didn’t bear the Sudenko name or carry the were-gene. It was stupid and wasteful.

  She dried herself and pulled on her bathrobe. The feel of the soft chenille on her over-sensitized skin made her sigh with relief. It had been a long day and an even longer night. Wrapping her towel around her wet hair, Galina got into bed. In a few hours, she had to be over at Irina’s house to check on her, and then she wanted to talk to her father. He wasn’t going to leave her in the dark about the shooting. She would make him include her.

  Her eyes grew heavy, sleep dragging her down into comforting darkness. Before she was lost to it completely, she remembered Andrey’s growl of desire on the phone and smiled. She hoped to see him tomorrow too.

  5

  The Morning-After Blues

  GALINA AND FRANNY VALENTI, Irina’s very human best friend, walked up the stone steps that led to Irina’s front door. Two men sat in a black car directly across from the house, one man inside—Papa’s security detail. She stopped at the large wood and glass front door and used the coded knock that would alert the guard inside that she was family so he didn’t blow her head off her neck as soon as the door opened. Papa’s guards tended toward the over-reactive.

  Stepping inside the house, Galina’s nose was hit with the smell of strong coffee brewing. Heels clicking across the stone tiles, she led the way to the cozy white-and-blue kitchen.

  She heard voices and called, “I’m here! And I brought Franny! And cinnamon rolls! But mostly Franny!”

  Irina and Viktor turned to them, the conversation they’d obviously been having forgotten. It almost seemed like they’d been arguing. Galina cocked her head, eyeing her sister and Viktor carefully.

  “It’s good to know where I rank compared to breakfast pastries,” Franny muttered, giving Irina a hug. “How you doing, kid?”

  Her sister glanced at Viktor, who excused himself to the living room. Galina raised an eyebrow but said nothing. There was an energy between Irina and Viktor, but perhaps she was reading into it. He had been there when Sergei was shot, maybe that was all it w
as.

  “Would it be wrong to say I’m relieved?” Irina asked, wincing.

  “Not to anyone who’d met Sergei,” Galina deadpanned, pouring coffee for herself and Franny. Franny toasted her with the mug.

  “Galya,” Irina admonished her. “We can’t talk like that. It’s too soon.”

  Galina pursed her lips. Just because Sergei was dead didn’t mean he was suddenly less of an asshole in life. “Why the hell not? Do you think Viktor’s going to tell on us?” Galina jerked her head in the direction of the living room, where Viktor stood.

  “Look, Irina, whoever shot Sergei did you a big favor. I know you have to put on a proper public show and be the tragic widow for a while. But in private, here with us, we expect you to actually have feelings.”

  She took Irina’s cool hand in hers. “Sergei was horrible to you. You were miserable. Now he’s dead, and you have the chance at being happy. If you waste that because you’re feeling guilty, I’m going to have to beat your ass like when we were kids.”

  Galina knew her sister would need time to grieve, maybe not for Sergei, but for the life she had made with him. But that didn’t mean Irina had to forget what being married to him had been like. It was possible to be sad and relieved at the same time.

  “Okay, first of all, you had werewolf strength on your side,” Irina sniped, pointing her finger in Galina’s face. Galina snapped her teeth lightly, a mock warning. Irina flicked her nose and she growled playfully at her sister.

  “And second, I don’t feel guilty right now. I feel sad and numb, like I shouldn’t feel anything. Not because I’m in mourning, or because I’m going to miss Sergei. I’m sad because the last few years of my life seem like such a waste. Scared because I don’t know what my role is now and I’m afraid of how that might change. But mostly, I’m grateful because it’s over…Wait, no, I lied, there’s the guilt.”

  Galina reached casually over the counter and smacked Irina’s arm. She needed to stop with the feeling bad for having feelings.

  “Ow!”

  Franny nudged the cinnamon roll on Irina’s plate in front of her. “Eat.”

  When Irina balked, Galina gave her a mock glare, watching as her sister began to take apart the roll in a semblance of eating.

  “It’s all over the news, Rina,” Galina continued, digging into her second cinnamon roll. Good God, Franny could bake. These things were like heaven on a plate. “And Papa’s beside himself, worrying about you here alone. Unless you’re willing to move back into your old room, you better just accept whatever muscle he sends your way.”

  “If the muscle looks like that one, I would just say thank you and send your father a gift card or a fruit basket or something,” Franny said, with a grin and a gesture toward Viktor.

  Galina laughed. Viktor was attractive, but he didn’t hold a candle to Andrey. As soon as she thought it, she wanted to smack herself. She did not need to be thinking of him right now.

  “Franny,” Irina hiss-whispered. “Werewolf hearing!”

  “Oh, come on, a man like that knows he’s hot. With his werewolf nose, he can probably smell the pheromones rolling off of us.” Franny gave Irina a get real look and dug into her cinnamon roll.

  “Anyway,” Galina said, tossing Franny a grin, “the next couple of days are going to be a cavalcade of nitwittery. The funeral will be held on Friday. Mama Anya has already called Papa to let him know the arrangements have been made at Kandinsky’s.”

  “Wow, she works fast,” Irina said softly. Galina watched her sister’s expression turn thoughtful. Irina seemed to come to a decision after a few moments. “Let her have it. A man should be buried by someone who loves him, even an asshole like Sergei. I’m not going to fight it.”

  “I figured you’d be all noble about it.” Galina nodded. “And it does give Nik and Alexei time to get home. Nik says he loves you and as soon as this shit-storm passes, we are going to party like it’s New Year’s.”

  “That seems so wrong.” Irina sighed. “But I have the feeling I’m going to need it.”

  “Well, now that we’ve discussed the trivial stuff, let’s focus on what’s important.” Franny sniffed. “What are you going to wear to the funeral?”

  Irina grinned and Galina glimpsed a hint of the not-so-good sister that she remembered from her youth poking through the volk zhena shell. “Well, Sergei always did like me in red.”

  Viktor was in the kitchen when Galina came back downstairs from Irina’s bedroom. “How’s Mrs. Volkov?”

  “She’s picking out a scandalous dress for the funeral,” Galina answered, going immediately to the coffeepot and pouring herself a fresh cup. She doctored it with sugar and cream before turning to stare at Viktor. While Irina was occupied, she might as well try to get some answers. “What did you see last night?”

  “I’ve already told your father.” His blue eyes met hers, his face set in a neutral mask.

  “And now you’re going to tell me.” Galina narrowed her eyes, watching him over the rim of her cup as she took a sip. He glanced away, then returned his gaze to hers. She raised her eyebrows at him.

  “I didn’t see much. A car. Late model sedan in burgundy. I only got the last two numbers of the plate. Forty-nine.” He rubbed a hand across the top of his nearly shorn head. “And then I was on top of your sister.”

  “I’m sure my father loved it when you put it like that,” Galina answered, lips lifting in a wry smile. He had the grace to look briefly uncomfortable before his usual lack of affect returned.

  “You didn’t get a look at the trigger man?” When Viktor shook his head, she sighed. “Something about this seems very wrong,” she said, turning her coffee cup in her hands.

  Viktor regarded her with something like surprise. Galina knew that look. Everyone assumed that because she was the Sudenko’s youngest daughter she’d be a pampered princess without the mental acuity to string two thoughts together. People always seemed shocked to find she actually was possessed of a fully functioning brain.

  At times, it was something she cultivated; it was easier to deal with men who dismissed her out of hand. They were always so surprised when she got the better of them. It was delightful when it wasn’t patently infuriating. Because she was a woman, and pretty, and blond, no one expected her to be intelligent or to be savvy about the family business.

  “Why do you say that?” Viktor asked her, leaning a hip against Irina’s kitchen counter.

  “Sergei was a joke. Papa gave him the simplest assignments because he couldn’t manage anything more complicated. Half the time he couldn’t even manage those. He wasn’t a power player—he wasn’t on the board. Hell, he wasn’t even board adjacent.” Galina drummed her fingers on the counter absently.

  “So this wasn’t a hit carried out to cause a power vacuum. Unless Sergei wasn’t the target?” She raised a brow at Viktor.

  He shook his head. “No. The shooter was aiming at Sergei. Four shots to center mass. Irina would have been an easy kill if whoever it was had actually wanted her dead.”

  “And the bullets were silver. Meant for a werewolf.” So the shooter knew what he was, or perhaps thought Irina was a werewolf. She dismissed that. Sergei had to be the target.

  “What on earth did they hope to gain with his death? There’s no profit in it, no chaos to sow.” She finished her coffee. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  She watched Viktor watching her. He was good at the poker face, but he had a few tells. Galina had given him something to think about. She could tell she’d surprised him again with her careful reasoning.

  “I have to go check in with my father,” she told him, placing her cup in the sink. “Tell Irina I’ll stop by again later.” She stepped around him and walked out of the kitchen. Before she left, she gave him one last thing to consider. “If you think of any compelling reason why Sergei would make a worthwhile target, you be sure and let me know.”

  She already knew of one reason why Sergei might have been shot and it had everything to do
with Andrey Lupesco and his missing product.

  The gates to her father’s property swung closed behind her black Mercedes. She listened to the tires crunch against the loose stones from the paved drive as she followed it the half mile up to the main house. It was a mammoth Victorian structure, a turret topped with an onion dome taking up the west side of the house. Another wing jutted from the back of the east side. A wraparound porch flanked either side of the gabled entryway. Gingerbread trim followed the roofline and decorated sills and arches. It would always be the most beautiful place she’d ever seen.

  It was also the saddest.

  Galina pulled to a stop in the circular drive before the house and got out of the car, feeling a heaviness in her chest. She had good memories of this house, but all she felt now was a sense of dread to be back here. Her father had built this house for her mother. And this was where her elder sister, Elena, had died.

  Squaring her shoulders, Galina stalked past the two guards stationed either side of the front door. She didn’t bother acknowledging them—it would only distract them. Instead she opened the door and continued down the corridor until it branched. She took the left hall, pausing outside a closed door to gather her thoughts and breathe deeply for calm.

  She pushed the door in and stepped through to greet the gazes of her father, her two brothers, and her father’s closest and most trusted advisors. “Gentlemen,” she said, as she closed the door behind her, “I trust I’m not interrupting.” She looked at each of them in turn. “Pray, continue.”

  Her father looked like he was in danger of blowing out the vein in his neck that was throbbing with anger. Alexei’s dark eyes had gone distant, as if he was imaging what her head would look like if it were no longer attached to her neck. Nikolai merely looked amused. She caught his grin before he ducked his head to hide it.