Kazimir #2
They took seats in two large wingback chairs that were positioned across from the sofa where she sat.
I chuckled to myself as Maksym hadn’t initially wanted to take on his role as King of the West when I’d appointed him; and now he sat in his chair as though it were a throne.
His expression was impassive, but I could feel the slight chill radiating from him—a shield raised not against me, but for the sake of control.
Taras crossed his legs, ankle over knee, and waited, his profile cut from granite.
Lucia arrived next. She swept into the room in a burgundy sheath dress, hair pulled back in a complicated braid, every movement calculated to broadcast strength.
Behind her, Ryder hovered, tall and broad and slightly out of place in a suit that made him look like a hired bodyguard.
He caught my eye and nodded—a gesture of deference, but also of kinship.
Lucia surveyed the room, landed on Devon, and her mouth fell open.
“Well, what the fuck is this?” she asked, then shot a glare at me. “Papa. You are sneaky, no? A guest, he says…” She broke off, looking for more to say.
Ryder put a hand on her elbow, as if to steady her. “Lioness.” The endearment sounded like a warning. “Your father has news. We will hear what he has to say, hmm?” Then he kissed her forehead, and she leaned into him.
“Of course, moy volk. Forgive me, Papa.”
I nodded as Lucia looked Devon up and down, suspicion curdling into reluctant fascination. She dropped onto the loveseat to our right, Ryder sitting at her side like a sentinel.
Nikolay and Bohdan strolled in last, already mid-conversation.
Nikolay was all warm gravitas and subtle charm, wearing his usual earth tones, his beard freshly trimmed.
Bohdan looked like a devil in human skin—an impossibly handsome devil in a three-piece suit and an undercurrent of barely concealed glee.
Nikolay greeted me with a brief, respectful bow. Bohdan offered Devon a dazzling smile, but she only narrowed her eyes in return.
With my children assembled, I waited for the last ripples of movement to fade. Then I walked to the arm of the sofa nearest Devon and addressed them in the voice I had reserved for war councils and funerals.
“Thank you for coming. I know you are all busy—Maksym and Taras especially, with the Otero fallout and the management of our western interests.”
Maksym nodded, curt. Taras offered a single, precise tilt of his head.
I continued, “News has reached me that an archangel—Sariel—has been hunting a particular fallen. This is odd, of course, as once heaven decides to cast out, that is usually the end of the story. If any further enforcement takes place, that then goes to Archon and his men. Oddly, that did not happen in this case. Sariel is hunting with the intent to kill. The fallen in question is sitting in this very room, and she is now under my protection.”
A ripple of reaction moved through the room: Taras’s fingers drummed once on his knee; Nikolay’s eyes widened fractionally; Bohdan’s lips curled in approval.
I gestured to Devon, who rose and bowed; the movement awkward but genuine. “This is Devon Wade. She is the fallen. She is also my mate.”
Silence. Then, unexpectedly, Bohdan began to laugh—not a derisive sound, but one of pure delight. “Father, you never cease to surprise. First, you destroy the West’s most powerful coven leader, and now you bed a celestial being?”
Lucia bristled. “You mated an angel?”
I held her gaze. “Your terminology is incorrect child. I didn’t mate her. I am mated to her by fate.”
Her shock flickered into something else—awe, perhaps. “You couldn’t have mentioned this last week when I called?”
“There were complications. Devon was cast out with no memories. She had no idea who or what she was. I knew immediately she was mine. After all these years, I felt her in my soul. But until her memories were restored, I could not add to her trauma that her life had been these past months by telling her this.” I said.
“Until fate had her find Obsidian by accident and she literally crashed through our doors, she had no idea the supernatural world existed. For months she lived in poverty and fear with no hope.”
Lucia looked stricken. “Oh, Papa.”
She looked at Devon. “I apologize. I could not have known life had treated you so cruelly.”
It was so clear that Devon wasn’t used to people treating her with kindness.
“Please don’t apologize. You didn’t know.
And you don’t know me. I understand your shock.
But I swear to you. I would never harm your father, as he is a part of me now.
To harm him in any way would be to harm myself.
And I understand I look young, and compared to your father, perhaps I am, but I’ve been alive for over 150 years.
” She gave a radiant smile. “Being immortal does have its perks.”
Maksym, ever the tactician, leaned forward. “Is she weaponized? Can she defend herself?”
Devon beat me to the answer, a little irritated that he spoke as though she wasn’t in the room. “Yes. I can fight, and I will kill to defend what is mine.” Her voice rang out, clear and absolute.
Maksym’s eyes narrowed, then he nodded, satisfied. “That will do.”
Taras studied her. “Your wings—gone, or merely hidden?”
She straightened her spine. “Retracted. I can deploy them if required.”
Nikolay steered the conversation to the heart of the matter. “If Sariel comes, what is our strategy?”
“This is the question,” I said. “Which is why I have summoned you. Maksym what have you heard? I feel that Sariel is almost acting as a rogue at this point. Devon was cast down without due cause. He cast her out without an actual trial; he was a jury of one. Her crime was thwarting his sexual advances. That is not true insubordination. He only seeks her now because she has been missed in her ranks. If he can destroy her, he’ll not have to worry about her ever being found and can just say that she deserted of her own will. ”
Maksym’s network is vast. “My people say he’s got a small army; maybe fifteen strong. But they are enough to cause significant damage if we are unprepared. He is an archangel and wields great power.”
Taras’s voice was a low, measured thing. “I don’t understand why so many would risk so much for one man?”
I laughed. “A third of all the angels thought it was a great idea to follow Lucifer. Don’t underestimate the seduction of power.”
Ryder’s voice cut in. “So we can assume they won’t come in with guns blazing, or wings doing whatever they do. They’ll likely take a more stealthy approach. Honestly, a large-scale attack might have been easier to defend. At least we’d see them coming.”
“What do you think svetoch, based on what you know about Sariel?”
Devon sat back down, contemplating. “He will definitely try to infiltrate the ranks. I’d guess he’ll likely try to get to me through the club.”
“We must deal with the threat. There will be no lockdown.”
Bohdan leaned in, elbows on knees. “And the staff? Can we trust them?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Tilden will purge the weak links.”
Lucia reached over and squeezed Ryder’s hand, then addressed Devon directly. “Why do you trust my father? Why not run?”
Devon’s eyes were steady and unwavering. “Because he is the first person in my life who has ever given me a choice.”
That silenced the room. Even I felt the weight of it.
Maksym nodded, then offered a rare, genuine smile. “You have our loyalty.”
One by one, the rest echoed him: Bohdan, with a sly wink; Nikolay, with a bow; Taras, with a single word—“Da.” Lucia, with a wild, bright laugh jumped up and gave an embrace that nearly tackled Devon to the floor.
For a long moment, the room hummed with something I had not felt since Luba’s funeral: unity. The old magic, the thing that had made us a family even when war and betrayal threatened to tear us apart.
I looked at Devon, at the shock of her hair, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the thin line of old scars down her arms. She met my gaze, and in that moment I knew—she belonged here, in the center of the storm.
The Kozlovs would stand against heaven itself.
And with the certainty of our name I knew we would win.
In the aftermath, the grand room’s tension ebbed like a receding tide.
Devon—my mate, my miracle, my glorious complication—stood at the center of the cyclone, unruffled by the cosmic scale of the war we’d just plotted.
Her gaze moved from face to face, fearless and bright, as if cataloguing each sibling for future reference.
My children orbited her at their own cautious distance, as if the smallest misstep would send the entire Kozlov dynasty into disarray.
But Devon smiled—a real smile, not the brittle mask she’d worn since she’d arrived. “I have about a million questions, but if I start, we’ll be here until next week,” she said. “So I’ll just pick the easiest one: How does a vampire family run?”