Chapter 15
15
KATERINA
“ T ell me what you’re thinking,” Niko whispered. “Please.”
Katerina spared him a glance, even though it hurt her to look at him. He was stretched out in front of the fire atop his blue quilt, chin propped on his hands, dark eyes fixed on her face. She’d dyed and sewn the quilt herself, a Dimi’s gift to her Shadow. In return, he’d given her the Mark that burned on his arm and the gift of his soul. Outdoing her, as usual.
He’d changed out of his finery, clad in the rough white linen he wore for sleep. His shirtsleeve was pushed up, and Katerina’s Mark glowed in the firelight, blue-black and gleaming, as if lit from within.
Her heart ached to look at it. It ached worse when she thought of Elena running her hands through Niko’s dark, unruly waves, even though she knew she herself had no right to touch him that way. He was hers, but not like that. Never like that.
“Katya,” Niko said, pleading. His voice broke on her name.
“I’m not thinking,” Katerina lied. “Just cleaning. See?” She straightened the ribbon at the neck of her shift, then tidied her bedclothes, pulling the quilt tight.
Niko’s lips twitched. “Making your bed before you get into it? I see.”
The Kniaz damn him. “I like a neat bed.” I like a neat bed? What in the name of all the demons was wrong with her?
Her Shadow’s gaze flickered. He took a sip of the ginger tea she’d brewed when they got back to their cottage: for purification, for healing, for strength. And then he met her eyes head-on. “I had to do it, Katya.”
Katerina’s pulse quickened. There was no point pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about, so she didn’t try. “Of course you did,” she said, occupying herself with straightening the spray of lavender above her headboard. “Why are you saying this to me?”
“You know why.” His voice was deeper now, skirting his black dog’s growl. “Last night… You must know how I?—”
“No!” Katerina’s fingers tightened on the flowers. They crumbled, bits of sweet-smelling petals falling onto her pillows. Blue for melancholy and blue for the lost, Baba’s voice echoed in her head, one of the elder Dimi’s many proverbs. Blue for the protection of the storm-tossed.
“I have to say it, Katerina.” Porcelain clinked as he set the cup down, and the air shifted as he rose. She didn’t have to look to know he was standing now, moving toward her, his feet soundless on the cottage’s floorboards. “Saints help me, but I do.”
“You don’t.” Her heart beat in an uneven shudder as she turned her back to him. What was the point of confessing something he could never take back, something that only stood to ruin them both?
She felt him behind her now, through the thin material of her shift, his big body a line of heat that trickled along her spine. When they were fighting, his presence meant both safety and power. But now…now it terrified her.
“Turn around, Katya.” The words were a demand, but the tone…it was a plea. “Turn around and look at me.”
She shook her head, but he just waited. One moment. Two. And then, as if his words had the power to compel her rather than the other way around, she turned.
The fire limned Niko’s body, outlining him in crimson. “I see how you watch me,” he said, each word dropping slow as honey. “I know, because I watch you the same way.”
“I don’t watch you!”
He stepped closer still. “Just once, Katerina,” he said, his breath warm on her skin. “For just a minute, forget the prophecy and the vow I made today. Just once, let us see what it could be like between us.”
She should say no. She should flee, never mind the prowling demons and the fact that she only wore her shift. She should remember Konstantin and Maksim. And Elena.
But instead, she lifted a trembling hand to touch Niko’s face. His skin was warm, the plush of his stubble prickling her fingertips. He closed his eyes, breath hissing through his teeth, as if her touch caused him equal pleasure and pain. Desire bloomed inside her, as lush as the velvety petals of the flowers that unfurled from their tight buds only at night.
She opened her mouth, intending to tell him what he asked was impossible. That it was a terrible idea. The worst imaginable. But instead—“Just once, my Shadow,” she said.
Niko’s eyes opened, shock clear in their depths. “Just once,” he promised, and then his head bent and his mouth found hers.
He tasted of ginger tea and broken promises, of a hint of Katerina’s magic and of the Light that could drive Grigori demons into the Dark. His calloused hands threaded into Katerina’s hair and his tongue traced her lips, urging her to open for him. Against the hollow of her throat, the amulet that held his blood beat like a second heart. She gasped, and the flames in the hearth leapt higher, casting strange, dancing shadows on the wall.
Katerina knotted her fingers in the rough linen of his shirt, desperation searing through her body. If this kiss was all they would ever have, then she would make the most of it. She would show him how a Dimi and her Shadow could burn. Her hands roamed his body, igniting heat everywhere they touched, and her witchfire followed, caressing places her hands could not. Niko moaned as he felt it, gripping her tighter.
The wind picked up, mirroring the growing storm inside her, whipping the trees against the cottage. He cursed, a mumbled string of words that ended in her name. And then they were on the floor in front of the fire, her long red hair streaming down around him, and he was looking up at her, his lips parted, his eyes wide and dark and fixed on her like she was all he could see.
“You’re the one I want, Katya.” The words caught in his throat, but his gaze was steady on hers. “I will always belong to you.”
Katerina felt him everywhere: the restraint of his hands, digging tight into her hips; the leashed strength of his warrior’s body beneath hers; the pulse of their Shadow bond, deep in her witch’s heart. She had to bite her tongue to keep from speaking: I want you, too. Saying it would make what was happening between them real, would give it shape and form. There would be no taking it back, then.
Outside, the wind rose from a murmur to a roar. The trees bent, their limbs lashing the cottage harder than ever, twigs scraping glass and wood in a discordant complaint. And Katerina bent, too, pinning her Shadow’s wrists above his head, her lips inches from his. She held him there like an offering. He could have had her on her back in an instant. But he held still, letting her do with him what she would.
Which was…what? What were they doing? How had it gotten so out of hand?
Niko gazed up at her, his eyes wide. The tips of her breasts brushed against his chest, sending electricity prickling through her body, and he drew a ragged breath, shifting beneath her. “God, Katya,” he whispered. “Please.”
She could feel how much he wanted her, and wanted him the same way. Not just his body, but his heart. But how could she tell him so? It would bring about their undoing. The undoing of everything and everyone they loved. Everything they fought to protect.
She let go of his wrists, struggling to catch her breath. “Niko, we can’t.”
He sat up, reaching for her, and Katerina drew back. If he touched her now, she wouldn’t be able to resist. And then what would become of them?
But all he did was stroke her cheek, his expression filled with unutterable sadness. “I’m not sorry,” he whispered. “Saints help me, Katerina, but I don’t regret this. I never will.”
The tenderness in his touch galvanized her. Katerina leapt to her feet, knocking over what remained of his tea. She snatched a shawl from the hook beside the door and fled into the storm that had arisen outside— her storm—dumping rain onto the cobblestones and sending the shutters banging against the windows.
Niko didn’t follow.