THIRTEEN
PHOENIX
The bones in my back crack with each step, my wings poking at the surface of my skin, itching to be unleashed. My fingers keep shifting back and forth—human to black-tipped talons. And I’m fairly certain that there’s smoke rolling off my leather jacket.
Clearly controlling my monster isn’t going well today.
Ever since I watched Marisa be carted off in the back of Mikhael’s car, I’ve been out of control.
Lev and I have been shaking down everyone we know, trying to figure out where they could be hiding her without giving ourselves away and getting her in even deeper trouble.
But either no one knows or no one’s talking.
It pisses me the fuck off.
I am flames and fury and power. I am immortal righteousness and vengeance. I am the Firebird. And yet, I can’t find one little captive in this town?
I shouldn’t care this much about the fate of the small human.
I have seen generations of humans come and go, their life drifting away through the sands of time.
And yet, I can’t seem to stop myself from needing to find her.
It’s like my rational mind has completely lost control of what’s happening and my baser, animalistic instincts have taken over, demanding that I find her.
Death is an old acquaintance, I wouldn’t really call him a friend, and I even dared to enter his realm to ask him for information.
He was preoccupied with his new bride and groom that he recently acquired, but assured me he’d give me a ring if he was summoned for a sassy redhead with a penchant for stealing artifacts.
I will scour every inch of this world and the next if I need to in order to find her.
Which is why I’m here—in this dark and dingy alley, looking for a man named The Fox.
I’ve been told he’s something not of this world, and yet, no one will say what.
He has a reputation for being a hacker and expert in technology.
Perhaps he can break into Mikhael’s records and see where he might be holding her.
But, allowing him access to the records of The Solentsevskaya Organizatsiya is risky, there’s some things buried there that I don’t need him to find…
For her, exposing myself would be worth it.
I have no idea when a bet with an attractive mortal turned into a full blown obsession, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
My head spins and my vision turns blurry as I think about her in pain…
or worse. Flames shoot from my shadow-tipped fingers as I think about what will happen if anyone touches her.
She is mine.
“You need to get that under control, Svarozhits,” a small voice quips from behind me.
I spin to find an old woman in the alley behind me. She’s hunched over, her back bent with age. She has a moth-eaten shawl thrown across her shoulders and a scarf covering what little hair remains on her head.
“What do you want, Baba Yaga?” I snarl.
I have no time for witches today. She is one of the few who still roam this Earth, causing havoc and speaking in riddles. I don’t have time for her bullshit today.
“I am here to help you find your mate, Son of Svarog,” she states as she takes a hobbling step forward. I have the urge to reach out and offer her an arm out of kindness, but I hold myself back. Keeping a safe distance from witches is generally a good idea.
“My mate?” I ask as I slip a match from my pocket and slide it between my teeth. The sulfur instantly soothes my racing heart. “The fuck are you on about?”
She laughs. The sound is a deep, dark throaty chuckle of a much younger woman. Fucking witches.
“Does the all-powerful God of Fire not recognize his own mate? You’re a hubris fool if you can not recognize what she is, Svarozhits.” She spits on the ground at her feet and my blood begins to boil…literally.
Flames lick up my arms and engulf my hands as I lose control of my temper. “Careful, Je?ibaba. You speak out of turn.”
“I speak truths, as always,” she counters as her eyes turn to assess me. “The girl you seek is your mate. Destined to be yours. You must find her and claim her, Svarozhits. Or all will be lost.”
I meet her gaze with my own hesitance. Witches rarely do things without getting something in return. “Why do you care?” I ask her.
“Without your mate, the inner monster will be unleashed on this world,” she warns in a way that has my blood instantly turning to ice. There’s truth in her words—I would incinerate this entire fucking world if it came to it. “And I don’t love the idea of being roasted alive by an angered god.”
Suddenly, the pieces begin to fit together in my mind. My need to possess, my constant surveillance, the way in which I seem to be utterly out of control around Marisa… She’s my mate. My destined other half. My fate.
And Mikhael fucking Zmeev is keeping her from me.
A feral roar leaves my lips as the monster beneath my skin breaks free for a moment. Simmering hot flames course through my blood as I think about him taking from me.
My mate. My mate. My mate.
“Oh, calm down, yurodivy,” the old lady grumbles at me, and I turn my fiery gaze towards her. To her credit, she doesn’t falter, doesn’t back down. She returns my monstrous gaze with a fearful stare of her own. “Do you want to know how to get your mate back or no?”
I crack my neck and roll my head side to side.
My shoulders pop as the bones adjust and readjust. My body is made to shift, to change, to turn, but it still hurts like a bitch sometimes when the muscles stretch and the bones rearrange.
I will my other half back down beneath the surface of my human skin.
“What’s in it for you?” I ask hesitantly.
The truth is that I’d give her anything to get Marisa back.
I’d offer my power, my immortality, my monster, if it meant spending normal human days curled around the fiery redhead while we do boringly normal things like washing the dishes and folding laundry.
As long as she was mine. But, you never make a deal with a witch without being clear of the terms.
I learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago.
“A favor,” she coos as her dark eyes narrow.
“Just one favor?” I ask suspiciously. “What favor?”
“Unkown,” she states simply. “But when the time comes and I need a favor, you’ll honor your promise.”
It’s not so much a request as it is a statement. Part of me wonders if she’s the type of Je?ibaba who has already seen how this will play out. Witches are rarely to be trusted, but I’m running out of options.
“Fine,” I acquiesce, and a small smile creeps across the old woman’s face.
“If you want to find your mate, go to your office.”
I sit for a moment, my mouth hanging open as I try to process what she just said.
“My office?” I repeat as if this old bat has grown a second head and is eating Selyodka as it rains from the sky.
“Host a party tomorrow. Invite the brothers. Then wait in your office,” she repeats as if I hadn’t already thought of just asking Mikhael to come in, but there’s no way he’d bring his hostage to the Bratva headquarters, not right under the Pakhan’s nose.
“That’s your plan?!” I place my fingers on the bridge of my nose in annoyance.
Fucking witches.
“Gods only see the domain they rule, Svarozhits. And beasts only see their prey,” she tells me as I try to contain the urge to roast her like a chicken. “Witches see the now and the then. Never underestimate a woman and her will, zhar-ptitsa.”
She takes a step back, her form beginning to fray around the edges as she starts her departure.
“A mate is only as good as their partner,” she tells me cryptically as she disappears, leaving me standing alone in an alley simmering with anger and trying to process her truly terrible advice.
Great, guess I’m hosting a fucking party.