Chapter 19
Oleg
Oleg watched his wife as she moved through another reception the following night. Pavel was hosting the party at his own expansive residence, and it was clear he had spent lavishly, which surprised Oleg a little bit.
His usually antisocial brother was making progress.
Immortal envoys from Western and Southern Europe were in attendance, as were several South American vampires, particularly a group of Brazilian immortals Pavel was hoping to impress with the gentility and hospitality of the Kievan Rus.
He wanted to open the South American markets to Oleg’s shadow fleet, and he was slowly making progress.
Tatyana was with Pavel, moving from group to group, charming Pavel’s lieutenants, gracing his staff, and acting like the noblewoman she was born to be.
Mika was even smiling as he spoke to one of the lovely dark-haired Brazilian vampires.
And Polina, his favorite daughter, had taken the bold step of bringing her human partner to the reception even though she usually kept him hidden from vampire eyes.
Everyone in Saint Petersburg appeared to adore Tatyana. Standing next to her generous presence, even unsociable Pavel shone.
Despite her clear success, Oleg was feeling unsettled. As pleased as he was that he no longer had to find excuses to spend time with her, the prospect of sharing Tatyana with the world did not please him.
He wanted to take her to the citadel. He wanted to lock her in his castle and ignore the world for a solid year so that no one enjoyed her attention but him. He could be generous, but not when it came to sharing Tatyana.
Oleg’s nerves felt oddly brittle as his most irritating brother walked across the room to stand at his side. Ivan had arrived in Saint Petersburg the night before and quickly joined the festivities as governor of Moscow.
“A wise move,” Ivan said. “Taking her as your wife. She even makes Pavel slightly charming.”
Oleg grunted. “Hmm.”
His brother had brought a sizable group of his sons with him and set up house in one of Pavel’s guesthouses, and more vampire soldiers would be coming the last week of the wedding to join in the games and the parties at the gathering of the Kievan Rus.
“She’s young,” Ivan continued. “Good for your image, I think. Very modern. Very… civilized.”
Oleg looked at his brother sideways. Was that the impression Oleg was projecting to the world now?
A nice, civilized vampire?
Ludmila’s words snapped into his memory in that moment.
All those people out there? …they need you to be the baddest, most terrifying monster in this place.
Pavel—with all his quirks—did not thrive without a hammer standing behind him.
Mika was a snake in the grass unless he was spying for a cause greater than himself.
Polina’s human family might be seen as a soft target without a sire who would burn down the world if one bruise appeared on her babies’ skin.
Oleg had spent decades muting his power to project confidence. Unlike Ivan, he wasn’t a puffed-up rooster who needed to crow.
However.
His hand shot out, gripping Ivan around his throat and crushing the silk tie into his windpipe. “What was that, brother? What did you say?”
He lifted Ivan by the throat and tossed him on the ground, casually stepping on his brother’s throat with his custom-made leather shoe. “What was that you were saying?”
Yes, the fire within him hissed, reveling in the sudden burst of violence.
Within seconds, a few of Oleg’s druzhina gathered, prowling in a circle around their knyaz, their teeth bared as the gilded reception hall filled with heat and the scent of blood. Silver daggers flashed in their hands.
A human woman screamed. The string quartet playing in the corner ceased, grabbing up their instruments before they fled the room with the other mortals.
Pavel was frozen in shock, his eyes wide and his expression blank as he watched Oleg’s very untoward outburst.
It was exactly the kind of erratic outburst that Truvor would often indulge in anytime he felt like life around him was growing too calm.
Oleg saw Pavel’s reaction, but he could not let it bother him.
Tatyana blinked once, and Oleg could feel the shock ricocheting through their joined amnis, but she said nothing, freezing in place as Sándor and her Hazar gathered around her, clearly preparing for some kind of explosion.
Ivan grabbed at Oleg’s ankle, trying to pry his foot off his neck, but Oleg only snapped his fingers and brought a ball of flame to his palm, then pushed it toward Ivan, the blue fire hovering inches from Ivan’s face.
The ground beneath them moved, but Ivan grew still.
And the corner of Oleg’s mouth turned up.
Ivan had been right. For once.
Oleg had spent many years pursuing civilization, moving his businesses into legitimate circles.
Not because he subscribed to human moral codes but because it was actually easier to rob people legally in the twenty-first century than illegally.
Subterfuge was hardly even necessary when human authorities could be bought for so little.
But the last thing his people needed was for Oleg to be seen as predictable, and the aggressive flexing of his power scratched an itch that had been bothering him all night.
Lethal, yes. Predictable, no.
Mika walked over with a crystal goblet of blood-wine. “Did you try this one?” He handed it to Oleg as if there were not an earth vampire seething and twisting under Oleg’s foot. “It’s blood-wine from the Rhone Valley, and it’s surprisingly good.”
“Hmm.” Oleg took the goblet and emptied the contents down his throat, letting a few drops slide from the corners of his mouth so that when he lowered the drinking vessel, a thick red drop smeared his lip. “It’s not terrible.”
“Agreed.”
When Oleg made no attempt to move his foot off Ivan’s neck, Oleg heard the mutters of Pavel’s guests from across the room. Visitors from Europe with curled lips and extended fangs. Derisive side-glances from the South Americans.
Amusement danced in Sándor’s eyes, though the rest of Tatyana’s Hazar looked mildly disgusted at the open humiliation of the governor of Moscow.
Jetta Ommunsdotter said the word Oleg had been waiting to hear.
“Barbarian.” She sneered, set down her drink, and walked toward the door.
Pavel broke out of his frozen stance. “Jetta, may I—”
“No, Pavel.” She shot Oleg an icy glare. “I told you.”
Other vampires followed Jetta, but many of the guests were still frozen, waiting to see what would happen between Ivan and Oleg.
Ivan opened his mouth, but with Oleg’s foot on his throat, he had no air to speak.
Oleg lifted his foot. “What was that, Ivan?”
Ivan rubbed at his neck, and when he spoke, his voice was a croak. “I was complimenting your bride.”
“Ah!” Oleg cocked his head, looking at Ivan with all the detached calculation of a cat observing a mouse. “She is indeed fortunate to be marrying into such a close family. Nothing less than what the Kievan Rus deserves.”
Tatyana walked slowly toward him, her face a cool mask of disdain. She held a goblet of blood-wine in her hand. When she reached him, the druzhina parted, allowing her to approach.
She held the goblet out and very deliberately poured the rest of her blood-wine down the front of her dress. “Oh no. It appears I have stained my dress. What a pity.”
Oleg smirked at her. “A pity indeed. Did I pay for that one?”
“Of course you did.” She looked down. “I suppose I will need to leave. I wouldn’t want to drip blood around Pavel’s beautiful home.”
And without another word to him, Tatyana turned, walked to Pavel, and spoke quietly to him before she took her leave with the Hazar surrounding her. Whatever she’d said did not change the devastated expression on Pavel’s face.
Ivan sat up but didn’t stand up, sitting on the ground near Oleg’s feet and glaring murderously at his brother.
“Did you have something else you wanted to say?” Oleg snapped his fingers, and the fire hovering over Ivan’s head floated back to his palm.
“No, Knyaz.” Ivan’s murderous gaze was ice-cold. “Nothing.”
She was waiting for him in his day chamber when he finally returned to the house.
Oleg stepped inside his burned room. “Hello, my wife.”
She said nothing.
“What are you doing here?”
He wasn’t displeased to see her, but he was a bit startled. No one came to this chamber save him, but then, he’d made a point of giving her the codes to his room. It was unreasonable for him to be offended when she used them.
Despite his inquiry, she still said nothing, and he wondered how long she’d been waiting.
Mika and Ludmila had met with him in private after Pavel’s social secretary had wrapped up the spoiled reception and ushered the guests from Pavel’s home with as much decorum as possible.
Ivan had slunk away, escaping the party as soon as he could. Many of the guests left not long after the Scandinavian regent stalked out in disgust.
Both Ludmila and Mika understood immediately why Oleg had created the scene at the party, though Ludmila once again pushed for a discreet and quick assassination to deal with the problem of Ivan, and Mika expressed concern about Pavel’s reaction.
Oleg had already called Lazlo to deal with Pavel. His older brother—the most taciturn among them—would know what to say.
Tatyana stood in the middle of his room. He knew from the churning energy in his blood that she was angry, and he also knew it was not an act for the public. She was still wearing her stained dress, and her arms were crossed over her chest.
She stared at the charred marble mantel with a blank expression. “You cleaned.”
“A little.”
He hadn’t cleaned. Not really, but he had spent some hours the night before hauling out the burned furniture from the room. He’d left it in a pile in the middle of the hall where it had miraculously disappeared by dawn without a single question being asked.
The only thing remaining in his day chamber was a simple pallet for him to sleep on, a few books he was reading piled next to his bedroll, and a large battle-axe propped in the corner.