For the murder, p.19
For the Murder, page 19
“What happened to you?”
Diana shrugged. “Jacques scratched my face. No big deal.”
Sasha ground his teeth together. “Not that. What happened to your hand?”
With her lower lip between her teeth, she smoothed the ointment over his bite. “My finger got cut off.”
For a moment, Sasha forgot how to breathe. Surely, she didn’t— “Who cut it off, Diana?”
She winced, reluctantly looking at him as she pressed a fresh bandage on his neck. “I did. Witch’s price.”
Rage and regret and—goddamn it—shame crept over every cell in his body.
He needed to get away from her. Sasha pulled away from Diana and sat up, ripping the new bandage from his skin and leaving it pinched between her fingers.
“Wait. What are you—”
The muscles in his stomach and shoulders ached, but Sasha didn’t allow himself to think about it. He swung his heavy legs over the side of the bed, hardly feeling the smashed, old carpet against the soles of his feet. His poisoned body struggled to support him, and if he hadn’t been trained from childhood to move quickly and efficiently, he would’ve face-planted on the ground. Instead, he held himself up with both palms against the mattress, preparing to stand and go anywhere she wasn’t.
“Sasha, you idiot!” Diana leapt off the bed and propped herself in front of him in moments, hands on her hips. Despite being sick, he couldn’t help but feel a bit insulted she could impede him so quickly. “What are you doing? Lie down—”
“Why would you do that?” His chest shook beneath his labored breaths. He really wanted to stand up and get the hell away from her suffocating generosity, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. People didn’t do things like this for him, and the one person that did was someone he had to betray.
Diana snorted. “I wasn’t going to let you die.”
Damn that vampire and damn his weak body. Sasha gave her a pointed look, surprised yet again to see compassion staring back at him. “You should’ve.”
“You don’t mean that.” Diana stepped closer, their legs mere inches apart. “Sasha, you were dying. I couldn’t sit there and wait for it.”
“You could have, and that’s exactly what you should’ve done.” Sasha tried to focus on the shake in his arms, on anything that wasn’t Diana. But he was uncomfortably aware of her keeping him alive at his most vulnerable. Anyone else would’ve used the opportunity to send a knife under his ribs, and he wouldn’t blame them. “You don’t know me, Diana. You don’t know me well enough to make a sacrifice like that.”
“It’s a finger. I have nine more.” She held up her bandaged hand and shrugged. “You only have one life. Hardly seems equal.”
In an effort to keep from dwelling on her kindness, he focused on his breathing, but he failed. Miserably. He had to stop thinking about Diana treating him this way. Like she cared. Like she truly and deeply cared. “Did you think about our deal? If you had let me die, you wouldn’t have to take me to Charles.”
Diana’s eyes shimmered, and a sharp intake of air stopped any words from coming out of her mouth. She hadn’t thought about their deal at all, he realized. The feeling that he was, in fact, the absolute bastard he figured himself to be overcame him in a wave.
“Diana.” Her name came off his tongue far too easily. He heaved himself forward, propping his elbows on his knees as his arms continued to shake. “If you only knew the extent of what I’ve done, you would’ve let me die. You would’ve let me die and said good riddance after the fact.”
She bent at the waist and situated her face so close to his that her breath hit his nose. “I might say a lot of things, but I’ll never say that.” Her voice was tight. Firm. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or hurt. “Do you think I should die?”
He frowned. “This isn’t about you.”
“No. It’s about you feeling guilty. I suspect it’s the same damn reason you won’t go see your mom. But guess what? I’ve done some bad things in the past five years to stay alive. I killed Jacques after I broke into his house and stole his knife.” Diana cocked her head to the side and stared at him, the ends of her hair dragging across his knee. Without thinking, he turned his left hand palm up, allowing it to fall against his fingers instead. If she noticed, she didn’t say. “So—do you think I should die too?”
Sasha shook his head. How she could always see through him with the same ease as a window was a mystery to him. “It’s not the same.”
“It is the same.”
He closed his eyes and took a breath, concentrating on the feeling of her hair tickling his hand instead of the disbelief welling in his chest. This infuriating woman. They weren’t the same. Their situations were nothing alike. Would she be saying these things if she knew who he worked for?
“Get in bed.” Diana’s hard tone made him open his eyes. She glared pointedly at the pillow. “Now.”
Sasha wasn’t used to being ordered around by anyone that wasn’t Madame, particularly someone who had his well-being in mind. He fell back on the bed and collapsed on his pillow, nevertheless. Diana threw the comforter over him, and while he wanted to blame the consequent shiver on the venom and not her hands tucking the blanket around his torso, he knew it would be a lie and therefore illogical.
Instead, he allowed himself to enjoy it for a moment. He hadn’t been taken care of in…well, a couple decades. Not many dared to get this close to him on purpose—unless they were trying to kill him.
Sasha pulled the blanket around his arms tighter. He’d been eleven years old the last time anyone had bothered with him. An eleven-year-old, starry-eyed boy who had no idea the horrible future he volunteered to take in place of his mother. And now, after twenty years of being alone and committing unspeakable atrocities, someone did bother with him…and he couldn’t decide if he hated it or not.
Diana didn’t say anything else as she situated herself on the other side of the bed and resumed his wound care. She smeared on more salve before unpacking a new bandage and sticking it on. “How do you heal, Sasha?”
He almost didn’t hear her over the sound of his plans falling apart inside his head. “I’m too weak to do it now.”
“I know.” Diana folded her legs underneath her and wrung her hands. “But I’m curious.”
Sasha studied her. There was something she wasn’t telling him, and if he didn’t feel so abhorrent, he’d spend more time wheedling it out of her. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“Like when I want to be a crow, I think about being a crow.” Her cheeks reddened, and he fought against the overwhelming urge to touch her. To do something. To see if her lips were as soft as they looked. “I guess I’m wondering what you think about.”
This was an oddly specific request.
“Never mind.” Diana batted her hands around and shook her head, flustered. She got flustered so easily. Something he once thought so ridiculous had turned into something endearing, and he couldn’t figure out quite when that happened.
Unaware of the turmoil thrumming in his chest, Diana started to make herself comfortable on the other side of the bed.
“You don’t have to stay. You’ve done enough,” he said, voice rough. Agonizingly rough. It had been a long time since he’d slept with anyone, and while he and Diana would only be sleeping in the strictest sense, the stirrings of desire made the act not so benign.
“I want to stay, just in case.” Diana curled up on the other pillow. For whatever reason, she was comfortable with him, and while the thought should’ve bothered him, it didn’t. “You were bitten by a vampire, and the witch was very specific about putting the salve on.”
His body quaked under the pressure of the vampire’s venom, chills shooting down his limbs. Between that and the warring emotions fighting for purchase in his gut, he almost wished for death. Logically, it made sense that Diana stayed here since she was taking care of him.
However…
“Do you want me to leave?” She lifted her head a bit, a flash of something darting through her eyes. Fear. But the fear, strangely enough, wasn’t of physical harm, Sasha realized the longer he stared at her.
She was afraid he would tell her to leave.
Sasha stared, unable to tear his gaze from her fathomless eyes. Did he want her to leave?
An unfamiliar warmth twisted in his stomach—he should tell her to leave.
Whatever he said now would change things. It would change everything. From the way he breathed to the inexplicable urge to reach out and touch the hair hanging beside her face. It could drive her away, or it could make him want to leave everything he thought he wanted in a plume of dust just to figure out what exactly Diana had done to him. To discover why he saw her future. To find out what she saw in him that compelled her to sacrifice for him again and again. Uttering stay could do so many horrible, terrible things to him and his plans, and he really should put more thought into it before saying such a thing.
But he was weak, and he was tired. Sasha wanted to rest.
And he wanted her there.
“No.” The word fell from his lips almost as easy as her name. “I don’t.”
Diana smiled a little. Not a smile that ripped the sun from the sky, but a small one—a smile just for him.
She leaned over the edge of the bed and turned off the lamp before settling down on the pillow. Diana even slept like a bird—all tucked in a ball. Her chin drawn to her chest. Knees pulled to her stomach.
“Hope.”
The moonlight from the window reflected in her eyes the moment she opened them. “What?”
“When I look for the future, I use fear.” He turned on his side and faced her. “When I want to heal, I use hope.”
Diana smiled again, this time averting her eyes. He could only imagine where her mind had gone. It hadn’t been that long ago since he’d healed her, and Sasha remembered exactly what he’d been marveling at. She had been at peace with him then, and as she burrowed into the sheets, she seemed to be at peace with him now.
Perhaps hope for his soul was not lost.
“How did you kill the vampire?” he asked, tracing the shadows of the gashes on her face.
Diana gripped the comforter and grimaced. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”
They stared at each other in silence. While he wanted to know the answer, he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Especially after everything she’d done for him and everything she’d sacrificed.
“Very well.” He heard her exhale. “Thank you, Diana.”
A pause. “You’re welcome.”
As Sasha allowed himself to relax and drift, Diana’s soft, warm hand pressed against his. Whatever Diana saw in him, it must be better than what he saw in the mirror each morning, and the thought brought him a promise of peace he hadn’t known existed. So without giving it another thought, he wrapped his fingers around hers too.
It didn’t occur to him until right before he succumbed to sleep that he hadn’t thought about Sheturath, and even when he did, he didn’t care enough to ask about it.
TWENTY-EIGHT
DIANA
One day had passed since Sasha woke up and asked her to stay. He hadn’t woken up again. The only thing that gave Diana any sort of reassurance was his steady breathing, but the constant fever and sweating did little to assuage her doubts. If that witch made him some phony cure-all, she’d fly over there and do to Marion what she did to Jacques.
Diana scowled and drummed her fingers on her knees. When did she get so morbid?
She glanced over at Sasha from her place on the edge of the bed. It was early morning—still dark out—but the sweat on his brow glistened in the lamplight. His neck was the only thing that looked better, and that was after several sessions of healing.
Diana turned her palms up and stared at her fingers. Never in a million years did she believe she could be good at anything except stealing, and now she could heal.
Sasha hadn’t lied. It hurt—bad. Since she hadn’t really known what she was doing, she could only manage to hold the magic for a few moments. It had taken short spurts over twenty-four hours to close the wounds on his neck. Nevertheless, the murder bond was turning out to be a pretty interesting thing.
“If only Sasha knew about it.” Diana turned her attention to the phone. Her father was likely waiting for an update, and she’d been putting it off. What would Charles say if he knew Sasha had become her murder?
Her face warmed at the thought of Sasha’s rough skin caressing her hand. She hadn’t expected him to reciprocate her feelings. Her desire to be close. While she didn’t know if he’d held her hand out of genuine desire or sick delirium, Diana had never slept so soundly in all her life. She’d never felt so safe. So wanted.
So cared for.
Diana shook her head and willed the feeling away. Sasha was sick, and it all could’ve meant nothing. In every other instance where she’d gotten her hopes up, reality came along and crushed them shortly thereafter. Getting too wrapped up in interpreting Sasha’s actions would likely lead to a very similar disappointment.
Gaze going to the bedside phone, she took a deep breath. She leaned over and plucked the plastic brick from the cradle, careful not to tangle the curly cord, and dialed a familiar set of numbers.
Charles answered almost immediately. “Do you have it?” her father asked, voice slipping up an octave. “Do you have the knife?”
“Yes.” Diana rubbed the back of her neck. She shouldn’t have been surprised by his immediate worry for the knife instead of her well-being. “I have it.”
“B-Bring it back immediately.” Charles’s words ran together. Panicked, or excited? Perhaps both. “I’ll call upon Lead Crow. Make him the offer.”
“I can’t leave right now.” She winced at the growl on the other end. Impatient jerk. “I’m thinking it’ll be a few days before we can get to the airport.”
“You can’t fly back now?” Charles sighed. “You have wings, Diana. Or have you forgotten?”
“No, I haven’t. For one thing, the knife’s too heavy for me to fly across the country. Not to mention it’s dangerous. Above all those things, I’m tired.” Heat blistered under her eyes when her father cursed. “Shut up! I’ve risked my life three times now for this knife while you’ve sat on your ass. You can wait.”
For the first time since the conversation began, silence echoed on the other end. Her father shifted the phone, and Amelia’s voice drifted in through the background. Did her mother hear the things her husband said to her? Did she even care?
“Is that Sokolov man with you?” Charles asked.
Diana smiled. Oh, was he ever. “Yes.”
“Try to ditch him. If not, I’ll have the murder with me when we meet again. I have no doubt they’ll help us subdue him once they see Sheturath in your grasp.”
Diana looked down at the bandages wound around her left hand. Her father would be pissed if he knew what she’d done.
Charles hummed on the other end. “Or you could take care of him.”
She growled. “If you’re asking me to kill him, the answer is no. You better not lay a talon on him. All he wants is to talk.”
“No one ever just wants to talk.”
“I swear, if you touch him—”
“Are you serious, Diana?” Her father’s voice hardened considerably. “Do you even know who the man is? I’ve spoken with your mother and gone through my past transactions. I’ve never, not once, done business with a Sokolov.”
Her throat dried considerably, and she licked her lips. Her father was a liar. She couldn’t trust a word coming out of his mouth.
“Why would someone I’ve never met or done business with need to speak with me?” Charles laughed incredulously. “Why would he risk life and limb to help you get Sheturath to meet with someone he’s never met?”
“I’m not sure. You tell me.” Diana ran a finger through the cord and tangled it in the coil. “You’re the one always screwing everyone over.”
“Which means we can’t trust a soul. For all we know, he could be working for someone out for our necks.”
Her blood ran hot. “If that were true, he could’ve made me take him to you the night of the auction. Why risk everything to help me get this demon knife if all he wants is your head?”
Diana glanced at the still unconscious Sasha. How her hollering hadn’t stirred him, she had no idea.
“You trust too easily, Diana,” her father said. How ironic. “Three nights. In three nights, we’ll meet. Bring the blade.”
Then much like he had the last time they spoke, Charles Van Doren hung up without another word.
The phone call with her father hung along her shoulders long after it ended and followed her to the diner where she met Nobu for breakfast. Diana tried to hide how much Charles’s accusations hurt her, but the fact remained her father was right.
She didn’t know much about Sasha. He had a mom in Russia he hadn’t seen in decades. He could see the future and heal people. He had exceptional aim and a trunk full of weapons. Considering they were now bonded for life, that wasn’t a whole hell of a lot of information.
He asked you to stay.
Diana gnawed on the inside of her cheek. Sasha, regardless of the rest, was her murder now. He hadn’t asked for it and neither had she, but it happened. And without even knowing that, he’d asked her to stay with him in bed.
He wanted her near him. On purpose.
But what if her father was right? What if it was all some elaborate ruse to corner Charles and chop his head off with Sheturath?
“You have to tell him, Diana.”
The sudden sound of Nobu’s voice scared her so bad she dropped her fork. The metal struck her porcelain plate, which caused half the establishment to turn and stare at her.
Her checks burned as she glowered at Nobu and picked up her rogue silverware. “No. I can’t. Not yet.”
Nobu brushed his bangs out of his face and cut into his omelet. “He’s a smart guy. If he hasn’t figured out that something happened, he will soon.”
