Grave Vengeance (3 page)

“Why does it matter?”

“Because leopards never change their spots.” He pushed back against his growing sense of frustration and forced his voice to remain even. “I want to know who he was before he learned to conceal his true nature.”

Gwen fell silent for a few minutes while she skimmed over the menu, her mood impossible to read. “He was sweet,” she finally said, a hint of bitterness seeping into her words. “Idealistic.”

“Intelligent?”

“Well above average, and proud of it.”

“We can use that to our advantage.”

She nodded in agreement. “I wasn’t sure if he was going to make it past the first year.”

Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“Why not?”

“He had a hard time adjusting to the stress. Not being able to intervene—especially with the more traumatic terminations—took a heavy toll on his conscience. He stopped sleeping and started drinking heavily. I had to step in when he got so wasted he missed a job.”

“How did you knock him back on track? Get him laid?”

She shot him a disgusted look over the top of her menu. “I don’t believe in fucking your problems away.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you must know, I got him a library card.”

Definitely not the answer he’d expected. “What the hell for?”

The waitress returned with their drinks and jotted down their orders. Grilled cheese sandwich and fries for her and a bacon double cheeseburger, chili cheese fries, and a side order of garlic bread for him.

“Because,” Gwen said once the waitress moved out of earshot, “unlike
some people
, he enjoyed learning new things. Stick his nose in a book, and he forgot all about his problems.”

“What do you mean,
some people
?” he asked, insulted by the insinuation. Contrary to what she might think, he took great pleasure in expanding his knowledge. He’d mastered five languages during his time as a reaper, and learned the latest technologies the instant they became available. The latter had helped in his search for Elena, even though he’d yet to nail down her current whereabouts.

It was only a matter of time before he found her. So far, his searches had yielded only indirect references to Elena, but his instincts told him he was getting close. He wanted to know what happened to the bitch after she received asylum from the U.S. government. Certainly, the Americans would have changed her identity and given her a new life in exchange for what she knew about the Soviet intelligence program. What name had they given her? Did she ever remarry? Have children? Did the KGB ever catch up to her after she’d betrayed her husband and country?

Part of him hoped she’d escaped the Soviets and was still alive to this day. Not because he cared for her safety, but because he wanted to exact his own revenge. It was the only thing that kept him going all these years: the idea that somehow, someday, he’d make her pay for what she’d done to him. He wanted to watch while the life drained from her body, wanted her to know he’d escaped damnation for the sole purpose of hunting her down.

His gaze flicked back to Gwen, and a fresh round of hostility surged through his veins. She’d worked closely with Elena to bring him down. While posing as a waitress, she’d laced his wine with barbiturates. The drugs had taken him under before the main course was served, and when he woke he was strapped to a gurney in the back of an ambulance. What was supposed to be a romantic anniversary date with his wife ended with interrogation and torture.

Gwen had watched while they beat him, shocked him, and deprived him of food and sleep. They’d stripped away his humanity and treated him like an animal for more days than he cared to count. By the time death finally claimed him, he’d considered it a blessing.

“Stop giving me that look,” Gwen snapped, pulling his thoughts back to the present.

“What look?”

“The one you get when you’re fantasizing about where you’re going to dump my body.”

Shit. Normally, he was much better at hiding his emotions, but being around her never failed to push all of his buttons. He blew out a breath as he pushed back against the anger, forcing his facial muscles to relax.

“Better?” He flashed her a false smile.

“Much.”

The waitress delivered their meals, and they ate in uncomfortable silence. The food tasted good but it didn’t sit well, a hard, greasy lump in his stomach. Once finished, he pushed the plate to the side and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Do you know any members of the D.C. crew?” he asked as he reached for his wallet. Because of his background, he’d never worked anywhere near the capital and knew none of the reapers who worked there. He hated relying on Gwen’s connections, but the circumstances left him with no alternative.

Mouth full of food, Gwen nodded. As soon as she swallowed, she said, “Last I heard, Reggie’s still in charge. We worked together for a few years in Minneapolis before he got promoted. I’ll try to get a hold of him as soon as we get back on the road.”

“Good.” Dmitri slapped a few bills on the table to cover the tab. Tucking his wallet back into his jeans, he pushed back his chair and stood. “Make sure he tells his people to stay away from Ziegler. The last thing we need is another dead reaper on our hands.”

T
hey drove north on I-95 for three more hours, until Dmitri’s eyes started to droop and Gwen insisted they pull over for the evening. After exiting the highway, they stopped at the nearest motel.

“There’s got to be another room available.”

“You heard the man. They’re booked to capacity.” Dmitri strode into the room and tossed his bag on the floor beside the queen-size bed.

The
only
bed in the room.

There wasn’t much else in the room—just a television set on top of the bureau and a small table and two chairs wedged by the door. An alarm clock sat on the tiny nightstand, right next to a notepad with the motel’s logo plastered across the top.

“Who gets the bed?” she asked, an uneasy feeling churning her stomach. Being trapped in a car with him all day was bad enough. To be expected to sleep in the same room was going beyond the call of duty. She stepped inside the room, and the click of the door closing behind her sounded louder than prison doors slamming shut.

Dmitri sank onto the mattress, the springs creaking under his weight. A shadow of stubble covered his jaw while fatigue lined the corners of his eyes. Bending over, he unlaced his shoes and tugged them off. “The bed’s big enough for both of us,” he said. “Unless you’re afraid I’m going to molest you in your sleep.” He smirked, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

Refusing to admit weakness, she squared her shoulders. “I’m not afraid of you.”

His smirk widened. “Whatever you say,
zaika
.”

It took a second or two for the word to translate in her mind. “Did you just call me a bunny?”

“It’s a fitting description, is it not?” A menacing look hardened his face as he rose from the bed, and when he stepped toward her, she took a defensive step back. His voice dropped an octave, sounding low and lethal. “You’re small and skittish, and you’re looking at me like I’m a wolf who wants to devour you.”

She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. Of course she knew how to defend herself, but she wasn’t sure how well she’d hold up against a man as large and as well trained as Dmitri. He probably outweighed her by a good hundred pounds and kept his body in peak physical condition. What chance did she have against that?

Another step backward and her butt bumped against the door. Fear flooded her when he mirrored her movement, his body inches from hers. Raw heat radiated off his body, and the scent of him filled her head. He braced an arm against the doorjamb and leaned toward her, his large body looming over hers.

“Is that what you want to do?” she asked, forcing her voice not to shake. “Devour me?”

His laughter was low and taunting. “That depends on your definition of the word.”

A few definitions flew through her mind and the last one heated her blood. Her gaze darted over the length of his body, trying to decide if she should jam her heel against his instep or go for the tried-and-true knee to the groin.

“Relax,
zaika
,” he said, his deep voice rumbling in her ear. “Samuel would damn me on the spot if I dared to harm you.”

Relief sagged her shoulders when he pulled away. Turning on his heel, he strode across the room toward the tiny closet next to the bathroom. He yanked the door open and pulled a blanket off the top shelf. “Take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Hours later, Gwen woke with a start in the dark motel room. Groggy, she glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. Three thirty-eight in the morning. The room was so quiet she could hear her own breathing. In. Out. In. Out. What had woken her up? Her eyes scanned the shadows for signs of hidden danger but found nothing to sound an alarm.

It must have been somebody walking outside the room. With the motel booked to capacity, it was probably just another guest getting ice from the machine at the end of the hall.

She settled back against the pillow and had almost drifted to sleep when she heard a strangled noise on the floor at the foot of the bed.

“Dmitri?”

He muttered in his native Russian, his voice sounding low, guttural. Pained. The words poured out from his lips so fast they all seemed to blend together.

On hands and knees, she crawled to the end of the bed and peered over the side.

Dmitri lay flat on his back, the blanket shoved away from his body. Even in the dark, she could see the tension coiling his muscles, the sheen of sweat coating his skin. His broad, bare chest heaved with each labored pant, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

Time might have dulled her mastery of the language, but those particular words rang clear in her mind.
“I will tell you nothing.”
No matter what they did to him, and no matter what they promised, he’d repeated those words over and over again during the course of his captivity.

As a reaper, she learned how to shield her emotions, but she still hated seeing anyone in pain. “Dmitri,” she whispered in the dark. “Dmitri, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

No response. His features twisted into a look of pure agony as the words lashed out in a low hiss.
“Ya vam nichego ne skazhu.”

In spite of their differences, her heart ached for him. She’d caused this. Not directly, but she played a role in his capture, confinement, interrogation, and torture. The boys at the Pit had shown him no mercy, using every known technique at their disposal in their attempts to make him talk. Sleep deprivation. Chemical inducements. The application of physical pain. Back then, the Bureau had insisted the tactics were necessary to protect American interests and win the Cold War. But how many times had Dmitri relived that horror, all alone in the night?

No. She couldn’t allow his nightmare to continue. She owed him that much. Leaning over the edge of the mattress, she reached down and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “Dmitri, you’re having—”

In a blur of movement, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her off the bed. The air whooshed from her lungs when she smacked against the floor, and then he was on her before she had the chance to gain her bearings. Her lungs flattened as his muscular body pinned hers to the carpet, making it nearly impossible to move. Her left arm was trapped between the floor and her back, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t wrench it free.

His large, calloused hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed.

“Dmitri!” she choked out before she ran out of air. Spots danced in front of her eyes when his grip tightened around her windpipe. Her mouth dropped open in a futile attempt to breathe. Head pounding, she clawed at him with her one free hand, but the pain didn’t seem to register in his mind.

More pressure and her vision blurred around the edges. As an immortal, she couldn’t die from suffocation, but she could still suffer the effects. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she struggled against his hold. Her throat burned, and her heart felt like it was about to explode inside her chest. It wouldn’t be long before oxygen deprivation caused her to lose consciousness. Already, a dull haze clouded her mind, and she felt herself fading . . . fading . . . fading . . .

The dream must have drawn to a close because Dmitri released his hold around her neck and pushed away from her.

Never in her life had it felt so wonderful to simply inhale. She rolled to the side and sucked in the air, her throat raw and straining to fully open.

Just as her heart rate returned to normal, Dmitri grabbed her by the waist and rolled to his side, dragging her along with him. He tucked her close against his chest, his right arm locked around her torso.

Was his mind still trapped in a dream state? Gwen tried to twist her neck around to look, but the pain in her throat kept her eyes facing forward. She paused, listened in the dark to the deep, even rhythm of his breathing. He sounded asleep. But his hold tightened when she tried to wriggle free, tugging her flush against his body. His hand remained curled around her torso, his thumb perilously close to grazing the bottom swell of her breast.

On the bright side, his nightmares seemed to have subsided. Perhaps he needed something or someone to anchor his mind in the present, and for some strange reason he’d chosen her to fill the role. If that was the case, she saw no choice but to stay by his side. After what she’d caused, it was the least she could do. Besides, she got the distinct impression he wasn’t letting her loose anytime soon.

With an aching yawn, she settled against him. The adrenaline rush gradually drained from her body, leaving her completely worn out. Her heart rate evened and slowed, until the rise and fall of her chest matched his. If she had to be honest, it wasn’t all that bad. His body felt warm and solid against her back, his arm a possessive weight holding her tight. The masculine scent of him lingered in the air, dark and musky and undeniably male. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually slept with a man and had forgotten how much she enjoyed the feelings of closeness and security.

Closing her eyes, she gave in to the pull of exhaustion. For the next couple hours, they’d share a makeshift bed in the name of a good night’s sleep. Nothing more, nothing less. Come morning, they’d resume their usual hostilities.

 

Dmitri woke at the break of dawn. Sunlight peeked through a space between the curtains, bathing a sliver of the room in a soft orange glow. As the veil of sleep lifted, he became aware of the woman lying by his side.

Not any woman. Gwen. Through the thin cotton of the T-shirt she was wearing, he could feel the heat of her body. Her back was pressed against his bare chest, his right arm curled around her abdomen. The fabric of her shirt had ridden up along the front, and the palm of his hand lay flat against her bare stomach, her skin so soft, so inviting beneath his fingers. How the hell did she get here? When? And more importantly, why?

Even more disturbing was the fact he sported a raging case of morning wood. Of all the times for his dick to decide it wanted a little action. Good thing Gwen was still asleep or he’d never hear the end of it. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he performed long division in his head until the erection finally subsided.

“Gwen,” he murmured as he gripped her shoulder and gave her a light nudge. “Time to wake up.” He inhaled, and the lush, sweet scent of her filled his nostrils. Shit, now he had to do more math.

She mumbled something under her breath, her face obscured by a curtain of honey-blond hair.

He knew the exact moment she became aware of her surroundings because her muscles bunched beneath his fingers.

Nice to know he wasn’t the only one troubled by this latest turn of events. “Care to tell me why you’re down here?”

She groaned, scrubbed a hand across her face. “Long story.” Her voice sounded like she’d been gargling glass.

“I have time.” And he was anxious to know the answer.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she pushed herself to sitting. “You had a nightmare.” She paused, scratched the back of her head. “About the Pit.”

Dread slithered down his spine and settled low in his gut. Gwen was the only reaper who knew what happened during that period of his mortal life. She knew all about the pain, the torment. The degradation. To her credit, she’d never shared the information with the others. Why, he had no idea, but he appreciated the discretion. “How do you know what the dream was about?”

“Ya vam nichego ne skazhu.”
Hearing her speak the words chilled his blood. “You kept repeating it in your sleep, like you used to when they . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Well, you know.”

Yes, he did. He remembered like it was yesterday, but refused to acknowledge the rage. “You tried to wake me.”

She shrugged. “I thought—well, it didn’t work out the way I hoped.”

That didn’t sound good. “What happened?”

She twisted around, and the sight of her slender neck knocked the air from his lungs. A dark, angry bruise mottled the skin around her throat. If he looked closely, he could make out the outline of each individual finger.

“I did that to you.” The words sounded hollow to his own ears.

She nodded, pulled back when his fingers grazed her throat.

Shame hunched his shoulders. He’d repaid her compassion by crushing her windpipe. “I am so very sorry.”

“Eh, no need to apologize,” she said. “If it makes you feel better, I scratched the hell out of your face. Besides, you’ve probably been itching to do that for the better part of a century.” Her lips curved, but the smile failed to reach her eyes.

She was right. More than once, he’d dreamed about doing just that. Good grief, he was nothing more than a mindless brute. No wonder Elena turned her back on him all those years ago.

Gwen pushed off the floor and padded toward the bathroom. The shorts she wore clung to the contours of her ass, and he pretended not to notice. She stopped to pick up her duffel bag and glanced back in his direction. Her eyes met his, and a look of concern softened her features. “Relax, Dmitri. It’s no big deal. You know how this works. The marks will fade in a couple hours.”

True, but the memory would last forever.

He turned away as she closed the door, and less than a minute later he heard the sound of the shower running. Guilt weighed heavily on his conscience, an emotion he was unaccustomed to experiencing.

There has to be a way to fix this
, he thought as he paced the length of the room. But playing peacemaker wasn’t part of his natural skill set and he was drawing a complete blank. He paused at the mirror when he caught a glimpse of his own reflection. Damn, she wasn’t kidding. Claw marks scored the left side of his face and neck, the result of her attempts to break his hold the night before. Already, the wounds had begun to heal, and would probably be gone within an hour. Eating would accelerate the process, providing the energy boost his body needed.