Page 35 of Burn for the Devil
“Fuck,” he said.
“Yeah,fuck,” I muttered, in return.
We climbed into the back of the car and Ilya asked, “So what’s the problem.”
“Samantha is the woman I trapped in a house in the Fourth and she figured out it was me.” Kiara had campaigned for the woman’s release endlessly, harassing both Ilya and I for months to do something about the situation and having no idea what she was messing with.
“So, you knew, and you still pursued Kiara.” Ilya tapped his pair of leather gloves against the palm of his hand. “You are one fucked up asshole.”
“I had my suspicions; hence I took the needed actions.”
“You are going to take her—and soon,” Ilya hissed. “And then, you are going to leave the rest of us the fuck alone when it comes to our women.”
I snapped, and Ilya found himself choking, his hand instinctively grabbing at his throat even though nothing visible or tangible was restraining him. “It's only Samantha, and it will only ever be Samantha,” I said before letting go.
“You may want to look into our favorite archangel, if anyone’s female is being harassed,” I added, settling back against the leather seat.
Ilya sat back as well, murder in his eyes. It was all I could do not to chuckle at his expression. “Noted,” was all he said.
The car pulled up to the curb while I removed the long coat, not wanting to be encumbered or restrained by it in any manner. While it didn’t matter if it was forgotten inside the venue, I was not in the mood for unexpected visitors returning my outerwear. I liked my privacy.
Ilya stepped out of the vehicle behind me, tugging on his suit jacket and adjusting his tie. He schooled his features, leaving me the only one able to detect his smug air.
The flashing lights as we made our way across the sidewalk and up the wide, long granite staircase were minimal, but I knew that would change and soon enough the vultures would come out for their pound of flesh.
“How much did we donate?” I asked Ilya.
“Two million.”
“Is that enough?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea; I’ve never given money to a charity before. Probably. We usually eat them,” he remarked, referring to what generally happened to the down-and-out under our hands.
We gave our names to a woman at the door and entered the large space. Soft tinkles of laughter, fragrant floral arrangements, and clouds of aftershave and perfume surrounded us. This event was different than what I was used to, though the politics would be much the same. Perhaps less bloody, but not dissimilar in other regards.
Here, blood was shed with the stroke of a pen or the tap of a keyboard, a carefully placed photo on the internet, or an edited comment on the evening news. We had the power tochange malicious internet activity, we controlled most of it, but something could slip by long enough to affect our wellbeing. By virtue of our presence, we could branch out, close deals, make important connections, or perhaps friendships. Acquaintances, more likely. Branko was my sole human friend despite my current but well-placed animosity toward him.
I barely listened while Ilya tried to point out important players, guessing half the time, I was sure. His attention to what he’d deemed an important task was wandering, distracted by the bounty of attractive female flesh. It was a hazard, yes, but my own landmine was across the room tucked into a small group.
Samantha smiled at her companions, a gesture that belonged only to me, before lifting her champagne flute to her lips. Ilya said something to me, and I waved him off, not listening. Slowly, I crossed the floor, keeping my distance while being pulled into her near orbit. Her aura was muted, the crystalline golden shimmers so familiar to her holding gaps in the web, straining to shine but restricted. With a pang, I guessed that it was me, what I’d done to her. How could I make her glow again?
She was mine, and I was hers; there could be no other way. Desire coursed through me, enflaming my blood with song.Just a taste. Exhaling, I forced the beast down. I wasn’t supposed to destroy her, I was only supposed to possess her, cradle her heart and keep it safe while crowning her with the stars in the sky.
Her eyes found mine, widening slightly. She didn’t look away, as captured as I was, and my feet were frozen to the floor. Pulling her gaze away, she went back to her conversation. Still, I caught her watching me out of the corner of her eye and noted the mild tension in her shoulders.
I never wanted to cause her pain.
“You mooning over that chick?” Alexander’s voice tore my gaze away, freeing the woman I loved from my web. “Here.”
Taking the offered beverage, I answered, “Mm.”
“Come, Alastair and Stefan are over there.” He nodded in a vague direction, and I trailed after him.
For once, we weren’t all hurling insults at each other or threatening to disembowel one another. We were perfect gentlemen. Even Alexander was in a suit. Stefan wore a suit to bed, I imagined, engaging in behavior similar to Ilya’s, but utilizing it as a tool of psychological manipulation.
Alastair managed to remain looking like a vampire even with the presence of angelic blood, although the public would likely refer to him as eccentric. There were always extra buttons on his clothing, excessive detailing, prolific embroidery, and other gothic wet dream features that belonged on a movie poster rather than in the boardroom.
Ilya grinned at something his best friend, Stefan, said, and lit a cigarette, disregarding the U.S. Cancer Initiative wall art hanging directly behind him. That answered my question as to whom we had donated a couple million to. A woman in a form-fitting white gown stepped over to Ilya and leaned toward his ear. His face split into a grin and he dropped the smoke, grinding it into the marble flooring with his heel before winking at her. Her nose raised into the air before she stomped away.