The Siren's Dance (25 page)

Demyan’s lips curled, baring perfect teeth. “Oh, no. What you desire is to be fed by something much more satisfying. I will show you.” Tantalizing images of Anya naked flashed in Sergey’s mind, his mouth latched on to that scarred spot on her arm. “We will share this prize you have brought me,” his father said.

He spun, strode to her, and lifted her chin. “How is it, Anya, that you have not aged? In fact, you look all together excellent, well-fed and suitable.” He skated his hands over her, cupping a breast, a hip, her ass--not caressing but taking measure. Sergey squelched the surge of jealousy he felt before it betrayed him to his father’s mental scrutiny. Anya remained silent and still, but her eyes blazed with disgust.

Sergey mouthed two words to her.
Play along
.

Anya’s stomach twisted with revulsion at Stas’s hands on her, even as that old, weak part of her reveled in his attention, rejoiced in his praise. She abhorred that even a small piece of her was still vulnerable to his manipulations.

She’d raged against him uselessly for so long, but the hate she felt was far greater, now that she knew the reasons he’d groomed and rejected her--not her failure, or his cruelty--but cold, calculating predation. He’d hunted her and then broken her to complete his possession. And now she had the chance to stop him from doing it ever again, thanks to being a
vila
.

“What is this power I sense in you?” he asked.

Her body swayed, wavering between exultation and disgust so quickly, so intensely, it was hard to think. He could sense her nymph’s power, but Anya still had no idea how she should use it, so she seized on Sergey’s words.
Play along.

She took hold of Demyan’s hands and stared into those eyes, devastatingly identical to Sergey’s. “I don’t know. But I’ve been searching for you for so many years.” She let her voice warble, trying to sound as earnest as Sonya. “How I longed for you, Stas. I finally understand what you want.” She raised up her arm, revealing the place where he’d marked her, and trailed his hand over the tender spot. “I’m ready to give myself to you.”

“Finally.” He held her gaze, fingering the blemish through her coat and sending peculiar stabs of pleasure through her. “You were so stubborn, relentless. Few have been so resistant.”

But even as he said so, her resistance seemed to be melting away, replaced by her old longings.

“And now, still, you are strong.” He craned his neck to speak to Sergey. “There is plenty of this one to share, my son.” He slid her jacket off her shoulders and let it fall behind her, then placed an open-mouthed kiss to the place where he’d fed from her, his hot tongue dampening the fabric. She hated the way her nipples leaped to attention and her sex clenched.

Sergey watched her, his face frozen and unreadable. Was he fighting his inner demon just as she fought her old longing for Stas? His blank expression grounded her. She loved this man, and she would not let Stas have either one of them.

I love you
, she mouthed to him.

He blinked.
Me too
.

Demyan jerked his head up and turned to Sergey, like a startled animal that had sensed danger.

She raised the hem of her blouse. “Please, Stas. Take everything you want from me. I’m ready here, now.”

He returned his laser-like focus to her and licked his lips. “Not here, we could be interrupted too easily. We must go down.”

“Yes, into the tunnels.” Sergey took a step closer to the pair. “I’ve sensed you there.”

Stas patted his shoulder. “Good, good. I always hope my children will return to me.”

He guided Anya into the dank back room where she’d slept. It had remained more or less unchanged since her time there, including another tattered sofa. He went to the basement door and opened it wide.

The
vila
shied, recoiling from the blackness, and Anya remembered her dream, when she’d been unable to summon wind in the airless tunnels.

“It’s all right, Anya,” Stas said. “This is what you’ve always wanted; you simply did not understand.”

Anya had wanted his love and approval, had wanted to belong with someone, not to be his prey. But she followed him to put an end to his evil once and for all.

“Are there others like me below?” Sergey asked.

Stas angled backward to answer, and Anya had never seen him look bereft before. He shook his head, gazing fondly at his son. “Not at the moment, my boy. Sometimes my offspring forget their place, that they exist only thanks to my generosity. If they try to take what is mine, I cannot let them live. Alexei, Havril, and Kliment paid for their disobedience.”

Anya faltered on the stairs. Those were the names of the three brothers who’d been drowned at the lighthouse. Stas had killed his own sons. She wouldn’t have thought it possible to hate him even more, and yet she did.

“Heed the lesson, Sergey, and do not challenge me,” he said, and she shuddered.

“What happened to Alexei’s woman, the ballet teacher?” Sergei asked.

“Yes, he said you met her. Such a loss. Under his thrall, she lured many women to us. But foolish Alexei crossed the line. It is not possible to feast on a woman and keep her for a lover. She cannot not survive it.” He spoke sentimentally, as if he hadn’t killed the men and probably the woman too. “Though the power I sense in Anya will keep her strong for a long time. She might not ever grow weak.”

In her veins, Anya’s blood prickled with an icy chill.

Down, down. They descended so far below the city it felt like he was taking them all the way to hell. And with every downward step into the catacombs, she grew more compliant, the urge to truly surrender building in her, like some evil magic in the air or a dark drug in her veins.

Finally, they reached bottom. Kerosene lanterns lit the limestone walls of the catacombs, and Anya expected to find some craven den, the home of a predator. Instead, Stas led them inside a well-furnished room, a gentleman’s study, with books lining the walls. At the far end, a fireplace had been carved into a wall. A luxurious rug stretched the full length of the room. Nothing was tattered in this, the demon’s true home.

“This way, darling.” He guided her toward the crackling fire and said, “Make yourself comfortable. You’ll be staying here with us a while.”

She stood by the blaze, trying to absorb its warmth, while Stas went to a record player and dropped the needle onto the vinyl disc. As the first notes of the score floated to her, she was not surprised to hear
Giselle
. Finally, he was giving her the part she’d desired.

Sergey had held back, in all semblance of obedience. Was he succumbing to Stas’s seductive powers too?

She clung to the vila, the part of her that could resist him.

The music hypnotized her, stirring her muscles and joints to dance. It tugged at those traitorous, weaker parts of her, trickled over her still-new body with a sensuousness that inflamed her arousal. Then he came to her as he always had, his movements clean and clipped and graceful. He spun and lifted her in a compact version of the
pas de deux
they’d endlessly rehearsed. The music took her out of her body and onto a plane of pure sensation.

Vaguely, she realized he’d brought them to a standstill and begun to caress her. The music melded with his touch on her neck, her breasts, her belly. Her knees turned weak, and she gasped when he roughly cupped her mound, rubbing her through her slacks in all the ways she’d only just learned she liked under Sergey’s deft touch. She couldn’t help but respond to Stas, writhing, growing wet under her clothing. As surely as she had a siren’s powers, this demon could command her arousal, though her stomach twisted, revolted by his touch.

“My son,” Stas beckoned him over.

Poor Sergey. His eyes clouded with desire even as his jaw rippled with forceful tension. Could he really mean for her to play along with this, or was he as lost as she was to the dark forces Demyan employed? Tears stung her eyes even as she felt the pressure of pleasure build.

Her puppy made low, guttural sound.

Demyan stilled his hand. “Yes. I feel your desire for her--your lust and your hunger are both fierce. And rightly so. She’s very ripe, her body finally ready for my purposes. But make no mistake. She’s mine. I don’t think I will share her after all. You must learn this lesson right away, or as your brothers did, you’ll pay for it with your life.”

Again, he stroked her through her slacks, rubbing that same sensitive place that he’d only teased when she was alive. She shuddered, fighting off the climax he was calling forth, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, not wanting Sergey to see her so weak.

He had broken out into a sweat, his jaw still clenched, his neck red and strained, a thick erection pressing against his jeans. He looked at her precisely as Demyan had said--with both lust and hunger, like he longed to consume her in every way. He fisted his hands, as if he were losing his self-control.

Seeing her lover falter, she gritted her teeth and found more restraint. She had to resist being pulled over the cusp of pleasure.

The demon withdrew his hand and looked from her to his son and back with his hazel eyes narrowed just slightly. If she had not spent two years of her life studying his every gesture and expression in search of crumbs of approval, she would not have seen the suspicion.

She was going to have to act fast. She would be Giselle, who broke through the powers of hate and vengeance to rescue her beloved Albrecht, before she was free to rest in peace.

Oksana had said pride was a
zmora’s
Achilles’ heel. Anya would strike his a blow.

“Stas, your son is so like you, so handsome. Won’t you please give me to him first?” She stared at Sergey, though she addressed his father. “Let me be his reward for coming to you. Then I will be all yours.”

“Would you like that, Anya?” Demyan rasped, drawing very near to her. His body was leaner, slighter than Sergey’s. But his every movement was menacing--a graceful, beautiful threat.

His nostrils flared, and he seemed to be smelling her. Then he marched over to Sergey and inhaled again.

He returned to Anya, sliding his nose along her neck, then his hands up her sides until they curled around her throat. Her
vila
powers fluttered, not liking the prospect of being deprived of air. She drew on them, let them fill her with power, hoping like hell her nightmare wouldn’t come true.

The fire flickered--of course, its chimney would vent outside.

“His scent is all over you,” he snarled, tearing at her blouse, baring her breast and shoulder. “But you know that you are mine. I groomed you for so long. Have you betrayed me?”

Playing along had led her too far into his grasp. She covered herself, but he yanked her arms away from her chest.

“No, Stas. You betrayed me, with your promises and your lies.”

“In the end, I always keep my promises, Anya.” He slid one hand down to the waist of her pants as he lifted her arm to expose her scar. “I am going to take you, take everything from you, and you will like every second of it. And I’ll let Sergey here watch you pant and scream for me. That will help him learn his lesson.”

“No.” She fought him, trying to get free. But he was too strong, his hands like iron manacles, fingertips digging into her hips. And his mouth on that scar on her inner arm, it was bliss, shooting right to her sex and melting her resistance. She looked to Sergey for help, but his hazel eyes had changed completely--all his sweetness turned dark and predatory. The puppy eaten by the panther.

Stas laughed, a merry but hollow sound. “He’s already mine. He fought me off valiantly for a while, but the moment he let me into his mind and saw what delights await him here with me, he surrendered to his nature. I think he will be a good boy after all.”

At that horrible declaration, her
vila
powers broke loose, and with them came a plan. The air began to churn, drawing volumes through the chimney. The wind blew out all the lanterns so only the fireplace lighted the room. She coaxed the air, fanning the fire and catching the sofa aflame.

“What are you, Anya?” Demyan whispered in astonishment, his face in shadow as the fiery orange tongues danced behind him. He must have sensed her power, but he seemed oblivious to the blaze, and he held her hard. If she couldn’t get away, she would burn up with him.

“I’m summoning the wind. I’m a
vila
, just like Giselle,” she replied, as the flames leaped onto the rug.

“How perfect, my prima.” She couldn’t see his smile, but it sounded in his words.

He raised up her arm as if to feast on her powers.

A sob tore from her throat. Behind Stas, Sergey snarled like a dog protecting its bone.

Demyan stiffened and twisted to look at his son who’d bared his teeth, clearly fighting his father’s control.

Without a plan, all strategy gone, Anya shoved Demyan. He fell backward and into the fire. His mouth fell open into a scream as his clothing caught. He lunged for her, but she pushed him back with a powerful gust, pinning him against the flames.

His wailing was terrible, and the
vila
rejoiced in it more than Anya ever had his praise. But she’d also become human again--by reuniting with Sonya, or falling for Sergey, or forgiving Gregor--probably all three. Demyan’s suffering twisted her stomach just as much as his unwelcome caresses had.

He rose up, tried to stumble from the bonfire, but she blew him backward on a column of air, straight into his certain death.

His howling battered her. He was a monster who’d hurt an untold number of woman, most of whom had not escaped as Anya and Oksana had. He had to be stopped. But he had likely not chosen his demonic nature any more than Sergey had, or than she’d checked a box opting to become a
vila
upon the occasion of her death. Stas had taught her to be the best dancer she could, and he himself danced exquisitely. But now, he was reduced to the shrill screams of death, and Anya pitied him.

Finally, he went quiet, collapsing. She yanked Sergey farther away from the fire, where he watched the father he’d only just met burn. But after taking Oksana’s stories to heart, Anya wouldn’t let up her focus on Demyan, in case he tried to crawl away.