*
They sat at a bar in an upscale sushi house, watching the ebb and flow of the human traffic with a merlot before her and a fine vodka before him, both drinking nothing.
“Did Dimitri ever come for you?” she said in a quiet tone, staring into the ruby liquid in front of her and wishing it didn’t have to be blood. She missed wine. A lot.
“Plenty of times. That was the great game of it. I wanted to drive him insane with anger. I wanted to make him kill me as badly as I wished I could kill him. But he was stronger. So I had to chip away at his peace of mind and erode his borders.”
“Gangsta,” she said with a smile, and then looked up at Anastas. “So, you could kill his lesser made men because you were made by your father—not by Dimitri.”
“Yes,” Anastas said, and then brought the vodka to his nose to savor its scent. “Dimitri did not directly make me, so he had no direct control over me. He would have told my father to force me to come to him, as he controlled my father, and my father would have controlled me. The one problem Dimitri always had was that I’d escaped my father’s control by stabbing that murderous bastard in his heart with a chair leg. That is how a rogue like me … and you … is created.” Anastas clinked his short rocks glass against Tanya’s long-stemmed wineglass. “This is also why you fascinate me so. You killed Dimitri much like I killed my father, through much good luck, and have now set edicts in place that go against every decadent principle Dimitri ever infested the world with. This I like.”
Tanya gave Anastas another half smile, but this time she could feel a slight hint of fang beginning to show. “And how do I know this isn’t bullshit?”
Anastas shook his head and chuckled. “You already know it is not. You have scanned me for fraud or you wouldn’t be sitting here with me now. Do not try to bullshit an old bullshitter.”
This time he made her laugh.
“Okay, but seriously, what do you really want?”
His smile faded. “Somewhere to go.”
His sudden seriousness caught her off guard, but the intensity in his gaze told her that he’d spoken the truth.
“I don’t understand,” she said just above a murmur.
“My purpose is over. I have won,” he said in a sad, far-off tone, and then looked out the window beyond her. “For hundreds of years my goal was to make Dimitri’s existence miserable—taking sick joy from the vengeance. Then in one night, he gets careless and allows himself to get killed by a woman of dubious principles, but principles I admire nonetheless. So, now, where will I go? I have made no others to stand with me. The other covens shun me, for a rogue in their lair is a dangerous thing. Other rogues are few and far between. Most do not last as long as I have. And so,” he added with a sad chuckle, bringing his gaze back to hers, “I am without a purpose. Shall I eat and exist for more centuries with nothing to do? Or shall I ask to be adopted by the one being that bested my nemesis … with a pledge of loyalty to protect you from other covens that may wish to annex power.”
“You said having a rogue in your lair was a dangerous thing.”
Anastas nodded and stood. “It is. But I can teach you how to elude other masters. The offer stands. We both have time to decide, but first I think we should have that drink.” He inclined his head toward an Asian businessman speaking to what looked like an elderly Wall Street banker. “They have eaten well and have high blood alcohol content. Their souls are also dirty as hell … so?”
“I’ve never done it like this before—just picked them up at a bar.”