She could teleport in her immortal form, dammit.
A sickening churn filled his gut as Aleksandra’s words slapped him in the face. Elena had followed them to a tee. She’d used him to turn, fucked him, and gotten rid of him.
She was gone.
He leaned back against the wagon and closed his eyes. She’d left him and he might never see her again. No more of her smartass comebacks, no exquisite come-ons. Nothing.
The snow coated his lashes and stung on his bare arms. A few of the men, awakened by his calls, emerged from their tents to see what was going on.
“It’s nothing,” he told them. “Go back to bed. I’m sorry I disturbed you. Everything is fine.”
One by one, they disappeared, except for the old woman. She poked him in the chest as she passed to climb the steps back into her wagon. “You don’t strike me as one who just gives up. Sometimes you have to make fate bend to your will.” And with that, she lifted the flap and disappeared inside her home.
Nikolai stood shivering for several moments. The woman was right. He’d just had mind-blowing sex with a woman who made him think of forever. No way in hell was he just going to let her leave him. He wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She was his.
He had to find her.
Wow. It had worked. After she’d bitten Nik the second time, Elena had known she could teleport. She’d even seen images of herself standing right here, like a premonition, so she gave it a try. She’d pictured where she wanted to be, and then, poof, there she was. After a few disoriented moments where her body felt like it was shrink-wrapped a little too tightly, she grabbed a bath towel from the bar next to Stefan’s enormous tub and wrapped it around herself. Her body still thrummed with Nik’s blood and felt as if it were stretching from the inside out, probably as a result of her changing into a whatever-the-hell-she-was. Not painful, but not comfortable, either.
“You’re mine,” she repeated out loud. “What kind of misogynistic crap is that?”
She wiped the tears from her cheek and grabbed the remote that operated the tub and pushed the red button to call Stefan. He’d told her she was welcome anytime. Hopefully, he meant it. She pushed a green button, and the lights came on full. She squinted and cursed, pushing a different button that caused the exhaust fan to whir to life.
“Technical difficulties?” Stefan asked from the doorway.
“Oh. Hi. Sorry to just burst in like this. I, uh…was just going to…”
He took the remote from her. “I assume you want a bath. You smell like it’s been quite an adventure.” He pushed several buttons, and the water poured from the tub spout, the lights dimmed, and light classical music piped in from the ceiling. “Dirt, blood, vodka, and sex, yes?”
That pretty much summed it up.
He tilted his head in that odd manner he had. “And look at you all grown up and immortal. How do you feel?”
She turned and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. A total stranger stared back. Her hair was a tangled mess, her skin pale, and though more muscled than she had been, she looked thin. And her eyes—they were tinged with red like the blood she’d consumed. She was real monster now. “I feel like crap.”
“You need food.”
“Do I?” She thought she’d be stuck with a blood diet.
“What sounds good? Pasta? Garlic bread?”
It all sounded good. “Yum.”
He took her hand and pinched the skin of her forearm. “And you are horribly dehydrated.” He held her hand between his. “And cold.” His icy, pale eyes narrowed. “I’ll kill the prick.”
“Take a number.” Her voice sounded as tired as she felt.
“First things first. Remove whatever those things are on your feet and get clean and warm.” He poured bubble bath in, then handed her the remote. “As you know, the red button calls me.”
After he left, she stepped into the warm, frothy water and relaxed against the sloped wall of the tub. Warm and safe, she was no longer a prisoner. She had gotten here on her own. She dunked under and rinsed the grime from her hair, then shampooed three times.
Stefan brought her food and a pitcher of water with a stemmed goblet. Everything was perfect and elegant, just like the man. So not like Nikolai. The brute.
She stood and scrubbed her legs. “I’ll never let you go,” she mimicked in her best Nik-like accent. “You’re mine.” She sat and washed her feet. “His what? His freaking lap dog?”
“I beg your pardon,” Stefan called from the next room.
“Sorry. Just talking to myself.” She washed her face one last time, then finished off her fourth goblet of water.
He appeared in the doorway. “You are highly agitated. What did he do to you?”