Chapter Three

Vasili remained in his war tent a long while after Rose disappeared. Twelve hours. That was as long as a resisting Walker remained before their world sucked them back—unless they were bonded to someone here and returned on their own. Then they could decide how long to stay.

Would Rose dare?

He breathed deeply. The scent of her lingered. Roses, like her name. Dewy, uncut. Unexpected.

Beautiful female. Foolish female. She had no idea of the danger she was in.

She should have died a spy’s death that first night here, for that was what his army had assumed she was. A spy from one of the three kingdoms surrounding his. And as protective as they were of him, spies suffered. But Vasili had been in camp and they’d given the honor of kil ing her to him. One look, though, and he’d known. Not a spy. A Dimension Walker.

Had his men realized the truth, a spy’s death would have felt like foreplay to her. But unlike Vasili, they hadn’t spent most of their life hunting Walkers. Slaughtering them. Most Walkers were male, and that was what his people expected, but every so often, a female came. Rose had been far too timid to be a spy, and he’d recognized that wild, confused look in her eyes. Many a Walker had died by his sword wearing that same expression.

Foolish man. He should have kil ed Rose himself. Anyone else would have.

Walkers were born in her world, but bonded at least one day a year to this one, just as he’d told her. Why, he didn’t know. What he did know: Walkers were the only ones capable of moving between the light—her world—and the dark—his.

Decades ago, his people had welcomed them. Given them food and shelter, protection. They had been taken to the royal palace, questioned by the king himself, for the king had hoped to find a way for his people to travel into the light. But though many Walkers had mated and decided to stay here, they’d never gotten over their fear of the Monstrea, the “monsters,” and decided to destroy them.

Thus began the process of the Walkers finding one another, building their army, planning the perfect way to strike and cut down the royal family. Vasili’s family. As a boy, he’d watched his father, mother, al three of his sisters, and one of his brothers fal to guns and grenades. He and Jasha, his youngest brother, had barely escaped alive.

The Walkers would have gotten away with their crimes, never to be punished, but like Rose, they had to return at least once a year. Though Vasili had been crowned king of the Northern Realm immediately after his father’s death, he’d spent most of his time hunting—and slaying—

Walkers rather than leading his people.

And even though he’d already punished the ones who’d taken his family from him, others stil came. Others he hunted. They’d learned how to hide, and hide wel , but he always found them. Or so he’d thought.

Rose might not have hurt his family, but she was one of them. And if she was to be believed, she had found Walkers he had not. What if they did as before? What if they worked together to destroy him?

Yes, he should have kil ed her. But at that first meeting, he’d thought, I can use her to learn about the ones I cannot find. He could learn how many were out there, where they traveled, when they traveled, their strengths, their weaknesses. Yet at this second meeting, she’d given him nothing. And still he hadn’t hurt her.

And he looked forward to their third meeting, not to learn from her but to see her.

“I’m more than a fool,” he muttered.

He’d had his men prepare this tent in the woods surrounding his palace. On his way here, he’d been ambushed. A fight had broken out—damn King Greer and the Eastern Realm—and he almost hadn’t reached the tent in time. Rose would have appeared wherever he was, out in the open and in front of his men. There would have been no denying her origins then.

She would have been put to death, and his questions wouldn’t have been answered. Questions he’d had no business entertaining. Like, how had time changed her? Like, how would she react to him? Like, what would she say to him?

Like, would those liquid silver eyes of hers sparkle as her temper flared?

Time had indeed changed her, adding more curves to that slender body. She’d lashed out at him, dared him, defied him, and yes, those eyes had sparkled.

His neglected body had reacted. He’d wanted to touch and to taste. Too young, he’d had to remind himself. Over and over again. That hadn’t stopped his mind from screaming, Mine. A hazard of the bonding, he knew, and not of a particular woman’s appeal. Though she was.

Appealing. God, was she appealing. She’d been soft under his hands, her height making her a perfect fit to the hard line of his body.

Would she have welcomed a kiss?

He was thankful he hadn’t found out. Sex with a Walker—he would never live it down.

Should have killed her, he thought again. Instead, he’d tested her strength, her endurance, her combat skil s. He’d even instructed her on how to be better, wondering how her people would react to her origins if they ever found out. Thinking he wouldn’t be there to protect her. Thinking if she ever decided to live here, she had to be prepared for his people.

What was wrong with him? Live here? She couldn’t live here. His people hated her kind. And if Jasha ever found out . . . Vasili sighed. There’d be no living that down, either. Worse, his brother’s disappointment and hurt would slay him.

As if his thoughts had summoned his brother, the tent flap rose, and Jasha strode inside. His right-hand man, Grigori, trailed behind. Both were dressed in the clothes of a warrior. Leather breastplates, pants, and dusters. Boots with daggers in the toes. Both men were dripping wet.

Jasha was a less . . . hardened version of Vasili. Wavy black hair cut haphazardly, violet eyes, tal , muscled. Though his first instinct wasn’t always to kil —as Vasili’s was—he was no less skil ed with a sword. And no less savage when riled. Vasili had made sure of that. He loved his brother more than anyone or anything, and had wanted the boy wel able to care for himself. He’d trained his brother exactly as he’d trained Rose: without mercy.

“There you are,” Jasha said with a grin. He spoke in Drakish, their language, and Vasili made a mental note to do the same. No more of Rose’s English for him. “Are we interrupting something?”

Clearly, he’d been hoping to do so. “Not at al ,” Vasili offered casual y.

His brother’s expression fel . “We heard female grunts and groans. Which means that after a yearlong abstinence, our king has final y shown interest in a woman. Who is she? More important, where is she?”

“Long gone,” he answered truthful y. And was that . . . displeasure in his tone? That she hadn’t stayed?

Wel , he hadn’t wanted her to stay. After he’d so stupidly told her how to return to him at wil

— after going to such lengths to keep her out of the palace and hidden—al he’d wanted was her absence. No question.

His hands fisted. What would he do if she appeared in front of his brother? What would he do if she appeared during a battle? Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought again. He’d known it then, yet stil he’d told her.

And now he wondered if she would visit before her next birthday. If they’d spar and tease and touch . . .

Blood . . . heating . . .

“You should be embarrassed to have finished so quickly.” The picture of a confident male, Grigori crossed his arms over his chest. “Had I been here, she would stil be shouting my name.”

Twelve hours was finishing quickly? What the hel did Grigori do with his women? Like half the beings in this world, Grigori was of the Monstrea. He possessed sharp, poisoned horns along his hairless skul , black-diamond skin, claws, fangs, and glowing red eyes.

The other three kingdoms considered the Monstrea to be nothing more than expendable soldiers. Slaves. Unworthy. Vasili did not and never had. He respected strength and loyalty, and that was what he got with the Monstrea.

“You wear them out, so they never want to come back for more,” Vasili told his favorite warrior.

“Mine always come back.” Not that he welcomed them. When he was done, he was done.

He should take Rose and final y be done with her.

“I just wish I could make one come,” Jasha muttered. His cheeks reddened when he realized what he’d admitted.

Vasili slapped his brother on the shoulder. His easier manner should have brought him favor with the ladies of their kingdom. Not so. Wel , not anymore. Jasha was shy and bumbling around the fairer sex, and always had been.

At first, when he’d reached maturity, they’d wanted him feverishly and had thrown themselves at him. He’d had difficulty speaking to them, had sweated uncontrol ably, and hadn’t looked anywhere but at his feet. They’d teased him, which had only made his shyness worse. Now he avoided them.

“You can have any woman you want. You just have to stop running from them. They only bite if you ask them nicely.”

Grigori laughed.

“What’s her name?” Jasha asked, refusing to be baited. “The one you were with today?”

He saw no harm in answering. “Rose.”

“Rose?” His brother choked on a gurgling laugh of his own. “Rose?”

“What? It’s a fine name,” he growled, unsure why currents of fury blew through him. Rose was the enemy. Anyone could make fun of her. Especial y his brother.

“Yes, but Rose? Like the tattoo you had inked into your arm last year?”

His jaw clenched so painful y he feared the bone would snap. “No. Not like that,” he managed, the words so raw they sounded as if they’d been pushed through a meat grinder. “Not like that at al .”

He didn’t know why he’d gotten the tattoo. He hadn’t wanted to analyze the desire then, and he didn’t want to analyze the desire now. He knew only that when he looked at the night rose, he wanted to smile.

“You’ve known her al this time?” Grigori tsked, just as Vasili liked to do to Rose. Surely he wasn’t that irritating. “And yet you never breathed a word about her.”

“He must have feared one of us would steal her away,” Jasha said with a mystery-solved nod.

Before Vasili could form a reply, not that he knew what to say, they turned to each other, cutting him from the conversation.

“No wonder he raced from the warm, dry palace to get here. He missed his woman,” Grigori said, then cooed mockingly. “The poor baby.”

Jasha stroked his stubbled chin with two fingers. “She must be hideous if he feels he must hide her away like this. Or perhaps she’s too precious for our poor baby to share.”

Vasili felt privileged. No one else ever saw them like this, relaxed and teasing. To the rest of the world, Grigori was a snarling beast, too savage to handle, and Jasha was quiet and withdrawn.

They saved their charm for him, as if he were special to them, and he was glad. They were the most important part of his life. Therefore, he didn’t mind their teasing. Much.

“So, what are you doing here?” he asked, inserting himself back into their chatter.

They chortled.

“We must find him someone new,” Grigori continued to Jasha. “This one obviously didn’t work him from his yearlong temper.”

More stroking of that chin. “We’ve tried, placing female after female in front of him. He sends them away in tears.”

“I asked you a question,” he said on a sigh.

And stil they continued.

“Perhaps we should ask around,” Jasha said. “Find out what others know about this Rose.

Where she lives, why she leaves her man in a bad mood.”

Grigori massaged the back of his neck. “And we should instruct her on the proper way to treat a king. I do my best instructing naked.”

Oh, no, no, no. He couldn’t have them asking others about her. And he couldn’t even contemplate Rose and Grigori in bed. Not without foaming at the mouth. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

Final y. They focused on him. To his irritation, both flashed him unrepentant grins.

“We heard of the ambush,” his brother said, slapping him on the back now. “We came to offer you our aid.”

“As if I can’t handle a few enemy soldiers on my own.” Greer, the king of the neighboring realm, wanted possession of Vasili’s, and constantly struck at random times, in random ways, before scattering with the wind. “I sent the men back to their leader. Minus their heads.”

“Perhaps that’s why he failed to satisfy his Rose,” Grigori said to Jasha. “She was too frightened of him to enjoy him.”

“Surely not. That would mean she rejected him, and my brother wil be the first to tel you how irresistible he is.”

Enough. “Let’s return to the palace. I’m in need of dinner and a bath.” And a woman, damn his always aching body, but he couldn’t have one of those. Unless Rose returned.

Too young, damn it! She’d lived nineteen years. He’d lived thirty-three. Until twelve months ago, she’d been his fearful little mouse. He’d been a lion his entire life.

Part of him wished he could have fol owed her to her world, though, where he could have her without (much) worry. No one to disturb them, no one to threaten her, no painful past to remember.

He hated that part of himself. This was his home. He wouldn’t leave for any reason.

“Look at you. So serious al of a sudden,” Jasha said. “You’re right, Vash. It’s time to return to the palace and feed you. I want my impious, pain-in-the-ass brother back.”

He snorted, but al owed the men to lead him outside, puddles splashing at his feet. As the rain continued to pour from the darkened sky, he mounted his horse. Many Monstrea and human guards waited nearby, acting as his protection as he’d ordered, ensuring that no one entered—or left—his tent without his permission. Except for Jasha and Grigori. They always did what they wanted.

“Leave the tent,” he told them, “and go home.” No reason to have them out in the rain. Not that the rain ever stopped this time of year. And the command had nothing to do with maintaining a hideaway for Rose in case she visited without warning. Of course.

Everything taken care of, he spurred his animal into motion. He almost hoped someone else ambushed him tonight. He itched for another fight. Something, anything to release some of the tension coiled inside him.

Yet, deep down he suspected only one thing would release that tension—and he might not see her for another year.