Chapter Ten

“Vasili.”

He must be imagining things, Vasili thought. There was Rose’s sweet voice. But he was drunk, as he had been for the past three days, sitting in his room, alone, al lights extinguished, rain pattering outside. After a panicked, frantic search for Rose, Grigori had admitted what had transpired.

If he heard “for the best” one more time, he was going to stab someone. Namely Grigori. The bastard was lucky to be alive. To have sent Rose away like that . . . He would kil him, Vasili decided.

“Vasili, darling.”

There was her voice again. He closed his eyes, savoring. She wasn’t due to arrive until later tonight, just four hours away. He was going to punish her for leaving him—the chase-and-retreat game no longer amused him. He wanted her always. Then he was going to make love to her, beg her to stay, tel his people to fuck themselves, and if she stil refused to stay with him, he would try to cross into her world. To do so, he’d have to hold on to Rose until they both left his world. If he died, so what? He couldn’t live without her. Not anymore.

“Are you listening to me? No? Let me help you.” An open palm slapped his cheek, leaving a heated sting.

He blinked. A hal ucination wouldn’t have been able to hit him, would it? “Rose?”

A sigh. “Who else?”

He hopped to his feet, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. There she was, right in front of him. His arms banded around her—solid, warm, real—and he jerked her into his chest, al thoughts of punishment fleeing. “I thought I’d lost you. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

She hugged him back. “I want to be with you,” she said, shocking him. “Forever.”

“Thank you. Thank you. You won’t regret—”

“But the hate has to stop.”

“Anything.” He would deny her nothing. Not anymore.

“There can be no more kil ing Walkers just because of what they are.”

“Done.” He wouldn’t argue. He would outlaw the practice immediately, and his people could protest al they wanted. They could rebel, kick him off the throne. Whatever. As long as he had Rose, nothing else mattered. Hopeful y, his people would learn, as he had, that these Walkers were not the vicious race from the past. How could they be, when Rose was among them?

She cupped his cheeks. “I love you.”

“And I love you. So much.”

Slowly her lips lifted in a beautiful grin. “Cal a meeting with your people. As many as you can fit inside the palace. And no weapons. They aren’t to bring weapons. And they aren’t to attack, no matter what they see or hear.”

“What are you—”

“Please, Vasili. No questions. I need you to do this quickly. One hour. Please.”

“It wil be done.”

With that, she disappeared.

Vasili had his army gather his citizens and “gently” usher them inside the palace bal room. Yes, threats of force abounded, but final y the task was done. Jasha and Grigori were beside him, the princesses seated on the dais but against the wal . They weren’t sad that their father was dead and, in fact, seemed lighthearted.

and, in fact, seemed lighthearted.

Jasha had decided to wed the redhead, to which Grigori had only this morning said, “Not that one.” Which meant the Monstrea wanted her for himself. Jasha had shrugged—almost with relief, as if he hadn’t wanted to pick her but, because she was the plainest, thought she would have been the easiest to deal with—and next decided on the blonde, who watched him now with awe in her eyes. Jasha continual y cast her stealthy glances.

It would be a good match, Vasili thought, making Jasha king of the East. He’d take care of that just as soon as he finished with this.

The crowd grew restless, their curiosity intensifying, and his army had to form a blockade around them. Vasili had only one order for his soldiers: Kil anyone who threatened Rose.

When would she appear? What did she plan? He would support her, whatever she did. He should have talked to her, told her, but he’d feared losing her.

She suddenly materialized in front of him, pale hair cascading down her back, silver eyes bright.

She wore jeans and a T-shirt, every inch the Walker. Their gazes met briefly, his heart slamming against his ribs, before she turned and faced his people. They gasped in astonishment, in disgust.

In hatred. Murmurs of, “Murderer,” arose.

Vasili leaped to his feet, a brutal scowl contorting his features.

“Yes,” Rose said, splaying her arms. “I’m a Walker.”

“She’s also my wife,” he shouted, daring them to comment.

She tossed him a quick smile over her shoulder. “There are others like me. They come here on their birthdays, and you chase them. Hurt them. Kil them. They fear you, which makes them want to hurt you in return. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

Silence. Perhaps because he scowled at them murderously.

“Yes, Walkers hurt you in the past.” She cast Vasili another glance, this one sad and apologetic.

“But to condemn them al for what others did . . . I’m sure you wouldn’t welcome being condemned for the sins of your fathers.”

More murmurs. Fortunately, these weren’t quite so rancorous.

“I went online and told them who I was, where I was, and what I could do. I told them I could stop their visits to Nightmare. That’s what they cal this place, you know. They fear the people here. But it doesn’t have to be that way,” she repeated. “Not for you, and not for them. And so, they came to me. I want you to meet them. See them. Welcome them. I promise you, be nice to them and they wil be nice to you.”

With that, she disappeared.

Now there were gasps.

Meet them? How was she going to—

She reappeared, holding the hand of a young man with pale hair. That man gaped when he saw the crowd of people and tried to back away.

“You didn’t say you were bringing me here,” he growled.

Vasili hopped from the dais.

“Nick. Just stay here. Nothing bad wil happen to you,” she said. “Vasili,” she then cal ed. “He’s not armed. Protect him.” She disappeared again.

Vasili went to Nick’s side. “Don’t hold her hand again,” he said, patting the man on the shoulder and nearly dril ing him into the floor. He’d never thought to find himself the protector of a Walker—

Rose excluded—but he did so now without reservation. Just because his woman had asked him.

Dark eyes swung to him. The man remained in place, though he trembled.

Rose reappeared with someone else, introduced him, then left again. Over and over she repeated the experience, until there were sixteen Walkers. They were scared, but didn’t move from their spots. Perhaps because they were surrounded.

“How did you get them here when it isn’t their birthdays?” he asked her when she settled beside him.

“I think because I’m bound to you, I can move between the two worlds at wil . And I figured I could move other Walkers with me whether it was their birthday or not. I was right.”

Smart girl.

“Now let’s make nice between your people and mine so we can be together. Unless . . . I understand if you can’t,” she said, unsure. “If it’s too painful. Your family was taken. Al I ask is that you let me return these men without harming them. I just thought this would be—”

Vasili planted a kiss on her lips for al to see. “You are my family now, and I wil do whatever is necessary to protect you. Even this.”

Grigori stepped from the army ranks and joined them, placing his hand on Rose’s shoulder in a show of support. “You have my protection, as wel .” His voice was gruff, but he was not a man to make false promises. He always meant what he said. “I have never seen my king so happy—or so upset when he thought he couldn’t have you. I wil do whatever is necessary to give him the life he deserves.”

Tears fil ed her eyes. “Thank you.”

“You have my support, as wel .” Jasha closed in their little circle and placed his hand on Rose’s other shoulder. “Like Grigori, I want my brother happy. Always. No matter what that entails.”

God, I love my family. They might not agree with him, but they would support him. Even in this.

“Thank you,” Rose said again, chin wobbling. “I won’t let you down. I swear.”

Vasili’s people watched, listened, and issued no more protests. That was a start.

And so, with Jasha and Grigori at his sides, he introduced himself to the Walkers and offered a vow to protect them. Most flinched under Grigori’s stern gaze, but they seemed to lose a sliver of their fear.

“You don’t have to run from us anymore,” he said. “Our goal is no longer to harm you. You are my wife’s people, which means you are also mine.” He reached back. “I protect what’s mine.”

Rose knew what he wanted, and once again settled in at his side. She twined their fingers and gave a comforting squeeze. “Let’s learn from one another,” she said, the tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. “Let’s embrace peace.”

She waited until each Walker nodded before at last taking them home. Vasili rushed to his bedroom, and when she next appeared, he jerked her into his arms. “You’ve given me so much, I’l never be able to repay you,” he told her.

“I can think of a few ways you can try.”

“It’s like my birthday today.”

She chuckled, the sound of her amusement warming him. “Then happy birthday, love.”

He grinned down at her. “Are you my present?”

“Wel , my heart is yours. Now, forever.”

“Good, because that’s exactly what I wanted.”

THE COLLECTOR

SHANNON K. BUTCHER

For Julie Fedynich, the best cheerleader an author could ever have Chapter One

St. Louis, Missouri, December 12

The woman had something Neal Etan wanted and he wasn’t leaving until he got it.

He hurried up the cement steps leading to her front door, his booted feet leaving behind tread marks in the dusting of snow that had just begun to accumulate. With any luck at al , he’d convince Viviana Rowan to give him the gadget Gilda said might cure his friend’s paralysis, and be back on the road home to Dabyr before dark.

Synestryn demons got more hours of playtime during the long winter nights, and Neal needed to be done with his errand and back out there fighting, ready to stop them before some unsuspecting human became a meal. Not to mention the fact that he real y needed the physical outlet to help control his pain—an outlet only a good dose of hack-’n’-slash fighting or hot-’n’-sweaty sex provided.

He wasn’t going to get either in the house of some stuffy old antiques col ector, so he needed to get in, get the gadget, and get out. Fast.

The pain was grueling today, grinding against his bones until even his hair ached. The two hours of meditation he’d done earlier had barely eased the pressure of the power growing inside him.

He told himself it was because he’d just lost another leaf from his lifemark—the living image of a tree that covered his chest—but he knew it was more than that.

His time was running out. The leaves were fal ing faster now, thanks to a jolt of power a stun-gun hit had given him last summer. He’d absorbed a year’s worth of energy in one instant, and he stil had the nightmares and cold sweats to prove it.

With only twelve leaves left, he knew the remainder of his life could now be measured in months.

Maybe even weeks. And that was assuming that one of the Synestryn demons he fought didn’t get a lucky shot in.

Not that he was complaining. He’d been around nearly four hundred years now. It was a good run. He’d slain a lot of evil in his lifetime. He’d served his purpose and done his job. And when it came time to take his own life so he wouldn’t become like the evil he was sworn to fight, he’d do that, too. No complaints, no regrets. He was a warrior destined to die for his cause, and no amount of wishing for things he couldn’t have was going to change that.

Just because other men like him had found the women who could save them didn’t mean Neal had gone al soft in the head, thinking he would, too. He knew better than to let false hope sway him to hang on longer than was safe. This time next year, he’d be dead. No sense in getting al sappy about it.

Neal’s knuckles rapped on the frigid door, and a moment later, he could hear aging floorboards creak on the other side of the wood. It slid open two scant inches, revealing one long-lashed, hazel eye.

“Yes?” said the woman, her voice low and soft.

“I’m Neal Etan. I have an appointment with Ms. Rowan.”

“Is it four thirty already?” She sounded bewildered.

“It is.”

She swung the door open and stepped back for him to enter. “I’m sorry. I was studying a new artifact and must have lost track of time. Please come in.”

Neal stared at her in a long moment of surprise.

She was tal er than he expected—only a couple of inches shy of six feet—and much, much younger. He’d had an image of some dried-up, bent old woman, someone who fit in with al the younger. He’d had an image of some dried-up, bent old woman, someone who fit in with al the ancient items she was reputed to have col ected—one of which Neal wasn’t leaving without.

Instead, he guessed her to be in her late twenties, though her prim business suit and spinsterish bun gave her a more mature air. She was pretty in an untouchable kind of way—the kind of woman a rough man like Neal avoided when possible. He’d either shock her or hurt her or both if he was around long enough.

He hoped he could conclude their business and be on his way before that became an issue.

Neal stepped over the threshold as she extended her hand in greeting. “I’m Viviana Rowan.”

He didn’t want to touch her. Her long, elegant fingers seemed too fragile for his sword-cal oused hand. But even more than that, he didn’t want to offend her—not when they hadn’t even begun to negotiate.

With an inward sigh of resignation, Neal took her offered hand, thinking of blown-glass sculptures and hol ow eggs so he’d keep his grip light.

He’d intended to make the contact as brief as possible, but the second his skin touched hers, his world fel silent. Decades of pain evaporated like snowflakes over a fire. A buoyant, weightless bubble swel ed inside him, driving away the pressure of the massive power he stored but could not use. The hair along his limbs lifted from his body, and a fine shiver eased down his spine, warming him as it passed. Even his shock at the reaction couldn’t seem to penetrate the overwhelming sense of peace that settled over him. He was content to stay here in this quiet, warm peacefulness for the rest of his life.

And then he felt her fingers slide from his grip and reality came crashing down on him once again. Pain thrashed inside him, as if angry that he’d had even that brief respite. It lunged against his bones, pummeling his organs as it punished him.

Neal gritted his teeth against the scream that was crawling up his throat and locked his knees so he wouldn’t col apse in a heap at the woman’s feet. A cold sweat beaded up along his hairline, and his stomach gave a hard, sickening twist.

“. . . you okay?” Her soft voice lapped against his nerves, quieting their rioting dance. “I’l cal for an ambulance.”

“No,” croaked Neal. “I’m fine.” He was anything but fine, but the last thing he needed was to be dragged away from here and have human doctors poking at him. Not only would they be freaked-out by his lifemark, but he’d have a hel of a hard time explaining why there was an invisible sword strapped around his hips. “Can I have some water?” he asked, just to get her to leave him alone for a minute. He needed to col ect his wits, and he real y didn’t want this woman to see him weak like this.

She shut the front door behind him and hurried off, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

Neal sagged against the wal and blinked to clear the black spots from his vision. He was shaking like one of those scared little purse dogs, and about as tough as one right now, too.

Sunset was in just over an hour, and he had that long to get his shit together and fix it before the nasties came out to play.

One thing was certain: There was not a force on earth that was going to pul him away from Ms.

Viviana Rowan’s side until he figured out what she’d done to him.

And how he could make her do it again.

Viviana fil ed a glass with water and guzzled it down before she remembered she was supposed to get him the water. Her heart was racing, and her hand was trembling so hard it kept slipping from the faucet handle.

When he touched her, something happened. And she wasn’t entirely sure she liked it. She’d felt like someone had sent an electric current through her skin, making it tingle and buzz from the inside out. A swath of heat swept over her, emanating from his wide, rough palm. His touch had been gentle, but that had somehow al owed her to feel each ridge of his cal uses, every minute detail down to the whorls in his fingerprints.

That simply wasn’t right. It had to have been some kind of hal ucination. Maybe his skin had been drugged with a contact poison.

Even as the thought entered her mind, she dismissed it. Deep down she knew what this was.

She’d felt it before, albeit never so intensely. That buzzing, resonant humming that fil ed her wasn’t new to her. She’d felt it every time she touched one of the precious artifacts she col ected.

The only problem was, Neal Etan was not some centuries-old artifact. He was a living, breathing, incredibly warm man. One who was waiting in her foyer.

What was she going to do with him? He couldn’t stay. He was here to buy one of her artifacts, and although she hadn’t before suspected he’d want one from her special col ection, she now realized that had to be the case.

She wouldn’t let him have one of those. They were hers—the only things that made her feel connected to this world. Without them, she would be doomed to live with that meaningless, disconnected feeling she’d suffered through most of her life. She couldn’t let that happen.

Not that she could keep him from taking something he wanted. He was far too big and powerful to stop. She was going to have to outsmart him and get him to leave as soon as possible. She could not let her entire life’s work be torn apart. Especial y not so soon after losing Mother.

This was going to be her first Christmas alone with only her col ection to keep her company.

Viviana covered her mouth with the back of her hand to stifle a whimper, and swore she could smel his masculine scent lingering on her skin. It soothed her nerves, which only frightened her more. She’d never had a reaction like this to a man before, and she hoped it was only temporary.

She scrubbed her hands in the sink to rid them of his scent, and then hurried out with his glass of water. The sooner she got him to leave, the better.

She rounded the corner and nearly ran right into his broad chest. He grabbed her arms to steady her, and she was thankful the layers of fabric between them muted the effect of his touch.

Only a trickle of that tingling energy reached her skin, but it was enough to heighten the trembling of her hands, causing water to slosh over the side of the glass onto his boot.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as she tried to step back out of his grasp.

He let her go, but his dark blue eyes slid over her face, lingering at her mouth.

He was handsome in a deeply masculine way. His features were big and bold and starkly angular. The wide ridge of his jaw was sharp, shadowed with new beard growth. His neck was thick, as were his thighs and arms beneath the snug leather jacket. There was nothing soft or gentle about this man, making him completely unlike the men she chose to date. Though, why she’d make such a comparison was anyone’s guess. He wasn’t here to ask her out. He was here to take something precious from her.

She thrust the glass at him, hoping it would distract him and that steady gaze. Instead, his fingers grazed the back of her hand as he took the water.

Instantly, another jolt of power shot through her, ricocheting inside her heart until she was panting for air.

“Who are you?” he asked, his deep voice tinted with suspicion.

She tried to sound unaffected, but her words came out breathy and panicked. “I know I promised you a meeting, but I forgot about an incredibly important appointment. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel.”

“Like hel .”

“Excuse me?”

“You made me a promise, and where I come from, that means something.” He started to set the glass down on a seventeenth-century writing desk, and Viviana lunged to stop him before the damp glass could make contact.

Her hands closed over his and that resonant energy flooded her system, weakening her knees and making her eyes flutter shut. A deep groan of satisfaction rose between them, and she couldn’t tel if she’d made the noise, or he had. Not that she cared. Whatever he was doing to her

—whatever poison or magic the man possessed—she was starting to like it.

That thought jolted her, forcing her to remove her hands from his. She’d sacrifice the writing desk to a water mark if it meant he’d leave before setting his eyes on any of her treasured artifacts.

As she broke contact, he sucked in a pained breath and doubled over. The glass slipped from his hand, shattering against the floor.

“Sorry,” he grated out.

She didn’t care about the glass. She only wished she could say the same for the man. But she did care. She hated seeing any living thing in pain, and that included big, strapping men who were here to ruin the calm of her peaceful existence.

“Sit down before you fal down,” she ordered as she guided him to a chair in her living room.

She was careful not to touch his bare skin, choosing instead to use the sleeve of his jacket to tug him in the right direction. He landed on her settee with a thud, making the delicate wood creak in protest of his weight.

One of his thick arms was wrapped around his middle. His head hung down, propped against his hand as if it weighed too much to support. On that hand he wore a ring that pulsed and swirled in a mesmerizing combination of colors that reminded her of aged parchment and ancient wood.

Viviana stared, wondering where he’d found such an interesting item. It was definitely old. She could feel the vibration of years emanating from it, along with something else—something faint and elusive.

She reached out to touch the tip of her finger to it, but Mr. Etan saw the movement and leaned smoothly away, out of her reach. “How about we both keep our hands to ourselves for a while so we can talk about the gadget, okay? I’m not sure how much more of a beating I can take right now.”

She wasn’t sure which part of that confused her more—the part about a gadget or the part about him hurting. Fortunately, she had manners to fal back on in such an occasion and gave him a prim nod. “Certainly. I’m not usual y so forward. But as I said, I have an appointment, so we’l need to reschedule.”

He gave her a disbelieving look. “Listen, lady, I’ve driven for hours to get here. I made a promise to bring this gadget home and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Gadget?”

He reached into his back pocket and pul ed out a folded piece of paper, which he smoothed flat against his thigh before he handed it to her.

Viviana took the paper, being careful not to make any further contact with his skin. She sat down across from him, putting some much-needed distance between them.

On the page was a printed image from her Web site of one of the artifacts from her special col ection. It was a carved wooden box, and inside, snuggled into perfectly shaped recesses, were two engraved metal disks. The markings on both the box and the disks were elaborate and painstaking in their detail, covered with trees, leaves, and vines. She’d found this item in the attic of a three-hundred-year-old home that she’d bought with the plans to restore it. And while she had no idea as to the artifact’s purpose, it belonged in her col ection, and she wasn’t going to part with it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, giving him back the paper. “It’s not for sale.”

“So you do have it?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

The demand in his tone made her spine straighten in indignation. “Even if it was here, which it isn’t, I wouldn’t show it to you. Not if you’re going to be rude and demanding.”

The man rose to his feet, looming over her. At five-ten, she wasn’t used to it, so she stood, trying to put them on a more even footing. Even with her in heels, he was stil a few inches tal er. The hard set of his jaw and the way his nostrils flared made him even more imposing.

“Rude? I’m sorry if I insulted your delicate feelings, but I don’t have time to be al nicey-nice right now. A friend of mine is dying and that gadget may be the only thing that can save him.”

Viviana scoffed. “Nice try, but I’m not an idiot. Those disks don’t hold medicine, and if they did, I’m sure it would be al dried up by now.”

He frowned at her. “You have no idea what you’ve got or how important it is. I’l pay you whatever you want, but I need that device now. Tonight.”

“Impossible. It’s not here and it’s not for sale.”

“Fine. I’l rent it, then. I’l pay you whatever you ask to use it, just for a few days.”

“Use it? They’re paperweights. Beautiful, certainly, but nothing more.” Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. There was something special about the artifacts she col ected. She could feel it.

Perhaps Mr. Etan knew the answer to that mystery. The question was, did she dare spend enough time with him to find out?

“Just tel me where the gadget is. Please.” That last bit sounded like it cost him more than a little effort. Clearly, he wasn’t used to asking for things.

Poor baby. He was just going to have to suffer.

“No,” she said. “It’s time for you to go.”

“I’m not leaving here without it.”

“Yes, you are.” She pul ed her cel phone from her pocket and waved it in front of him. “If you prefer to do so with a police escort, I’m happy to provide one.”

His mouth tightened and his eye twitched. He crossed his arms over his wide chest, making his jacket creak as his biceps bulged against the leather.

His size contrasted with the gentleness of his touch earlier. She was used to soft, intel ectual men with smooth hands and wool suits, not brutes in leather. And although he’d been nothing but careful with her, Mr. Etan was definitely a brute. A man didn’t get to be as big and muscular and . .

. imposing as he was without also adopting that barbaric kind of demeanor.

He was a man misplaced in time. Centuries ago, he would have been a prize, but now, in modern civilized society, he had no place. There was no purpose for al those muscles other than vanity. And attracting women.

Viviana would just bet he was used to having women hang al over him, cooing and fawning and simpering like idiots. She could hardly stand the mental image.

He stared into her eyes for a long moment—long enough that Viviana began to heat under his gaze. She knew better than to be drawn to a man like him, but apparently her body did not.

Apparently, there was some vestigial part of her that had woken up and taken notice of him and his outdated muscles.

She told that part of her it could just go right back to sleep as soon as he left her home.

“We’re not done, you and I,” he said, making it sound like a promise. “Wherever you go, I’l be there. Cal al the cops you like. It won’t change a thing. I’m getting that gadget for my friend and that’s final. As soon as you get sick of having me breathe down your neck, I’m sure you’l see things my way.”

The idea of his breathing on any part of her was more than a bit intriguing, which only served to anger her further. “Good night, Mr. Etan.”

“Cal me Neal,” he said as he turned to leave. “I have the feeling the two of us are going to be spending a lot of time together.”