Chapter 22

The thick, dark potion Misha gave him smelled like his own blood mixed with grass clippings and fireplace ash. His nose wrinkled. "All of it?"

"All of it," Misha said.

Kova stared at the liquid. This was it, what he told himself he'd wanted for more than a hundred years. But now that reality stared him in the face, he was terrified. And stranger still, he was more afraid that it would work than that it wouldn't.

He knew he owed this to them. He owed it to her.

He tipped the vial up, but when the first drop hit his tongue, the markings on his wrists flared to life, and his muscles seized. "I can't?—"

No other magic, Armina's voice echoed in his mind. Naughty boy.

His fingers stiffened, letting the vial slip."She doesn't want me to," he protested as Misha caught the vial. The other Russian man looked up and nodded, and before Kova could react, Julian had his arms pinned tight as Misha forced the potion between his lips. Kova snarled, bit through the glass, and spat blood as Misha shook his head.

"Sasha, dvaite," Misha said. An iron vise closed on Kova's jaw and pried it open, and he gagged as Misha dumped the foul-smelling potion down his throat. Armina's markings seared like brands against his skin, and he held back a scream as the pain overwhelmed him. Her voice screamed in his head and every cell in his body protested that he was being bad; he had to stop what he was doing before he died. His body convulsed as he tried to spit, but someone held his jaws closed.

As he tried to break their hold, heinvoluntarily swallowed. The potion burned like acid going down his throat, and he writhed as if he could shake it out of his system.

Sasha released him, and Kova snarled, "Let me go!"

"It's hurting him," Scarlett protested. Even her voice grated, reminding him that he was not doing what he was supposed to do.

"It's her magic," Misha said calmly. "She doesn't want anything interfering with her hold on him. He'll be fine."

Even knowing they meant to help him, Armina's will was ripping through him like an inferno. He swore in Russian, prompting a wry grin from Misha.

"My mother was a lovely woman," he said. "You'll be fine, Kova. But you can keep cursing at me if it makes you feel any better."

Kova growled, twisting away when Sasha squeezed his shoulder. "He knows what he's doing," Sasha said.

"You break a lot of Night Weaver spells on vampires, bratishka?" Kova bit out. But soon, the angry shrieking in his head faded, as if Armina was receding into the distance. Relief fell over him.

The potionsat heavy and cold in his gut, radiating ice into his veins. It reminded him of shitty homebrewed liquor, giving him the feeling of being mildly intoxicated and always on the verge of throwing up. But the searing pain receded, leaving a dull throbbing in his arms, across his chest, and in the base of his skull. Soon even that faded, leaving him with the familiar numbness that had been his existence since the curse first took hold.

He did not dare voice his thoughts for fear of upsetting the witches who'd worked so hard to help him, but there was a not-insignificant part of Dmitri Kovalev that hoped the spell would fail and just send him into oblivion. Then he would never have to face Lucia and acknowledge his many sins, his devastating failures. They could remember his noble, if futile, attempt to redeem himself in the end. Who could stay angry at such a self-sacrificing noble martyr of a man?

"Over here," Shoshanna said, patting a bare spot on the floor. Large red stones were placed around it, and he caught the vague hint of vampire blood. That had to be Misha's work.

"Is it safe?" Sasha asked, eyeing Kova warily.

"Misha's got my back," Shoshanna said.

"That was a yes-or-no question," Sasha said.

Shoshanna just shrugged, setting out a dried blue flower in a carefully sketched circle. At least her magic was far more pleasant than Armina's. He liked the flowers-and-crystals witchcraft much better than the blood-and-death style.

Misha Volkov had a wickedly sharp knife in one hand, its point already tinged with blood. Runes glowed along the edge, and there was a palpable crackle in the air.

"Backup plan?" Kova quipped weakly as he knelt in the circle.

Misha smiled faintly. "When she begins, I'm going to use this to take over your will."

"That seems personal," Kova said. "But it won't be the first time."

"All I'm going to do is make sure you don't interfere. It'll hurt less if you don't fight it," Misha said.

"Might not be my choice," Kova said.

"I'm aware. I won't hold it against you if you agree to the same," Misha said.

"Come on, boys," Shoshanna said.

Kova knelt in front of her, daring to meet her eyes. "Thank you for this. Even after everything. I was?—"

She surprised him with a finger on his lips. "Thank me after. And if you still want to grovel, Alistair has a curated list of my favorite local restaurants. I take apologies in the form of dessert," she said with a faint smile. With that beautiful smile and the fiery attitude, he could see exactly why Alistair was so entranced by the witch.

"Consider it done," he said, closing his eyes.

Shoshanna spoke in French, and even if he'd spoken the language, he'd never have understood her. Her voice was impossibly loud and resonant, layering over itself as if a thousand people joined in a chorus. His body jolted, and he could smell Armina, not just hear her, but smell that perfume and the decay-scent of her magic.

Stop her,that cold voice said. Do not let her hurt my work! A cold hand squeezed his throat, and he could have sworn he felt the sharp bite of one of her rings on his skin.

But as soon as he reached out to grab Shoshanna, a sharp pain split through his spine, and he went limp. His muscles simply wouldn't respond. He couldn't even twitch a finger.

His mind felt smaller now, as if he could only observe through a keyhole, and Armina's voice was barely a whisper beneath Shoshanna's sonorous chanting. When he tried to move, there was a man's deep voice saying Steady. Don't move.

The voices rose to a screaming crescendo. Pain enveloped him, and he felt as if he was falling into an inferno. In the flames, he saw Lucia; the way he'd held her hand and promised to never miss a dance with her, to always watch over her. He'd promised not to let her die, swore up and down that he would find the answer to whatever mysterious illness was plaguing her. He'd believed it to the end, when Dominic came running, frantic, to tell him that she was bedridden and struggling to breathe.

And then thosefinal awful moments, the last of her pale skin going hard and gray. His hands, bloody and broken from pounding at the ground, his skin seared by the sun. Her eyes, forever frozen in terror and accusation as she reached for him, her last words ringing forever in his mind:

Kova, are you there? It's getting so dark.

There were the people he'd killed for Armina Voss: a young witch who stole from her eighty years ago, relatives and family members to fuel her spells, the vampires who'd tried to encroach on her territory.

His brothers didn't know, but he'd jumped Julian and Paris both; Julian when he'd tracked down the witch, and Paris when he tried to kill Scarlett. He saw Julian lying in a heap in a dark alley and felt the blood on his hands, knowing he was about to suffer far worse.

There was poor Scarlett, who'd looked up to him like a big brother, and he'd told her lie after lie because the truth was trapped inside him. He'd watched her die multiple times, had brought her body back to Armina for her foul purposes, knowing it would happen all over again.

And just once, he'd tried to kill her while she slept, years before the curse was ready to take her again. A swift death at his hands was kinder than what Armina planned. But when he stood over her with that knife, the bindings had turned on him. He had lost a year to Armina's punishment that time, starved and sealed away in that bloody basement.

And there was his Lucia again, holding his bloody hands. Her blue eyes found his, and she shook her head. Don't touch me. Not with these.

Searing pain sliced through him, and he was dimly aware of firm hands on his arms and chest, holding him down as he struggled. Through the flames, through the accusations, Misha's voice boomed in his head.

Steady. Be still.

There she was again, but instead of smiling so sweetly at him, Lucia shrieked at him. Monster. Murderer! You left me!

And when he tried to take her hand, his bloody hands left stains on her skin. Rot spread from the handprint, eating away her flesh until she turned to cold hard stone again.

She crumbled to dust, and then his sweet Lucia blew away in an icy wind that stank of death.

He screamed.

Someone whispered, "Hit him."

Cold speared through him and cast him in darkness. Now there were only flashes, blurry images that confused him. Murky silhouettes bobbed out of a tumultuous sea of gray, barely discernible before disappearing once more.

Splintering pain.

Bright light.

Consuming flame.

And then, fireworks, from the tips of his fingers to the base of his spine to every inch of skin. The world crushed him into an impossibly tiny speck before letting him explode into awareness, too big and loud and bright and hot and cold all at once.

"Shh, bratishka," a familiar voice said.

The world was a thousand molten hot needles, stabbing every inch of his skin, down his throat, inside his belly. Something crushed his ribs, and even the press of blood in his veins was agonizing.

Kova's eyes snapped open, and he stared out at a gauzy canopy, then looked up to see Sasha holding him. The sensation was too much. The sheet against his skin, the air moving, the smells?—

"Let go," he choked out. He scrambled away, tearing off his shirt and throwing himself to the floor. The impact rattled through his bones, and he let out a clipped cry as the pain swept through him.

"What's wrong?" Sasha asked.

"Everything hurts," he bit out. "I haven't—" Behind clenched teeth, he let out a groan. The carpet beneath his fingers was sandpaper-rough, and he was shocked to see that it hadn't shredded his skin. Cool air blew across his skin, yanking each fine hair against its root in a painful sting.

If he remained perfectly still, it was bearable. How could he survive this madness?

As he slowly regained his composure, he realized that this was likely not the witch's magic gone wrong; it was his entire nervous system waking up after more than a hundred years of feeling nothing at all. "I feel everything now," he said. Even the movement of his jaw hurt. Was he so old that his joints were scraping now?

"Your curse," Sasha murmured. Instead of fleeing, Sasha knelt on the floor next to him. The vibration sent a painful jolt through Kova, though it faded quickly. Sasha gently stroked his hand. "Does this hurt?"

The sensation overwhelmed Kova's flayed nervous system and he shuddered. When the initial shock of it faded, the confusing signals in his brain seemed to reorient, recognizing that fingers on skin was neutral, perhaps even slightly pleasant.

"This is pathetic," he bit out, hiding his face.

"No more pathetic than when I grew fangs and bitched about how my mouth hurt for days," Sasha reminded him.

He laughed, then jolted at the unfamiliar sensation. Unlike Dominic, who felt constant pain, Kova's curse had sapped every sensation. No physical pleasure, no pain. Even when he'd made love to Lucia, he hadn't felt it, had simply devoted himself to her in hopes that he would overcome the affliction.

Upon making his deal with the witch, her bindings had inflicted pain, but that was the only sensation he'd felt in decades. Sometimes he defied her just to feel something.

Slowly, he sat up, examining his hands. The markings remained, but they were no longer bright bloody red; they were deep black. And strangely, the markings on his left hand were altered; it was as if someone had sliced from his ring finger down to his wrist, cutting a clean white slash through the marks. The skin was unmarred, but when he touched it, it felt warm, and he smelled Shoshanna on the air.

He looked down to find the markings on his chest black, too, but there was a blistered pink patch of scar tissue over his heart. He looked up at Sasha. "She did it?"

"She did it," Sasha echoed. "We told you that she was clever."

Kova burst into tears. Being freed from Armina's grasp had been a fleeting dream for so many years. He was sure that he would die, and it would be a mercy, as he would never have to face himself again.

But now here he was, with his brothers, and all the weight of his mistakes upon him. And now he had the chance to make things right…and the chance to fail. He might see his Lucia only to have her turn away from him in horror.

Sasha caught him as he slumped and held him tight. The sensation was too much, but being alone was even worse. "It's all right, bratishka," Sasha said quietly, holding his head to his shoulder, fingers stroking his hair like he was a little boy. "It's all right."

"I don't know where to begin," Kova rasped.

"No need to begin yet," Sasha said. "Would youlike somethingto eat? We all feel better when we are well-fed, yes?"

He nodded. "Thank you."

Sasha nodded, kissed his brow, then scurried out of the room. Kova laid flat on his back, keenly aware of every joint in his body. Even the weight of gravity felt new, and he marveled at the strangeness of it.

Beneath him, Kova heard Shoshanna blurt, "Really? That's great!" Then there was the sound of rustling, a microwave, and the thumping of feet on the stairs just before Sasha entered with a coffee cup in hand.

"She wanted to heat it on the stove, but I told her you wouldn't judge the convenience cooking," Sasha said wryly. He handed over the mug, and Kova sniffed at it. The smell was nearly orgasmic. He took a tentative sip and groaned at the taste of it. Thick and sweet, with a richness like aged mead that coated his tongue and intoxicated him.

"I haven't been able to taste anything since the curse," he marveled. God, it was like nothing he'd ever tasted. For countless years, he'd had only the sense that his hunger abated, with none of the pleasure of feeding. No warmth, no iron bite, no sweetness. He drained the cup so fast he nearly choked, then lay back as the euphoria swept over him.

"Shall I get you another?"

Kova shook his head. "No need to be a glutton." He scrubbed at his eyes, and as the pleasure of the feeding faded, he realized the enormity of what lay before him. He sat up slowly to meet Sasha's gaze. "I have so much to apologize for, bratishka. I'm sorry that I left you the way I did."

Sasha took the mug, caught a stray drop with his finger, and laughed. "Of all people, you don't have to apologize to me for that. I didn't remember," he said wryly. Then his smile cracked into a broad grin, and Kova laughed with him.

"Fair enough," he said.

His brother had a brutal efficiency about him, but he also had always been strangely sweet, open and simple in a way Kova envied. "You helped me when you came before. When my memory was still ruined."

"I tried," Kova said. "I was so angry when I saw you there with them."

"But I met my Kristina. I can't imagine if I hadn't," Sasha said, his eyes gleaming as he mentioned her name.

"I should have guessed you'd fall in love with a woman who tried to kill you," Kova said.

Sasha grinned. "It is very exciting to know that my lover is nearly as strong as me, with an equally voracious appetite."

Kova put up a hand. "No more details. I need a shower. Can you tell them I'll be ready soon?"

Sasha nodded, then led him just down the hall to one of the guest bathrooms. Someone had brought him clothes, and the medicine cabinet was stocked with toiletries. After Sasha left, he carefully stripped down and regarded himself in the mirror. There were more of Armina's markings over his hips, and on his ankles like shackles. They were all dull black now, as if the fire had permanently gone out.

"Fuck you," he said, conjuring her face. No pain. He let out a manic laugh, then winced at the sensation of his throat constricting.

When he tried to examine his face, he couldn't meet his eyes in the mirror. Instead, he turned away to start the shower. The sensation of the water on his skin was sharp and abrasive, and he yanked his hand back. After setting the faucet to a lukewarm spray so light it was barely running, he eased under the spray.

The first few seconds felt like someone was running sandpaper across his bare skin, but he gritted his teeth and let it pass. As his body acclimated, it became a neutral sensation, and when he finally dipped his head under the water, his nerve endings ignited with pleasure.

He took his time, carefully scrubbing his skin clean. The water went cold, and he realized he was stalling so he didn't have to face the others. Finally, he got out and carefully shaved. When he was done, he slowly stroked his jaw, savoring the sensation of his own skin, of the rasp of stubble beneath his fingertips, of the pliable warmth of his own flesh.

When he dressed, the borrowed t-shirt felt heavy as a lead apron. Finally, he forced himself to look up, to meet his own amber eyes in the mirror.

Who was the man looking back at him? Was this still the man who called Sasha and Dominic brother?

Gripping the counter, he held his own accusatory stare without flinching. You made your choices. Now you face them.

He pushed away before he lost his nerve and headed for the stairs. As he descended, his belly churned with nerves. The smell of warm blood and wine perfumed the air, and he found Alistair and Shoshanna waiting at the foot of the stairs.

His resolve faltered, and his throat closed off.

Alistair, his old friend, who was cocky but gentle at heart. The man who loved to entertain, and Kova had nearly killed him. Kova met his eyes, then sank to his knees on the ornate carpet, not knowing what else to do. "I'm so sorry. To both of you." His eyes stung, but he swallowed hard, trying not to let himself break down again. If he started, he would never stop.

To his surprise, Alistair took his hand, pulled him to his feet and without speaking, embraced him. After kissing his cheek, Alistair said, "Come and have a drink with us. Welcome to our home. Properly this time."

He stared at Shoshanna, who nodded and smiled at him. She beckoned for him to follow her into the living room, where she settled onto the big couch. A black cat came running and leaped into her lap. When Alistair returned, he brought her and Kova a glass of whiskey before fetching his own.

"You mean to make it this easy?" Kova asked.

"I told you before that if Allie or my brother had died, we'd be having a different conversation," she said, raising her glass. He raised his own, pantomiming a meeting of the fine crystal across the room. "When I broke Lucia's curse, I felt how much you suffered. I understand why you did what you did."

Alistair nodded. "I do wonder… Why didn't you trust us? Why would you let us believe you were gone? We thought you killed yourself."

The first sip of whiskey was overwhelming. Fire burned down his throat, and he waited for it to pass before he spoke. "It was cowardly of me, but I knew you would disapprove. You would tell me I was a fool for going to the witch, and you would have been right. It was better if you thought…if you didn't feel like you had to come to help me. And truthfully, I thought she would kill me. I didn't think I'd ever see you all again."

Alistair chuckled. "You were already gone, but you should know I tried the same. I tried to persuade her to break the curses for Paris's sake. We're both fools," he said.

"I heard. She was quite pleased with herself about that spell," Kova said. Alistair winced, averting his eyes to look at his lover.

Shoshanna cleared her throat, one hand idly stroking the purring cat. "I haven't told Lucia about you yet, but we should tell her soon. She's missed you so badly."

His brothers would have certainly protected Lucia, but he liked the idea that Shoshanna had befriended her. Even so, his throat tightened. "I'm not ready. I want to clear the air with the court first, and determine how we help Bri— how we help Scarlett. I don't deserve to see her until then."

He expected Shoshanna to nod her approval, but she scowled. "God, you're all so much alike. Who says you get to decide what you deserve? What about Lucia? Doesn't she deserve to know you're alive and well? Why do you all think your self-loathing means the people who love you deserve to suffer and be alone?"

He gaped at her, then nodded. That was the voice of a woman who could stand up to Armina Voss. He forced a smile and said, "You're right. After I speak to the court. I'll face her then."