Chapter 38

Three Days Later

Dmitri Kovalev stood at the end of the short driveway, reminding himself that he could leave town. Without Armina's leash around his neck, he could go wherever he wished. He could go live in a shack on a mountain until the earth turned to ash and never face the truth.

In theory, at least. The reality was that he would never sleep again until he faced her, until he knew if there was the tiniest shred of hope that she might love him still.

The small townhouse was neatly kept, with pale blue siding identical to the dozens on either side of it. A pretty wreath of white flowers hung on the door, while a familiar smell hung in the air. That smell made his heart ache, even as it stirred a pit of terrible fear in his belly.

He'd stalled as long as he could. Armina Voss was dead, and her two apprentices were presumably so much ash. There had been no further attacks, and it seemed that they could finally breathe easy. And in the twenty-first century, he was not needed for rebuilding efforts. They had contractors for that, Olivia Pierce reminded him over her new shiny fangs.

Clenching his fist, he strode down the sidewalk and onto the small porch. With his hand trembling, he gently knocked on the door.

There were quiet footfalls inside, then the gut-churning sound of hinges squeaking.

And there she stood.

Five feet and three inches of elegant perfection, blonde hair loose around her face as she gazed up at him. Time had barely touched her beauty, though her hair was longer than he remembered. Her lips curved into a faint smile. "Kova? Is it really you?"

"Milá?ku," he choked out. He'd had an entire speech planned, and he could barely greet her without breaking down.

Her blue eyes ignited with recognition. "Kova!"

"Lucia, I'm sorry for everything, I just?—"

She let out a soft sob and threw her arms around him. When her chest pressed to his, her heart kicked against her ribs, echoing into his body, and he nearly shattered. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard, the most beautiful thing he'd ever felt, because he had heard her go silent and still and cold, and yet here she was all warm and soft and alive.

He held her tight, tears streaming down his face as she cried into his neck. "I knew you would come back," she wept. Her hands curled into his hair, tight enough to sting, and still he did not let go.

Then she wriggled against him, grabbing his arm to pull him into her home. He barely had a moment to notice the pretty decor or the framed picture of her with Dominic and Rachel, as she was already peeling off his light sweater. Her touch ignited that old, familiar desire, but dread still clung to him. He caught her hands gently. "Lucia, we have to talk. I have to tell you something."

"Did you not miss me?" she said coyly.

"Of course I missed you, but you don't know what's happened since we last spoke," he said.

Hurt flickered in her eyes.

He kissed her hand. "I want you more than anything, but I have to tell you the truth, because I fear you will not want me anymore once you know."

She shook her head. "Do not say such silly things, lásko."

When she began to tug at his hand again, he gently broke her grasp. Stepping back, he said, "Let me speak the truth, and then you can decide. And if you would still have me, then I am yours for eternity."

Her brow furrowed, and he saw the first true hesitation in her eyes. Wouldn't it be easier to simply tell her that he'd been imprisoned against his will all this time? It wasn't entirely untrue, after all. She didn't have to know.

But this was his Lucia, his light in the unending darkness, and if he lied to her, then he was worth nothing at all.

Without speaking, she led him into the sparsely appointed living room, where he settled onto a leather couch. He was surprised when a calico cat emerged from under a table to sniff delicately at his feet. Lucia perched on the couch near him, taking his hand into hers.

"What is it?"

"Lucia…after the curse took you, I was distraught. I sought out other witches to help you, but most wouldn't even try, and the few that would, couldn't do anything. And after a few years, I couldn't bear the guilt any longer. I hunted down Armina Voss, the witch responsible for all these curses, and I begged her to spare you."

"To save me?" Lucia asked.

He nodded. "She made me an offer. If I served her, she would release you, and I took it. And she bound me to her will."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

How did he describe the pain of the magic she'd etched onto him, the shame of knowing he'd sold himself like chattel? He pushed up his sleeves and showed the intricate marks that still stained his skin. "She used magic to control me," he said. "I was her soldier. And I hurt people."

"Because she made you, yes?" Lucia said.

He nodded. "But my hands are filthy, Lucia. I have killed a great many people. I lied to my brothers and let them believe I had died. I served the witch for over a hundred years. And…I nearly killed Alistair. I came here to kill Shoshanna, nearly killed her brother."

At that, Lucia's brow furrowed into a frown. "Why would you hurt Alistair?"

"Armina told me that killing Shoshanna was the only way she would release you," he said. "And then I learned that Shoshanna had already broken the curse. And I had hope for the first time in over a century."

Her slender fingers traced the marks on his left arm, as if she was trying to imitate the strokes of Armina's brush. Her eyes found his. "Why do you think I would not still love you?"

"Because I hurt people," he said. "And you are sweet and good, and?—"

Her brow arched. "Kova, you have always thought I was soft and foolish."

"I do not," he protested.

"You were a soldier in the Tsar's army even before you became a vampire. I know that you have blood on your hands. This is nothing new," she said, still tracing those marks. "I did not care then, and I do not care now." She inched closer to him, knees brushing his. He suddenly felt like a gawky teenager again, cheeks flushing as she reached out to cup his face. "Look into my eyes. If that witch had ordered you to kill an innocent child to bring me back, would you have done so of your own choice? What about an old woman? Would you have sliced her throat if it would save me?"

He shook his head, eyes stinging. "I would have found another way. But once she bound me?—"

"I am not concerned with what that wicked hag bound you to do," Lucia said sharply. Her expression softened, and she leaned in to kiss his lips again. "I do not mean to be short. But I cannot tell you if you want me to offer my forgiveness or deny it."

"I don't know either," he whispered. "I feel as if I have been broken, and that you could not possibly love what remains."

"Again, you think I am soft and foolish. It is not unkind of you, just short-sighted as men often are." She kissed his brow, then his lips gently. "My mother taught me well how to mend torn things. With a gentle hand and time," she murmured, kissing his temple. Warmth spilled over his lip, and he looked up to see tears welling at the corners of her brilliant blue eyes. "Do you still love me?"

"More than anything," he said, his voice rough.

"And I love you," she said. Her words pierced through the scar tissue that had wrapped around his heart, deep into his psyche. "And it is the greatest honor of my life to call you mine, Dmitri Kovalev. And if you think that you will lose me so easily, you do not know me."

Her brow arched in a quiet challenge, and he let out a soft laugh. "I forgot that there was such steel in my soft little bunny."

"More steel than soft," she huffed. Her lips pursed into a smile. "Your Czech is very good now."

"I had a lot of time to practice for you," he said. Then he lunged in to kiss her, prompting a cascade of giggles that warmed his heart. Before she could smart off, he sealed her lips, welcoming the searching of her tongue.

"Much better," he bit out, hiking her thighs around his waist. "I missed you."

"As did I," she said. "Take me upstairs."

"Gladly."