Page 50 of A Song of Saints and Swans
“Lisichka…”he murmured, and I furrowed my brow, unsure why he would refer to me as a fox of all things. “You smell like roses.”
I turned to face him, running my razor-sharp fingernails along his bare forearms in the dark to settle him. “You have a choice,Russki.I can kill you now and quickly end your suffering, or give you a night of untold pleasure before painfully sending you to theNav.”
He simply stood before me, his head cocked as if considering. Without warning, he leaned down and buried his nose against my neck, deeply inhaling before groaning as if in pain.
“Margosha?”
I stumbled backward in alarm, almost falling into the pond in my haste to put distance between us. My long-buried memories barreled to the surface, my past no longer hazy and insubstantial as an unarguable truth came to light.
Margosha was my human name!
There was no reason this man would know that.Margoshameant “pearl,” so I assumed his spell-addled brain was grasping for associations with the watery setting. A coincidence—nothing more.
“How is this possible?” he whispered, grabbing my wrist, this direct contact lighting my nerves on fire. “Youdrowned.I saw them put your body in the ground…”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I hissed, wrenching my arm free of his grasp. Losing his touch felt devastating, which only increased my rage at the unexpected situation. “You aremineand will do as I…”
To my astonishment, he dropped to his knees on the soggy moss, wrapping his muscular arms around my waist and yanking me toward him. “Iamyours,” he croaked, resting his forehead against my bare stomach. “I’ve been yours since I first saw you walk through the doors at Sochi.”
Sochi…
My brain felt like it was being electrocuted—fractured memories firing off shock waves of recognition so rapidly I could barely breathe. Sochi was an area of Russia on the Black Sea, but it was also a style of drinking absinthe… and there was an absinthe bar in Moscow called Sochi…
“You’ve mistaken me for someone else,” I curtly replied, desperately needing tothink.The pit of dread in my stomach only increased when I heard my sisters returning from their hunts, singing as they approached our pond with their own spellbound men in tow.
I have to get him out of here!
If they saw my prize, they would expect a taste, as we shared all our spoils among us. This communal feast had never bothered me before, but I was suddenly covetous—ferociously so—and the thought of any other Rusalka touching what wasmineinstilled me with a rage so powerful I gasped.
There was no explanation for my behavior. I didn’t know this man—didn’t remember him, at least.Partsof me did, or wanted to, judging by how my cunt was dripping, inches away from his bearded face.
Digging my claws into his biceps, I forced him to stand before grabbing his hand and leading him deep into the forest again. Never had I felt afraid of these woods, but now I startled at every noise, determined to outrun any creature who might threaten my claim. This physical reaction went beyond the usual raw hunger for sex and human flesh. I wanted to fully enjoy this man in a way that felt more possessive—more protective.
I want to keep him.
Playing for Keeps
MARGO - 5 YEARS EARLIER
Being with Konstantin was like riding a rollercoaster I never wanted to get off. Thanks to his ability to get our names on the guest list of every party in Moscow, my formerly quiet existence had been turned upside down. His sheer enthusiasm for life was exhilarating—and addicting.
Yet so delicious…
“What are you smirking about so sexily over there,lisichka?”Konstantin’s smooth voice snapped me out of my daydreams. Knowing he loved to play, I coyly batted my eyelashes and simply shrugged in response. My game ended in a yelp of surprise as he tackled me where I lay on the couch, his much-larger body curling around me.“Fuck,you smell so good.” He pressed his face into my neck with a deep inhale. “I can’t get enough…”
I moaned as he ground his dick against me, my cotton panties dampening with need under my tights. We’d been dating now for almost 5 months, since a week after we met at Sochi, and we still hadn’t fucked. It wasn’t as if I were inexperienced, or that I didn’t crave the feel of him inside me. I just knew there’d be no turning back after that—no way I could ever let him go.
And I probably should let him go.
Despite us spending most evenings and every weekend together, Konstantin hadn’t noticed that anything was off about me. This was probably because our time together was spent in a blur of neon-lit clubs, bars, and private parties, followed by drunken cab rides that ended with our naked skin burning against the others’ beneath the sheets. I barely slept anymore, as my nights were spent either seated at the bar while he worked or on his arm at another exclusive event. By day, I dragged myself to my meaningless retail job, counting the minutes until I could repeat the cycle all over again.
Konstantin tried to monitor my alcohol intake while we were out, but I always snuck in an extra drink or two behind his back. He adorably believed he was protecting his innocent girlfriend from going too deep, but in reality, I’d fallen over the edge long before I met him.
The memory of my college years was little more than a drug-laced fever-dream of countless bad decisions, including the men who ended up in my bed. I was constantly pushing my limits—the rush of dopamine only spurring me on to chase the next high. A near-death experience of almost drowning during an idiotic dare forced me off my dangerous path, and ever since then, I’d avoided anyone and anything that could lure me back to that lifestyle.
When my old college wing-woman, Lana, asked me to show her and her friends around Moscow, I agreed, assuming I’d be done with them well before happy hour. I should have known better—Lana always had a persuasive energy to her that was hard to refuse. Even so, I was determined to say my goodbyes after getting them settled at Sochi. Absinthe had never interested me before, and I assumed it would be easy enough to turn around and walk out the secret door, back to my life of safety, but fate had other plans.
Konstantin smiled at me across the bar, and the rest was history. He was movie-star handsome, with dark brown eyes that immediately drew me into their depths, perfectly coiffed hair, and a thick beard that only added a masculine dichotomy to his charmingly boyish smile. He’d made me laugh—something that I wasn’t doing much of at that point. His siren song was impossible to resist, and I was never very good at saving myself.
