Page 53 of A Song of Saints and Swans
Just a taste…
Tearing my lips from his, I wrenched his head to the side and sank my fangs into his neck, drawing a deep pull from his carotid before he could throw me off. To my surprise, he allowed it—his arms wrapping around my back to pull me closer, still thrusting beneath me. My instincts were screaming to both finish him and pull back before it was too late—my compulsion to bleed him dry warring with a deeper need to protect what was mine.
He wildly bucked as I drank him down, groaning so loudly it echoed off the surrounding trees. I was too far gone to stop, the sound of his fading heartbeat like horrific music to my ears. With his last breath, he emptied himself inside of me—his ultimate submission sending me over the edge of my own climax, even knowing I’d never forgive myself for taking his life.
Atonement
KONSTANTIN
Holding Margo in my arms one last time—feeling her wrapped around my dick—was a blessing I hadn’t earned, but her being the one to kill me was poetic justice at its finest.
I deserved to die for what I did.
The inescapable fact was thatIwas the one who poured her last drink at Sochi. I always insisted on it, even when we weren’t in my bar, because keeping my girl safe was my top priority.
It wassupposedto be my top priority, I should say.
That night, I mixed her cocktail with a new brand of absinthe we’d recently got in, too distracted by a reporter interviewing me on the Moscow bar scene to think anything of it. The distillery claimed their product was one of the most authentic absinthes on the market—the highest proof allowed by law. Margo had been mine for a year at that point, so I mistakenly thought I knew what she could handle, but I should have tested it myself first.
In the middle of my interview, Margo had loudly announced she was going to the bathroom before stomping off. Clearly she was upset over something, but the reporter—a party-circuit acquaintance named Kira—quickly brought my attention back to our interview, so I planned to check on Margo as soon as we were done.
That opportunity never came, as the next time I saw my love was to identify her body in the morgue. It was the single worst day of my life, and a month later, the distillery was shut down for their shocking levels of thujone, confirming my worst fears.
I gave her the drink that killed her.
A week later, Margo’s drowning was ruled a suicide, and I’d lost count of how many nightmares I’d endured. Even wide awake, my mind was plagued by what her final thoughts might have been—what psychedelic-induced hallucination made her choose the icy depths of the Volga over me.
“Do you truly believe your little glass of Kool-Aid caused all this to happen?”
With a groan, I opened my eyes, muscling through my pounding headache to face whoever was addressing me.
I found myself in the same small clearing with the willow tree and altar, although Margo was nowhere to be seen. An unfamiliar woman was peering down at me, but as my groggy vision cleared, I realized herheadwas the only human part of her. She had the body of an enormous bird—her blue and orange feathers glowing in the harsh sunlight—and the echo of my grandmother’s stories told me exactly who this was.
The Gamayun.
This creature knew the secrets of the world’s creation, and worked as a messenger of the gods, especially for the ruler of theNav—the underworld.
“Veles sent you?” I croaked, disbelieving that one of the highest gods in the pantheon would take an interest in me, never mind that any of this was real.
“No,” the Gamayun scoffed, eyeing me judgmentally. “Although your little Rusalka girlfriend futilely prayed and pleaded for him to intervene.”
I furrowed my brow. “Who sent you, then?” Margo begging for my life was the last thing I expected after she rightfully took her revenge.
“The goddess Marena, of winter’s death and dreams, had a vision,” she grumbled. “And as she is otherwise occupied at the moment, she sentmeto guide you two idiots toward your greater purpose instead.”
Greater purpose?
Before I could ask her to elaborate, the Gamayun curtly nodded at someone behind me. I spun to find Margo, looking pale and stricken, her gorgeous red hair doing little to hide her nakedness as she held berries in one hand and a wooden bowl in the other.
“Konstantin…” she breathed, tears filling her eyes, the anguish in her voice breaking my heart all over again. “I’m sorry. I-I couldn’t control it, couldn’t stop myself. I was so…angrywith you…”
Being sucked dry by a Rusalka should have been my greatest fear, but seeing the love of my life blame herself formyactions was much worse.
“Lisichka,”I soothed, rushing over to lead her to the altar to sit. She tried to force me to eat some berries and drink water from the bowl before I could go on, but I pulled her into my lap instead. “You had every right to be angry. I should never have given you that cocktail. The absinthe was too strong, especially for someone who drank as little as you…”
“What are you talking about?” Margo interrupted, twisting to better face me. “It wasn’t thedrinkthat made me jump. I’m still having trouble remembering, but…” She chewed her bottom lip in such a familiar way, it was all I could do to not kiss her again. “I think my decision had to do with jealousy over someone named…Kira.”
Oh no…
