Warmth. A soothing balm pressed against his side, heat chasing away the chill of death. It was the first thing Kirill was aware of after he opened his eyes, the air stinging the tears lingering there. Images melted from his mind like water colors dripping down a soaking canvas. The pictures were fuzzy, but the emotions they’d branded him with were all too vibrant. Wetness slid down his cheek and he blinked.

“Kirill, my love, what’s wrong?”

Irina’s voice caressed him, calming the nerves that still ached with the shock of seeing her die, watching the light fade from her beautiful eyes. Irina.

“Irina.”

Kirill shot up into a sitting position, twisting to the side and grabbing Irina’s arms in a punishing grip. Her eyes widened, a gasp reminding him to ease his hold. He cursed himself for being so rough, but Irina leaned toward him, not a trace of fear in her eyes.

“Kirill, what on earth—”

Another tear slid down his cheek, but he ignored it. He rolled over, pinning Irina’s blessedly warm body beneath his, relishing the squirming warmth of her against him through her thin cotton nightgown. Confusion knitted her brows and she opened her mouth as if to protest, but Kirill didn’t give her time to speak. He pressed his mouth over hers, kissing her the way he’d thought he would never be able to kiss her again. A squeak of protest escaped her lips, her hands pressing against his chest. He could almost hear her demanding an explanation, probing for the source of his tears. But he didn’t want to talk. Not yet.

He licked at the seam of her lips, begging her to let him in, to let him kiss her as he so desperately needed to. As usual, she seemed to sense his need. Her resistance melted and she parted willingly for him, wickedly dragging her tongue over one of his fangs, blending the heady taste of her blood with their kiss. He groaned, blindly groping at her nightgown, trying to get it out of the way.

The laugh that trickled from Irina’s throat was the sweetest sound Kirill had ever heard. There was so much pleasure in that sound, joy infusing the notes as it seemed to infuse everything Irina did. His blood heated as he fought free of his clothing, cursing every second he was apart from Irina’s delectable body. Her hair darkened, dripping water onto their sheets as her rusalka heritage roared to the forefront, summoned by the desire that perfumed the air between them.

She wrapped one hand around the back of his head, drawing him down to the exposed line of her throat. Her pulse throbbed beneath her pale skin, calling to him, beating only for him. He inhaled deeply, drawing in her scent, the mixture of her usual apple and cinnamon along with the sharp hint of pine that told him she’d been working hard on the decorations for her Koliada celebration. The scents tantalized his senses as he slid his fangs into her flesh, drawing her warmth into him. She moaned, arching her body, writhing against the sheets.

The wet heat of her body was too tempting, she was too ready, and he needed her too badly. With his fangs still buried in her neck, he growled and dug his fingers into her hip, holding her still as he slid the hard length of himself into her, body stilling as he was enveloped by her delicious heat. Irina cried out and thrust her hips, driving him farther inside her. He pulled his fangs from her body, licking at the blood seeping from her throat as he plunged into her, every thrust an assurance that she was here, she was alive.

Those thoughts reminded him of the dream, the ghost. An image of Irina lying on the floor of their bedroom, the life draining from the wound in her side, filled his mind. He choked on a desperate cry, burying his face in her neck so her heartbeat thundered in his ears. His body shook as he continued to thrust inside her, faster, harder, trying to fill his senses with her heat, her life. Anything to banish that horrible nightmare.

Irina came with a scream, her hands clawing at his back, head thrashing from side to side on the pillow, pressing her throat harder and harder against his mouth. He gave in to the urge to taste her, burying his fangs inside her for the second time as his own pleasure took him. He groaned into her neck, her blood pulsing against his tongue, spiced by the lingering desire infusing every drop. Every swallow brought her warmth deeper inside him, chased away a little more of the lingering cold. Peace slid over him like a warm, lazy cloud.

As the last ripple tickled through his system, he collapsed on Irina, holding her as close as he could manage. The image from the dream was fading, but the emotions were still raw. That was a pain he knew he would never forget—would never allow himself to forget.

“Tears and passion,” Irina murmured. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say my vampire had a nightmare.”

Kirill fought not to tense as he pulled his lips into a smile and leaned back to gaze into Irina’s eyes. The concern he saw there nearly undid him, but he held his mask in place. There would be time to tell her of his ordeal later. It was Koliada, and he had much to do before Irina’s dinner.

“I trust your dinner plans are well underway?”

Irina nodded, though her eyes remained wary, still searching Kirill’s face. “The dining hall is gorgeous and the cooks are only too pleased to be cooking a real feast. It isn’t often they get to cook for royalty anymore.”

Kirill snorted in amusement. “Indeed. Well, if you’ve got the situation well in hand, there are a few things I must see to before our friends arrive.”

He tripped over the word ‘friends,’ but he didn’t think that was the reason for Irina’s sudden frown.

“Kirill, you promised you would take tonight off. It’s Koliada.”

“That I know, my dear, and I will be with you shortly. I swear to you, there are just a few things that require my immediate attention.”

He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek, forcing himself not to linger, not to drag her along with him because he couldn’t bear to part with her. The furrow between her brows told him she was worried enough. If he acted any stranger than he was, she’d have him lashed to the bed where she could interrogate him until he confessed. An entertaining thought, but not one that would accomplish all he needed to get done in the short amount of time he had.

It took more concentration than Kirill cared to admit to dress himself—especially once Irina rose from the bed and arched her beautiful naked body in a long stretch. She winked at him as she swayed over to the wardrobe, and part of him desperately wanted to take her up on the challenge, to drag her back to bed and not leave until she couldn’t walk. But the words of the ghost still lingered in his mind, dropped in Saamal’s severe tone.

“Prove it.”

The god’s voice chased him down the hallway, intensifying his resolve. More than one servant scurried out of his way, their heartbeats pounding in his ears. He exploded out the front doors, the bitter winter wind clawing at him, snow stinging his cheeks. The warmth he’d gained from Irina was quickly leeched away, stolen by the wind, but Kirill didn’t care. He broke into a run, rushing into the dark forest. Every step was quicker than the last until he moved though the trees with all the grace and speed his kind were capable of. The scenery was a blur around him, but Kirill knew where he was going. Animals screamed as they scrambled out of his path and snow flew up as he sped through drifts and sent sparkling powder flying into the air.

By the time he arrived at the cottage, there was a thin layer of ice coating his cloak, his hair, and his face. He blinked, breaking some ice slivers from his eyelashes and brushing them away as he knocked on the door. The weathered wood rattled under the force of his blows. A moment later, it creaked open and a small face peered out at him through the gap. Straw-colored hair covered his head and the majority of each cheek, matching bushy eyebrows meeting in a confused line along his brow. The dwarf’s eyes widened and he jerked the door open.

“Your Majesty. Come in, please, come in.”

Kirill stepped inside, shaking off the eerie feeling of déjà vu as he noticed the miniscule bird roasting on the spit over their fireplace. The dwarves stopped what they were doing, all seven of them coming to stand before him like prisoners lining up for the executioner.

“Your presence is required today,” he rasped, his voice rough from the cold.

One of the dwarves—Ivan—scowled. He was the oldest of the seven, and his white hair flared out in defiance of any sort of grooming, his beard bobbing up and down as he spoke. “You told Irina you’d give everyone the day off.”

Despite his bravado, Kirill noticed the dwarf was trembling. His legs quivered so badly he feared the small man would collapse at any moment.

“His heart is weak.”

“Ivan, is it not?”

The dwarf jutted his chin out, the shaking intensifying until it was a wonder he didn’t fall over. “It is.”

“Your presence is not required in the mine.” Kirill paused, struggling to find the right tone, the right words. For the first time in his afterlife, he hadn’t planned ahead, and now he found himself floundering. In front of dwarves. He sighed.

“Irina tells me that Koliada is a time to be spent with friends and family,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “I know that Irina cares for you. You were her family when she had none. I think… It would mean a great deal to her if you would come to the castle for dinner.”

The dwarves stared at him, eyes bulging and jaws hanging open. A wisp of black smoke curled through the room, followed by the scent of burning meat. Kirill raised an eyebrow.

“We will have more than enough food, of course. Perhaps my offer is more tempting now that your own feast has become somewhat charred?”

Ludmill swore and made a beeline for the fireplace, nose wrinkling in disgust as he rescued the ashen remains of their dinner from the spit. His teeth were surprisingly bright in his grubby face, his dark black eyebrows a sharp contrast to his dull grey hair.

“So you’re ordering us to come to dinner with you?” Ivan demanded, jutting his chin out with enough force that he twitched with the effort of not falling forward with it.

“Ivan,” Sasha squeaked, eyes bulging beneath ragged brown bangs. His boots creaked as he shifted nervously from foot to foot.

The grumpy dwarf glared at his brother. “What? It’s Koliada, a night off according to his own self. I—”

“It’s for Irina,” Sasha insisted.

“I want to go,” Ludmill announced tearing the blackened bird from the spit and tossing it into the fire. “Our dinner is ruined anyway, and I want to see Irina.”

“It’s all settled then.” Kirill dipped one hand into his cloak and drew out a bag of gold coins. He dropped the pouch in front of Ivan, nodding when the dwarf scrambled to catch it.

“What’s this?” Ivan mumbled, his hands shaking as he opened the pouch.

“A Koliada bonus.”

Kirill swept out the door, leaving the small horde of dwarves gaping after him. He directed his path toward the mountains and squared his shoulders. He had one more stop before he could return to Irina.