On the Hunt

"I'm sorry." So sorry. She wanted to stop this now, run away, but persisted anyway. "How . . . how did Vasili escape?"



"So many of us were running around, screaming, confused, but he managed to get free while the Walkers were distracted, find Jasha, and haul him into the forest, where they hid for days before the remaining army found them. That's when it was decided—by all of us—that Walkers would be killed the moment they entered our world."



Poor Vasili, she thought again, the tears running freely now. She wanted to hold him, to chase away his pain.



"He bonded with you, did he not?"



She nodded, unable to speak. There was a lump in her throat she couldn't manage to swallow.



"Foolish man, thinking with his cock. Some of our people did the same with other Walkers all those years ago, but those Walkers were put to death after that night. The wives fought us. Their Walkers were peaceful, they claimed. But still we killed those bound to your world. How would it look if they discovered Vasili, the king, had kept you alive?"



Bad.



"If the people ever find out, they will rebel against him. They haven't forgotten what was done to their loved ones. And if his own people rebel while he battles other kingdoms . . ."



Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. She swallowed the lump. "I'll. . . I'll leave." She would have to. To save him. Oh, God.



"But you'll return." An accusation.



"Because I can't stop myself," she growled, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand.



"He knows what you are, but pretends you are one of us. How long do you think that lie will last, since you'll appear right in front of him every time you arrive?"



She closed her eyes, heartsick.



"The bond must be broken."



Her lids popped open. "I'm not going to killhim, and I'm not going to killmyself."



"And because you are his, he will never forgive the one who does killyou."



Does kill, as if it were already a fact. No wonder Vasili had taught her to fight. He'd known what would happen if she were ever discovered. He'd wanted her to have a chance. But why had he wanted her to have a chance? He should have hated her. Yet he'd bonded her, saved her.



Would the hate return in time? Would he grow to resent her?



"When is your next birthday?" Grigori asked.



"In . . . three days."



"So you came early. To see him." A statement, not a question.



She answered anyway. "Yes."



"You love him?"



"Yes." No denying it now, as she thought about losing him forever. The game was over.



"Do not tell him what we discussed. There is much I need to think on."



She nodded, even though she suspected he meant to think about ways to killher without Vasili finding out who had done the deed. She had to find a way to stop traveling here. Not just her, but all the Walkers.



She could travel at will, so it stood to reason that she could prevent herself from traveling through that same will. Right? But the others couldn't travel at will. So they wouldn't be able to stop themselves.



Damn it!



That would save her—and save Vasili. Except for the bond . . . They couldn't be with other people. But she couldn't deny that she was glad he couldn't be with other people. Even if that meant suffering herself. Because she couldn't imagine wanting anyone else. Not after experiencing that tongue, those fingers . . . him, only him.



She needed distance, time to deal. To think. Surely she could find a solution if she tried.



"Tell Vasili I said—No." Any parting words would only deepen the connection between them.



She needed anger. His, hers. For with anger would come distance. "Just tell him I left."



Grigori nodded.



"Thank you for the . . . conversation." Translation: I hate you, but I can't hold it against you because you did it for him.



Another abrupt nod.



She closed her eyes, pictured her house, and let her body do the rest. Seconds, that was all it took, but she knew it had worked, because for a moment she felt weightless. Dizzy. Then perfectly fine. Physically, at least.



She opened her eyes, and four white walls surrounded her. There was her couch, the fabric torn.



There was her coffee table, the wood scratched.



Walkers had killed Vasili's family. Walkers were even now trying to think up ways to hurt Vasili.



She had to talk to them. Give them the facts, bare her soul. No matter what they thought of her or tried to do to her. She had to make things right.



Chapter Ten



"Vasili."



He must be imagining things, Vasili thought. There was Rose's sweet voice. But he was drunk, as he had been for the past three days, sitting in his room, alone, all lights extinguished, rain pattering outside. After a panicked, frantic search for Rose, Grigori had admitted what had transpired.



If he heard "for the best" one more time, he was going to stab someone. Namely Grigori. The bastard was lucky to be alive. To have sent Rose away like that . . . He would kill him, Vasili decided.



"Vasili, darling."



There was her voice again. He closed his eyes, savoring. She wasn't due to arrive until later tonight, just four hours away. He was going to punish her for leaving him—the chase-and-retreat game no longer amused him. He wanted her always. Then he was going to make love to her, beg her to stay, tell his people to fuck themselves, and if she still refused to stay with him, he would try to cross into her world. To do so, he'd have to hold on to Rose until they both left his world. If he died, so what? He couldn't live without her. Not anymore.



"Are you listening to me? No? Let me help you." An open palm slapped his cheek, leaving a heated sting.



He blinked. A hallucination wouldn't have been able to hit him, would it? "Rose?"



A sigh. "Who else?"



He hopped to his feet, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. There she was, right in front of him. His arms banded around her—solid, warm, real—and he jerked her into his chest, all thoughts of punishment fleeing. "I thought I'd lost you. Don't ever do that to me again."



She hugged him back. "I want to be with you," she said, shocking him. "Forever."



"Thank you. Thank you. You won't regret—"



"But the hate has to stop."



"Anything." He would deny her nothing. Not anymore.



"There can be no more killing Walkers just because of what they are."



"Done." He wouldn't argue. He would outlaw the practice immediately, and his people could protest all they wanted. They could rebel, kick him off the throne. Whatever. As long as he had Rose, nothing else mattered. Hopefully, his people would learn, as he had, that these Walkers were not the vicious race from the past. How could they be, when Rose was among them?



She cupped his cheeks. "I love you."



"And I love you. So much."



Slowly her lips lifted in a beautiful grin. "Call a meeting with your people. As many as you can fit inside the palace. And no weapons. They aren't to bring weapons. And they aren't to attack, no matter what they see or hear."



"What are you—"



"Please, Vasili. No questions. I need you to do this quickly. One hour. Please."



"It will be done."



With that, she disappeared.



Vasili had his army gather his citizens and "gently" usher them inside the palace ball room. Yes, threats of force abounded, but finally the task was done. Jasha and Grigori were beside him, the princesses seated on the dais but against the wall. They weren't sad that their father was dead and, in fact, seemed lighthearted.



And, in fact, seemed lighthearted.



Jasha had decided to wed the redhead, to which Grigori had only this morning said, "Not that one." Which meant the Monstrea wanted her for himself. Jasha had shrugged—almost with relief, as if he hadn't wanted to pick her but, because she was the plainest, thought she would have been the easiest to deal with—and next decided on the blonde, who watched him now with awe in her eyes. Jasha continually cast her stealthy glances.



It would be a good match, Vasili thought, making Jasha king of the East. He'd take care of that just as soon as he finished with this.



The crowd grew restless, their curiosity intensifying, and his army had to form a blockade around them. Vasili had only one order for his soldiers: Kill anyone who threatened Rose.



When would she appear? What did she plan? He would support her, whatever she did. He should have talked to her, told her, but he'd feared losing her.



She suddenly materialized in front of him, pale hair cascading down her back, silver eyes bright.



She wore jeans and a T-shirt, every inch the Walker. Their gazes met briefly, his heart slamming against his ribs, before she turned and faced his people. They gasped in astonishment, in disgust.



In hatred. Murmurs of, "Murderer," arose.



Vasili leaped to his feet, a brutal scowl contorting his features.



"Yes," Rose said, splaying her arms. "I'm a Walker."



"She's also my wife," he shouted, daring them to comment.



She tossed him a quick smile over her shoulder. "There are others like me. They come here on their birthdays, and you chase them. Hurt them. Kill them. They fear you, which makes them want to hurt you in return. But it doesn't have to be that way."



Silence. Perhaps because he scowled at them murderously.



"Yes, Walkers hurt you in the past." She cast Vasili another glance, this one sad and apologetic.



"But to condemn them all for what others did . . . I'm sure you wouldn't welcome being condemned for the sins of your fathers."



More murmurs. Fortunately, these weren't quite so rancorous.



"I went online and told them who I was, where I was, and what I could do. I told them I could stop their visits to Nightmare. That's what they call this place, you know. They fear the people here. But it doesn't have to be that way," she repeated. "Not for you, and not for them. And so, they came to me. I want you to meet them. See them. Welcome them. I promise you, be nice to them and they will be nice to you."