Chapter Eight

Novgorod

Nikolas paced back and forth. He’d become increasingly agitated and couldn’t figure out why. With a low groan, he shoved a hand through his shaggy blond hair. He’d felt this way for a few days now, and while he’d experienced a lot of feelings, this was a new one. It wasn’t just agitation; there was something else. Something more intense.

“What the hell is wrong me?” he groused. “It’s not like I haven’t been agitated before.” Powerful strides moved him across the floor of his spacious house. He had a huge stone mansion outside of Novgorod. The rumor was it had passed down through his family, from father to son, which explained the huge amassed amount of wealth that accompanied the Andreyevich family name.

Underneath the main house was a training room where he still worked out with his sword. There was a modern gym, as well, but personally, he preferred swordplay. He was in awesome shape for a man who’d lived for over nine hundred years. If I do say so myself.

Unable to stay inside any longer, he headed to the front door, slowing to grab his winter coat. He smiled as the cold air slammed into his face. Although, he’d traveled all over the world, he always loved coming back to Russia. The cold invigorated him. He wasn’t crazy—he had houses in warm climates, as well—but there was only one true home for him, and that was Mother Russia.

He moved across the snowy landscape to his garage and walked inside. His eyes swept over his expansive collection of vehicles. Shaking his head, he moved to his Izmir Blue Defender and climbed in. He loved this vehicle, and its handling capabilities in the winter only solidified the preference. Within moments, it was warm, and he was driving out of the garage, headed for Novgorod.

As he drove, the feeling of anxiousness increased. Nik sighed and turned on his iPod. Normally, the music helped him forget whatever was bothering him, but this time, the heavy metal did no such thing. His skin tingled as it had before he’d gone into battle, all those centuries ago.

In the back of his mind, he wondered about that fateful winter day when he’d been granted his immortality. After almost millennium of looking unsuccessfully for his soul mate, he’d basically given up. He knew she existed—somewhere, she did—but a man’s ego could only take so much failure. Still, he held out a small bit of hope.

He smiled faintly as he entered Novgorod. He loved this city, always had. Out of habit, he headed toward the museum that housed many artifacts from Russian history. Pulling into the parking lot, he shut off the vehicle and got out. The rich smells from a local bakery, Mihailov’s Bakery, reached him, and instead of entering the museum, he spun on his boot heel and strode toward the faded brick building.

Sitting at a small table by the window, Nikolas watched the people move along the snowy sidewalk. He ate his ponchiki slowly as he drank some coffee. Ponchiki were similar to doughnuts. He took his covered in powdered sugar.

As he sat there, the bell over the door jingled. Pulling his attention away from the window, he felt his breath catch in his throat as he gazed upon the woman who’d crossed the bakery’s threshold. His entire body rippled with unleashed energy.

She had a different look from the women in the area, like a brilliant sunburst breaking through after a rainstorm. Her skin was a beautiful shade of amaretto with an added flush from the cold. She wore dark blue jeans and a black leather jacket that stopped at her waist, effectively hiding her shirt from him. There was a slight upturn of her lips as she stood at the counter of the bakery. Her black hair was pulled back and confined by a barrette.

His cock stirred in his pants as he ogled at her. It had been many, many years since his body had responded to a woman with just a look. She flashed a smile to the attendant behind the counter and, then, turned to look around the establishment. The second she faced Nik, he knew.

Settled at the base of her neck sat a crystalline snowflake with a gem in it. Something about it looked familiar. Narrowing his gaze, he honed in on it. His hand began to shake, and he set down his fork before he dropped it. Imbedded in the beautiful pendant was a blue stone. The piece was from the one that used to be on his sword. A long time ago, during a battle, one of the six stones had fallen out. He’d searched long and hard for it, and had found most of the pieces it had been broken up into. All except one. Until now. It didn’t make sense for him to know the stone, but he knew it.

And, he knew who she was. With a restraint he didn’t know he possessed, Nik remained seated and just watched the woman, instead of approaching her and carrying her off over his shoulder like he longed to do.

It was her. She was the one. His woman.

Cleo couldn’t repress the shiver that overtook her. She frowned before pasting a smile on her face. It didn’t make sense—she wasn’t outside, and the bakery was really toasty. She’d been feeling a bit out of sorts ever since the bus had stopped here in Novgorod. She’d expected them to get going again soon after, but when she was told the bus would be going back to Moscow, she realized what had happened.

Therefore, instead of booking a trip on the next bus out, Cleo found herself finding a small hotel and getting a room. Opportunity knocked, so she was going to take full advantage of it. If she were a believer in fate, she’d chock this up to that very thing. Now, she was here, and across the street stood one of the museums housing one of the largest collections of Russian history artifacts, paintings, and more.

After ordering a coffee and a piece of butter cake, Cleo stood to the side and tugged off her black leather gloves. She stuffed them in the pocket of her leather and sheepskin jacket, grateful to be out of the increasing cold for the time being. It was late afternoon, and with each inhalation of the frigid air she took, she wondered if her lungs were freezing.

It was a different story in this quaint little bakery. Each lungful of air brought such amazing scents to her nose and warmth to her body. She was hungry, and while a complete meal would be advisable, she wanted just something to tide her over until she got through the museum and back to her hotel. Moreover, that butter cake looked delectable.

She glanced around the small establishment and felt her knees nearly buckle. Across the way, sitting by a window, alone, was a man who made her lose her breath. Firm, kissable lips snagged her attention in the midst of his handsome aristocratic face. A face shadowed by a day of growth. Her belly rolled with desire. His hair, with its contrasting blond highlights, fell in delicious disarray. It was long enough to be pushed back over his ears and grace the back of his collar. Even from where she stood, she could see it was thick. For a brief second, she longed to delve her hands into its silky depths and pull his full mouth to hers.

His eyes were waiting for hers, and they riveted on her with such intensity her heart skipped a few beats. They were the color of dark chocolate pudding. Smooth and full of endless promises. Fighting the urge to lick her lips, Cleo continued her perusal of the bakery as she waited for her order. Her palms were sweaty, and she deliberately turned her back on the mouthwatering specimen who sat behind her, staring at her.

Kind of like the image in the tapestry did. He resembled that man, as well. Her body reacted in a similar way, only more intensely since this man watching her with such intent was flesh and blood. Not an image on a wall painting almost a millennium in age.

Even now, as she faced the numerous pastry choices, she could still see the man. An indigo Henley shirt hugged the impressive chest. One long leg had been visible sticking out from the small table he’d been at and was covered in dark gray cargo pants with a black Nubuck Timberland boot. Squeezing her eyes shut against the vivid memory, she opened them to see the older gentleman holding out her order to her.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the white butter cake with buttercream frosting and a light raspberry drizzle over it in one hand and the steaming coffee with her other one.

“My pleasure, miss,” he answered with a thick accent.

Flashing him a smile, she snuck a glance over her shoulder and noticed the blond man observing her. Nodding slightly at him, she then turned and walked to the other side of the business for a seat at a solitary table. Also by a window, but she was facing the man who continued to watch her.

Picking up her fork, she cut off a piece of the moist cake and brought it to her waiting mouth. Her eyes closed in ecstasy as her teeth drew the decadent sweet off the prongs and settled it upon her tongue. Oh, sweet Jesus, this is good. The moan that snuck up on her barely got contained. The first thing she witnessed when she opened her eyes again was the blond giant staring at her lips.

His tongue snuck out and teased his firm mouth. She imagined him licking the frosting off them, tasting what she did. Then, it became her licking the sweet frosting off his lips, which led to more things. Squirming on the vinyl seat, she forced her wayward thoughts back under control. Damn, this is as if I’ve been a year without a man. Calmly, she looked out the window beside her, determined not to allow him to see how much he was affecting her.