Page 95 of Blood Mosaic

How to answer that?

Well, Lorala, I saw the world’s oldest vampire tonight, and she scared the crap out of every vampire in the tavern. Then I found out that my new boss is going to kill my old boss and that doing that will mean killing a part of himself, which made me feel sympathetic to him and hold his hand and he took that as an invitation to pull me onto his lap and give me the most unearthly powerful orgasm I’ve ever experienced.

She couldn’t tell Lorala any of that.

It’s been a strange night, but I’ll be okay. Thank you for calming my panic before I spiraled. I better get some sleep.

Let’s get a drink in the daylight when you get back to Odesa.

Yes. That sounds great.

She tossed her phone on the floor and covered her face with her hands.

Tatyana, what have you done?

After a few more self-pitying moments, Tatyana dragged herself from the floor and stood. She eased off her jacket, kicked off her shoes, and scooted her skirt to her ankles before she kicked her clothes into a heap by the closet. She stripped to her panties and grabbed her giant hooded sweatshirt, pulling it over her head as she dragged the blankets from the bed over to the window.

Making a nest for herself where the sunlight would touch her skin when the morning came, she curled into a ball and pulled a blanket over her body, hiding under the blankets while she waited for daylight.

She wanted her mother. She wanted her cat.

And she desperately wanted tonotdream about Oleg Sokolov.

Tatyana wokethe next morning with the sun shining on her face. She’d kicked off her covers during the night and was bare from the waist down, wearing only her hoodie and a pair of underwear.

Glancing at the balcony, she saw that the silver coffee carafe and domed tray was back on her balcony, so either the French doors were shaded from the outside or whoever had delivered her food had gotten a show.

Tatyana couldn’t bring herself to care.

Whatever servants existed in Oleg’s home, they were basically invisible. She hadn’t seen more than a shadow of them since she’d arrived. Food appeared like magic. Fresh towels were hung on a warming rack in the bathroom. Full size bottles of luxury-brand shampoo and conditioner were in the bathroom.

It all seemed excessive for a two-night trip, but what did she know? Oleg lived like royalty, and she had become attached to him by some twist of fate.

She rose and walked to the bathroom, taking off her hoodie and underwear to take a shower in the marble walk-in.

As she stood under the rain-like shower, she closed her eyes and tried to focus.

She had one day to herself in Sevastopol. When she arrived, Oleg told her that a driver would be available to her but she would need to be accompanied by bodyguards since Zara was still roaming around.

She thought about visiting her mother but decided against it. In the mood she was in, she’d probably try to grab her mother again and run.

Then Oleg would track her down again, drag her back, and she’d be even further behind in looking for his money.

“Work,” she whispered. She could work. That’s what she was going to do. She was going to get her computer, try to forget the night before, and sink into analyzing spreadsheets with money transfers from two years ago, looking for patterns.

She slapped the shower lever down and shook her head before she wrapped a towel around her hair, put on the plush bathrobe, and left the bathroom.

Good, she had a plan. She would work, find Oleg’s money, and then…

No, she wasn’t going to think that far ahead. She was going to focus on work.

She rubbed the excess water from her hair and combed it out before she walked to the balcony and poured some coffee to start the day. Sitting in the sunlight, she surveyed Oleg’s mansion, and it was nothing less than a wonder.

Isolated on a jut of rocky beach that stretched into the Black Sea, the property was surrounded by trees and the house itself reminded her of a massive cruise ship, each story built back into the hill behind the house with balconies and staircases twisting around lush gardens and private patios.

It reminded her of houses she’d seen on the Greek islands, only instead of blue domes, the roof was baked red tile, and the whitewashed walls of the mansion were decorated by intricate mosaics that must have taken years to install.

The sound of waves and gently trickling water was everywhere, burbling from blue-tiled fountains that reflected the sky, falling from waterfalls that flowed from one story to thenext, and bursting in joyful splashes from reflecting pools that lined the walkways that led down to the ocean.

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