Page 82 of Blood Mosaic

His shirt was removed and he wore loose canvas pants that hung low on his waist. The air was crisp with an icy edge, but the fire warmed him and the ocean air soothed the prickling sensation that lived under his skin.

The flames danced as Oleg listened to the memory of an orchestra in his mind. He could see her, dancing in an eerie white gown across a stage in Vienna, playing the part of Giselle as the dancer she had once been.

With the image of Luana’s arms outstretched, Oleg spread his own to catch her in a flaming pas de deux, his fire courting the memories of his dead mate.

On nights where the moon was full, he felt the emptiness in his blood where Luana had lived, her passion, her talent, and her madness inextricably linked.

She had been everything to him.

Everything.

At one point in time, Oleg would have died for her. He had killed for her many times. He would have crawled through mud and scraped his hands to the bone to make her smile.

And Zara carried the last of Luana’s amnis in her rotten, conniving veins.

“You told me that I’m not allowed to kill her. That she belongs to you.”

Oleg coaxed the flames higher, building them and making them dance as Luana had danced, circling above him as his fire leaped across the celestial stage.

He closed his eyes and saw his mate rise up from the grave, ghostly smoke around her, her arms crossed over her chest and her golden-blond hair glittering in reflected candlelight.

She came to his memory like avila, her ghost intent on revenge. She rose and danced in mad whorls, laughing with the agony and betrayal of love.

His mate was a beautiful monster with a shattered mind, one that Oleg couldn’t forget even though she had been dead for years.

“Luana never should have stopped dancing.”

Oleg turned and saw Mika standing at a distance, watching his element pirouette above the shore, a swirling company of red-gold flames.

“All the performances were at night,” Mika continued, watching Oleg’s fire dance and whirl in the darkness. “She could have kept dancing.”

“She would have killed the entire company. Sucked the blood from the tiniest ballerina.” Oleg whispered to his element, and it calmed from its mad performance, settling back into the hearth where it flickered and snapped at the wood. “She would have sucked the marrow from their bones.”

Mika leaned against a stone wall. “I see that you’re feeling sentimental tonight.”

Oleg cut his eyes at the impertinent man. “She was too beautiful after she changed. No one would have believed she wasn’t a witch.”

Nothing about Luana’s features had changed when she turned into a vampire. Even her eyes, which often changed color with immortality, had stayed the same sky blue. But her body had changed, as had her abilities.

Vampires did not tire or faint from exertion. They had no need to catch their breath because oxygen was only necessary to speak.

“True.” Mika sat on a bench a small distance away. “Saba has asked to see you.”

Oleg turned to look at Mika. “Saba? Saba is the ancient you were speaking about?”

“The Alitea problem may not be a problem for long.” The corner of Mika’s mouth ticked up. “Laskaris seems to have pissed off the wrong vampires.”

Saba of the Simien Mountains was the oldest immortal known to their kind. According to legend, she was an earth vampire of unspeakable power and one of the creators of the only poison that could destroy them. A poison that his mate had once encouraged him to reproduce.

If Laskaris had angered Saba, that could be very good for Oleg.

“What does she want with me?”

“A favor.” Mika shifted on the stone bench. “There were whispers and then a message from her people.”

“Am I going to Ethiopia?”

It wouldn’t be a convenient trip, but if the mother of all immortals asked to meet, no vampire would refuse unless they wanted to die.

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