Page 10 of Cry of the Firebird

"She died long ago."

"I'm sorry. It's the worst feeling in the world losing someone you love," she said, not needing to fake her sincerity.

Vasilli laughed, shocking her. "I didn't love her. She was just the thing we fought over," he corrected. He looked her over in a way that made her want to shower. "You know, you actually look like someone I loved once. Same winter white hair, same spring green eyes." He reached over and brushed a thumb over her cheek.

"That's a nice compliment. Thank you. I don't get many of them." Anya's smile froze, and she pulled gently out of his reach. Something deeply female inside of her was now assessing him for an even more significant threat.

"You know, ask in the village tomorrow about any newcomers. We get a lot of seasonal workers here," she said and got up. "There's a small spare room in the barn that you are welcome to use. I need to get some sleep. You know us farmers, in bed at dusk and up at dawn."

Vasilli took the hint and rose to his feet. In a strangely unexpected gesture, he bowed, took her hand, and kissed it. "Thank you for giving me hospitality tonight, Anya Venäläinen. You would make your ancestors proud."

"You're welcome."

Anya followed him through the house to the back door and watched him disappear in the windy, dark night. As quickly as she dared, she shut the door and locked it for the first time in years.

Back in the sitting room, she pushed the half-burned logs out of the way to check the firebird was still there. It ruffled its feathers irritably at her, not making any sign it was going to move.

"Fine, stay in there. I'm done entertaining surly freaking Russians for one day," she hissed.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Anya got in the shower and groaned as the hot water poured down over her. She had been cold since Vasilli had arrived. She tried not to laugh at the absurd day she had. She had a firebird and a psycho in her house, and she was…in her bathroom with no lock on the door.Shit.

Anya quickly rinsed off the soap and wrapped a towel around herself, feeling like the dumb girl killed first in a horror movie.

She stepped into her room and was about to drop her towel when she spotted Yvan sitting at the end of her bed.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" she demanded, clutching the towel tighter.

"I'm making sure Vasilli doesn't climb through your window and murder you. You need to get dressed, and we both need to get out of here before he returns," he said irritably, holding the heavy stick that Anya kept hidden under her bed.

"Why should I go anywhere with you? He doesn't seem interested in killing me, only finding you," Anya argued. "You said that you would leave as soon as he went to bed. You know where the door is."

Yvan shook his head. "You don't get it. It's too late for that. Vasilli had a compulsion on you that not only forced you towelcome him in your home but also to let him feel if what you were saying was true or not. He will know you've lied to him, and he's playing with you like a demented cat and bloody mouse. He likes to play sick games with his victims, Anya. It means if you stay here, you'll die."

"Why do you even care?" she demanded.

Yvan had been angry at her since he had hatched, and the thought he would protect her was laughable.

"Because I owe you a life debt for freeing me, that's why. I'm going to keep you alive, whether you like it or not."

There was an earnestness in his voice that made Anya pause. His eyes were flickering with worry as he looked at her. "Please trust me. If you keep thinking Vasilli won't kill you for the fun of it, I'll be putting you in a grave earlier than I thought."

Anya pinched the bridge of her nose. "I can't get dressed with you in here, can I?" She needed to have clothes on if she was going to fight with him.

"Dress warm. Pack a bag. I'll be guarding the door," Yvan replied, his shoulders loosening with visible relief.

Anya pulled on a pair of jeans, a gray long-sleeved shirt, and tied her boots tight. It didn't matter if he once knew Ilya. Anya didn't know Yvan any better than Vasilli and didn't know how far she could trust him. Yvan was pacing outside the door when she opened it, looking edgy and irritated again.

"Why haven't you packed?" he asked, slinging Eikki's old fishing bag over his shoulder.

"About that, I'm not going to run off in the night with you—"Anya began.

"Yvan!" Vasilli's voice echoed through the walls, and Anya's bones vibrated. "I know you're in there, you coward! I can smell you and that damn bird! Come out, or I will burn this fucking house down to get to you."

Anya hurried to the window and peered through the curtains. Vasilli stood in the yard with a burning torch in one hand. The barn was already a fireball behind him.

"The animals!" Anya went to the door, but Yvan grabbed her roughly.

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