Page 32 of Cry of the Firebird

A stunning woman was standing in the doorway. She had rich, cherry-colored hair that matched her lipstick. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman Anya had ever seen.

"This is Cerise," Trajan introduced as the woman strolled into the room. "She's the other friend I contacted to help me find you and Yvan."

Cerise laughed a husky chuckle that rolled down Anya's spine. "Looks like you didn't need me after all. So you're the girl who has Trajan all tangled up in a panic."

"That's me. Are you another thanatos or avolk krovi?" Anya asked.

She had the same accent as Trajan's and had the same unnaturally perfect features. The woman laughed loudly and sat down on a couch.

"I know I've been traveling roughly the last few days, but a wolf? Ha! I'm neither." Cerise was wearing a black corset, leather pants, and knee-high boots, the most unlikely traveling ensemble Anya could imagine.

"She just met Izrayl. He decided to change in front of her as an introduction," Trajan said, getting up to pour Cerise a drink.

"Oh, dear, no wonder you look so rattled. Izrayl with his dick out would shock anyone," Cerise said with another big, bawdy laugh. "No, darling. I'm a keres. My kind are Greek war spirits that hang around battlefields to take souls to the Underworld."

"Like Valkyries?" Anya asked.

"Those winged women don't drink the blood of the dead, but my kind does," Cerise said matter-of-factly.

"Do you still drink blood?" Anya asked. This night was fast going to the top of her list for the weirdest shit ever.

"Yes, but luckily, I don't have to chase battlefields anymore to get it." Cerise shrugged as she lit a cigarette. "There are lots of lovely morgue assistants these days who are happy to oblige a lady."

"Huh. Well, you learn something new every day," Anya said and drained her vodka. She had an overwhelming urge to go and wake Yvan up, so she had one familiar face to ground her. She almost laughed aloud over the realization he was now what she considered normal.

Footsteps and grumbles of male voices echoed in the hall, and both Izrayl and Yvan appeared. The prince's clothes were rumpled, and his hair was tousled from the short amount of rest he had gotten before Izrayl woke him.

"Cerise! Come and kiss me, you red-haired harpy!" Izrayl bellowed, and Cerise all but flew into his arms. She squealed as he picked her up in a massive embrace and kissed both of his cheeks.

"How goes it, old dog?" she asked fondly.

"Still alive." He grinned salaciously at her. "And still young enough to learn some new tricks if you are the one doing the teaching."

"Try it, and I'll neuter you," Cerise threatened and tugged on his braid. "You dogs, all you think of is hunting, fighting, and fucking."

"What else is there?" Izrayl growled in the back of his throat and raised an eyebrow at her suggestively.

"The cries of men in battle, of sword and shield clashing against steel, drinking the blood of heroes to keep me beautiful?" Cerise replied, making Izrayl laugh louder.

"Fucking war spirits. Let's move this party to the kitchen. I'm hungry, and Anya is looking confused. If we are going to play story time, I need protein," Izrayl said, putting Cerise down.

Cerise's attention landed on Yvan, and her smile turned atomic. "I don't remember ordering a hot Russian?"

Izrayl laughed. "Stop that. You'll make poor Yvan blush."

Yvan gave her a polite bow. "Yvan Tsarevich, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Cerise," she said, putting her hand in his. "Feel free to kiss it."

Yvan chuckled and did just that. "My lady."

That made Izrayl laugh even louder. "Don't let her fool you."

Cerise shot Yvan a wink before Izrayl put an arm around her shoulders and steered her towards the kitchen.

"Your taste in friends is as interesting as ever, Trajan," Yvan commented.

"Be careful. She likes to drink men's blood," Anya told him, a small barb of jealousy stinging her unexpectedly.

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