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It had been decades since Maksim’s mother had passed, leaving her devastated husband and son behind. They floundered for a long time, but eventually adjusted to the loss. Maksim stood in the sunshine outside his father’s isolated palace, resting his ax on the splitting block. He lifted the long, dark hair off his neck, hoping to admit air to his sweat-drenched scalp.
Physical activity helped Maksim manage the stress that was almost always his companion. Despite the frigid Russian December, Maksim felt as if he had an inferno within and stripped off his shirt, tossing it on the woodpile. Driven by the need to move, he went back to work. His muscles rippled as he split more wood, though they had enough to keep them warm for years.
“Maksim, my boy,” Timofey called, stomping out of the house and toward the woodpile.
“Yes, Father?”
Timofey’s face reflected his typical agitation. “I have a taste for trout. Go down to the stream and see if you can catch us a bucketful for dinner.” Maksim understood that his father wanted him out of the house and wondered what the old man was up to. He hadn’t shown any interest in the food he ate since they lost Elizaveta.
Although he was curious, Maksim would welcome the solitude at the stream. The gentle burble would be more pleasant than his father’s foul mood, and he enjoyed fishing. It provided a curious blend of action and inactive attention that suited his current state.
Maksim collected the ax and his shirt, then gathered his fishing tackle. He was rarely still for long, and the near-constant need for movement was growing. After he rinsed off the sweat in the rain barrel, he put his shirt on. Maksim stopped to grab some of the goat cheese he’d made the previous week, a small loaf of crusty bread, and a few pieces of the jerky they kept on hand.
He called a farewell to his father and jogged the two miles to the best fishing stream. He filled his bucket almost to the brim, not stopping until the sun was close to the horizon. Hopefully, that had given his father enough time for whatever he was doing.
Timofey anxiously paced across his wide front porch. He sensed something coming, but it was masked, so he couldn’t tell what. The uncertainty was maddening. He had sent Maksim off to fish, hoping his son would stay away until the visitor had come and gone. As the sun sank below the horizon, he said a fervent prayer that Maksim would be gone a while longer.
Minutes after the light faded, Timofey heard the knock he’d expected. Tapping his Therian senses for the first time in more years than he cared to count, his heartbeat sped up when he identified the creature on the other side of the door as a vampire. Despite his centuries of exile, he had not forgotten the feel of a vampire’s tainted energy. Since delay would only increase the chances of Maksim meeting the invader, he cautiously opened the door.
“What do you want, leech?” His voice was gruff and unwelcoming.
A man stood on the porch, wearing an elegant suit and flashing fang when he offered a wide smile. “My name is Jean-Pierre. Nadya sent me with news that you might find interesting.”
“What would a vampire know about my interests?” Timofey asked, his suspicion growing.
Jean-Pierre smiled, his eyes glowing red. “King Nikoli is dead, and our queen helped make it happen.”
That got Timofey’s interest. The world was rid of the wretched beast who hadn’t deserved his title. “’Helped’ make it happen? It’s not like a leech to share the credit. Who else was there?”
The vampire looked annoyed by the repeated slur but let it slide. The Therians’ prejudices were the least of his concerns. “Prince Lucaindrion and his vampire mate.” Jean-Pierre reined in his smug expression at Timofey’s shock. “A great deal has changed since you were exiled.”
Timofey filed the news that Nikoli had been killed by his son, who was mated to a vampire, for examination when he had time to enjoy the irony.
“How did you find me?” Timofey worried someone had been telling tales. He’d hidden for so long that this invasion rankled, though he was curious. Maybe the subject change would give him time to figure out how to react.
“Nadya has eyes everywhere and spies who can enter the minds of humans and Therians alike. We sought the only exiled Therian with a grudge against the empire. Imagine our surprise when the local humans related the legends about your family. Your wife was well-loved.”
Growling, Timofey glared at the vampire. “You’ve come to threaten me?”
Jean-Pierre shook his head, still calm. “I’ve come to propose an alliance with a Therian who hates the people who exiled him.”
Timofey shook his head without considering the offer. “I hate Nikoli and everything he stood for, but I won’t stoop so low as to join forces with vampires.”
The vampire nodded. “I understand your position. My queen only asks that you consider how your people treated you and what they would likely do if they knew what we know. She wants to elevate you to her inner circle, placing you at her right hand in a position of honor.”
Timofey shrugged. “You might not think there is much difference between exile and traitor, but that is a line I’m not willing to cross. Regardless of what you say, no position in Nadya’s court would bring me honor.”
“Should you change your mind, I will be at the tavern in the village for another month,” Jean-Pierre replied.
“You’ve delivered your message,” Timofey stated coldly, eager to have the man leave before Maksim returned. “It’s time for you to go.”
Jean-Pierre nodded. “Until next time, Mr. Petrov.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Therian Palace, Thursday, December 13, 2012
Luca was frustrated after yet another long day of tedious administrative tasks and meetings. He struggled to maintain the traditions of his people while getting things accomplished amid endless ceremonies. His predecessor had let many Therian traditions fall into obscurity, and Luca was eager to reestablish some of them as he took their people in new directions and rejoined the world.
