“I’m sorry.” I took his hand and lightly shook. “Only Kazimir can call me mouse, but Emily is fine.”
He frowned for a few seconds but returned to smiling. “I’m Zahkar, and this is my wife, Anja.”
Anja leaned my way, gave a weak smile, lifted her wine, and looked away.
O-kay. Guess Anja and I won’t be talking.
I made note of her features—blonde hair, blue eyes, red dress. Bored as fuck expression.
Zahkar continued the conversation. “They said you were from America. I can hear it in your words.”
Intrigued, I asked, “Do Americans speak weird to you?”
“Oh yes. They sound evil. American p’s are too soft for me.”
“You prefer the harsh r’s?”
“I do.”
“Still.” I smiled. “American accents are evil? I’ve heard the same response from an American listening to a Russian.”
Zahkar smiled. “Surely, when you met the lion, his accent scared you a little.”
No. His accent made me want to fuck him.
There was no need to tell Zahkar. This dinner was about my learning about him, not the other way around.
“Why do you think Americans sound so evil to each other?” I asked.
Zahkar pulled out a pipe. His wife snapped her attention to him for a minute and scowled.
He paid her displeasure no mind, taking out a small wooden box and setting it on the table. “I would say it all goes back to the Cold War and the tension between Russia and America. Our countries told us to fear the other. To see each as an enemy.”
“That’s an interesting point.” Feeling a little bit comfortable, I grabbed my own glass of wine. “And your name, Zahkar. What does it mean?”
“It means remembrance of God.” He opened the wooden box, took out a little tobacco, and filled his pipe. “You don’t mind if I smoke do you?”
“No.”
“My wife hates it.” He shrugged and lit his pipe.
“Are you a religious man? I’m asking because of the name.”
“I’m religious as much as any man could be.” He tapped the end of his pipe, inhaled, and then exhaled smoke. Surprisingly, the air filled with a fruity scent instead of the usual nasty cigar smoke.
I spied Kazimir watching me on the side. For some reason, it made me nervous, like I was being examined by him and needed desperately to pass this test.
It’s fine. Kaz is just being protective.
I took another sip of wine.
Zahkar switched to Russian. “They told me you’ve been learning our language fast.”
I responded in Russian. “It’s not easy, but I’m getting it.”
“Death has a way of speeding things up.”
Was he referring to Kazimir and my killing Sasha or other deaths?
Zahkar leaned my way and displayed a wicked grin. “What is your darkest secret?’
“I’m a serial killer.”
A dark laugh left him. “No wonder Kazimir adores you. That sense of humor is amazing.”
I said nothing else.
“Since you won’t confess, I’ll tell you mine.” Zahkar leaned in closer. “I have a gun fetish.”
“Most do.”
“Yes, but I like to put my guns in other places for fun.”
Anja tapped his shoulder and went into hurried and whispered Russian. I could barely understand her, but within seconds, Zahkar put that pipe out and straightened in his seat.
So she’s the one running things.
Just when I was about to spark up more conversation, another man and woman walked up to me. I’d recognized them as the couple who sat on the other end of the table. Apparently, they’d decided to jump up and introduce themselves.
Zahkar’s expression went neutral.
I took in the other couple. While Zahkar and Anja appeared like a professor with his glamorous but very unhappy wife, passion radiated from these two.
The woman grabbed my attention first. Sheer white material made up her gown. It must’ve been gossamer. It was like a spider web or wedding veil but with tons of layers. Feathers covered the bust.
She looked like a virginal swan while her man appeared to be the evil sorcerer who’d captured her. He had on a tuxedo, but I could barely make it out due to the heavy black fur cloak around his shoulders. A top hat sat on his head.
He lifted the hat and half bowed.
I did my best not to laugh.
The evil sorcerer spoke. “Zahkar, just because you are near the mouse does not mean you will be talking to her all night. Hello, Emily. My name is Nikolay.” He gave the hat to the swan and extended his hand to me.
“Nice to meet you, Nikolay.”
Dark tattoos covered his entire hand. I shook it and took in the symbols of crosses all over his fingers and palm. Each cross was different in some way. Some were very small. Others somewhat big. Many had names or words written in them. I was struggling with the Russian alphabet and had no idea what they said.
Is this a count of all the people he’s murdered or is he religious?
Nikolay kept my hand. “How did you get Kazimir’s attention?”