The concierge waves, giving me a bright smile that pulls me from my thoughts. I wave back before trekking across the lobby to the elevator, leaving a wet trail behind me.
From my snowsuit and not the mess between my legs.
The second I enter my room, I strip out of everything and shiver against the door. Pulling the purple headband from my hair, I start towards the bathroom and then freeze.
In front of me is an opulent, full-length mirror framed in gold. It reaches the ceiling, showcasing the entirety of the bedroom Inked booked for me.
It’s gorgeous, but it’s the ink on my back that stops me. It puts the mirror and everything around me to shame.
In a word, it’s breathtaking.
Even through the wrapping, I can see how amazing the tat is. Ilian used all blackwork, etching a 3D pattern into my back that’s reminiscent of M.C. Escher’s work.
The abstract form is almost floral in nature, with swirls for petals, and I gasp when I realize why it’s so familiar to me.
When I was, ahem, researching Ithaqua, not much came up except about their gods and goddesses.
One goddess in particular had a design very similar to the one on my back. I grab my phone, sifting through my search history until I find what I’m looking for.
Aisyth, Ithaqua goddess of fertility and mating bonds.
Mating bonds?
The article is brief, like everything about Ilian’s kind, and I give up to snap a pic of my back in the mirror so I can examine it closer.
It’s different from Aisyth’s symbol, more intricate, as if Ilian took it and evolved it into something unique for me.
I snort at my delusional thoughts. I’m not anyone special, just another customer. In truth, I’m even less than that since this was a prize, and I didn’t pay for it.
None of it matters. In another day, I’ll be flying back to the States, and I’ll never see Ilian again.
Snapping a quick pic of the ink, I sigh. All I want is a shower—or just anything to distract me. With my arms flung out, I flop down on the bed, burrowing my face in the pillows.
A knock sounds at my door, and I groan. I scoot off the bed on my stomach so as not to touch my new ink and stomp over to peek through the peephole.
When I spy Ilian’s hulking form on the other side, I gasp. Never in a million years did I expect him to show up at my door. Which is why I open it, forgetting one crucial thing.
I’m still naked.
CHAPTER TWO
Ilian
It takes me all of thirty seconds to decide that I'm going after Zhuliya. It doesn't matter that it's not for the noble reasons I tell myself.
All that matters is I need to be with her again.
Even though her scent is strong, when I open the door of my studio, the howling wind blasts by me, bouncing off the darkened windows of the surrounding buildings and scattering my mate’s unique aroma.
It would have been easier to track her if I had her scent as well, but the invisible tether that binds us together will have to be enough.
I step out into the frigid night and center myself until I can feel another heartbeat along with my own—Zhuliya’s.
With a decisive nod, I turn right and then weave through the city with no discernible destination except to find my mate.
After nearly fifteen minutes, I end up in front of the Corona Hotel. It never occurred to me to even look up anything about Zhuliya and the prize that she won.
In fact, I bet Yuri has all the information back at the studio, and I could’ve looked it up instead of wandering around.
Regardless, I'm pleased with the results. It proves to me that my imprint is strong, and Zhuliya can't hide from me.
As I approach the front door, an old crone sits outside, one eye screwed shut and the other staring up at me, unblinking.
She's wearing tattered rags, her shriveled skin chapped by the merciless wind. If I were human, I'd have a coat and I could give her one.
All I have is money, and I hope it's enough. I slip her twenty thousand rubles before pulling her up and guiding her into the hotel.
When the concierge spies me, she gives me a bright smile. I'm a well-known name in Berdsk, but when she sees the crone, the grin withers away.
I give her a firm look. "I'd like to book a room for this lady for the evening as well as tomorrow." Sliding the concierge my credit card, I give her my information. "Whatever she would like, too, please include. Any room service and food, please send her way."The old woman's eyes twinkle with tears. "You are a good man," she whispers in broken Russian, making me wonder if it's not her first language.
Her words are sweet and nearly break my heart because there's nothing good about me. I’m an animal with only the veneer of civility because that's what's demanded of me.
Underneath, I’m nothing but a rabid beast—imprinting upon Zhuliya is evidence enough.
The concierge gives me the key, and I guide the crone to her room. It's tucked far away, as if the concierge didn't want any other customers seeing her.
