But it's the bones on her fingers that I love the most—they remind me of the piece she did for the contest—inked to appear as if she were part skeleton.

It’s as if Zhuliya is a woman who's played with death and enjoyed it. Or maybe she just has a fetish for bones…

This time, there's no denying my body's reaction.

I indicate for her to sit down as I quickly turn and pretend to sort my supplies. I blindly pick out the pigments, my mind a chaotic jumble.

When I pivot back, Zhuliya is pressed into the chair, her shirt already off, the creamy expanse of her back on display.

Blood pounds in my skull, a throbbing tempo in sync with my pulsing stoyuk. My throat closes, strangling me, as waves of need crash through my body.

"Will you excuse me for a moment, please?" I croak.

Before Zhuliya can reply, I'm out the door, sealing it shut as if it can ward off what’s happening to me.

And then I crumble.

Yuri peeks into the hall at the sound of me sinking to the floor. He’s wearing his coat, almost ready to leave, but one look in my direction and my apprentice scowls.

“Go eat—now. I’ll sit with Zhuliya.”

A growl wells up inside of me. The only thing I want to eat is her. Worse, I want to rip out Yuri’s tongue for the familiarity in which he uses Zhuliya’s name.

It’s ridiculous to be this possessive of a woman I literally met not five minutes ago—a human no less.

My fame as an artist has catapulted my name to the top, but I know that’s the only likable thing about me.

Even among monsters, my kind is feared. Ithaqua are the shadows of death, forever going forward in the barrenness of winter.

Over time, I’ve curtailed the wildness inside of me, tamping it back with a gentle voice and even gentler touch.

The work that I do in my studio is my life, and I can’t jeopardize it by succumbing to the barbaric instincts ingrained inside of me.

By taming my more volatile urges, my clients have come to trust me. Instead of running from me as most people do when they see an Ithaqua, they greet me with genuine warmth.

If they only knew about the beast that lurks beneath the surface.

With a nod to Yuri, I dash into my office, slamming the door shut and locking it. Desire flares inside of me brighter and hotter than a thousand suns.

My knees buckle, and I lean back against the door, hoping the wooden frame can hold my weight.

I war with myself for all of two seconds before I unlace the tops of my pants and fist my stoyuk.

The dark length is a stark contrast to the bone-white tip, tapered like an arrowhead. It’s the same color as my skull, but the rest of my stoyuk is shaded like my horns, going from gray to black.

Underneath the angled curve of the ivory head, deep, slashing grooves carve into the light gray before ironing out.

An inch before the base, charcoal spikes jut out, the same as the bone spurs that run down my back, on my horns, and along my jawline.

Unlike my other spurs, the tips of these are blunt, meant to induce pleasure instead of pain as they rub against my mate.

My brain snags on the word ‘mate’, instantly conjuring an image of Zhuliya naked, spread before me.

She’s dripping wet, smells divine, and I can’t help but wonder if her pussy is as pink and pretty as the rest of her.

Just the thought of my slick tip pushing through her soft, rosy folds as I split her open undoes me. With a strangled howl, I explode, and cum splatters into a puddle at my feet.

I tingle from head to toe and sag even further down the door. My horns scratch the lacquered surface, but I can’t find the will to care.

Everything around me is in a haze, as if I’m in genuine shock over what just happened. Never in my life have I come so hard—and by a ten second fantasy, no less.

Trying to pull myself together, I stare down at the mess I made, baffled at the electric reaction this woman has on me.

After another few moments, I finally compose myself. Rushing to clean up the floor, I set everything to rights, including my pants, before hurrying back to the room that Yuri and Zhuliya are waiting in.

She’s—thankfully—putting back on her shirt and is talking with my apprentice like they are old friends, her Russian too fluid for it not to be her mother tongue.

I stare for just a moment before going over to the counter lining the wall. Not even ten minutes have passed, but I despise myself for what I did.

It was rude. It was unprofessional, and worst of all, it was weak—and Ithaqua are not weak. It's a trait my kind can't afford to have if we want to survive, even in modern times.

"I apologize—”

Zhuliya raises a hand, cutting me off. “Yuri says you didn’t eat! I wish you had told me—I could’ve waited.”

Yuri smirks as the tiny female gives me a piece of her mind. Her nose scrunches and her lips pucker in a gorgeous pout that makes me groan under my breath.

“Right, well, I have….sated myself. I should be okay now. Thank you, Yuri. I'll see you tomorrow."

The logical part of my brain screams at me to ask my apprentice to stay—he's probably the only thing that's going to keep me from ravaging this woman.

But Yuri has been here since just after sunrise and often puts in longer hours than I do. I can't ask more of him than the man has already given me.

He says a few more words to Zhuliya—again, too familiar for my liking—and then departs. When I hear the front door jingle shut, I can't help but wonder if I've made the right decision.

I turn back to the task of picking out my ink when I hear Zhuliya take off her shirt once more. My pulse skyrockets but I school my features as I wrangle back my lust.

Since when do human women interest me?

Before this moment, I’ve never really viewed them as sexually pleasing. They are simply too small and fragile-looking to be attractive.

And yet, here I stand, aching because of one.

“You’re Russian?” I ask just to take my mind off the thought of her bare back.

“No, but I am, technically, a citizen, although I live in the USA and have citizenship there, too.”