Tricks & Treats: A Wild Bunch Halloween Novella Read online

  He nodded, even as he looked disappointed by that fact. “You stay away too long. You’re family.”

  She knew that, even when there were moments when she wondered and had doubts. She didn’t have an answer now why she had avoided coming home after all this time beyond irrational fears, because now that she was here, it seemed rather silly that she had been so worried in the first place.

  “How is that boy of yours?” he asked suddenly, surprising her that he actually remembered Christophe.

  Alexey had never been a fan of those he considered outsiders, and since Christophe didn’t bear the ink of a vor, he wouldn’t ever truly be considered one of them.

  “He’s fine,” she said, finding herself smiling absently.

  “And he treats you well?” he pressed.

  Better than she could have ever dreamed.

  Some, like her sister, were lucky in that they fell in love with the person they were arranged to marry. The man who’d been chosen for Mariya, however ... he’d been a different sort of monster.

  After him, she hadn’t been sure she had ever wanted to date again. And then came Christophe, her gorgeous and broken Romanian.

  Someone who deserved every bit of love she received and happily gave it in return.

  No, she couldn’t think of anyone better suited for her than him.

  “I see he’s made an honest woman out of you, no?” Alexey pointed out with a glance down at her hand.

  But unlike Klara who’d appeared playfully heartbroken at the knowledge she hadn’t been able to attend the wedding when Mariya had told her about it many months ago, dedushka merely nodded as if it were expected.

  God forbid she lived her life not attached to a man, she thought with wry amusement.

  “Your papa would be pleased.”

  Mariya couldn’t remember the last time they’d talked about her parents, certainly not like this. It still felt a little bittersweet.

  And in the quiet moments of the night, she liked to think her father would have approved too.

  “You should invite him next time,” Alexey suggested.

  “I will,” she said and meant it, even though she didn’t know when the next time would be.

  But if this visit went well, she didn’t see why not.

  “Good,” he said moving back to his feet. “Now, let’s get going. We wouldn’t want to be late for the festivities.”

  Everything about Kerrington Pumpkin Patch felt nostalgic—from the trail of orange and maroon tinted leaves that flanked the path leading through the field, to the stacks of hay bails placed in tight bundles near picturesque scarecrows and signs.

  Mariya hadn’t been here since she was a little girl, but she distinctly remembered the awe and wonder she’d felt seeing the rows of pumpkins ripe for the picking.

  And now, she got to see that same look of wonder on Ana’s face as she looked around, her tiny hands tucked into the palms of her parents’.

  “What about this one?” Akim suggested, briefly bending down to pick up a pumpkin that seemed terribly small in his large hands but appeared a lot bigger innAna’s.

  “But what about the big ones?” she asked, barely able to constrain her excitement as she pointed further down where the bigger selections were.

  Klara was trying and failing to contain her smile though Akim probably didn’t understand why. Only Mariya would know how much her sister had loved the pumpkins that were bigger than her own head rather than the dainty ones that could fit on her nightstand.

  Akim, ever the pushover when it came to his daughter, merely offered a nod before reaching for her. “Then let’s find you the biggest one they have to offer.”

  Akim and Ana went on ahead of them, leaving Mariya to pick up the pumpkin they’d left behind, turning it around in her hands.

  “Do you remember the first time Papa brought us here?” Klara asked.

  Like it was yesterday.

  It amazed her sometimes the memories that lingered. There were so many little moments that had always blurred around the edges when she tried to recall them, but others, like her time here were so crystal clear, she doubted she would ever forget them.

  “You refused to just pick one,” Klara said with a laugh. “You thought it would get lonely.”

  Even Mariya had to laugh at the memory and the childlike logic that didn’t make sense now.

  “And I refused to throw them away,” she said, wishing she could forget the smell of rancid pumpkins.

  “You’ve always had a soft heart,” Klara said with a shrug, as if that were the answer to everything. “Papa knew that.”

  Which was why he’d been willing to indulge her wants where those pumpkins were concerned.

  “He coddled me,” she countered, though there was no heat behind the words. She knew it was true. “I was never like you. You were always strong and capable and—“

  “Rebellious,” Klara cut in with a laugh. “And you were plenty like me. If not, you might not have ended up with Fang.”

  She wasn’t completely wrong and maybe that’s why Mariya didn’t have a ready response.

  Whatever she was, she was thankful it had brought her to this point. Because without that pain and the trials she had no idea if she would survive, she wouldn’t be the person she is now.

  Just down the path, a beaming Ana held up a pale, discolored pumpkin, her toothy smile widening as she nodded eagerly at Akim.

  But as happy as she was to see Ana so excited, Mariya was reminded that while the fun had only just begun, she still had a dinner to attend to tonight.

  One she still wasn’t looking forward to.

  Chapter 3

  When she was a little girl, Mariya used to be terrified of the family dinners where all of her extended family—and even those she shared no blood with—came to town and all gathered around the table that stretched the length of the room.

  She hadn't understood the symbolism behind their fancy suits in addition to the tattoos that decorated their skin.

  For a long time, she feared those men, always the first to hide behind her mother's skirts or tucked tightly against her father's side. It didn't matter that he shared the same ink as them, or that neither of her parents had ever seemed particularly bothered being around those men, there was just always something about them that set her on edge.

  More than two decades later, that still hadn't changed much.

  It didn't matter that she wasn't that little girl anymore, or even that she didn't have her parents to hide behind, the nerves as she got dressed still ate at her. But if there was one thing her time away in New York had taught her, there was nothing wrong with a little fear, she only needed to put on a brave face.

  And that, she could do.

  So Mariya took her time, making sure her dress fit nicely, even going as far as straightening her hair and taking an extra minute to ensure her contour and blush was blended.

  Stalling would be a better description, but she could live with that.

  She had almost finished getting ready and was just about to walk out the bedroom door when her phone chimed, alerting her to a text.

  Fang: When's Anastasia's birthday?

  The question came so randomly that she didn't think twice before she gave him the answer, though she followed it with a single question mark. For a moment, three dots appeared making her think he would respond, but after a short while, they disappeared without a message from him.

  Strange.

  They’d talked off and on all day, though there had been a stretch of time when he’d taken a while to respond to her texts, but she hadn’t thought much of it.

  But she didn't have time to question why he was asking, not when she was about to be late to a dinner party that was just downstairs.

  Dragging in one last calming breath, Mariya finally exited the guest bedroom and walked downstairs, wondering if her heartbeat sounded as loud to others as it did to herself. Before she reached the lower level, she could already hear voices, some famili
ar while others sounded foreign.

  Would she know everyone here ... or had it been too long?

  And more importantly, was anyone expecting her to be here?

  She stopped at the base of the stairs, her vantage point allowing her an almost unobstructed view of the formal dining room. Klara had outdone herself with the elaborate table decor and the grand floral arrangements in crystal vases. The sight alone made her smile.

  She could still remember the days when her sister had been unsure if the life of a vor's wife was for her. Klara had always rebelled at the very idea of it, and had she not fallen very quickly for Akim, Mariya was pretty sure her sister would have been a runaway bride once the big day came.

  Now, at least, it seemed she was settling into her position quite well.

  Speaking of her sister ... Klara was making the rounds, making sure everyone had what they needed and no guest was lacking. And to her surprise, she caught sight of Anastasia following at her heels, always scurrying out of reach when someone moved to touch her.

  It reminded her of days long past.

  Now, Mariya had a choice to make. Either she could remain there in the shadows, careful not to draw any attention to herself, or she could force herself to join the party and face whatever came next.

  There's nothing to fear, she reminded herself as she took a hesitant step forward. The monster of her nightmares was dead and by now, every person in that room would have to know who he'd been, what he'd put her through, and the betrayals he'd committed against the bratva.

  She no longer had anything to be ashamed of.

  "Just say the word," a very familiar voice called, breaking through the inner panic in her head, "and we can say fuck the party, grab one of those bottles, and have a good time on our own."

  Mariya might have been staring across the distance at people that were considered family, but utter relief coursed through her at the sound of Christophe's voice. She had a million and one questions about how and why he was there, but none of them seemed terribly important as she turned to face him, finding him leaning against the wall, every bit as casual and relaxed as he usually was despite the fact that he was surrounded by strangers in an unfamiliar place.

  He knew New York like the back of his hand, not to mention the fact that he had three brothers that were just as skilled as he was willing and ready to do whatever it took to keep him safe.

  Yet, as far as she could see, he had come alone. And considering the Wild Bunch always traveled as a pack, that was saying quite a lot.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked, closing the distance between them, taking a moment to appreciate the sight he made in that black tux.

  He might have leaned more toward denim and leather most days, but that didn’t compare to how he was dressed now.

  Christophe shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. "You needed me."

  She had, more so than she had initially wanted to admit to herself, but now she was thankful he had listened to what she hadn't said. "How'd you get here so fast?"

  His grin grew a touch, revealing one of his silver-capped canines. "You've been on the back of my bike before. You know how I drive when I'm inspired."

  Oh, she would never forget.

  Forgetting all about decorum, she wrapped her arms around him, happy at the feel of him even before she had to arch up though she wore heels to kiss him.

  And it only took that first touch of her lips against his to forget all of her worries—to not care about anything or anyone outside of this moment.

  She chewed on her lip, staring up at him. “Are you nervous?”

  “Of a few Russians?” His smile was a little too easy. “I’ve had worse odds.”

  Then it was now or never. Tucking her hand in his, she let the warm familiarity of it be a comfort as she led him into the dining room where most of the guests had already congregated.

  It was far easier to bypass those who were already sitting—though they had no qualms about turning around to watch them pass—but it wasn’t nearly as easy passing her relatives and associates alike who were still standing.

  But they weren't staring at her, she realized as she took her seat near the head of the table, Christophe to her right. They were staring at him.

  She could guess what they were thinking. He wasn't one of them. They wouldn't understand the semblance behind the X tattooed on the side of his throat, or why—despite the fact that they were all glaring at him in different intervals of hostility—he wasn't afraid.

  Now that she thought about it, Mariya wasn't sure why she'd been worried at all.

  Despite his late and unexpected arrival, Klara smiled at the sight of him. “Fang, I’m glad you could make it.”

  Boris, who hadn’t spoken a word since they entered the room, frowned. “Fang?”

  And like clockwork, Christophe’s lips turned up at one corner, revealing one silver-capped canine.

  “What sort of name is Fang?” Another asked, bolder than the others. “It means nothing.”

  “I could show you what it means,” Christophe offered with a carefree shrug of his shoulder.

  It didn’t matter that it wasn’t the most blatant of threats, they all knew what his words implied.

  Tension erupted, and even she could feel the subtle change in Christophe though he made no outward sign of it.

  But, the moment was interrupted as Alexey entered the room and everyone stood at attention.

  It was customary to wait until he was seated at the head of the table before everyone else took their seats, but on his way, he seemed to notice Christophe and paused.

  Without meaning to, Mariya squeezed his hand, hoping for the best, but she needn’t have worried.

  If anything, what her dedushka did next surprised her more than anyone.

  Alexey embraced Christophe before kissing both of his cheeks, his sign of favor.

  And just like that, he had become one of them.

  He was family.

  Family dinner had never felt as long as they did when she was ready for them to be over.

  She tried not to make it too obvious that she was all but counting down the minutes until they could retreat from the table.

  Christophe was far better at hiding it than she was. And despite how the dinner had started, he’d managed to win over half the table with very little effort.

  It didn’t hurt that he could speak the language … and that none of them knew, with the exception of Akim, that he had been the one behind the mask when they’d been here last time.

  What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

  But now that the worst had passed, her worry had faded and her mind had ventured elsewhere.

  It also didn’t help that she’d had plenty of wine in the time they’d been at the dining table.

  Wine always put her in a good mood, but coupled with the way she was feeling now, it was hard for Mariya to ignore the way Christophe’s touch made her feel.

  There was nothing particularly sexual about it, especially when he had one arm draped across the back of her chair, his thumb idly stroking the bare skin of her shoulder, but that didn’t stop awareness from creeping through her.

  It didn’t change the fact that the rest of the room had seemed to fade away as her thoughts zeroed in on her husband.

  Husband.

  Sometimes, the thought of that still baffled her. It was still so very easy between them—simple. Nothing at all like her first marriage.

  There was no fear with him. No shame.

  Nothing but this feeling she had now and something very akin to bliss.

  Suddenly, as if he knew she was thinking about him, his touch shifted from her shoulder as he removed his hand and placed it on her thigh under the table.

  She did her best not to react—to pretend as if it were all still innocent, but he had to know, didn’t he? What she was feeling and the thoughts running rampant through her mind.

  Could he feel the goosebumps that had broken out along her flesh
the moment he made contact?

  Did he hear the way her breath caught when he wrapped his fingers around her thigh?

  All the while, he remained blank faced and to anyone else, it might have looked as if he were invested in the story one of her uncles was reciting for the table, but just as she was sure this was all quite innocent, he moved his fingers a couple of inches north.

  Her gaze shot to him even as her heart skipped a beat and she was reminded all too well just how quickly he could get her attention like this without even trying.

  To someone else, it might not have looked as if he’d moved—thieves WERE very good with their hands—so only she was privy to the dangerous game he was playing.

  And what did it say about her that she was eagerly waiting to become a willing participant? That even before she had a mind to do it, she was welcoming whatever would come next.

  First, it was only the stroke of his thumb over the sensitive inner skin of her thigh. Then it turned into something a little darker when he curled his entire hand over her thigh and gripped.

  Her mind wasn’t the only one not on dinner.

  It took everything in her to keep a straight face and not react to what he was doing beneath the table. The last thing she needed was for anyone else to notice, even if what he was doing was mostly innocent. But now, she was counting down every single second until the dinner was over and they could leave this table.

  But proper etiquette demanded they wait until her grandfather excused himself before anyone could leave, and though he had finished his meal some minutes ago, he was still deep in conversation with Akim about things she would prefer not to hear.

  Half an hour later, finally, their conversation came to an end.

  Mariya was hardly listening anymore as they wrapped it up, and by the time Alexey was leaving out the door again—only after they had agreed to come back to visit soon—her focus was entirely on Christophe.

  It took very little effort for them to slip out of the dining room and up the stairs as she led him to her room.

  And as they reached the door, he wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her into the air.