Sarwat Chadda - Dark Goddess

Billi took off her robe and stood, arms raised, at the head of the pool. She watched her reflection quiver on the water’s surface for a second, then dived in.

The cold stunned Billi, and her chest clenched as she sliced through the dull blueness of the pool. The lights were large circular plates, their frames bonded stainless steel. Billi’s eyes adjusted swiftly to the hazy underwater world, and she was surprised by the water’s clarity. She thrust herself deeper and skimmed across the white-tiled floor. Then, with a kick, she rose and started attacking the water with long, chopping strokes.

What was she doing here? She had three days to save Vasilisa. She hated the idea of relying on others, but the Bogatyrs were the experts on the Polenitsy. Her hands cut into the water as she pumped her legs, letting frustration fuel her strokes. The far wall was approaching, so Billi dropped her head and turned underwater, sensing the distance before she pushed off again.

A loud splash made Billi stop a quarter way along the pool’s length. Someone was coming up, fast. Muscular arms drove a long, torpedo-swift body through the cold water. Billi kicked off again, aiming at the far wall, some twenty-five yards away. The first few strokes lacked rhythm, but soon she was steaming. But no matter how quick she was, the guy behind her was catching up. Suddenly he was at her shoulder, and she could see the wall a few yards away. She pounded harder, but he was too strong. His big arms pulled him forward, and Billi felt herself caught in his wake. Then Ivan slapped his palms on the wall and stopped.

Billi bobbed up behind him.

He hung on to the brass railings running just above the water’s surface. His hair was loose, and the dappled light lit the sharp angles of his face.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” he asked.

Billi said nothing. He’d easily outswum her and she didn’t like it. Maybe he was pissed off at her for saving his life and just wanted to boost his ego.

Ivan slid along the railing toward her. He was a few inches away. The ripples splashed against Billi, and she tried to retreat.

“You have many scars,” he said.

“Not that many.” Well, not compared to the other Templars.

“This one?” Ivan’s gaze lingered on Billi’s neck.

“Sword cut.” Her hand went to the scar Michael had given her. “It could have been worse.”

Ivan smiled. Billi paddled back a bit more. It was hotter in here than she’d thought. “You have an interesting face, SanGreal. Not quite beautiful.” He lifted his hand as if to touch exactly where he’d been gazing.

Billi quickly wiped her hair from her face. “Is that meant to be a compliment?”

“An observation.” He splashed back into the water, not more than a yard. “Koshchey says you’re here looking for a Spring Child.”

“Yes, she was kidnapped by the Polenitsy.”

Ivan was trying to find out more. She could feel the pressure of his questions-nothing direct, but the guy just got under her skin. She found it hard to think clearly with him around. But she’d let her guard down before-with Michael-and look what had happened. She had to take a more objective view, follow Gwaine’s lead. She must be careful to tell him only what was necessary.

She kept her eyes down, but couldn’t help seeing his reflection wavering in the water. The pale blue under-water lights cast rippling shadows over his athletic body. She remembered Michael, built of marble and nothing but hard surfaces and edges. Ivan wasn’t anything like that. He wasn’t chunky like a warrior-more like a dancer, graceful. But he and Michael were similar. Both had that mixture of pain and threat, of beauty masking the anger beneath. That’s why she had to be careful. She needed to get his attention off of her.

“I’m sorry about your father,” she said.

Ivan’s lips thinned. Though he tried to hide it, the pain was obvious. “He was a great man. A great leader.”

“And Koshchey? What’s he like?”

“He is adequate. No, that is not fair. He has done well.

He has made Moscow safe from the blood-drinkers and other vrolock. A few, like the one last night, escape the net, but not for long. He acts as regent until I reach my majority.

“Can I trust you, Billi SanGreal?” Instead of waiting for an answer, he decided for himself with a frown. “The Bogatyrs are not the men they were,” said Ivan. “Once they were noblemen who knew that their duty was to serve Russia.” He gazed into Billi’s eyes, moving closer and lowering his voice to a whisper. “Now they serve only themselves. Many are Russian mafia, recruited by Koshchey after my father’s death. They are good fighters, but they are not…good men. That will change when I am their master.”

“You think Koshchey will allow you to take charge?” Billi was doubtful. Based on what she’d seen of him, Koshchey didn’t look like the kind of guy who’d just roll over when Ivan came of age.

Ivan bit his lip; he obviously thought the same. “I have a legacy to uphold, Billi. Do you understand that?”

“Tsarevich!”

The word echoed loudly off the curving walls and undulating water. Ivan’s bodyguard, Dimitri, stood by the door, all tooled up in his combat gear.

Ivan looked once at Billi, then reached up and drew himself out of the water with a single, smooth pull. Rivulets of water ran off his skin and through the chasms of his muscular back. He took a deep breath, his chest rising then sinking, as he turned to face her. Then he bent down and held out his hand. Billi took it, and he pulled her out effortlessly. “Yes?” asked Ivan as he began drying himself. Dimitri whispered in his ear. Ivan stopped. He turned to Dimitri, his brow furrowed.

“Are you sure?” Billi’s heartbeat quickened. Ivan handed her a towel. Billi’s hand shook as she took it. “Koshchey has found your friend Vasilisa,” he said.

TEN MINUTES LATER BILLI CAME RUNNING DOWN the stairs into the main lobby. She’d whipped on her and a black T-shirt, but her boots hadn’t been laced yet. She’d banged on Elaine’s door and left her to get Gwaine and Lance.

Sixteen men had gathered under the huge crystal chandeliers that lit the marble-clad lobby. All wore body armor and carried guns. One man shook out a box of cartridges onto the top of a grand piano, and one by one loaded them into his shotgun.

Koshchey leaned over a set of floor plans. Unlike the rest, he wore a smart suit-a red rose tucked into the buttonhole.

“You’ve found her?” said Billi. She pushed her way through the men to Koshchey. He nodded to one of his guys, who made space for her at the table.

“Some tea for Lady SanGreal,” he ordered. The Bogatyr beside him went over to the china samovar standing at the end of the long table. The tall vaselike container was, like everything in the Ministry, a beautiful work of art, the china painted with weaving vines and bursting red flowers. The Bogatyr turned the dainty gold tap and filled a small cup.

“You’ve found Vasilisa?” Billi demanded. If it was true, then Vasilisa could be safe in their hands within hours. They’d have her on a plane to Jerusalem by the end of the day.

“My men report that a girl matching the description of the Spring Child has been seen in this apartment block. It is known to be occupied by the Polenitsy.” He handed over a blown-up photo.

It wasn’t clear, but a young girl with untidy blond hair stood at a half-frosted window. Snow blurred the lens, so the photo must have been taken from some distance. The girl had turned her head, obscuring her face, but it had to be Vasilisa. It had to be. Billi stared at the photo as if the girl might suddenly turn around and look back at her. Oh God, she was here, in Moscow.