Love Me to Death (Underveil, #1)(48)

Nikolai’s gold eyes locked on hers. “Elena, please. We need to talk.”

There was no way this man would change. He was too entrenched in his way of thinking. In his possession and domination. A relationship of any kind with him was impossible, no matter how much she wanted it. What was left of her heart shriveled to nothing. “I’m sorry, Nikolai. I’ve nothing to say to you. I want you to leave.”

Stefan took several steps toward Nikolai, who took one step back. The Time Folder must have packed a real punch to back Nik down. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Slayer. You’ve done your part. You raised her from the ashes. You empowered her with your blood. Now it’s up to her to do the rest.”

The desperate tone in Nikolai’s voice made her heart ache. “Please. Please just talk to me.”

She held up her hand before he could say any more and weaken her resolve. “Just go.”

The look of betrayal on Nikolai’s face brought tears to her eyes.

Stefan touched her shoulder. “Could you give us a moment, Elena?”

Something about leaving these two men alone worried her. Stefan patted her shoulder and Nikolai nodded. Okay, maybe they wouldn’t destroy each other, but there she went again allowing herself to be out of the loop and helpless. Dammit. She hated men. All of them.

Nikolai held his breath even after Elena shut the bedroom door behind her.

“I should kill you, Itzov.” The Time Folder casually lowered himself to the couch. “Imagine my surprise when a hypothermic, dehydrated, starving, newly-turned immortal showed up in my bathroom naked with the exception of some worn out footwear of questionable origin.”

“I—”

He raised his hand. “You were supposed to take care of her. Your stink was all over her, so you obviously took care of yourself.”

Nikolai drew a deep breath and reminded himself that the Time Folder was a necessary ally. He needed this man and was grateful he had taken care of Elena, even if he was a know-it-all, elitist, self-righteous * with the nose of a f*cking bloodhound. “You’ve got this all wrong.”

Darvaak crossed his legs. “I hope so. For her sake, I really do.”

The two men stared at each other for several moments. Nikolai always wondered about the extent of these creatures’ powers. Sometimes they seemed to have seer talents, but it could just be the analytical abilities of their bizarre alien brains. Freaky bastard.

“Here’s what I’m going to do for you, Slayer.” He stood and moved to the bar. He poured two glasses of Scotch and offered one to Nikolai, who joined him and downed the drink in one gulp. He needed about ten more of those.

Darvaak leaned down behind the bar and straightened up with a phone and a charger in his hand. He punched in some numbers and then handed the device to Nikolai. “I’ve programmed my number in there. It is a disposable, untraceable phone, so your dear uncle Fydor will not be able to locate you. I will call you if she wants to see you. You will call me if you decide you are no longer an arrogant, selfish bastard.” Darvaak put the charger in his hand and then wiggled his fingers. “Taa taa, Itzov.”

Fucking Time Folder. He had no choice. Elena wouldn’t talk to him.

Well, at least she was safe with this guy. He thought of the close call with the vampires and wood elves and even Fydor’s Team. Hell, she was safer with the Time Folder than she was with him, for sure. “Okay.” He shot a longing look at the bedroom door.

Darvaak placed his hand on Nikolai’s shoulder, and a slight jolt of current ran down his arm. “Give her time.” He gave Nikolai’s shoulder a squeeze and retreated to the bedroom, leaving him alone.

“Give her time,” he repeated. Time he had. Patience, not so much. This sucked. He stepped behind the bar and poured himself another glass of Scotch. Well, no better place to wait it out than right here, he supposed. He strolled to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Jackpot. If nothing else, the Time Folder lived well. So would he until Elena came to her senses.

“He’s still out there,” Elena grumbled for the zillionth time. “What does he want?” She stopped pacing long enough to set the hairbrush down on a dresser by Stefan’s bed.

He smiled and put his arms behind his head on the pillow. “He wants my Scotch.”

She took in the long, relaxed body of the man lying on the bed who acted like there wasn’t a barbaric, sword-wielding caveman in his living room.

“And he wants you.”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t want me. He wants to control me.”

“All relationships are power plays. You just need to get the rules straight, which he’s not ready to do yet. He not only has to overcome his Slayer’s genetic drive to dominate, he has to deny his control-driven society’s upbringing. You, on the other hand, need to realize these things are part of his composition, and allow him a little control. The two of you come from very different worlds. Give him time.”

“Time!” She threw her arms up. “He had plenty of time while he was dragging me all over hell’s half acre in the snow like I was some dog on a leash he could command. Sit! Stay! Roll over.”

Stefan lifted an eyebrow and smiled.

She sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, well, the roll over part was pretty good, but the rest…”

He sat up. “Since he’s not leaving, why don’t we?”