Читать книгу The Siren's Dance - Amber Belldene - Страница 11

Music. Other than the haunting siren songs of her sister vilas, Anya hadn’t heard any since she’d died. The melodies soothed her, carried her mind away on endless dances--soft and graceful ones, not the frenzied adagios of her isolation.

But sleep still evaded her, and after a while, she opened her eyes to take in the scenery.

They drove through verdant pasture after pasture full of Ukrainian gray cattle. What a joy simply to see a new creature after years of observing only deer, rabbits, and squirrels. Then they crested a hill, and a blanket of yellow covered the rolling terrain to the horizon where it met cloudless blue sky. Possibly the most brilliant colors she had ever seen side by side.

“Ah.” The strangled sound escaped her, half sigh, and half exclamation of awe.

“Permission to speak?” Sergey asked, one corner of his mouth lifted in what might have been a mocking smile.

“Fine. If you must.”

“Sunflowers.”

“I can see that for myself.”

“But not how lucky you are that they’re in full bloom. In another few days, they’ll begin to bow their giant heads, going to seed.” He shook his own head, grinning at the fields of flowers. “We’re here at just the right moment. I’ve only seen it like this once before myself.”

She couldn’t help it. Not even she could scowl at acres of sunflowers. A smile stole over her face. He chose just that moment to look at her, and his expression changed to surprise, as if he was seeing her for the first time, which plastered her scowl right back onto her face. Couldn’t have him thinking she was the smiley type.

He shook his head, a wistful grin on his lips. “What happened to you, Anya Truss, to turn you so bitter?”

“I’ve been dead for fifty years and all alone with a river for company. Anyone would go bitter.” Though, she’d been that way before Gregor had unwittingly chased her into the freezing water of a nameless tributary of the Dnieper River.

“I don’t like to be alone,” Yuchenko said. Such a simple confession, made unselfconsciously, like a puppy. Hi there. Pet me. Scratch my neck. Rub my belly.

He was pathetic and needy and juvenile and possibly even more annoyingly earnest than Sonya. But Anya didn’t want to be alone anymore either, ever again.

“Who keeps you company?” she asked, since she had no intention of admitting that.

“My partner. The other detectives, the beat cops.”

“What about family?”

“Just my mom. She lives outside Odessa. I visit when I can. She can be tough to be around, but a guy only has one mom, so I’ll sneak in a visit with her, after we’ve found Demyan.”

“What about a girlfriend?”

“There’s no one special.” Which meant there were a lot of different women keeping him company. And who could blame them? Not that he was her type. He was a little like that happy-go-lucky grocer’s boy who’d adored Sonya, until Anya had come on harder and stronger, had let him put his hands up her shirt, his fingers inside her panties. And then Stas had taken over directing the company, and all other men had disappeared from her awareness like someone had wiped them away with a gum eraser.

“I’m low on petrol.” Yuchenko broke the spell of her memory. “We’re almost to Lyubashivka. I’ll fill the tank there.”

The blue rectangular sign announced the town was just ahead in white block letters, Любашівка. The sight of the word, not Yuchenko’s saying it, threw her back into the memory. Stas had never said the name of the place, only chosen it to end the test he’d devised for her. The road looked different, and on that long-ago trip, it had taken many more hours to come so far, but the sign proved it had been Lyubashivka where she’d nearly humiliated herself.

Shame and anger fell upon her like a hailstorm, the memories pelting her with blow after blow of icy impact.

“Whoa,” Yuchenko said, the car seeming to swerve out his control. But he corrected the course and stayed in his lane.

She tried to contain the fury, to bear down on it and hold the pulsing, angry energy at bay. At the river, it had been easy to control--or perhaps there had been no need. No cars with drivers, no interrogation rooms where her unfurled fury could wreak havoc. With all her strength, she managed to hold it firm, like a beast tightly reined.

As Yuchenko pulled up to the pump and slid out of the car, she stared across the street at an empty field. The very same one.

She did it without thinking--blew right out of the car, carried on a gust of rage, without sparing a single anxious thought over passing through glass and metal. The moment of dissolution passed quickly, and she found herself hovering over what seemed like the exact spot.

They left Kiev after breakfast, driving the same route. Perhaps an hour into the journey, Anya asked him to pull over at the next opportunity so she could use the restroom.

“A prima ballerina is the master of her body. She uses the toilet when she wants to, and does not inconvenience those around her.” As he spoke, he wore his captivating smile, his heavy-lidded eyes promising that she was his prima, the object of his admiration and desire.

“Okay. I’ll hold it until you’re ready to stop.”

For a while, they discussed the performance that had just ended, the upcoming auditions for Giselle, which of the other dancers would be Anya’s greatest competition.

Anya put in a valiant effort, ignoring her discomfort until her need became truly urgent. “Stas, I can’t hold it anymore.”

“But you will,” he said, again with his smile, his sensual gaze reiterating the command.

For a few minutes, his words worked like magic, convincing her she could control her bladder forever, but when the pressure returned, it had magnified, painful and shaking her whole body. She hated to show him her weakness, but she wasn’t able to help it. She began to weep.

He sighed. “I’m disappointed in you. You’ll never be Giselle if you have so little self-control.”

“I know, but please, Stas. I’ll…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the humiliating and obvious truth of what would happen if he didn’t let her use a restroom.

And at that moment, the sign appeared. Любашівка.

“Fine. If you must.” He pulled off the highway, toward the town, and though a service station was open, he forced her to urinate in a field, squatting down like an animal where anyone could see her. She did her best to stifle her tears, determined to be the ballerina, and the woman, he wanted her to be.

But in the end, she hadn’t been good enough.

The wail tore out of her, a shriek of fury tangled up with the pain of rejection the vila always tried to keep her from feeling. The wind rose up from the earth and down from the sky, coalescing around her, swirling, twisting at the particles of her ghostly self like it would wring her out, squeeze the pain from her like water from a dishrag. She surrendered to it. If it would only carry her away so she didn’t have to feel any of it ever again.