What was wrong with him? Live here? She couldn't live here. His people hated her kind. And if Jasha ever found out . . . Vasili sighed. There'd be no living that down, either. Worse, his brother's disappointment and hurt would slay him.
As if his thoughts had summoned his brother, the tent flap rose, and Jasha strode inside. His right-hand man, Grigori, trailed behind. Both were dressed in the clothes of a warrior. Leather breastplates, pants, and dusters. Boots with daggers in the toes. Both men were dripping wet.
Jasha was a less . . . hardened version of Vasili. Wavy black hair cut haphazardly, violet eyes, tall, muscled. Though his first instinct wasn't always to kill—as Vasili's was—he was no less skilled with a sword. And no less savage when riled. Vasili had made sure of that. He loved his brother more than anyone or anything, and had wanted the boy well able to care for himself. He'd trained his brother exactly as he'd trained Rose: without mercy.
"There you are," Jasha said with a grin. He spoke in Drakish, their language, and Vasili made a mental note to do the same. No more of Rose's English for him. "Are we interrupting something?"
Clearly, he'd been hoping to do so. "Not at all," Vasili offered casually.
His brother's expression fell. "We heard female grunts and groans. Which means that after a yearlong abstinence, our king has finally shown interest in a woman. Who is she? More important, where is she?"
"Long gone," he answered truthfully. And was that . . . displeasure in his tone? That she hadn't stayed?
Well, he hadn't wanted her to stay. After he'd so stupidly told her how to return to him at will— after going to such lengths to keep her out of the palace and hidden—all he'd wanted was her absence. No question.
His hands fisted. What would he do if she appeared in front of his brother? What would he do if she appeared during a battle? Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought again. He'd known it then, yet still he'd told her.
And now he wondered if she would visit before her next birthday. If they'd spar and tease and touch . . . Blood . . . heating . . .
"You should be embarrassed to have finished so quickly." The picture of a confident male, Grigori crossed his arms over his chest. "Had I been here, she would still be shouting my name."
Twelve hours was finishing quickly? What the hell did Grigori do with his women? Like half the beings in this world, Grigori was of the Monstrea. He possessed sharp, poisoned horns along his hairless skull, black-diamond skin, claws, fangs, and glowing red eyes.
The other three kingdoms considered the Monstrea to be nothing more than expendable soldiers. Slaves. Unworthy. Vasili did not and never had. He respected strength and loyalty, and that was what he got with the Monstrea.
"You wear them out, so they never want to come back for more," Vasili told his favorite warrior.
"Mine always come back." Not that he welcomed them. When he was done, he was done.
He should take Rose and finally be done with her.
"I just wish I could make one come," Jasha muttered. His cheeks reddened when he realized what he'd admitted.
Vasili slapped his brother on the shoulder. His easier manner should have brought him favor with the ladies of their kingdom. Not so. Well, not anymore. Jasha was shy and bumbling around the fairer sex, and always had been.
At first, when he'd reached maturity, they'd wanted him feverishly and had thrown themselves at him. He'd had difficulty speaking to them, had sweated uncontrollably, and hadn't looked anywhere but at his feet. They'd teased him, which had only made his shyness worse. Now he avoided them.
"You can have any woman you want. You just have to stop running from them. They only bite if you ask them nicely."
Grigori laughed.
"What's her name?" Jasha asked, refusing to be baited. "The one you were with today?"
He saw no harm in answering. "Rose."
"Rose?" His brother choked on a gurgling laugh of his own. "Rose?"
"What? It's a fine name," he growled, unsure why currents of fury blew through him. Rose was the enemy. Anyone could make fun of her. Especially his brother.
"Yes, but Rose? Like the tattoo you had inked into your arm last year?"
His jaw clenched so painfully he feared the bone would snap. "No. Not like that," he managed, the words so raw they sounded as if they'd been pushed through a meat grinder. "Not like that at all."
He didn't know why he'd gotten the tattoo. He hadn't wanted to analyze the desire then, and he didn't want to analyze the desire now. He knew only that when he looked at the night rose, he wanted to smile.
"You've known her all this time?" Grigori tsked, just as Vasili liked to do to Rose. Surely he wasn't that irritating. "And yet you never breathed a word about her."
"He must have feared one of us would steal her away," Jasha said with a mystery-solved nod.
Before Vasili could form a reply, not that he knew what to say, they turned to each other, cutting him from the conversation.
"No wonder he raced from the warm, dry palace to get here. He missed his woman," Grigori said, then cooed mockingly. "The poor baby."
Jasha stroked his stubbled chin with two fingers. "She must be hideous if he feels he must hide her away like this. Or perhaps she's too precious for our poor baby to share."
Vasili felt privileged. No one else ever saw them like this, relaxed and teasing. To the rest of the world, Grigori was a snarling beast, too savage to handle, and Jasha was quiet and withdrawn.
They saved their charm for him, as if he were special to them, and he was glad. They were the most important part of his life. Therefore, he didn't mind their teasing. Much.
"So, what are you doing here?" he asked, inserting himself back into their chatter.
They chortled.
"We must find him someone new," Grigori continued to Jasha. "This one obviously didn't work him from his yearlong temper."
More stroking of that chin. "We've tried, placing female after female in front of him. He sends them away in tears."
"I asked you a question," he said on a sigh.
And still they continued.
"Perhaps we should ask around," Jasha said. "Find out what others know about this Rose.
Where she lives, why she leaves her man in a bad mood."
Grigori massaged the back of his neck. "And we should instruct her on the proper way to treat a king. I do my best instructing naked."
Oh, no, no, no. He couldn't have them asking others about her. And he couldn't even contemplate Rose and Grigori in bed. Not without foaming at the mouth. "Why. Are. You. Here?"