“Ivan Sokholov, how are you and your men?” Oleg allowed the corner of his mouth to turn up.
“Looking forward to the dancing.” Ivan smiled. “I have secured a dance with the delightful new terrin of the Poshani.”
Oleg felt fire burning in his gut at the thought of Ivan touching the hem of Tatyana’s dress, much less dancing with her. “Is that wise? After the… incident, I mean.”
Ivan’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, I think it is necessary. I believe she’s the impediment to the shipping problem. Radu and Kezia can be brought around to my thinking.”
Mika asked, “So you are hoping to lure the Poshani back to your territory?”
“Something like that.”
“I wish you luck,” Mika said, somehow knowing that if Oleg spoke, there would be fire coming from his very mouth.
“Luck?” Ivan shrugged. “I do not need luck to charm a woman.”
The entire room was silent,waiting with a frisson of anticipation as richly dressed couples positioned themselves in a large circle on the dance floor and the orchestra played the tremulous opening notes to Tchaikovsky’s “Waltz of the Flowers.”
A grand waltz to start a grand event.
Oleg looked into the eyes of his wife. He could feel many eyes on them as he and Tatyana stood in position, facing each other.
Her gaze never wavered from his. “Lord Oleg.”
“Lady Tatyana. Thank you for honoring me with the first waltz of the evening.”
“A mutual honor to symbolize our shared alliance and history of friendship. You may call me simply Tatyana le Tala,” his wife replied coolly. “I am neither a lady nor a queen but a servant of my people.”
“I am corrected in the most delicate way.” Oleg bowed his head before he stepped forward to take her hand. “Tatyana le Tala.”
His energy came to life the moment he touched her. He folded Tatyana’s right hand delicately but firmly with his left and placed his other hand at the small of her back, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her spine underneath the fluid silk dress.
The French horns blew the opening notes of the waltz, and Oleg and Tatyana took their first steps.
“I believe you were a dancer when you were young,” Oleg said.
“I was. The last time I danced this waltz, I was a schoolgirl.” Her gaze never wavered from his. “Long ago.”
There was no way they could speak privately; the other couples were too close. Oleg was forced to speak to Tatyana as if they were standing in an audience with two hundred strangers. Which they were.
“Not so long for our kind.” Trilling flutes and swelling violins guided their steps around the room. “For what is a century to an immortal?”
Her lips pursed ever so slightly. “True.”
She wore silk gloves the color of sparkling champagne, and her left hand rested delicately on his shoulder. He remembered the last time her hand had been on his shoulder. She had been naked, riding his cock with her head thrown back in pleasure as steam lifted from her heated skin and her fingers dug into his flesh.
The corner of Oleg’s mouth turned up at the memory.
He led Tatyana around the wood-paneled floor, sweeping music filling the air around them as the ballroom was suffused with elemental power. He felt the heady energy of the wind vampires, the warm presence of the earth, and the cool kiss of water as he spun his mate around the room.
“You look stunning tonight,” he said. “Tatyana le Tala. The most beautiful woman in the room.”
Her eyes went wide at the generous compliment. “You mean to flatter me, Lord Oleg. Surely I am not.”
“Admittedly, I have not inspected every woman here, but of course I was referring to the manner of your dress,” he countered smoothly. “The artisans and couturiers of the Eastern Poshani are without equal.”
Though her mouth remained in a beautiful but firm line, her eyes danced a little bit. “Then I must compliment the artisans of the Kievan Rus as well, for the design of your coat and boots are a credit to your people.”
He inclined his head slightly. “I will pass your compliments to them.”
