“Tell me what do you want,” he requested, genuinely wanting to know. “What is proper family to you, Maggie?”
She visibly relaxed as she answered and a gleam of pleasant longing brightened her eyes to the shade of deep, dark honey. “Pretty much what I said. Someone to share life with, to come home to and bitch about work with while we fold laundry. Someone to dance with, mock the TV with, and have sex with, lots of sex.”
The mischievous way she snickered warmed Anatoly’s dead heart as surely as her touch heated his skin. He had imagined them together in every scenario and he realized her desires weren’t impossible for him to fulfill. The only thing standing in his way was the priesthood and he realized then that it was possible to love Maggie and still dedicate his life to God in other ways.
His mouth went suddenly dry and he leaned nearer to Maggie as though even his center of gravity was drawn to her. The realization that he didn’t have to choose between them was a weight off his shoulders. Maggie’s logic had also untangled the knot in the pit of his stomach.
“I have been fool tonight, Maggie,” Anatoly started to say, but she put a finger to his lips, quieting him.
“Don’t apologize. I know you were just trying to have my back or I’d be pissed.” She smiled as she said it. Her hand moved back to his, her fingertips tracing over his knuckles gently.
With a soft chuckle, Anatoly drew Maggie back into his arms so that she was once again right where she belonged: at his side.
Chapter Thirty-One
Maggie took a few days off after losing the case, just so she didn’t have to spend time in the office. She was still working, having brought what was left home with her. But after Declan showed his shitty face there, she’d been reticent to return.
Lieutenant Martin didn’t question her, no doubt he thought it was just feminine weakness making her run away, but fuck him. Let him think what he wanted, she didn’t owe him anymore of an explanation outside of saying she needed to take some personal days. Since he didn’t press the matter, she let it go.
Now she was sitting in her apartment alone, with the copies she’d made of the file strewn over the living room floor. It was the best system she had and it served her as well as it could, given she had to stand over it and pace. But that suited her thinking style.
Later, when Anatoly arrived, they would discuss a better option but for now, when it was just her, this method proved useful enough.
Maggie stared at the papers and photos, not flinching away from the death and pain that had been caused. This was her job, to immerse herself in violence and bring justice to those who could no longer seek it for themselves.
She refused to back down, even now that she was technically working off the books. If Martin found out, he’d probably chew her out, threaten to put a note in her file, the usual bluster, but she couldn’t afford to think about that.
This case was bigger than her and now that she knew the supernatural existed, she needed to comb through it with new eyes. As she did, questions formed in her mind, all linking back to one point she couldn’t get past: Luka Markov.
Anatoly might have thought he wasn’t the killer and Maggie couldn’t really disagree, but there was no doubt in her mind that he knew something he wasn’t inclined to share. That alone made Maggie want nothing more than to break down his door until he sung like a jailbird.
There was just one problem. She’d looked into Markov a little since meeting him and come to find out that he had a lot of underworld connections. He was nigh untouchable for someone like her, and if he were supernatural, all the more reason she shouldn’t fuck with him.
Maggie was still considering ways to compel Markov to play ball with her, when a soft knock at the door alerted her to Anatoly’s arrival. “It’s open,” she called absent-mindedly, never taking her eyes off the papers on the floor.
A second later, Anatoly slipped inside with a bag in hand that smelled divine. Maggie realized she hadn’t eaten anything since she’d been up working and she couldn’t help but smile at him as he passed it over to her.
“Dobryy vecher, Maggie,” he greeted, that twinkle still apparent in his gaze. “What is all this?”
She accepted the bag, breathing deep to savor the scent. “The case,” she answered, now more focused on the food than work; her stomach was growling hungrily. “More borscht?”
“Nyet, another dish from home,” he said with a sly smile.
Maggie had moved to the kitchen while they were speaking, being careful to step around the papers. “Is it breakfast or dinner?” she asked, pulling out what looked like stew followed by… pancakes? Her confused gaze found Anatoly’s face.
“It is called machanka,” he explained. “It is savory dish.”
Setting them on the counter, Maggie nibbled her bottom lip thoughtfully as she tried to figure out what she was supposed to do. The obvious thing was to dip the pancakes in the soup, but she hesitated, not wanting to offend him by eating it wrong.
Before she could figure out what to say or do, Anatoly had come up beside her and was reaching for the carefully wrapped flat cakes. “Let me show you,” he offered gently, and Maggie raised her hands in surrender.
With a chuckle, the vampire removed the plastic wrap, then popped the lid off the stew. “Machanka is best for dipping,” he explained further. “Like this.” He broke off a piece, dipped it thoroughly in the stew and then held it up to her lips.
To her surprise, Maggie didn’t hesitate to open her mouth so he could place the small bite on her tongue. She’d enjoyed the borscht and was willing to give this a shot, too. Flavors erupted in her mouth, savory just as promised, and a satisfied mmm escaped her.
“Did you cook this?” she asked as soon as she was done chewing and swallowing. “It’s delicious,” she added.
Anatoly seemed pleased with her reaction, belying that he had indeed prepared it himself. He confirmed it a second later while Maggie was about to dig in further, when she saw him reach for a cloth at the same time.
