Beastly Passions (10 page)

Nirav’s eyes sharpened as he sat rigidly listening.

“And I found this to be true,” Grigoriy added, taking a sip from his glass. “Your daughter 
was
 spine. She was knowledgeable. She was deceptively strong—which is why I assumed she would be an issue. Yet, you found cock and balls and used them wisely, friend. You took necessary steps; steps that others will look at as simple, fatherly love accompanied by age-old tradition. I am pleasantly surprised by these things. You are 
not 
disappointment, but asset. Hence my willingness to return faith given with faith of my own.” He retook his seat and asked Nirav, “How much do you know about diamond currency?”

***

He shouldn’t
have touched her, fed her, or been in her presence for as long as he had, but she made him senseless. Hours of waiting for her return had eaten away at any logic he could have found comfort in. As soon as she’d made her way back into her room, so bold as to climb in on the terrace completely nude, Taras hadn’t been able to control himself. He’d decided that he couldn’t wait another moment to speak to her.

And then she’d strolled out of the bathroom in that clingy robe, her skin rosy and smelling of exotic oils, looking like a frightened hare that had been cornered. It set off every predatory instinct Taras possessed. Their volley of words only served to incense him and when she’d given him the heartfelt denial that she would
never
submit to him, he’d decided to prove her wrong. It indeed backfired because her show of arousal only increased his. He’d meditated for hours on the dilation of her pupils along with the redness creeping up her throat, the way her breath shuddered and her pebbled nipples pressed against the silk adorning her. All of this was accompanied by the sweet scent of her pussy melting just for him.

It was a wonder he hadn’t tossed her down and fucked her right there. The only reason he’d refrained is because he wanted her to come to the conclusion that she needed him inside of her as much as he needed to be there. Asha’s stubbornness would not allow her to admit such a thing so early on. So he’d left her panting for him just as he’d panted for her in private.

They were at an impasse, circling the drain until someone plugged it. Taras feared that someone would have to be him. His wife didn’t like him, but to some extent she trusted him not to harm her. He’d earned that much in her eyes. However, he wanted more. So much more. And with every passing day, he discovered that he’d lied to her; he’d lied to them both.

“What do
you think of this?” Taras queried now, waiting for responses for the two individuals standing just behind him.

“Honestly?” one questioned.

“I would expect nothing less.”

There was a sigh and then, “It looks like crumbled shit.”

Following Alexei’s words was a smack and a growl. The smack, Taras was sure, had come from Mischa—one of his more…eccentric pride members who was incredibly intelligent but also incredibly strange. Considering that Taras himself could be described as such on any given day, he made his best attempts at not pointing out the more eclectic parts of her personality.

Taras’ twisted his lips and turned around to face the pair. “When I said honesty, I did not mean brutal.”

Alexei shrugged, his expression revealing that he cared not what Taras had meant; he only wished to voice his opinion. “Clarify next time.”

“I fear that if there is a next time, I will hit you in the face.”

“That seems slightly extreme.”

“No, extreme is the fact that I will hit you in the face with shoe. And then I will watch you cry.”

“The satisfaction in this would be very little as I only cry silently. I do not bother with sobbing.”

“The two of you,” Mischa voiced lowly. “Aggravate me greatly.”

Taras and Alexei shared an amused glance as Taras picked up his latest technological venture and toyed with it. The small device could very well revolutionize the use of the telephone. “This is only prototype. I intend to polish final look.”

“So that appearance is no longer that of crumbled shit?”

Mischa bumped shoulders with the other male. “Alexei…”

“I only ask a question.”

“No, you seek to antagonize,” Taras pointed out.

“Because today you are once again like tense, cranky cub.”

He had every reason to be like “tense, cranky cub.” Taras had gone to bed replete with lust and incredibly irked that he could not shake it.

“And cock seems to be in knot,” Alexei voiced, interrupting his thoughts. “I wonder why this is.”

Taras glowered at his friend—one of the very few he had—and warned him, “If you value both eyes being open and able to blink, you will not continue down this dangerous path.”

Chuckling, Alexei lifted his hands in mock surrender. “You are obviously being tormented more than enough without my adding to it.”

This was true. This was very, very true.

“So in polishing device,” Mischa, ever curious, hedged, “what do you then plan to do with it?”

Taras sighed and took a seat behind his desk. “I don’t know. Will probably go with other prototypes until I can find place for them.”

She pointed at it. “In other words—it will collect dust.”

“I don’t want to have this debate again.”

“Genius is wasting away,” Alexei accused. “And you do nothing to stop it.”

“My genius is fine,” Taras argued. “It grows surprisingly sharper each day considering company I keep.”

“I would not insult me if I were you.”

Distracted from his device by the singsong of Alexei’s tone, Taras raised his eyes. “And why is this?”

“Because I have once again stumbled across answers to questions that you have.”

Taras and Mischa stared.

Alexei sighed. “All right,
Mischa
has stumbled across answers to questions that you have.”

“About?”

“Where dear Papa’s money is being funneled,” she answered, rubbing her palms together with a wide grin.

He sat up straighter, gaze alert. “Where?”

Sitting forward, Alexei moved objects away from the glass covered map on Taras’ desk and pointed to an area west of Taras’ territory. “Here.”

Taras frowned. “What am I looking at?”

“Who resides here?” Alexei demanded.

“Amur leopards,” he answered slowly. “The Matveevs.”

“Exactly,” his friend retorted, sitting back with a grin.

“You are saying that Grigoriy is pouring laundered funds into unscrupulous business practices of once sworn enemies?”

Decades ago a battle for control of current Verochka territory had commenced between those who’d come before Taras and the forefathers of the Matveev pride. His people had nearly wiped the leopards out, sending them skittering towards the mountains in defeat and claimed the prize of their land. A less than friendly rivalry had begun from there as both prides rose to power, growing in numbers and strength. After Taras had almost dismembered one of the sons of Leonid Matveev for insultingly crossing provincial lines without permission, a tense truce had been implemented. Now the old leopard was dead and gone, two of his sons had departed to other parts of Asia, leaving his eldest boy; one that had taken his life’s work. Taras never thought his father foolish enough to involve himself in the dangerously unethical means the Matveevs had for keeping their businesses running.

Mischa nodded. “Yes, but not in the way you would think.”

The simple answer gave him pause. “How then?”

“He has purchased their print shops privately, trickling down coins through complicated network of transfers. We have not determined formula, but we know answer and it all ends
there,
with them.”

Taras contemplated the map. “Why would Grigoriy be purchasing in print shops? What is the purpose there?”

“Not sure yet, but I will hopefully know soon enough so that you will have information to turn over on him,” Alexei retorted.

“Still no word on who sent the floppy disk or who else he has been using to aid in his embezzling?”

Both shrugged, their expressions identically lost.

“As far as we know, Igor was the scapegoat. Other than that, Grigoriy has been using defrauded funds from companies he started with
your
name,” Mischa volunteered. “Transactions are scattered, but we are still looking for where they go.”

“All right then,” Taras said, his thoughts taking him elsewhere as he considered another odd aspect of all of this. “I’d like research on Shankur family endeavors. Whatever Grigoriy is up to, it involves them somehow.”

“You could always ask wife,” Alexei suggested.

“I could, but will not. She is…difficult enough. I’d rather not implicate trivial pride matters when we have things to overcome as it is.” He tapped the table. “Do this quietly, yes? Grigoriy is blissfully unaware and I prefer that he stay this way.”

Both Mischa and Alexei nodded as they stood. “As you wish.”

Taras stood also. “Thank you.”

“Will you go back to tinkering now?” Alexei prodded.

“I do not tinker, I use strong, manly hands to build things of tomorrow.”

His friend blinked and gazed at him. “You tinker like small, frolicsome creature.”

“Go away, Alexei.”

“I have heard you hum while doing so—which brings to mind stories of sprites doing woodland bidding.”

“Go away, Alexei.”

“I often stop and wonder how long it will be before I happen upon you with flower wreath around head and—
ow! Depraved bastard!”

Taras had warned him a shoe would be used. He should have listened. Now he would have to endure Mischa’s laughter. Alexei made himself scarce, leaving Mischa behind. She placed a hand to Taras’ shoulder to gain his attention.

“About what Alexei said.”

“Concerning Grigoriy?”

She shook her dark head. “No, your cock being knotted.”

He rolled his eyes. “I would rather not—”

“Want it
unknotted
?” Mischa interrupted. “Be good to her.”

Peering down at her, he asked, “Why do you care?”

“You brood too much, sleep too little and have spent years under Grigoriy’s thumb. As friend, and pride mate, I want to see you happy. You change when she is around. You lighten. So here I am giving counsel. Be charming. Don’t be a dick.”

That edged a smile out of him. “Probably most poetic advice I have ever heard.”

“Good,” she grunted, patting his arm. And then she was gone. Sophie rounded the corner seconds later with a greeting.

Flicking his eyes down to his watch, Taras stepped aside as she entered his workshop. “Breakfast?”

The girl nodded. “Out on patio area already.”

“Excellent,” he murmured, giving the room one last sweeping glance. “Has my wife been told yet?”

Sophie shook her head as she straightened. “I thought I would stop here first since basement is closer.”

Taras chewed the bottom rim of his mouth and nodded. “Tell her she has twenty minutes.”

She scented
him long before his fist tapped the door separating their rooms, but decided that she wouldn’t lift her eyes from her task unless absolutely necessary. In all honesty, she’d gone through great lengths to insure she didn’t have to interact with the infuriating bastard that was her spouse today and yet…

“Yes?” Asha said instead of telling him to take a leap from the roof.

 
Taras swept in with all the deadly elegance he’d developed over years of terrorizing others and she watched from the corner of her eye as he came towards the expansive window seat she’d been lounging on for the last several hours, a tray once again in his hands.

“Was Sophie not available to bring that?” she asked, refusing still to look up.

“She was,” Taras answered, now standing a foot away. “But I thought I would do serving today since you declined invitation for breakfast.”

“That wasn’t an invitation. You fetched for me and unfortunately, I decided I would not heel like one of your staff.”

When he said nothing else, and the weight of his gaze became demanding, Asha finally gave him a moment of her attention. “Well…thank you,”—she waved to the small before her, covered in books and scribbled on papers—“if you move that one to the left aside, you’ll have more than enough room to sit that down.” She promptly went back to scrawling notes on a pad.

After another minute or so, she noticed that he remained where he was, blinking.

“Was there something else?”

“You dismiss me like errand boy,” he grumbled.

Asha paused her writing. “Did you not say you were here to serve?”

He looked to be searching for patience. “My service also entails my company for meal.”

“Neither of which I requested. I find Sophie to be better at socializing that doesn’t leave me wanting to claw her entrails out.”