Kirill and I traced to India—just down the road from our hotel—and checked into the Oberoi Amarvilas. It was an Indian Palace carved from creamy-honey stone. A rectangular pool languished before it with bridges forming a cross over it. One of the bridges led straight to the hotel's grand entrance. Domes capped the main building as they did several of the surrounding towers. I stared up at their graceful curves until we passed into the building beneath filigree arches and stained glass lanterns.
We checked in and were shown to the exclusive Kohinoor Suite at the top of the hotel. I strode through the palatial rooms—each one with its own view of the Taj Mahal—as Kirill paid the bellhop. The décor screamed swanky-Indian with enormous Persian rugs covering the hardwood floor, marble columns everywhere, and muted gold gilding. Fresh, pink lilies overflowed a crystal trench set on a long cabinet that defined one long edge of the living room, separating it from the entryway. I walked past the spacious room, noting the brass telescope pointed out the open French doors at the Taj Mahal. Those doors opened onto the terrace; a stone space nearly as wide as the living room that stretched the length of the suite. Down the hall, another pair of doors led into the master bedroom.
The king bed dominated the largest wall, positioned to face another set of French doors and the impressive view. The most romantic tomb in the world looked as if it were in touching distance of our terrace. It should have been odd to want a view of what was essentially a graveyard, but those graves rested within an Indian monument.
I understood why Kirill had chosen this place. As an artisan wood-carver, he must be fascinated by the white marble's relief work and inlaid gems. I was looking forward to exploring the grounds myself; a beautiful garden sprawled in front of the tomb in vibrant colors. But honestly, I only had a day with Kirill, and I intended to spend most of it in his arms.
“Vhat vould you like to do first?” Kirill asked as he wrapped himself around me from behind.
“Do you really have to ask?” I turned in his arms and lifted my face to kiss him.
Kirill growled low in his throat and swept me up to carry me to the bed. We were skin-to-skin in seconds, and Kirill eased inside me with the most sublime feeling of completeness. He rose above me on his forearms, his expression tender. His raven hair swept back in a thick braid to reveal the regal beauty of his face. Beauty made sharper by the vivid Indian sky behind it. I clutched my black lion to me, pulling him down into another sweet kiss as he began moving inside me with a slow grind.
Sometimes, the simplest sex is the best.
Hours later, after we'd exhausted our passions, toured the Taj Mahal, and had a romantic dinner on our terrace, Kirill and I ended up in the spacious bathtub that ruled its domain from a kingly dais. A bay window rose from the dais with a view of—of course—the Taj Mahal. After touring it and standing beneath the awesome beauty of the intricately carved dome, I could appreciate the monument and the love that had inspired it all the more.
“Fourteen children,” I said to Kirill as I leaned back against his chest. “Mumtaz Mahal died giving birth to Shah Jahan's fourteenth child.”
“Da.” Kirill laughed. “She must have been irresistible to him; as you are to me.”
“Maybe if he'd controlled his passions more, she would have lived longer.” I glanced back at him.
“But vould she have lived better?” He lifted a brow at me.
“I'm not having fourteen children,” I said as I turned around and straddled him.
“Good zing you have birth control spell zen,” he noted with a smirk.
“Indeed.” I went silent as I stared at him.
Kirill leaned forward and kissed me, lingering over it until he pulled back to ask, “Vhat is it?”
“Are you happy?” I whispered.
There had been this ache inside my chest ever since I'd discovered that Trevor had been unhappy for years. Or, at least, unsatisfied. The other men had given into his alpha claim; Kirill nearly immediately. I knew he understood and even agreed with Trevor's position, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it.
“Of course,” he said simply.
“There isn't anything you need that I haven't given you?” I persisted. “Anything that would make you happier?”
“Vervain,” Kirill said with a soft, amazed smile, “all I ever vanted vas you, and zen you gave me Lesya. Zere is nothing more I vant except to continue to have you both in my life. Just keep looking at me as you are now, and I'll be happy forever.”
“Gods, I love you,” I exclaimed before I kissed him again.
“Ven you vere torn away from me in Mirror, I vas frantic,” Kirill went on after we eased out of our kiss. “I vould have torn palace down if I could have.”
“I was just as scared for the two of you.”
“Zat's only zing I vant, Vervain,” he said seriously. “You to be safe. Every time ve go to battle or an enemy attacks you, I feel hot and cold vith fear. It's only time I vish for more; for something different.”
“We've been over this. I can't just hide from my enemies,” I said gently. “And I don't want to give up fighting for humans.”
“I know, and I don't vant you to either.” Kirill sighed. “Zat's vhat makes you, you. It makes you voman I love. I understand, and I know all I can do is stand beside you and hope zat ve are strong enough to defeat vhatever comes at us. But you asked, so I tell you.”
“I think we all wish we could protect the ones we love from every danger,” I said. “They may live longer that way but, as you said earlier, would they live better?”
“Zhat's naughty of you;
