Immortally Yours (Argeneau, #26)

by Lynsay Sands

“But how did you know she’d need your help?” Donny asked with a frown. “Because a gowk at Yule’ll no’ be bright at Beltane,” he muttered.

“He is English, no?” “Scottish,” she corrected him. Matias shrugged, the action jostling her up and down slightly. “Is the same thing. English, Scottish, they are all the cold fish.”

“You think there are more?” Donny asked, sounding nervous. As he should be if he wasn’t willing to hit a woman. “Mortimer did say Kira’s father had sent several of them,” she reminded him patiently. “There are probably one or two in the room with Kira, and others on break who could return at any moment.” “Right,” Donny muttered. “Can I shoot them?” That made her stop and turn on him again. “Seriously? You can’t hit them, but you can shoot them?” “It’s a dart gun,” he pointed out defensively. “A little ouchy and they’re out. Besides, Grandma might have said never to hit girls, but she never said don’t shoot them.”

“Well, screw him and the cow he rode in on.

Beth didn’t respond, except to smile slightly at the use of the word dyatel. Kira had explained it meant woodpecker, and was considered a terrible insult. It seemed calling a Russian any kind of an animal was insulting. Whether it was osyol which meant donkey, or kosyol which meant billy goat. Russians did not care for being likened to animals.

“Still, I’m sorry about Oksana,” Beth said solemnly. The first thing she’d asked about on waking the first time was how the Russian had fared. She already knew that Liliya had dropped the Russian Amazon’s upper body when the explosion knocked her to the ground, and that she was dazed and confused when Rickart reached her and carried her out. Liliya hadn’t recalled about Oksana’s upper body until it was too late. Only the woman’s lower body and lower arms had survived the fire, and her lower body had got pretty charred along with Beth . . . and Scotty, she added silently, glancing to the man in bed next to her. His eyes were tightly closed, his face a rictus of agony. “Da, that was bad,” Kira said, drawing her attention again as she admitted, “I no like Oksana. Was hoping for excuse to send her ass back, but not just ass.”

“Some years back I decided God is like a blacksmith,” she announced. “And I think all these horrible experiences are just him putting us in the fire and hammering at us, and then putting us in the fire again, and hammering some more until he makes us the strongest, finest, and sharpest we can be.”