Polar (Book 1): Polar Night by Julie Flanders Page A

Aleksei Nechayev, his deathly cold hands, and his cobalt blue eyes with their unflinching gaze. Danny had been around more rapists, murderers, kidnappers, and general human garbage than he could count, and none of them had ever given him the chills. None of them had caused him to feel a rush of terror that took him completely by surprise and floored him.
    He leaned his head back on the seat and tried to figure out what was so different about Nechayev. Unbidden, his mind drifted back to Amanda Fiske. She had described her attacker as unusually tall and blond, with dark blue eyes that were filled with evil.
    Danny frowned, remembering how his mother used to warn him that drinking too much alcohol would addle the brain. Maybe he had finally done it and his brain was addled. What else could explain where his mind was now going?
    Addled brain or not, he couldn’t deny what was now suddenly so obvious. Amanda Fiske may be crazy, but her description of her attacker had been spot on.
    She had described Aleksei Nechayev.

 
     
    Chapter 21
     
     
     
     
    Aleksei settled into his leather armchair and sipped his glass of vodka. He didn’t want to admit it, but the Irish detective had left his nerves on edge. He knew he could deal with him if needed, but he didn’t want it to come to that. He was angry that his winter had been disturbed and his home had been violated. His plans were important to him and they didn’t include dealing with a nosy cop.
    He was angry at himself that he had probably showed too much of the real Aleksei to Danny Fitzpatrick. He hadn’t been able to resist giving the jackass a glimpse of the monster inside him when he shook his hand. He’d wanted to frighten the man and he knew he had succeeded. But when he thought about it now, he knew he had let his anger at Fitzpatrick’s intrusion get the better of him. After so many years of perfecting his human cover, he never should have allowed that kind of a slip. It had been fun to give the detective a scare, but it had also been stupid, and he’d probably managed to pique Fitzpartick’s interest even more.
    He put his feet up on the ottoman in front of him and rested his head on the back of his chair. He considered visiting his guest, but he wasn’t ready for her yet. It wasn’t time. The cop’s interference made keeping to his schedule even more important. He needed to stick with what he could control.
    The reminder that his guest was totally under his control brought a small smile to his lips. There was no reason his winter couldn’t still go on as planned. The cop was nothing more than an irritating fly who needed to be swatted away.
    He needed to forget about the cop for tonight. And about his guest. And, about everything here in December, 201 2. He wanted another December. The most important one of his very long life.
    He took another sip of vodka, and closed his eyes. In his mind, the present had already drifted away. In his mind, he was back in a decidedly different December.
    It was 1916, and Aleksei felt nothing but cold and pain. He had no idea where he was, or how long he had been there. The last thing he remembered was being stationed at the front outside Petrograd. The sound of cannon fire was overwhelming and then suddenly everything had gone quiet. And dark.
    He was lying on a cot now and staring at a flimsy grey ceiling that seemed to be flapping in the wind. Was it a tent? He had no idea. But whatever it was, it didn’t provide any warmth for the freezing room. He tried to sit up and find a blanket, but he was unable to move a muscle. The pain was simply too much.
    As if by magic, she appeared next to his cot, holding a threadbare blanket in her arms. She unrolled the blanket and spread it over his shaking body.
    “ This was the best one I could find for you,” she said. “I know you’re terribly cold.”
    He opened his mouth to say thank you, but no sound came from his lips. Instead, a searing pain filled his throat.
    “ You