Née en Russie, Ilona a appris l'anglais à l'adolescence grâce à une bourse qui lui a permis d'étudier aux États-Unis à Western Carolina University, où elle s'est spécialisée en biochimie. Elle s'est mariée pendant ses études.
Ses romans sont écrits en collaboration avec Andrew Gordon, son mari, sous pseudonyme Ilona Andrews. Tous deux vivent aujourd’hui en Géorgie.
Oh boy. “Christopher?”
He looked up at me.
“I am.” He nodded. “I’ll serve you forever. To the end of time.”
“No, you’re free. You don’t have to serve me. You’re welcome to stay, but you can go if you want.”
He leaned over and touched my hand with long fingers. “Nobody is free in this world. Neither princes, nor wizards, nor beggars. I will serve you forever, my mistress.”
Aha. “Let’s come back to that later, when you feel more like yourself.”
“Great,” Curran said. “Another fine addition to your collection of uncanny misfits.”
“I take offense to that,” Barabas said.
“Don’t worry, I count myself in, too,” Curran told him.
He spread his arms.
“I can’t change who I am,” I told him. “Neither can you. I get it.”
“I love you and you love me, and we’re both too fucked up for anyone else. Who else would have us?”
I sighed. “Well, clearly we’re both crazy and this relationship is doomed.”
“I love you so much,” he said. “Please don’t leave me.”
He leaned forward. I knew he would kiss me a moment before he did, and I realized I wanted it. I remembered him holding me. I remembered him risking himself against impossible odds for me. I made him laugh, I told him things that would make most normal men run screaming, things I spent all my life keeping secret, and I drove him to the point of near-blinding rage. In my darkest moments, when everything was crashing down around me, he told me everything would be okay. The taste of him, the feel of his lips as his mouth covered mine, the way he made the world fade, as if kissing me were the only thing that existed in his life, pulled me right back through time, before the castle, before Hugh, and before Lorelei. Curran was mine. If my life were on the line, he would do it again, and I would be mad at him again. And if the reverse ever happened, he would rage and roar, and I would tell him that I loved him and that I would fight to the death to keep him breathing.
He was right. We loved each other and nobody else would put up with us.
“I’m still mad at you,” I whispered, and put my arms around him.
“I’m an ass,” he told me, pulling me closer. “I’m sorry. You should make my life hell for the next hundred years.”
“Do we need to give you some privacy for the makeup sex?” Astamur asked.
The colossal lion jumped and landed a foot away from me, the dark mane streaming. The impact of his leap sent sparks flying from the fire. His eyes burned with molten gold. The powerful feline maw gaped open, showing terrifying fangs as big as my hand. Curran snarled.
I swatted him on the nose. “Stop it! You’re scaring the people who rescued me.”
The gray lion snapped into a human form. Curran jerked his hands up as if crushing an invisible boulder. “Aaaaaa!”
He grabbed the edge of a big rock sticking out of the grass. Muscles flexed on his naked frame. He wrenched the boulder out of the ground. The four-foot-long rock had to weigh several thousand pounds—his feet sank into the grass. Curran snarled and hurled the rock against the mountain. The boulder flew, hit like a cannon ball, and rolled back down. Curran chased it, pulled another smaller rock out of the dirt, and smashed it against the first one.
Wow. He was really pissed.
Astamur’s eyes were as big as plates.
“I can get him to put those back after he’s done,” I told him.
“No,” Astamur said slowly. “It’s fine.”
Curran picked up the smaller rock with both hands and threw it onto the larger boulder. The boulder cracked and fell apart. Oops.
“Sorry we broke your rock.”
I loved Curran, and most of the time being with him was so easy. But when it was difficult, it nearly broke me. I wondered if it was like that for him, too. Being alone was simpler, but I couldn’t give him up. He made me happy. So happy that I kept looking over my shoulder, as if I had stolen something and any minute someone would demand I give it back.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” I said.
“You and me. This wasn’t in the plan. The plan was to be alone, to hide, and to kill Roland. Being happy was never one of the bullet points. Some part of me is still convinced it’s a fluke and eventually it will be ripped away from me. Deep down I expect it. Any hint of it and I roll down the cliff. You’re mine, you know that, right? If you ever try to leave me, it won’t go well.”
“I don’t deserve you,” Curran said. The same desperate thing I saw last night flickered in his eyes. “But I got you and I’m an entitled selfish bastard. You’re all mine. Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t. Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t. If you ever disappeared, I would leave the Pack and I would look for you until I found you. However long it took.”
I knew he wasn’t lying. I could feel it. He would find me.
“I’ll try not to disappear.”
“Thank you,” he said.
A massive beast dashed along the mountain apex. Huge, at least six hundred pounds, the creature covered the distance in great leaps. The moonlight traced his gray mane and slid off the thick cords of his muscles. He was neither beast nor man, but a strange four-legged meld of the two, built to run despite his bulk.
How the hell did he even find me?
Atsany jumped up and down, waving his pipe. Without taking his gaze from the beast, Astamur reached for his rifle. “A demon?”
“No, not a demon.” I might have preferred one. “That’s my boyfriend."
Curran me montra les dents.
- Oses-tu insinuer que mes hommes ne savent pas faire preuve de circonspection ?
Je regardais toujours Jim.
- Passe donc mes félicitations à sa Majesté pour avoir réussi à apprendre un si grand mot tout seul.
-Une dernière chose,Votre Majesté.J'aimerais un nom que je puisse mettre dans mon rapport.Quelque chose de plus court que "Dirigeant de la Faction Méridionale des Changeformes". Comment puis-je vous appeler ?
Je roulais des yeux.
Il haussa les épaule.
-C'est plus court.
- Très bien. Tourne-toi encore.
Je me retournai pour le voir froncer les sourcils.
- Je n'arrive pas à décider si je préfère le devant ou le derrière.
- Et mon sabre dans ta gueule ?
- C'est ma réplique, ça, ma colombe.
- Je m'inquiète pour toi. (Il pencha la tête et me regarda dans les yeux). Je m'inquiète que quelque chose de stupide t'arrive, que je ne sois pas là et que tu disparaisses. Je m’inquiète de ne jamais pouvoir te sortir de ma tête.
Non, non, non, non... L'espace minuscule entre nous était trop chaud. Les muscles gonflaient sur sa silhouette nue. Il avait l'air sauvage. Son regarde d'or fou était plongé dans le mien.
- Je te manque, Kate ?
Je fermai les yeux pour ne plus le voir. Je pouvais mentir et nous nous retrouverions dans la même situation. Rien ne serait résolu. Je serais toujours seule et je le détesterais tout en le désirant. Il m'agrippa par les épaules et me secoua, une fois.
- Je te manque ?