Vlad must have felt it, too, because he tipped his head back and looked up at the ceiling.
A moment later, the faint thump of helicopter rotors drifted down from the roof; the building shuddered, quiet, in a way that humans couldn’t detect, when the Blackhawk touched down on the pad.
Fulk’s stomach clenched hard. He growled, an unhappy rumble he couldn’t help, one that Anna automatically echoed. “Liam.”
Vlad’s nostrils flared as he inhaled. “It seems your necromancer has arrived, Dr. Talbot,” he said, gaze dropping. “Let’s see if he lives up to expectation.”
Talbot began to wring his hands. “Yes. Well, he’s very agreeable, as I’m sure you will see. A very respectful man, he…”
His voice faded into the periphery. Fulk strained for the sound of an elevator, for footfalls, but all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, strong like the tide, drowning out everything else. Air turned thick in his lungs, hard to push, hard to pull in; his chest ached, and his stomach cramped, and–
A small, warm hand touched his neck, and he jerked his head down, vision swimming.
Annabel looked up at him with the softest smile. “There he is. It’s alright, baby.”
He growled again, and spoke through his teeth. “It is never alright when it’s about him.” Every time he blinked, he saw Anna the way she’d been that day: lifeless, limp, bloody. Dead. In that last moment, before he plunged the knife in, he’d searched for a rapidly-fading pulse, and hadn’t been able to find it. It was the wolf that had brought her back, howling and clawing. The wolf and the demon had brought his wild girl back to him, made her whole, made her immortal.
But it was Liam who’d–
“Fulk.” She shifted her hand, up his jaw, over his cheek. He raised his own and covered hers with it, held her to him. “Do you want to shift? Will that make it easier?”
It would. They could go down to four legs and leave the manor, go running through the dark woods, until the smell of pine forest and the thrill of the chase had crowded out all his fear and hate.
But he said, “No,” with a deep sigh. “He’ll know I’m avoiding him.” And appearing weak in front of him was anathema.
Anna urged him down, until their foreheads touched, so that all he could see, and smell, and feel was her. “It’s not like it was then, baby,” she murmured. “We’re both so much stronger now.”
She was. Physically, at least – she’d always been stronger than him mentally, emotionally. And what was he now? Not a man, nor a wolf, but a tool that allowed itself to be used.
“Fulk,” she said again, stern this time, and a smile ghosted across his lips.
“You’re right.” He kissed her, once, then pulled back. “We’ll be fine.”
“That’s what I keep telling you.” She rapped her knuckles lightly against his forehead. You idiot. Her smile was fond.
“Strange,” Vlad said, and Fulk glanced over.
The vampire’s face was doing something odd. It took Fulk a moment to realize that he was smiling. Faint, but definitive, amused even.
“Leave this to me,” he said, a murmur too low for Talbot to make out. “Just stand there and try not to look terrified.”
“I’m not terrified,” he huffed.
“Mmhm.”
Make that intelligent and a smartass.
A tech in a lab coat came barreling into the room, wild-eyed and out of breath. “Dr. – Dr. Talbot – they sent – sent me to tell you–”
“That Mr. Price is on his way down?” Talbot seemed relieved to have a distraction from his immortal company. “Yes, I know. Have him brought here, please, and ask the kitchen to send in a plate of refreshments. Is his wife with him?”
The young man wheezed and nodded.
“Very good. Thank you, Brandon.”
The tech took a few furtive glances at Vlad, and then Fulk and Anna, and retreated with an air of gratitude.
“Humans were not so frightened all the time in my days,” Vlad said, and Fulk bit back a sudden, unexpected laugh.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but, uh, they’re kinda afraid of you, chief,” Anna said.
Vlad snorted. “Ridiculous. They haven’t seen me do anything.”
“You did almost cut your brother in half.”
Fulk thought he looked vaguely pleased, the weirdo.
And then two nameless soldiers in black led Liam and Lily Price into the room, and all other thoughts flew out of Fulk’s head.
They were the sort of couple that even humans paused to notice, simply because they were striking. Tall, and slender, both redheads. Lily’s hair was a pale red, heavily threaded with orange, and her eyes were like Annabel’s: deep green, flecked with gold. Liam had blue eyes – cold eyes. And his hair was the russet of an Irish setter, just as his daughter’s had been. He’d worn it to his shoulders in the past, but now had trimmed it so it fell in a soft, curled tumble to just below his ears. His nose was still crooked, smile still sharper than the point of his chin.
Fulk nearly choked on the growl that tried to build in his throat. Annabel moved to stand beside him, and hooked their arms together; leaned into him, her temple pressed to his shoulder. A united front.
“Liam. Lily,” Dr. Talbot greeted warmly, “I’m so glad to see you both again.” Under his wide smile and reaching handshake, the man reeked of nerves. A scent just perceptible beneath the campfire stench of the two mages.
Liam had always been charming. He reached now to clasp the doctor’s hand between both of his, a friendly press to accompany his smile. “Doctor. A pleasure as always.” He released Talbot’s hand slowly, righting himself, smile slipping into a look of concern. “Though I do wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Yes, as do I.” Talbot bowed elaborately in Lily’s direction, and she acknowledged him with a nod. Her expression was calm, but she didn’t smile. The lifeless sister, Fulk had always thought; it was as if the fire she wielded sucked all the strong feeling out of her, until she could be nothing but serene. “We have much to discuss concerning–”
Talbot broke off suddenly, and Fulk realized too late – distracted, sinuses flooded with mage-stink – that there was a third newcomer to the room, one lingering beyond the magical couple, hanging back in the shadows of the threshold.
He smelled…
He smelled like a graveyard.
Fulk and Annabel growled together, and beside them, Vlad let out a low pulsing snarl of his own.
“Ah.” Liam’s gaze lifted over Talbot’s head and came straight to Fulk, eyes twinkling as he smiled. “You’ve noticed that we brought a friend.”
Fulk pushed Annabel back behind him, though she protested; felt her nails score his forearm as she tried to claw her way around him. He lowered his head, felt his wolf press up close beneath his skin, ready to shift. His voice was a growl. “That thing’s not alive.”
Liam chuckled. “I assure you he is. Very much so. I watched the flesh knit itself together over his bones myself.”
“What did you do?”
Liam cocked his head, smile smug, and, somehow, pitying. Oh, Fulk, it seemed to say. As stupid as ever. “I already told you: I made a friend. A very valuable one, I can assure you. Now if you’ll lower your hackles and act like a civilized person, I can explain–”
Two things happened at once.
Vlad stalked forward, hands curled into claws, snarling like a jungle cat.
And the dead man slid out of the shadows to stand in front of Liam, shoulders angled for a fight, balanced up on his toes. He was dressed all in black, a hood pulled up over his head so that only the end of his nose and the scar on his chin were visible. He held a knife in one hand, and its edge caught the firelight in a wicked flash.
The fire itself rested in Liam’s palm, conjured with a thought.
Vlad…hesitated.
“Hello, my lord Dracula,” Liam said. “It’s quite the honor, though I assure you that my friend here will put that knife to good us
e if you attempt to come any closer.”
Vlad grinned, and his fangs were long. “Why don’t you ask what happened the last time someone tried to fight me with a knife?”
Liam said, “Ah, yes, but the difference is: Captain Baskin isn’t much of a dancer.”
The dead man’s empty hand shifted, and then it wasn’t empty anymore, another knife held in its grip. He sank down in his knees a fraction, stretching the tendons, preparing.
Fulk had the awful sense that he was missing something. “Vlad…” he started.
But the prince was already in motion.
And so was the dead man. Both knives held in a backhanded grip, he moved quick, feet impossibly light on the carpet. He sidestepped, facing Vlad, forcing him to turn to keep up. Captain Baskin isn’t much of a dancer, Liam had said, but this man clearly was. Had been.
Vlad seemed to gather himself, no longer ready to fling himself at an easily crushed opponent, but more reserved, calculating. He turned to keep pace with the dancer, mouth open as he scented the air.
“Vlad,” Fulk said, as respectfully as possible, “let’s just wait.”
“You should listen to your wolf,” Liam said, amused. “Sometimes he has the right idea about things.”
“I’m not his wolf.”
Liam ignored this. “You’re looking well, your ladyship. It would appear the twenty-first century agrees with you.”
Fulk snarled.
Anna said, “Shut up, Liam. Call off your damn zombie.”
Vlad lunged, and the dancer leapt back, an efficient movement that sent him spinning away, knives flashing. Vlad made a low sound that could have been a growl or a laugh. He turned back to Liam, sneering. “So you made yourself a poppet. My uncle can do that, too. He wants to destroy half of humanity with them.”
Liam’s smile never slipped. “You’re mistaken, your grace. Your uncle’s – affliction, I guess you could say – eats a person’s soul out of their body, leaving only disease and mindless violence. You call it the Absence, yes? Well, he’s only a vampire, after all, playing at being a mage. I can assure you that when I raise someone from the dead, I bring their soul back as well.”
Vlad looked again at the dead man, still poised for a fight.
Liam said, “Show them your face, Kolya.”
The man stilled. He sheathed his knives at the small of his back, an efficient movement, and then reached up to push his hood back.
Fulk had seen the videos of the Absence-afflicted creatures in the desert. Mindless destruction; worse than animals – as an animal himself, he could attest that a creature’s species had no bearing on its intelligence. Those things were, as Vlad had stated, poppets.
But this man, the skin of his face laced with scars, was very much present, if quiet and expressionless. Dark eyes; intelligent eyes…but lost. His hair hung shaggy and unkempt past his chin. He stood at attention, unmoving, like a soldier, like a –
Oh. Oh no.
“This,” Liam said, “is Kolya Dyomin of Moscow. A Chekist under the command of Captain Nikita Baskin.”
If either name meant a thing to him, Kolya didn’t react, gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance.
Fulk turned to Liam with another growl. “What did you do?” he repeated.
Liam sighed. “I brought you a soldier for your war. Now kindly shut up and point me toward the good whiskey.”
50
CANDY-FRAGILE
“How’s Brando?”
Everything about this, about having her here, was a marvel. Staring down at the top of her head, breathing in the scents of her shampoo and skin, was a revelation. The heat of her body pressed close to his side; the embrace of her arms around his waist; weight of her temple at his shoulder. He was fascinated by the glimpse of her bare ankles between the line of her pants and the tops of her black, borrowed sneakers. He couldn’t stop shaking. Wasn’t sure if he could ever stop.
Her hair rustled as she tipped her head back, propped her chin on his collarbone and smiled up at him. “I finally get here and you want to know about Brando?” she teased.
He couldn’t respond in kind, his voice as shaky as his hands. “I want to know everything there is to know about you.”
Her expression softened, smile going warm and a little self-conscious. “There’s not much to know.”
“I disagree.”
She sighed, fond. “Donna texted me a little while ago to say that Brando misses me – which I doubt – and that the other girls are spoiling him. She also wanted to know if she needed to call the real police for me. Or maybe even the National Guard.” She breathed a quiet laugh, but it was humorless. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”
She rested her head against him, lashes dropping low, and he could read the anguish in her. It was soft, but it was real, layered and confused. She didn’t deserve it, he thought.
“Mia.” He raised one unsteady hand and cupped it around the back of her head. Her skull felt candy-fragile, even given his own current weakness. “Your father isn’t exactly the villain here.”
She pulled back far enough to tip an angry, disbelieving look up to his face. “He’s holding you prisoner–”
“Just as hundreds of others have done before him. He didn’t put me in the cage, darling. He’s merely keeping me here. There are nearly six-hundred years’ worth of files and rumors and security tapes on me, and none of them tell a story that would convince a rational person that I was some – innocent pawn in all this.”
Her frown deepened, undeterred. “So? So you killed some people while you were in here, right? You said you did. That’s – well, that’s not ideal. But they were keeping you locked up. They were abusing you.”
“Are you trying to convince yourself?”
“No.” She braced her hand against his chest and pushed herself upright, so their faces were nearly level. “I asked you once before if you were trying to scare me off, and you’re doing it again.”
“I don’t want you to forsake your family just because–”
“Val.” She laid her hand on his face, and he couldn’t help but lean into it. Her gaze sparked, as ferocious as any wolf. “Family is made of the people who love you. Who you love back. The people who help you, and hold you up, and accept you. I get to choose that. I get to choose you – to be on your side. Stop trying to convince me I shouldn’t.”
She vibrated with energy and emotion. Her look dared him to challenge her.
But then she realized what she’d said – how forceful it had sounded – and she shrank a little, hand sliding down to his chest, her touch light – not enough. “I’m sorry, I–”
He caught her hand in his. “Mia.” He sounded ragged, and he didn’t care. This was…she was…
She was everything.
The door opened at the top of the stairs.
“Mia, listen to me.” He grabbed her shoulders tight. Shoved his face into hers. “I need you to think about what you want. What you really want. Not in fantasies and hypotheticals, alright? Decide. And trust my brother. He’s an asshole, I know, but he’s on our side.”
Her gaze flicked back and forth across his face. Uncertain now. “I…”
The barred door creaked open and footfalls moved toward them.
Val shut his eyes and touched his forehead briefly to hers. “Decide,” he said again, and then there was Vlad, come to collect her.
He looked especially stone-faced.
“What’s going on up there?” Val asked.
“The mage is here,” Vlad ground out. “And he has a revenant with him.”
Val’s stomach lurched, and he bundled Mia in closer. “Fascinating.”
“More than you know: it’s one of Baskin’s Russians.”
~*~
Talbot looked exhausted, and Fulk took a small amount of satisfaction in that. “Mr. Price,” he said with a deep sigh. “I just…don’t understand.”
The revenant, Kolya Dyomin, stood against the far wall of the office, hands clasp
ed loosely in front of him, gaze fixed unseeing in the middle distance. Fulk found him to be a collection of unsettling contradictions. He was very much alive, but he smelled like – not like a corpse. Not like rot. But like deep, dark earth that shouldn’t have been disturbed. Things lived, and things fed, and things bled, and things died. Vampires slept, and healed, and overcame the most grievous of wounds. Wolves never aged. But things didn’t die and come back – that wasn’t natural.
Kolya was alert, and he moved quickly, as elegantly as the former ballet dancer Liam had claimed him to be. He could speak, and he breathed; his heart beat at a normal resting rate.
But to follow Liam here, to defend him, to remain stone-faced at the mention of his friends. He was not…himself. Fulk could tell that without ever having met him as he’d once been.
“It’s really quite simple, Doctor,” Liam said. “I meant what I said before about needing soldiers in your war. Our war,” he amended, with a look toward Fulk that had Fulk shifting in his seat. “Whether mortal or immortal, I think it’s safe to say that all the creatures living on this earth want to continue living. Therefore, the war must be a joint effort by all those capable of fighting. Kolya is a valuable soldier. And.” He held up a finger, quietly triumphant. “He offers us leverage. Nikita Baskin’s pet wolf – Sasha – was the original progeny of your little institute. Since you seem unable to keep him here by force, I thought we’d try a different tactic.”
Fulk snorted. “By bribing him? ‘Look, we have your dead friend, join us.’”
Liam looked over, serene. “Yes.”
“Sasha Kashnikov is one wolf,” Fulk said. “And not a very ferocious one at that. Have you seen him? He only gets riled up when his vamp is threatened.”
Liam smiled. “So I’ve heard.”
“What do you need them for? They’re just two. Leave them alone.”
The smile stretched. “Ah. So you haven’t brushed up on your Roman history.”
Dragon Slayer (Sons of Rome Book 3) Page 67
