The driveway terminated, unremarkably, at its juncture with a snaky, two-lane street that needed its lines repainted. There was no grand gate, no mailbox; just two of those circular reflective disks on long handles sunk in the ground. Passersby would have never suspected what lay at the other end of the rutted gravel turn-off.
When the front tires hit pavement, Fulk stomped the gas, and the big Caddy slung gravel, fish-tailing out onto the road. The engine roared, old but strong, well-loved. That was the only sound that filled the interior of the car for several long moments, automatic gears shifting as Fulk steered them through the turns, laying hard on the gas at every straightaway. That, and the breathing patterns and heartbeats she could hear.
Val kept his arm around her, but he twisted his head to look out the back window. Searching for pursuers. But none appeared.
Finally, Anna leaned over and switched on the radio. The station was staticky, but Mia could make out Led Zeppelin. “Black Dog.”
Val’s hand rubbed up and down her shoulder. “It will be alright. You’ll see, darling.” But his heart was beating fastest of all.
60
SAFE
Val had seen things in his years of captivity. His out-of-body wandering. In so many ways, he was well-versed in the modern world. So it was no great wonder to him when, after an hour of driving, at an Interstate exit on the other side of Richmond, Fulk pulled into the parking lot of a hotel. A La Quinta. Val had seen that name on tall, glowing signs before. He’d seen buildings like these: a five-story concrete box with lots of windows, a huge parking lot, glass-walled lobby and fenced-in swimming pool. A place for weary travelers, not too different from the inns of old.
But he’d never stood at the edge of a pool just before sunrise, staring down into the glowing blue waters, lit from below, bare toes wiggling against the cold, gritty concrete. He felt the breeze on his face; cool, scented with the season’s first turning leaves. He hadn’t smelled the seasons in so long. He was aware of the dim rumblings of activity in the hotel behind him: the kitchen staff preparing breakfast; businessmen up early for their day’s meetings; families loading suitcases and kids and coolers into their overstuffed vans.
He smelled things he’d only ever been able to imagine: frying food, car exhaust, the chemicals they put in the pool to keep it sanitized.
He smelled his Mia; heard her walk up to him; felt the air stir as she looped her arm through his and leaned against his shoulder, joining him in his staring contest with the water.
“It’s a swimming pool,” she said.
“I know. It’s lovely.”
He felt her smile, the sweet shape of it pressing through his shirt and into his skin. “Do you want to go for a swim?”
“I’m an excellent swimmer, actually. Father had the wolves throw us into the moat as soon as we could walk. The water was freezing; it proved an excellent motivator.”
She hummed a sad little sound. “That’s not what I asked, though.”
“I was under the impression that humans have to wear some sort of special bathing costume.”
She chuckled. “Bathing suits, yeah. The concierge said there was a Target just up the road. We could get some. Water’s probably cold, though.” She shivered. “Fall’s here, finally.”
“You sound excited about that.”
“I love fall. No more sweating through my clothes when I ride. And it’s a lot easier on the horses…” She trailed off, and when he glanced down, she had her lower lip caught between her teeth, face touched with sadness. “But I guess I won’t be doing that anymore, huh?” Her voice grew fainter with every word, only a breath at the end.
“Mia.” Her hand tightened around the meat of his arm. “Mia, look at me.”
When she did, her eyes were wet. She blinked furiously, and no tears fell, but she looked ashamed.
He reached to cradle her face, ran his thumb over the delicate skin below her eye. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? You saved my life.”
“But what about your Brando? Your life training?”
She turned away from him, and his hand slid down to cup her throat, the rapid pulse beating there. “I’ll call Donna,” she said in a strained voice. “I’m sure she’ll…” She broke off, jaw clenched. After a moment: “I need to call my mom, too. She’s been really worried. Maybe I won’t tell her about the whole vampire thing…” She gave a weak, watery chuckle, and the tears finally slipped free, crystal droplets down her cheek, bright in the glow of the pool lights.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He put both arms around her and pulled her into his chest. She trembled, and she stared down at the water, but she melted into him, head tucked in under his chin. Maybe he’d ruined her life, but he had her trust. A dark thought, one he dashed. No, he wouldn’t think those things. This woman – his mate – was the one who’d seen him, believed in him, fought for him in all the quiet, determined ways that no one else ever had.
His mother would have loved her.
“I’m going to make you a promise,” he said, and she started to protest. “And I’m going to keep it. I swear to you.” He kissed the top of her head, and she went still. “Though I am immortal, I was born in a violent age. More violent than this age, if you can believe it,” he tried to joke. “Living forever wasn’t something we took for granted. It was easy to think that tomorrow might not come; to not want to put off the things we most wanted to do. It’s equally easy, sometimes, to stare into the yawning maw of endless time and feel defeated by the inevitable boredom.
“So I promise you this: We will go home to your farm, and your Brando, and your training. Now that you’re strong, and healthy. We’ll ride horses together with the mountains in the background. Perhaps Donna won’t be so frightened of me if her hand doesn’t pass right through me.”
Another weak laugh from her, but this one truer. “Perhaps.” She heaved a deep sigh, ribs expanding beneath his arms. But when she spoke next, her voice was steadier. “I appreciate you saying that. It’s what I want. But I know we can’t do that right now.”
“Oh?”
She tipped her head back, twisted, propped her chin on his collarbone. “I don’t know if you noticed this, but we’re fugitives.”
“Not in the technical sense.”
She gave him a small smile. “True. The cops aren’t after us. Just some people a lot scarier.”
“Vlad will see to that.” And he was surprised to find that he felt confident about it. He and Vlad had seemed like enemies once…but that was in the past. And, after walking into his brother’s memories, he knew it hadn’t been true. “The second we left, he took that place in hand. They’ll be following his agenda now, and he’ll be turning his eyes to the east. Toward Romulus.”
“Still. I don’t want to take our baggage to Donna’s doorstep just yet. I don’t want to take…” She flushed and her gaze dropped; she pressed her face into his chest.
“Me?” he guessed.
“Me. I’m…different.”
He ran his fingers through her hair. “How are you different, love?”
She made a disbelieving sound. “I’m a vampire, for one.”
“So?”
She lifted her brows.
“You have different nutritional needs. And you’re faster, and stronger. And you won’t age. But you’re still you, Mia. Nothing can change that.”
She glanced at him again, a sharp, measuring gaze.
“We are animals, just like everyone else. We aren’t the depraved creatures of novels and movies. Well.” He rolled his eyes. “Some are. But so are some humans.”
She stared at him.
“Darling, I would never have turned you if I thought I was dooming you to an eternity as a bloodthirsty monster.”
She swallowed. “I know,” she said, with quiet wonder.
His throat ached, suddenly. “I want you to have the life you deserve.”
“I want the same for you.”
His eyes started to burn, too. His sinuses
swelled up. Nearly six-hundred years without crying, and he wanted to do it all the time now, from his brother’s embrace to his mate’s. He didn’t know what to do with so much love at once; it was incomprehensible.
They both started laughing together, sniffling and dabbing at their eyes.
He hugged her close again. “We have time,” he told her. “We can figure everything out.”
“Yeah,” she said, and he could sense her contentment. That was the thing about being a vampire, the thing she would come to learn: it was hard to keep secrets from one another. “But I think we should lay low for a little bit, before we try to head back to Colorado.”
“Alright.” He wanted to go to her home, to sit on her couch in person, sleep in her bed…do other things. Stroke Brando’s handsome nose with his flesh-and-blood hand. But he was relieved in a way. Because even if Vlad had sent him off to live his own life, to escape this war…he didn’t think he could just ignore its coming. And he wanted, badly, to have a visit with his two favorite Russians, and get a feel for the current state of affairs in the immortal world.
“I can feel you thinking,” Mia said.
“You’ve caught me out. I was just thinking I know where we ought to go for now.”
“Where?”
“How do you feel about New York City?”
~*~
They had two rooms at the La Quinta, one for each couple. They weren’t even an eighth as grand as their quarters at the manor. But there was something to be said for stiff sheets and hotel soap when they came with total and complete privacy.
Fulk hadn’t slept much. They’d arrived late, and had stripped down to undershirts and underwear, all but falling onto the bed. Anna had turned to him immediately, urging him onto his side so they lay front-to-front, her small head tucked into his chest, one of his arms draped around her waist. The skin-to-skin contact was important – essential, really, for wolves. Humans and vampires and mages enjoyed their pair bonds, the emotional support and stability provided. But wolves could go into deep depressions without a pack or mates. A pack would help, in place of a mate…but it was the mate that made them whole. Pack or not, with a mate, a wolf could gladly take on the world.
After high-adrenaline events, Fulk always felt himself drop into an almost dopey state: exhausted but restless, needy, clingy. Anna said it was the same for her, but she handled it more gracefully – as she did with most things.
He clung to her now, as the first gray light of dawn slipped through the gap in the hotel drapes, a sinuous glide across the bed. Pressed his nose and mouth into her hair and breathed in the scent of her, of them, their pack of two. They each had their own scent, colored by one another, and then there was a third scent, unique to their union. He drank that in now like water, slow sips through his open mouth.
He sensed when she woke, but she didn’t say anything for long minutes, just breathing against his collarbone, warm, still-sleepy puffs. His hand moved of its own volition, unhurried strokes down her back, fingertips playing in the dip of her spine.
Finally, she stirred, the cold sole of one foot sliding down his shin. She shifted back far enough to tip her head and meet his gaze; he’d been watching her peaceful face for hours now, and he was sad to see her wake for the sake of her tiredness, but glad for the warm, forest green of her eyes.
“Hello, love.”
“Mm. Hey, baby.” She yawned, unselfconscious. Pressed her face into the hollow of his throat and sighed. “What time is it?”
The numbers on the bedside table clock glowed green. “Six-fifty.”
She hummed; he felt the vibration in his teeth.
“Go back to sleep if you want.”
“Nah.” She slipped a hand up his ribs. Played idly with his nipple, hard and tight in the chill of the AC. “We should probably get moving.”
They probably should. The more miles they put between themselves and the Institute, the better. Doubtless their new master would have some idea of where he wanted to go – Fulk envisioned a furious, pale-eyed vampire in a black coat, and a tow-headed, gentle-sweet wolf.
But exhaustion dragged at him. How easy it would be to bury his nose in her hair, close his eyes, and pretend nothing pressing awaited them.
“He’ll want to go to New York,” Anna said, voice wide-awake now. Low and warm against his skin.
“Yeah?”
“You know he will.”
“Yeah.”
They’d been there before, of course, because they’d been everywhere. The glaring, manmade light drowning out the stars; too many scents and sounds to catalogue, a kind of insulation of white noise around them. Cold iron bars of fire escapes and a too-fast pulse; a shared mug of whiskey passed back and forth in the wee hours, and rainy afternoons tucked into the corners of delightfully messy bookshops.
It was easy to get lost in New York. Easy for someone abnormal to fade into the tapestry. Who could dwell on the yawning maw of forever when the city too busy to sleep pulsed around you like a second heartbeat?
He pulled her in closer to him. “I’m okay with New York.”
~*~
A crew of employees pushed carts through the hotel’s dining room, unloading baskets of muffins, and bagels, and pastries; igniting the warmers under the chafing dishes and toting out eggs, and bacon, and sausage. Kolya sat alone at a table by the window, both hands wrapped around a steaming cup of black coffee. The heat and the smell were soothing; he hadn’t added cream or sugar because he had no idea if that’s how he took his coffee – Liam and Lily had never offered him any, and he couldn’t remember from before.
Remembering was…difficult.
Some things were clear. The time after. His first awareness was of pain, and of light. The sense of being layered together from ash and electricity. He’d opened his eyes to a gray sky; his lungs had opened, and he’d known how to breathe. Instinct. A scraped-raw throat, and eerie, bloodless hands he’d used to reach up, up, out of the dark pit in which he’d lain.
The first faces he’d seen belonged to the Prices. Liam, with his copper hair, and laughing eyes, and narrow face. And Lily, worried but lovely, her hair a mane of fire down her back. Kolya, Liam had said. That was his name. And it had felt right.
But it was the only thing that had.
He’d been a grown man with no memory of childhood. He couldn’t recall his mother’s face, or his childhood friends. Couldn’t remember his job, or his death. The kind of man he’d been.
What was a person without memories? Was it even a person at all?
They’d taken him into a city that frightened him. He had no memories, but this felt wrong. The cars, the buildings, all the lights.
“How long was I dead?” he’d asked in his ruined voice.
Liam had taken a careful sip of his tea and set his cup down slow, face warm with apology. “Seventy-five years.”
“Oh.”
“Your memories will begin to return in time. That’s at least been my experience with this sort of thing. Some will return naturally – gradually. And others will be jolted to the surface by some stimulus. In time, you will remember exactly who you are. But until then, I think it’s best if you stayed close with us. We’ll be going to America soon, and you’ll need to learn to speak English.”
“What are we speaking now?”
“Russian. You are Russian, Kolya. We are in Volgograd.” A pause. “You would have known it in your time as Stalingrad.”
Stalingrad. Drone of Luftwaffe. Thunder of bombs. Screams. Rubble. Blood. A lab; a steel table. A boy, howling. Fingers digging into muscle, pushing back. Let go of me, let go! They’re killing him! Sasha!
He blinked and he was on the floor, crouched low like an animal, his head in his hands.
Liam crouched down in front of him. “What did you remember?”
“Who’s Sasha?” he croaked.
“One of your friends from before. One of the ones who is still alive. You’ll get to meet him soon.”
He hadn’t m
et Sasha yet, but he remembered him now. Him and Nikita. Liam said they were the only survivors, that they lived together in New York.
Are they…? Kolya wondered, because the more distinct they became in his mind – Sasha’s platinum hair brushing his shoulders, blue eyes scrunched up as he laughed; Nik’s icy façade thawing just a little, too pale, and too shaky, and never enough to eat, but always a ghost of a smile for that boy – the more obvious it became that they’d loved one another. Did they still? Liam had said this age was different, that people could–
The chair across from him pulled back, drawn by an elegant hand, and the blond vampire prince slipped into it.
Kolya tensed, hands slipping beneath his jacket, seeking knives. He knew enough about before, now, to know that this was an instinct honed through years of violence. He knew he’d done terrible things, once, just because someone told him to; and that he was capable of doing them still.
The prince seemed unbothered by this. He held his own cup of steaming coffee in his free hand, and waved with the other. Sit down, sit down, the gesture said. His hair was braided, a thick golden rope draped over one shoulder of his motorcycle jacket.
Based on what he’d learned of this age, people didn’t just look like the prince. He was more like something out of a storybook, and if the way the female employees gawked at him was anything to go by, it was a much-appreciated look at that.
“Good morning,” the prince – Val, his name was Val – said, smiling wide enough to flash his too-sharp canines.
Kolya had a flash of memory: a bearded face, rancid breath, dramatic weeping and the smell of spilt wine. He suppressed a shudder.
Val, seemingly unbothered by the lack of response, turned sideways in his chair and crossed one long leg over the other. His gaze wandered out across the mostly empty dining room, following the progress of the staff as they moved to the kitchen and back, toting condiments and silverware.
Dragon Slayer (Sons of Rome Book 3) Page 79
