Golden Eagle (Sons of Rome Book 4)

by Lauren Gilley

  This wasn’t some playboy friend of Alexei’s. No, not close.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  Lanny and Alexei were still arguing, but they stopped, and turned to her.

  Dante turned to her with outward dread.

  The room went very quiet.

  Nikita caught her gaze, briefly, from his position in the doorjamb, his expression closed-off.

  “This isn’t bring your boyfriend to work day,” she said, locking in on Dante again.

  He hedged backward a half-step, clenched knuckles visible through his jacket pockets.

  “We’ve been talking about trusting people. About how hard it is. And here you are, a total stranger, who goes back and forth between two accents. And you want him to join the pack?” she asked, turning to Alexei, who swallowed, throat rippling, chin kicking a fraction higher in a display of dominance steeped in childish insecurity. “Then tell me us who he really is. Tell us why you brought him here.”

  “I trust him,” Alexei said stiffly. “That’s all you need to know.”

  “Wrong,” Nikita said, low, bristling.

  Alexei whirled to face him, forgetting all his practiced posture. He regathered it, but he’d already betrayed his nervousness.

  “You’re not a tsarevich anymore,” Nikita said. “You don’t give orders. You aren’t owed our grace or favor.”

  “We aren’t saying no, understand,” Trina said. “But a pack is a family, and we deserve to know who we’re inviting in. Don’t you agree?”

  Alexei turned to her, cracks in his haughty mask; panic in his eyes. “I…”

  “You can’t command us,” Nik said, behind him. “You aren’t our leader. You aren’t the alpha here. You’re not the tsar.”

  When Alexei turned back to him, Trina traded another glance with Nikita.

  They’d slid into Good Cop/Bad Cop effortlessly. One of those reminders of their relation; that they understood each other, better than either of them ever wanted to admit. Everything savage in her had come down from him, and from the furious girl with a dead-eye on her sniper rifle.

  “We’ve been hard on you, Alexei,” she said, softening her voice. “We’ve treated you like a dumb kid, and like a brat, and we haven’t let you have as much of a say as the rest of us. That hasn’t been fair.”

  “No one gets a say until they prove they can be trusted,” Nikita said. “And that they aren’t an idiot.”

  “We know it was very traumatic losing your family the way you did,” Trina said.

  “Everyone loses their family,” Nikita countered. “But they don’t do stupid shit afterward.”

  “A few mistakes don’t condemn a person.”

  “It’s more than a few.”

  Alexei’s gaze pinged between them, expression growing stricken, head whipping back and forth like a tennis spectator.

  Dante took a step forward and cleared his throat delicately. “Um. If I may.”

  Nikita pressed his lips into a flat line.

  Thoroughly British now, controlled and correct, Dante said, “While I appreciate Alexei fighting for me, I’m not actually asking to join your pack. You’ve only just met me. Of course you don’t trust me. But I’d like the chance to prove that I can be trusted, if you’ll let me.”

  He looked to Trina, then, appealing to her as the more forgiving of Alexei’s two inquisitors.

  “You want trust?” she asked. “Answer my first question: who are you?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, but didn’t answer.

  “Don’t try to tell me your name is really Dante.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  She lifted her brows.

  “It’s an alias I concocted a century ago. To protect myself.”

  “Vampire fugitive?”

  “The possessor of useful and potentially dangerous information,” he said, head tilting in a gesture of accession. “I’m a historian. Have always been. I knew people, important people. They’re all dead now, so, perhaps not as important as they once were. But still. There are vampires who would dearly love to get their hands on my collection.”

  “Who knows this?” Nikita asked.

  Dante turned to give him a hooded, measuring look. “Alexei does. And now you.”

  “Alexei knows your real name?” Trina asked.

  “He does.”

  When she glanced at Alexei, he jerked a sullen nod.

  She looked to Nikita, who quirked his brows once, a facial shrug.

  “Alright,” she said to Dante. “We’ll talk about pack stuff later. For right now, I guess you’re already involved, and you can tag along if you want. But I have one condition. A firm one.”

  He seemed to ready himself. “Alright.”

  “I need to know you’re doing this for Alexei. Because you care about him in some way. That you’re invested.”

  His face smoothed in obvious surprise.

  “If you’re just bored and looking for a good time, then leave now. But if you care–”

  “I care.” He said it gravely, voice heavy.

  Alexei twisted around to look at him in surprise.

  Trina held Dante’s gaze a long moment, and he neither blinked nor flinched. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. Well. We go forward, then.”

  Nikita didn’t look happy.

  “Sasha,” Trina said, refocusing. “Walk these guys through the plan.”

  ~*~

  They took Lanny’s Expedition to Queens, parked and waited in a Taco Bell parking lot, lost amidst the evening crowd of customers snaking around the building in the drive-through line. Trina had ridden in the passenger seat next to Lanny, a roomy bucket seat at that, but the atmosphere inside the car was stifling, and she climbed out as soon as she could. Went around to lean back against the SUV’s warm grill and take a series of deep breaths, preparing herself for what lay ahead. She didn’t have the hard job – no, that would be up to the three vampires who could compel. But she was nervous all the same, stomach jittery.

  Lanny joined her a few seconds later. He dug out a pack of smokes and lit one up. Sighed deeply on the first exhale. “You okay?”

  She watched a mother leave the restaurant with two kids in tow, a boy and a girl, both bouncing and talking animatedly. A normal family, one that had no idea what sorts of creatures waited just across the parking lot; without a clue that just down the street a building housed enough secrets to send anyone running for the hills.

  Trina said, “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “You don’t have to be.” When she glanced over at him, he shrugged and puffed smoke. “You’ve had a tough day. You can sit this one out if you need to.”

  “You think I need to?”

  “I’m just saying,” he hedged.

  She took a breath. The questions that sprang to mind tasted cruel on the back of her tongue – unfair – but she voiced them anyway, because she was tired, and the scent of prefab taco meat was making her stomach even jumpier. “Because I’m a woman? Because I’m your mate? Or because I’m mortal?”

  He didn’t get defensive. Took another drag and, in an oddly measured voice, said, “Because you’re you, and you’re stubborn, and you won’t quit, even when you’re about to collapse.” He turned to her, eyes black and slicked with neon light. “You’re the toughest person I know – woman, mate, mortal, or otherwise – and you take on too much, sometimes. You’ve taken on all of us, and that’s a damn hard chore,” he said, motioning back over his shoulder to the car, its occupants. Their pack. “If you need a break, you can take a break. That’s all I’m saying.”

  And that was why she loved him. Why she’d let herself fall in love with him, even when it was against the rules and a bad idea besides. Because he understood her. Always had.

  In the new chaos of their lives, she’d forgotten that, a little bit.

  “Do me a favor,” she said, offering up the best smile she could muster.

  “You name it.”

  “Don’t make me pack mom, okay? I
’m not raising a bunch of grown ass men, even if I love you guys.”

  He chuckled. “Noted. And, hey, we don’t need a pack mom if we have a pack great-granddaddy, right?”

  She chuckled, too. They were okay. It would be alright.

  He sobered a moment later, and scanned the parking lot. An employee had come outside to chastise a group of teenagers on skateboards who’d been trying to slide down the metal handrail.

  “Hey,” he said, voice softer, when he turned back to her. “Today.” His gaze dropped, and she thought he looked ashamed. “How’d you know just what to say? When I was…you know…” He made a vague gesture with his hand, smoke ribbons trailing off into the night.

  “I finally got out of my own way.”

  His brows drew together.

  “I know Lanny the Human really well. We’re like this.” She held up crossed fingers. “But I’ve been acting like there isn’t also a Lanny the Vampire.”

  “You think I have split personalities?”

  “I think being a vampire is a lot more complicated than needing to drink a little blood. No, I don’t think, I know that. I just wasn’t treating you like I did.”

  “Are you afraid of me?” He sounded distressed. His cigarette smoldered, forgotten, between two fingers. “Shit, I knew this would–”

  “No. Never.” When he stared at her, frowning, she said, “Okay, okay. You spooked me yesterday. That whole chasing-me-down-the-stairs thing.”

  He made a low sound of disgust – disgust in himself, judging by his expression – and shook his head. “I didn’t mean to – shit, listen to me. Every piece of shit we bag for killing his wife always says ‘I didn’t mean to.’” He rubbed his free hand over his face, eyes squeezing shut. “I’m–”

  “No.” She put her hand on his shoulder; he was all solid muscle and bone and strength, but he trembled beneath her touch. Ashamed, and afraid, and embarrassed, and worried about his own self-control.

  She ached for him.

  “Lanny,” she murmured, shifting in closer. Probably everyone in the car could hear, and she didn’t care, but Lanny might. “Listen to me: you are not that. You will never be that.”

  He wouldn’t look at her.

  “I freaked out a little. And you freaked out a little. You’re still figuring out what it means to have all these new instincts. You got kinda possessive, yeah. And today, you were really scared for me. But I know you won’t ever hurt me. That’s not you. Lanny.” She gave him a light shake, for all the good it did; it was like trying to shake a tank. “That’s not you. Whatever happens, I’m never going to be worried about that.”

  His hand dropped to his side, and he finally lifted his gaze to hers, utterly dejected. “I’m sorry,” he said miserably.

  She pressed their foreheads together, and he took a shaky breath. “I accept your apology.”

  “I might have to apologize a lot.”

  “I woulda figured that even if you’d stayed human.”

  He huffed a laugh. “I’m an asshole.”

  “Like I didn’t know that before.”

  “I’ve got a mean streak. I like to fight.”

  “Really? I thought you were a boxer because you liked the shiny shorts.”

  He butted his forehead feather-light against hers. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. I’ve got a mean streak, too. Part Chekist, part sniper, remember?”

  “Hmm.”

  They stood a moment, touching, sharing breath. Deep breaths, trying to find their way back to even footing.

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she whispered, and found that her voice was the unsteady one, now. “With work, with the Institute. With…everything. But we’re better together.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Interrupting anything?” Will Scarlet’s voice called, and they sighed, and pulled back.

  They traded a look, one moment of understanding, of affection, and loyalty. It went a long way toward soothing her nerves.

  Then she turned to their accomplices for the evening. “No. We’re ready.”

  ~*~

  Sasha had wanted to come with them.

  “No,” Nikita told him, too stressed to be sorry for the command in his tone. “Absolutely not.”

  They’d stood in a shadowed patch of grass between the parking lot and the street, the constant flow of traffic offering them an urban kind of privacy. Before they’d left home, Sasha had scraped his hair back in a tight bun; had dressed all in black, his combat boots laced tight. He’d stood there in the dark, hands curled into fists at his sides, chin lifted, jaw tight.

  “Why not?” he’d asked, voice controlled, gaze hectic, vivid blue, even in the shadows.

  Nikita had stood there in front of a Taco Bell, autumn breeze tugging at his hair, and felt like he was choking. “You know why,” he gritted out, and tried to turn away.

  “Nik.” Sasha grabbed the front of his jacket with one hand, pulling him up short. He was stronger than he looked – much stronger. Nikita knew that, but the reminder was good, now and then. His face was flushed, a faint pink along his cheekbones. “You don’t need to protect me.”

  Nikita bared his teeth. His fangs felt long. “After what happened last time, do you think I’d let you go back in there? So they can–” He couldn’t say the words. He closed his eyes, briefly, against the memory of Sasha too-thin and sallow, eyes sunk in his head, retching over the toilet bowl as his body burned through the last of the narcotics they’d used on him in Virginia, to keep him docile.

  “Nik.” Sasha tugged at his jacket, and pressed his other hand to Nikita’s chest, over the pulse that pounded through skin, and bone, and sweater. When Nikita opened his eyes, Sasha said, “Bind me.”

  The words hit him like a slap. He took a step backward, and Sasha let him go, crestfallen. He didn’t give up, though.

  “Bind me, and no one could ever compel me. I couldn’t be forced into being anyone’s Familiar. No one would even want me for anything. It wouldn’t be slavery – it would keep me from being someone else’s slave.”

  The worst thing? Sasha was right. Binding him would be like putting a lock on his mind. A bound wolf, a true, bonded Familiar, couldn’t be compelled by another vampire; couldn’t be bound to another. A bond, as Will had explained, only severed by death of the master.

  But the word itself: bind. Sasha would be bound to him. Would be powerless against any direct orders; against compulsion. And Nikita would never – never…but what if he did it on accident? What if something as innocent as “pass the salt” turned into a command he was unable to refuse? What if it was as harmful as some murmured bit of desire whispered out in bed? And Sasha did something against his will, without consciously wanting to, just because he was Nikita’s Familiar.

  Not his lover, not his partner, not his friend, but a servant, bound to obey him.

  “And what if you were my slave?” he forced himself to ask. “What then?”

  Sasha let out a breath. Not a sigh, but a gut-punched sound of disbelief. “Do you distrust yourself that much? Do you think anything would change?”

  “How could it not?”

  Sasha blinked, and then turned away. A muscle in his jaw leapt as he ground his molars. “I want to come with you,” he said tightly. “I don’t want to be left behind like a useless child.”

  “You’re being left behind because I won’t put you at risk. Not now, not ever again.”

  Sasha turned back, eyes glittering wetly, face gone pale. “We talked about this,” he said, low and hurt. “After Virginia we talked about you risking more than me.”

  “We did. And right now, I’m less at risk in that building than you.”

  They stared at one another. Nikita would have done anything to wipe the unhappiness off Sasha’s face – anything except let him come with them.

  Sasha turned away first, his shoulders shrugging up toward his ears. “Fine.” And it wasn’t fine at all.

  Then Will and Much had shown up, wi
th an unexplained plumber’s van, and Nikita tucked all his personal turmoil away.

  He tried to. Sasha’s face haunted him, even as they approached the lit glass doors of the Institute’s public patient entrance. He could see people sitting in hard plastic chairs inside, in pairs, in groups. One man caught his attention, simply because he was alone. A pair of crutches was propped up against the chair beside him, and he surveyed the room with the hooded, hawk gaze of a soldier. Unlike the others waiting, he had no support. No confidante, no hand to squeeze.

  A little thing, and nothing he should have dwelled on in this moment, as he, Lanny, Alexei, Dante, and Will Scarlet walked in, but he did notice it, keenly aware of his own missing partner. Of the awful yawning gap at his shoulder where Sasha should have stalked, his right hand, the back against his own in a dangerous situation.

  He’d looked doubly betrayed when he realized that Scarlet was coming with them. Will had sensed it, and clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “I know, old chap, but, if it’s any consolation, if not for my master, I’d be a complete liability as well.”

  Sasha had actually glared at Nikita then.

  He couldn’t think about that now. They had a job to do. And as they went through the airlock, and emerged in the lobby, he’d more or less strapped all unhelpful thoughts down and brought up the awful, oily power Rasputin had given him. Dante had confessed to being able to compel somewhat; mostly I just charm bed partners, he’d said.

  Nikita and Alexei were the strongest. They’d drunk from the fount directly, and the starets’s taint burned bright in their blood.

  The receptionist behind her sliding glass window glanced up as they entered, expression growing startled. They didn’t look like patients. “Excuse me, can I–” she started, and Nikita took three long, quick strides up to the window and locked gazes with her. “Buzz us through into the back,” he commanded, and heard the faint ring of the compulsion in his own voice. He felt her mind with his own, and bulled his way in; he’d be queasy about it later, but that was later, and this was now. “Wait for us.”