Golden Eagle (Sons of Rome Book 4)

by Lauren Gilley

  Her eyes widened and went glassy; her pupils shrank to pinpricks as all the tension left her face. She nodded, slow and dreamy, and got to her feet. Pressed a button on the wall, and that was followed by a faint buzzing, and the click of the door unlocking.

  They went through into a narrow, carpeted hallway that could have belonged to any normal doctor’s office, with portraits on the wall and soft lighting, and the receptionist stood waiting, lax and unfocused in the way of the mindlessly obedient.

  Would Sasha look like that? he wondered. If it was a pearly gray morning, and the air was cold, and Nikita stretched out a hand and murmured, Come back to bed, baby. Would Sasha look like this? Like a marionet lurching along on strings?

  “Nik,” Lanny hissed.

  He’d come to a halt, and the receptionist was blinking, shaking her head, coming out from under his influence.

  He swallowed hard, and called the power back up; felt it flood him, felt it force all thoughts of his mate aside.

  “Very good,” he told the woman, tipping her chin up with a finger, pouring his influence straight into her face. She went glassy again. “Give me your ID card. Then go back out front and resume work. Forget my face. You never saw me.”

  She nodded and drifted off, leaving him with her plastic ID card clenched tight in one fist.

  Alexei surged up to walk beside him as they continued down the hall. “Can you not concentrate?” he asked, colder, haughtier, more bitter than he’d ever been.

  A little warning chimed in the back of Nikita’s mind, but it was something else he had to push aside for later.

  “If you can’t do this properly–” Alexei said.

  “I can.”

  “Hmph.”

  He remembered the way, for the most part. They passed several doctors in lab coats, and he compelled them all. “You didn’t see us.” One he robbed of an ID before compelling him, too.

  The receptionist’s ID got them into the security office; they locked themselves in, and Will went to the array of monitors, all of which showed live footage of various locations within the sprawling building.

  “Now, if I’m right,” Will said, leaning over a chair and tapping at a keyboard. “They won’t have any of the lab footage here on these servers. There’ll be a secondary security office, somewhere deeper in the building. You wouldn’t want random guards seeing the sorts of things they’re doing to children.”

  “Christ,” Lanny murmured.

  “But we can narrow it down, hopefully. I don’t know if you boys have ever compelled a whole group of people for very long before.” He sounded doubtful. “But I’m thinking time will be at a premium.” He clicked a few more keys. “Okay. I’ve erased the footage of us coming in here and disabled the cameras on the front house side of things.”

  He pulled a palm-sized walkie-talkie out of his jacket pocket and spoke into it. “Flash drive going in.” And he thumbed a drive into a port on the monitor.

  The walkie crackled and Much’s sullen voice came through. “Five seconds.”

  Then, as Nikita watched, the computer started to glow. Not just the screen, but the sides of the monitor, too; the cables snaking down to the keyboard and the modem. A faint blue wash that pulsed a few times, and then faded.

  “What the hell was that?” Alexei asked.

  “Little something Much and Tuck have been working on. Little electronic enchantment. If you can compel a person, why can’t you compel a machine?”

  “Because that’s not possible,” Nikita said.

  Will chuckled. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Alright, I’m in,” Much’s voice said through the walkie.

  “Oh my God,” Lanny said. “It’s magical computer hacking.” He huffed a breath. “Shit, that’s cool.”

  “I’ll need a few minutes,” the walkie announced in Much’s voice.

  Nikita reached up to rub at the back of his neck, and realized all the fine hairs there were standing on end. He would have never considered something like this possible, and he had no idea why it left his skin crawling with unease.

  ~*~

  In the mostly-empty back of a plumber’s van parked half-a-block down from the Institute, Much hunched over a laptop, and Trina laid a hand on Sasha’s arm, hoping it was a comforting touch. He leaned into it, a little, so she guessed it was.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “He’ll come around.”

  Though, in this instance, she agreed that Sasha hadn’t needed to go inside. It would be difficult enough for that many vampires with hypnotic powers to get in and out cleanly; throw a vulnerable Sasha in the mix, and not only would Nik be distracted, but there was every chance Sasha could be taken captive again. She didn’t like to think about the what-ifs of that scenario.

  Sasha gave a thin, wry smile, the blue glow of the laptop screen limning his profile. “Nik will always see me as the boy he failed. Always protecting me, even from himself. From himself especially.”

  Trina sighed, and could think of nothing to say, so only squeezed his arm in silent sympathy.

  “I’ll need a few minutes,” Much said into the radio in his hand, and Trina glanced toward him.

  Sasha had been turned at nineteen, and he still looked it. A man, yes, though slender and lanky and very boyish. But still a man grown. He probably got carded at every bar, but he could have walked into a nightclub no problem, and doubtless passersby would assume he was a college student, or the front man of a struggling rock band. Looking nineteen forever wasn’t exactly a curse.

  Much, though…

  Will had said he was turned at fifteen, but it was a young-looking fifteen. He would never have made a strapping adult, but as a teenager, he’d been nearly ethereal. How must it feel to look like a child forever? To have people notice your slender wrists, and narrow shoulders, and the smoothness of your cheek? To know you would never catch up to your packmates? To be centuries old, with all the wisdom and experience that had granted you, and yet have people want to ruffle your hair and call you “kid?”

  No wonder he was prickly as a rosebush. Sullen and standoffish. She would have been, too.

  “What’s happening?” she asked him.

  A beat passed before he answered, the line of his back tense, even through his jacket. “Downloading all the security footage available on the main cameras. And trying to get into the encrypted files.”

  “How quickly will you know if there’s anything useful?”

  He tsked. “Hours. Maybe days. Not tonight.”

  Fair enough. She turned back to Sasha. She intended to offer some banal scrap of reassurance, but elected not to. There was nothing she could say to make him feel better. She couldn’t promise to talk Nikita into binding him. Couldn’t assure him it would happen eventually. Couldn’t even begin to understand what something as strange as being bound to a vampire might even feel like.

  That sparked an idea.

  “Hey, Much?”

  “Ugh, what?”

  “What’s it feel like being bound? Will said you and your pack are all Familiars of the same vampire.”

  He didn’t respond at first. But she could see the little download window on his screen, and knew he could spare them a moment. And, surprisingly, he finally did, twisting around so he faced them, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the van with his hair falling over one eye. The other eye sent a glare first at her, then at Sasha, measuring them.

  His gaze lingered on Sasha, and though his mouth was set in an unhappy line, he said, “Rich, yeah. We’re all bound to him.”

  “What’s that like?” Trina pressed.

  He shrugged, but his tone was sincere. “It’s not bad. You don’t hear voices or anything. But he’s there.” He tapped his knuckles against the side of his head.

  “You can feel him in your mind?” Sasha asked.

  “Yes. Sort of. Yes.” Much made a face, clearly frustrated with his own inability to explain. “It’s like…” He shook the hair off his face, and his e
xpression grew thoughtful, pale brows drawing together. Then epiphany struck, brows going up, line of tension smoothing from between them. “It’s like you walk into a house, and you know it’s occupied.”

  Sasha’s eyes widened.

  “It’s like that feeling when you walk in, and you can’t see anyone, but you can feel that someone’s there. Someone who’s your family.” Much’s voice warmed and animated as he spoke, the barest hint of a smile teasing at his mouth. It lent him a cherubic aura. “You can smell that they’ve passed through the room, and you can sense their heartbeat on a different floor, and you can feel that you aren’t alone. Rob calls it ‘the hand on the nape of your neck.’ It’s nice.”

  “It sounds nice,” Sasha breathed, his lips parted, his body very still. “Does he ever command you?”

  “No. Not like that. I mean, he directs us, because he’s our king, and our leader, but he doesn’t force us to do things.”

  “Has he ever been…tempted to?”

  “Pffft. No.” Much shifted, and tucked his hair behind both ears. He’d relaxed; was speaking person-to-person, rather than quipping. “He’s not one of those vampires. You’re either the kind of asshole who likes to force people to do things, or you’re not. That’s not even about vampire: that’s just about being a fucking dickhead. Rich isn’t that way, and neither is yours, even if he is a miserable prick.”

  “Hey,” Sasha protested.

  Much rolled his eyes. “He’s a miserable prick for telling you ‘no.’ Or else just stupid.”

  Sasha bared his teeth in a fast snarl. “Stubborn and honorable,” he corrected.

  Much stared at him, unruffled, and finally snorted a laugh that had Sasha relaxing. “Sure, sure. Whatever. My point is: being bound is good. And it’s a lot better than being fair game for one of the vampires that would actually order you around. If Nikita can’t see that, then he really is stupid.”

  Sasha chuffed unhappily. “It’s different for us. It wouldn’t just be vampire and Familiar. We’re…not just friends,” he said, awkwardly, flushing.

  “Heh.” Much’s gaze went narrow and sly. “Then you should be asking Will about what it’s like to be bound.”

  “Really?” Sasha said, and sounded nearly delighted.

  “Plenty of vampires take their Familiars as lovers,” Much said, shrugging. “Will’s unmated, amenable, and pretty.” Another shrug. “When Rich wakes up, he’s always hungry in more ways than one.”

  Sasha sat staring at the far side of the van, expression not just thoughtful, but excited, too.

  Trina felt a little pang. He and Nikita had isolated them not just from society, but from their own kind. Despite what they’d learned over the years, there was clearly plenty they didn’t know about the nature of immortal relationships.

  “Tell him to suck it up,” Much said, turning back to his computer. “Besides: didn’t you kill your last master? If Nikita’s too much of a douchebag, you could always just ignore him.”

  ~*~

  “Alright,” Much’s voice crackled through the walkie. “That’s all I can get off your location. Unless you want to go in deeper...”

  Will cast a glance toward Nikita, considering, then shook his head. “Negative. We can’t make life in New York miserable for our friends.” Will pulled the magical flash drive, pocketed it, and turned for the door.

  Nikita caught him with a look. “What would you have done if we weren’t here?” He said it like a challenge, and meant it as one.

  That earned another considering glance. Will said, “I would very much like a chance to speak with Red’s brothers. See if there’s any way to reach them through whatever nonsense this place has filled their poor, impressionable young heads with. If they’re as powerful as she is, then they’d be great assets to our cause.”

  “Assets.”

  “You think me callous.”

  “I think we took a very big risk coming in here just for a little security footage. And I still don’t trust you.”

  A sound at the door. The handle jiggling as someone tested it.

  Nikita whirled, muscles tensing for a fight. It was a struggle to push the urge for violence down, and draw instead on hypnotism. His first instinct would always be to shoot, to grapple, to stab. His mind was not a weapon he reached for automatically.

  Alexei and Dante had backed up, so they stood to the side of the door, tense and ready.

  Lanny flapped his hands in a useless gesture. “Should I…hold it shut, or something?”

  “No.” Nikita heard the faint beep of a card being scanned. He took a deep breath, and called up the poison in his veins. “I’ll handle it.” His tongue felt heavy with the power, loaded like a gun.

  The handle turned, and the door swung inward.

  There were humans, two of them, dressed all in black tactical gear like the troops in Virginia. It was one of them who’d opened the door, who dropped his card on its lanyard and raised his gun. They weren’t a problem.

  But the boy standing between them was.

  Tall and lanky. A teenager. With big, green eyes, a pointed chin, and a shock of red hair.

  “Shit,” Will said, with awe and feeling.

  The stench of charred wood rolled into the room, hastened by the sweeping in of the door, and Nikita’s sinuses burned. He snarled on instinct, and just resisted the urge to cover his nose and mouth. Back in Russia, Sasha had always said Philippe smelled like a campfire, smoky and a little singed. This boy, though; this was the acrid devastation of a forest fire.

  Mage.

  “Put the guns down,” Lanny ordered, compulsion ringing in his voice, and the guards went slack and lowered their weapons.

  Nikita focused on the mage. On the terrible smoothness of his expression, and the bright hatred sparking in his eyes.

  Nik dove at his mind. Not a gentle shove, but a leap; he drilled right at it with his own, put all of his will into it, and his voice echoed strangely inside his head when he said, “Let us through.”

  The boy’s eyes went to half-mast, and his head tipped back a fraction. His lips whitened as he pressed them together. But Nikita could tell he wasn’t compelled; that he was fighting it.

  He said, “You killed one of us.”

  Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

  He tried again. “Step back. Let us through. Forget us.”

  The boy tucked his chin, lifted his hands, and little flames danced at the ends of his fingers. “No.”

  Nikita’s mind filled with ravens. Hundreds of them, ink spots against white snow and a whiter sky, cawing and croaking and diving and raking. His mind filled with pain, and cold, with screaming, and the crack of a rifle. Captain, you’re going to have to do a lot better than that.

  Alexei stepped in front of him.

  Nikita’s last, tenuous hold with his compulsion snapped like a rubber band stretched too far. He was struck by a wave of dizziness, a surge of nausea. The room tilted.

  But he heard Alexei murmur, “Shh.”

  And he blinked, and focused, and saw Alexei step right in close to the mage, and touch his neck, and stare into his eyes, and say, “Hello, little red one.”

  The mage stiffened. When he drew himself fully upright, he was a scant half-inch taller than Alexei.

  Alexei didn’t react. There was a smile in his voice, one charming and friendly. And compulsion. “Who are you?” he all but purred. “Hm? What’s your name? Your hair is so pretty.”

  The flames at the boy’s fingertips went out. His hands went limp. Alexei had compelled where Nikita could not. In a flat, robotic voice, the boy said, “I’m Test Subject Number Seven. LC-7.”

  “Really? How unusual. My name is Alexei.”

  Lanny appeared on Nikita’s right side, Will on his left.

  Lanny touched his arm and said, “What happened?”

  To the mage, Alexei said, “Won’t you say hello to my friend?” He extended a hand toward Dante, who stepped up beside him.

  Dante put his hand on the other
side of the boy’s neck, and said, “Hello, Seven. It’s so lovely to meet you. What do you think about letting us leave, hm?”

  Both of them. Alexei was struggling, and it was taking both of them to compel him. Nikita had never heard of such a thing.

  “Was Red like this?” Nikita asked. He knew it was a waste of time – now wasn’t the moment for such questions, not when seconds could count – but he kept thinking about the boy he’d strangled, the smaller version of this boy here. That one hadn’t resisted; had gone limp between his hands. He remembered the particular crack of his spine snapping.

  “Inhuman, you mean?” Will asked with a snort. “Not that I’ve seen. But she’d been five years out in the world when I met her for the first time. She’s a delight. This poor wretch doesn’t even have a name.”

  “Yeah, well, poor wretch or not,” Lanny said, “it’ll still hurt when he sets our asses on fire. Let’s go.”

  “We won’t trouble you,” Dante was telling the boy. “All we want is safe passage.”

  “You can escort us out if you like,” Alexei said, still low, and soothing, and pleasant, but Nikita could smell the sweat that had bloomed across his skin.

  “You still want to talk to him?” Nikita asked Will, mocking.

  “Ideally, yes, but this isn’t the place or the time.”

  “Come on,” Alexei said, voice starting to shiver at the edges. “You want to help us, don’t you?”

  And then, as they watched, he leaned forward and kissed the boy.

  ~*~

  Alexei could be vicious. Not the petty cruelties of a boy born to royalty, nor the casual nastiness of a modern young man with an outsized sense of entitlement. No, there was a true viciousness in him. Part of it was Rasputin’s gift; part of it was waking just before his body could be dismembered and tossed down a hole along with the rest of his butchered family; part of it was the Revolution, and the thing it had done to him that it had done to so many Russians.

  But mostly it was just him. It had lived in him always, and it came out sometimes, hot, hard to hold, and ugly. It had saved his life a few times, he knew; sometimes he thought it was the only thing that stopped his bleeding, when it seemed that he would bleed to death.