Alexei could be vicious, but when he hunted, he’d learned to rely on charm. On his psychic abilities, and his sweet face; he’d learned the arts of pleasure in brothels in Istanbul, and in seedy London flats with fogged windows, and on the streets of New York City, amid glittering lights and sticky-sweet liquor. Men, women, he had no preference; he liked giving pleasure nearly as much as he did receiving it. And he’d learned along the way that, sometimes, a kiss worked just as effectively as a knife when it came to getting your way.
He could feel the boy resisting his compulsion. He’d slipped under, at first, not prepared for the sheer force of Alexei’s will. But now he’d dug in his mental heels and was pushing back against the influence, eyelids fluttering.
Dante was able to help, and for a moment, both of them touching him, both of them bearing down on his mind, Alexei thought they’d done it. When you properly compelled someone, there was a sort of click. A lock sliding into place; the compelled person would go along docilely for several minutes, or several hours, and the vampire didn’t have to focus so much energy. They stopped struggling.
But this redhaired mage boy kept fighting. He ducked his head a fraction, like he was pushing back against a physical force, and his now-empty fingers flickered, curling and uncurling. Alexei could feel the fire in him; it was like holding his hands close to a furnace, a wall of heat against his mind that he wanted to shrink from. This boy was powerful.
And he wasn’t going to be able to subdue him. Not like this, not just pushing will against will. Sweat began to bead on his brow, and a hot flush moved through him from the effort. The mage had been prepared for them, had steeled himself; his magic was strong and his will was stronger, and he hated them – Alexei could feel that, too.
They would have to distract him. To knock him so thoroughly for a loop that he couldn’t keep his walls up.
Alexei considered punching him.
But then he had another thought. A boy braced for a mental assault could be braced for a physical blow, too. Maybe now wasn’t a time for a knife, but for a kiss.
He cut a quick glance toward Dante, and saw his own desperate fear reflected back at him. Dante’s hair clung to his temples; sweaty, too, straining with the effort.
What would Dante do in this situation?
Alexei really didn’t have to think, and he didn’t have time to, anyway. A few moments more, and the boy would overpower them.
Trusting Dante to follow his lead, he turned back to the boy, and moved like a lightning strike. Grabbed the sides of his face, surged forward, and mashed their mouths together.
Shock moved through the boy. Alexei felt it like the silent chiming of a bell, a reverberation that shivered from his body into Alexei’s. The threatening heat of fire pulled back; Alexei’s head felt cleared, felt open, and strong, and like it wasn’t resisting anything at all.
“Excuse me, what in the ever-loving fuck?” he heard Lanny say behind him.
“It’s working,” Dante said through his teeth.
Alexei angled his head, softened his mouth, and swiped his tongue over the boy’s lower lip. He felt him shudder. And a moment later he went lax. The unmistakable, boneless obedience of the compelled. Dante had done it.
Alexei pulled back to check, and, yes, the boy had the vacant face and glassy eyes of someone whose mind had been completely invaded. He glanced over at Dante, who wore a deep crease between his knitted brows, his jaw tight.
“I don’t know how long it’ll hold,” he said.
“Right, then,” Nikita said. “Move.”
With the barest urging, the mage and his two human guards walked backward so they stood against the wall. They all filed past.
Alexei’s breath came quick and sharp, his heart pounding.
He glanced back, once, and saw that Will Scarlet was the last one to walk past their would-be captors. He pulled a small, folded piece of paper from his pocket and tucked it into the front pocket of the boy’s white scrub pants.
“What was that?” Nikita asked with a growl.
“A note from Rob,” Scarlet said. “In case, when his head clears, he wants to know what it’s like beyond the walls of this prison.”
Alexei faced forward again and hastened his steps. His lips felt warm, still, and he had the sense he’d stuck his face in a fire, and barely escaped intact.
~*~
From the front seat, Jamie said, “We’ve got movement.”
“They’re coming out?” Trina asked, leaning up between the seats to peer out the windshield.
“No.” He pointed through the window, across the street. “Over there.”
“This is a busy part of town…” she started, and trailed off when she spotted what he had.
A hooded figure stood a few steps outside the reach of a streetlamp, a wedge of face visible. As she watched, the figure lifted its chin – sniffing the air, she realized – and then shrank back, and turned to retreat.
The window was cracked the barest fraction. Jamie leaned toward it and inhaled. “Wolf,” he decided.
There was a flurry of movement in the back, and by the time she turned, the rear doors were open, and Sasha was leaping out onto the street.
“Sasha, wait!” She scrambled after him, and when she landed, she looked up to see a shaggy white wolf streaking across the street.
The other wolf, still human-shaped, whirled down the alley, and fled.
“Shit.”
Jamie clambered out after her. “What do we do?”
“Follow them. Much, stay here,” she called, checked the street and took off.
“Was going to,” she heard him call back.
Jamie muttered a curse and kept pace with her.
She’d had to turn in her service piece back at the precinct for ballistic testing, but she kept three lock boxes under her bed – daughter of a doomsday-prepper, former Soviet family, after all – and from one of these she’d taken her private .45, and an extra mag. She pulled it from her holster when they reached the opposite sidewalk, and the shadow cover it provided. From her jacket pocket, a slender flashlight. She clicked it on and swept it up the alley.
Jamie said, “There.”
The alley was a dead end, and at the end of it, two four-legged shapes tussled with one another, snarling, flashes of white and gray fur.
“You ever break up a dog fight?” Trina asked, walking toward them, Jamie coming along with obvious reluctance.
She heard him swallow before he answered. “I thought you weren’t ever supposed to do that.”
“You’re not. Not unless you’ve got a water hose. Or maybe a really long-handled rake.”
When they got within a dozen paces, the flashlight casting the wolves in bright relief, Trina halted and gave a sharp whistle. “Cut it out,” she ordered, drawing on her best cop voice.
Sasha was the bigger and heavier of the two wolves. He twisted, flipped the female over, and pressed a paw to her throat. He growled, all his ivory teeth showing. Stay down, it clearly meant. And then he shifted back: a human kneeling on top of a cowed wolf. Still snarling, a wolf’s deep growl boiling out of his throat, an impossibility that still raised the hairs on her arms.
A moment later, the female shifted. Her hood had fallen back, revealing dark, braided hair, and an expression of unhappy, but clear surrender. She lay still, and Sasha moved off of her, so he crouched at her shoulder. He kept his hand on her throat, though.
“Care to enlighten us?” Trina asked.
“This is Hannah,” Sasha said, voice mostly growl. “Gustav’s Familiar.”
“Oh, well, jackpot.” Trina stepped in closer, and put the light right in Hannah’s face; the wolf closed her eyes and grimaced. “You want to tell us why your master’s letting you and your buddies eat your way through the city?”
“Trina,” Jamie said.
A cultured, accented voice said, “You must be Captain Baskin’s descendant. I see you’ve met my Familiar.”
Trina’s heart leapt halfwa
y up her throat, but she didn’t spin around. She held herself in check and turned slowly, letting the flashlight beam sweep across the ground and up the body of the vampire standing behind them.
He wore a gray suit, with black shirt, no tie, his hair styled and shiny. He brought a hand up, almost delicately, to shield his eyes from the light.
“Gustav,” she said, pulse pounding, keenly aware that they were three-to-two in an enclosed space with someone who, if not approving of, was at least tolerant of the murder of innocent civilians. “I guess I’ll ask you to your face, then: what are you doing here?”
He lowered his hands, eyes nearly closed, just narrow, glittering slits. He managed not to grimace, though; that took some tight control of his facial muscles. “Rescuing my poor Familiar, it would seem. Don’t you think three-on-one is a bit unfair?”
“Why are you here at the Institute?”
He gave a close-lipped, humorless smile. “Is it a detective’s nature to make everything sound like an interrogation?” Then he lifted a wave over one shoulder and called, “Hello.”
“Answer the question,” Nikita’s voice floated out of the shadows.
A surge of relief swept through Trina, so strong she thought her knees might buckle.
Gustav turned so that his back was to the alley wall, a shoulder pointed toward her, and toward the unit that had gone into the Institute. He was vastly outnumbered…but he didn’t hold himself as if he thought that. He looked relaxed and unbothered to be surrounded.
“Captain,” he greeted. “It’s been quite some time.”
“Not long enough,” Nikita growled, stepping into the light. He had his chin angled down, shielding his throat, his shoulders lifted, his hands open, fingers half-curled into claws. Ready for a fight.
The others melted into view behind him, spanning the width of the alley, shadows sliding off their faces in a sinister display. Trina recognized them all, but with the light hitting them at throat-level, their faces painted with strange hollows, she thought even the most cynical of observers would have called them inhuman. They looked like creatures of myth and legend, eyes faintly glowing.
Gustav chuckled, the sound ringing strangely off the brick walls around them. “What will you do? Tear me to pieces in an alley?”
“No, that’s your thing,” Nikita said, stalking around so he faced the other vampire. “I was going to cut out your heart and burn it.”
He chuckled again. “That would be a neat trick.”
Trina’s entire pack tensed.
Will turned around, looking toward the mouth of the alley.
Sasha let out a high, whining growl.
Fire filled the sky.
A great orange gout of it, wide as the entire alley, its heat sending a downdraft of wind across her face. She threw herself to the ground on instinct, covering her head. She could hear it, the awful rushing roar of it.
It pulled back, and everything was chaos.
A hand grabbed her arm, and hauled her upright. It was Lanny, his breathing choppy in her ear. “Shit, it’s that kid – we gotta – come on.” He hauled her ungently toward the back of the alley.
She stumbled after him; his hand on her arm was firm as a manacle, and she didn’t have a prayer of shaking him off. Also, getting out of here sounded like an excellent idea.
“Kid? Who? What are you–”
There was shouting, and another rush of flame.
They ducked.
“Shit,” Lanny said; he sounded panicked. “It’s a mage. This redheaded kid. Nik couldn’t even compel him. Come on.”
The fire receded again, and he took her to the very back corner of the alley, where a line of dented silver trash cans sat below a window. He scrambled up onto the cans, their lids denting beneath his boots; who knew how long they’d hold his weight. “Locked,” he said when he tested the window. Of course it was.
Trina glanced back over her shoulder, searching for the others. “We can’t leave them…” But everyone had scattered. She heard the scrape of shoes on pavement, and the meaty thump of bodies colliding.
The mage was illuminated by the banked fire he held in his palms. A lean boy with flame-red hair, dressed in white scrubs, his face a mask of fury. He locked gazes with her, and reached toward her with one of his hands, the fire in it rippling and swelling.
“Lanny!”
He forced the window open with the metallic sound of the lock breaking, and grabbed her hand. Hauled her up like she weighed no more than a kitten, and shoved her through into a dark, stale-smelling room.
She wrapped her arms around her head, still managing to keep a grip on her gun – the flashlight was gone, on the ground in the alley somewhere – and landed hard on her shoulder. The floor knocked the breath out of her, and she lay a moment, dazed, as Lanny followed her in.
He knelt down and took her shoulders in both strong hands, pulling her up. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, managing to inhale. “I dropped my light.”
“I can see. Hold onto me.”
She took a grip on the back of his jacket with one hand and followed blind, pulse pounding in her ears; throbbing in her throat so hard she thought she’d choke.
It was pitch black. The floors were hard – wood, she thought, based on her landing – but their footfalls echoed back off close walls and low ceilings. The mustiness smelled like mildew, like old paper, and cardboard boxes gone damp.
Lanny led her along at a steady pace so she wouldn’t trip, but she felt the tension in his back beneath her knuckles. He wanted to run. If she did trip, she didn’t put it past him to scoop her up and carry her out of here.
“Here’s a door,” he said, and she heard him open it. Followed him through it. He hung a right, and she felt a wall brush her shoulder. They were in a hallway. “This used to be an office building, I think,” he said, hushed. “It’s for sale, now.”
That explained the stuffiness of disuse.
It seemed to take hours, walking through the black maze of hallways, heart stopping every time Lanny paused to listen for something. She felt totally useless, and more frightened than she’d been in a long, long time.
Finally, a shaft of faint light appeared. They were in a lobby that faced the street, and there were gaps in the plywood panels that had been used to cover the windows.
Lanny went to one and peered out, after she’d let go of his jacket. She hadn’t wanted to, and he hadn’t asked her to, but it felt important to turn loose of the old, worn leather, and stand on her own power. She needed to prove that she could.
He stood a long moment, peering out at the street, before he said, “Okay, I think we’re good.” With a quick twist of his wrist, he broke the locks on the door, and opened it, ushering her forward with a gesture.
She went first, gun at the ready, skin prickling with wariness.
She heard an engine approaching, and tensed.
“The van,” Lanny said; he recognized the sound of the engine.
It turned the corner and braked to a hard stop at the curb. Much was behind the wheel, Will in the passenger seat.
“Get in and we’ll find the others,” Will said.
They didn’t need to be told twice.
~*~
When Gustav lit out onto the sidewalk and made a break for it, Nikita gave chase, Sasha falling in beside him.
“Hannah went up the fire escape,” Sasha said.
“Fuck her.” Nik didn’t care. She was just a weapon; he wanted the monster who wielded her.
Despite the close fit of his suit, and his flat-soled dress shoes, Gustav was quick.
Nikita was quicker. He sprinted two blocks, and caught him at the mouth of another alley. Tackled him and they both went sprawling across the rough concrete of the sidewalk. It scraped Nikita’s hands and cheek, but he hooked his fingers in Gustav’s jacket and refused to let go.
When they stopped rolling, he was on top, straddling the other vampire. He balled up a fist and punched him as hard as he
could, right in the nose.
It broke with a satisfying crunch.
Blood sprayed.
And Nikita wasn’t powerless against the familiar iron tang in the blood, the scent of the substance that kept him alive, that made him strong. It wasn’t like in movies and books, a bloodlust that sent him into a mindless frenzy. No, blood was like any other food. Perhaps more like a stiff drink for someone with that particular weakness.
But.
The sight and smell of Gustav’s blood ignited a fury in him. Here was the creature who’d been killing for sport, who had looked too long and lingeringly at Sasha twenty years ago. Who he now knew was linked with that hateful Institute. He had him at his mercy, now…and he wasn’t going to show him any.
He struck, and struck, and struck again. Knuckles hot and wet with blood. Gustav’s face turning to pulp, steaming in the chill air.
Nikita lifted his arm again – and couldn’t strike. A hand had him by the wrist, and held him fast. He twisted around, vision swimming, black spots crowding at the edges. He’d zeroed in on his violent task, and everything else had faded.
Including Sasha, who stood over him now, expression grave, holding him by the wrist with white knuckles. “We have to go.”
Nikita was panting, chest heaving as he fought for breath. Adrenaline electric in his veins. His mouth was numb, his voice clumsy. “I’m going to kill him.”
Sasha tugged at his wrist. “You can’t. We have to go.” More desperate: “Nik, please, we can’t stay.”
Half-dazed, he turned to look over his other shoulder. There was the white plumber’s van idling at the curb. Will Scarlet hung out of the passenger window, waving at them, motioning for them to hurry. Farther down the street, a gate had been rolled open, and black SUVs were rolling out. They were coming from the Institute.
Coming for them, he registered dimly, his pulse throbbing inside his skull, drowning out all rationality.
“Nikita,” Sasha pleaded.
He let his mate pull him to his feet, but made an abortive reach for Gustav. He could take him with them, get him somewhere private, and then kill him, burn his heart…
Golden Eagle (Sons of Rome Book 4) Page 27
