People were cursing the puddles on the floor.
One guy said, “You ruined my fucking shoes, dumbass!”
A server had swooped in with a rag, and she glanced up from the floor, eyes wide at the sound of Prince of Wallachia.
The man with the ruined shoes reached for Dante’s shoulder.
Nikita sighed, and passed a compelling glance across all of them. “It’s nothing,” he said. “We’ll pay for the glasses.” Power ringing in his voice.
Everyone glanced away, as if they weren’t even there.
“Get your shit together,” he told Dante through clenched teeth.
Val was watching the exchange with undisguised amusement. “Why, yes,” he told Dante, “though formerly. I’m afraid I’m not the prince of anything at the moment.” He looked to Nikita. “Is he new?”
“Temporary,” Nikita said, and sent Dante back to his end of the booth with a none-too-gentle shove.
“Val,” Sasha said, voice laced with concern. “How did you get here? Are you alright?”
It made him an idiot and an asshole and insecure as hell, but Nikita hated hearing that tone directed at another vampire. At the beautiful Valerian of all people. Sasha had always held a soft spot for him, and the sentiment was obviously reciprocated.
Val glanced toward the table. “I’m happy to tell you. May we sit?”
His mate – Mia – spoke up for the first time. She laid a hand on Val’s arm, and her nervous glance flicked across all of them; it lingered longest on Nikita; he could smell the fear on her. “Val, maybe they don’t want us to join them.”
You’re right, Nikita thought savagely.
He chastised himself immediately after. He could still remember his own desperation as Vlad Dracula bore down on him, sword glinting, his own hands pathetically empty. Could remember Val – underweight and unwashed, his cheeks hollow and his eyes shadowed – striding into the library, his own sword in-hand, stepping between them, taking the full force of Dracula’s swing against his own blade. Vlad would have run him through if not for Val. Even if Vlad hadn’t killed him, Nikita would have been in no state to get on his feet and carry Sasha out of that place.
Or, given his reputation, Vlad might have killed him. For the sheer fun of it.
“No,” Val said, and turned to look right at Nikita. His voice came out bright and carefree, but his gaze hardened. “They won’t mind, will they?”
Nikita read a very particular kind of threat in his face. A mess with me all you like, but touch my mate, and we’ll duel right here, right now kind of threat. A feverish look, one he’d seen on his own face in the mirror countless times.
He let out a slow breath, and nodded. “Sit. There’s plenty of food.”
Val’s smile was dazzling, fangs flashing. “Wonderful.” He pulled out an empty chair for Mia and saw that she was comfortably settled before he took the one beside her, the two chairs Will and Much had vacated.
Nikita looked at his own mate. Sasha was staring at him with brows slightly raised, mouth turned down at the corners.
“It’s fine,” Nikita said, low, just for him. “I can behave myself.”
Sasha’s frown quirked, and became more of a smile. “He escaped,” he said, still wondering.
Nikita sighed and scraped up a smile for him. “Pretty amazing, huh?”
Sasha nodded, and before Nikita could make a fool of himself asking, slid into the booth so he was next to Lanny, and let Nikita sit on the outside edge, closest to Val.
Val noticed, and sent him a smirk, before he rested his elbows on the table, tossed his braid over his shoulder, and said, “Now, let’s see. It’s all very dramatic. Oh. Are those chicken wings?”
~*~
Val polished off six wings with meticulous delicacy, and in between, he told them what had happened in Virginia.
Sasha had known that Baron Strange and his wife, Annabel, were unhappy at the Institute, that they’d been coerced into cooperating with Dr. Talbot’s plans. Their involvement wasn’t all that surprising. Vlad’s was, though.
Val didn’t go into great detail. His gaze became hooded, and he said, “Vlad isn’t what you think he is. He isn’t even what I thought he was.” But the words spoke volumes. Something had happened – something had been revealed – and whatever it was, it had led Val to trust his brother completely. And Vlad, in keeping with that trust, had freed Val from his cell, had washed and fed him, given him clothes, allowed him to turn his mortal lover, and ensured his escape.
Had even – and this was the truly staggering part – convinced Strange and Annabel to become Val’s bound Familiars.
Nikita asked after Mia with clear disapproval. “Why did you turn her?”
Mia answered. “Because I was dying. Brain tumor. And Val was kind enough to” – her voice hitched the barest fraction, a waver of lingering uncertainty – “cure me.”
Val covered her hand with his own, and turned to look at her adoringly. “It wasn’t a kindness, my love.”
“And it wasn’t a cure,” Nikita added darkly.
“A curse?” Val guessed, wryly, turning back to Nikita. “Is that what you call it when you’re in your lover’s arms? Here in a time when you actually can be, publicly, and not be hanged for it?”
Nik’s face flushed, and his jaw clenched, but he didn’t answer.
Sasha sent Val a reprimanding look, and Val dipped his head, once, in silent apology.
“What’s Vlad doing now?” Trina asked.
“Trying to put a stop to the war, I suppose.”
Lanny groaned. “Jesus, why are all you fanged people obsessed with whatever the hell this ‘war’ is.”
Val smiled at him, slow and wicked. “All of us fanged people? Have you filed yours down?”
Lanny snorted.
“Will told us a bit about it,” Sasha said. “Something about some very old, very dark magic in the Old World.”
“And Monsieur Philippe gave you his own lie-filled version of it back when you were first turned, I dare say.”
Sasha nodded.
Val sighed. “The thing is: I don’t know exactly. I don’t know that anyone does. What Vlad showed me…” He frowned at the tabletop. “It’s all wrapped up with our uncle.” His gaze lifted, and swept across them. “Romulus.”
An unbidden chill skittered down Sasha’s back.
“When he turns someone, it goes very, very wrong.”
“We saw the video,” Trina said. “Lifted it off the Institute computers. Those people were–”
“Out of control? Mindless? No longer rational?” Val said. “Yes, I know. There is an…absence. Of all thought. Perhaps even of a soul.”
“They’re zombies,” Lanny said.
Val’s lips quirked up in a brief smile. “Mia’s explained the concept to me. More or less, yes. Zombies with the dietary needs of vampires – because they are vampires.”
“Great,” Trina deadpanned. Then: “Not to be historically ignorant here, but hasn’t Romulus been dead for a really, really long time?”
“Vlad sent him into a sleep in the fifteenth century. He buried him deep, he said, and it would have taken a wolf to awaken him.”
“Wolves can be found, and sleepers can be woken up,” Nikita said. “Your brother’s a shining example.”
“Yes. That’s what Vlad’s going to find out, I suppose: whether or not he’s awake again. If he’s not, then it’s possible his taint has lingered long after him, and is being passed along from carrier to carrier – Vlad believes someone is intentionally spawning these creatures for some reason. And if he is awake…well, that doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“Let me guess,” Nikita said, “you’re here to recruit us, too.”
“Too?” Val’s brows went up. “Locksley’s people wanted you, then? Hm. No offense, darlings, but you don’t seem that useful in this case.” Before anyone could get indignant, he went on: “No, I don’t want anything to do with this war. I’m here for purely social reasons.” He
smiled, and it looked hopeful.
“Social,” Nikita repeated.
“Like…to hang out?” Lanny asked.
“Hide out, perhaps. I suppose I’m something of a fugitive.”
Mia turned to look at him, lips pressed together. “I thought we weren’t gonna use that word.”
“I’m trying to stir up their sympathy, darling,” he stage-whispered to her. To them, he said, “You can turn us away, obviously. This is your pack’s territory and I won’t force myself on you all. But. Should you have any sympathy for a wayward former prince only just released from five centuries of imprisonment, I find myself almost desperate to explore this marvelous city of yours.”
It was quiet a beat. “You’re being charming on purpose,” Trina accused.
“He does that,” Mia agreed.
Sasha leaned in to catch Nikita’s attention, and thought Nik turned toward him with reluctance. His expression told it all already: he didn’t personally want Val to stay, but would go along with whatever Sasha wanted in this instance.
He should have expected that reaction, he thought; Nik was mostly bark in these instances. He hid his anxieties behind a prickly outer shell. At this point, Sasha was convinced he resisted things just on principle, and to keep up appearances.
This, though. This was different. Nikita had never trusted Val, not the way Sasha always had. And now here he was, in person, finally. And not simply a vampire – a potential rival in all things – but a notorious one, with an even more notorious brother.
Sasha could have said no, for Nik. To spare him any angst. He even thought Val would understand.
But he remembered being just a boy, swaddled in sable and fox fur, staring up at the beautiful man in the velvet coat, his hair golden ribbons in the sunlight. He remembered kneeling over Nikita’s cold, pale body, and a voice telling him what to do, how to save the person he loved most.
Val had given him Nikita that day, with the ravens flapping overhead and the stink of burning flesh in his nose. He would give Val a place to find his feet; it was the least he could do.
“Nik,” was all he said, perhaps a little helplessly.
Nik sighed, but one corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile. “Alright,” he said, turning to Val. “You can stay.”
25
The First Baron Strange of Blackmere seemed bound and determined to wear a hole in their hotel carpet. He paced back and forth across the small living room of their suite, hands clasped tightly behind his back, long legs making short work of the distance so it seemed that he was spinning more than actually striding. His hair was loose, save the tiny braids Anna had worked in above each ear, and his gray long-sleeved shirt hung off of him, proving how little he’d been eating the last week.
Kolya sat cross-legged on one of the room’s two chairs, sharpening a knife with methodical strokes of a whetstone.
“Baby,” Annabel tried again. “He’ll be fine.”
“I’m not worried about him.” Fulk reached the wall and spun, narrow face drawn tight with unhappiness. He stalked across in front of the TV, where the evening news cycle was enough to make anyone anxious. “It’s just…” He turned again, and made a frustrated motion toward his own head, wincing. “I feel responsible.”
“I know.” She did, too. Being bound was strange – but, for her at least, not in a bad way. Val was a presence in her mind, yes, but a comforting one, and more or less inert. She felt, strangely enough, almost motherly toward him. Urges to straighten his hair, or offer soft comfort, and make sure he was properly dressed and fed. She ignored it, mostly. Being his Familiar protected her from other vampires, and was the thing that had enabled them to leave Blackmere; an acceptable trade, in her books.
But the binding weighed on her husband. Fulk’s previous master had been awful; she still had nightmares about him, occasionally. And it didn’t matter that Val called Fulk sweetheart, and smiled at him, and demanded nothing more than advice and education on modern times, Fulk acted restless. Caged. And when Val was away from them, it was even worse.
Anna pointedly didn’t look toward Kolya when she said, “You know that it’s important he went to meet them alone.”
He snorted, but it wasn’t a disagreeing sound.
“Not to mention: do you think there’s anyone or anything in this city that could actually hurt him?”
Fulk paused, and tipped his head in thoughtful concession.
“He’ll be fine,” Anna said, and dipped the brush in her nail polish again.
The thing worrying her was their revenant. The way his old friends would respond when they realized that Kolya was alive – that he’d been brought back to life with a mage’s magic. The concept freaked her out, and she wasn’t even emotionally invested.
Fulk came to sit beside her on the sofa, head flopping back against the cushions in a defeated way.
Anna bit back a smile. He was very emo, her baron, but he rarely sulked this petulantly, and she found it helplessly endearing. Not that she would tell him that. His pride was bruised enough right now as it was.
After a moment, he tipped sideways and rested his head on her shoulder, lightly enough that he didn’t bump her arm. “What color is that?” he asked.
“It’s called ‘Champagne First.’”
“Hm. Are those bubbles in it?”
“Glitter.”
“Even better.”
The now-familiar rasp of the whetstone ceased, and Kolya’s rusty voice asked, “When will I get to see – my friends?” He still stumbled over talking about them, on the rare occasions that he spoke at all.
Anna turned her head just far enough to meet Fulk’s gaze, his blue eyes right there on her shoulder. He gave a tiny facial shrug, leaving it up to her.
She turned to Kolya. “I’m not sure. Tomorrow, probably. I mean…we don’t really know what Val’s gonna want to do.”
They’d talked about it in only the loosest terms. Fulk bristled at the idea of bowing his head and asking to join someone else’s pack. Valerian, he’d said, would doubtless be the most dominant of these vampires, and it would be more a case of inviting them to join their pack.
Honestly, immortal social politics were just dumb. She’d always thought so, even as an instinctual part of her preened at the idea of her mate and her master being the alphas of a pack together.
So dumb.
“I don’t know what to say to them,” Kolya said, a notch forming between his brows, his mouth turning down at the corners.
“You don’t have to say anything at first,” Anna said, putting a confidence into her voice that she didn’t feel. “We can do all the explaining. They’ll just be glad to see you, I’m sure.”
Glad and very, very disturbed.
He nodded, but didn’t look reassured.
She capped the nail polish and reached for the remote. “Let’s watch a movie. I can’t take any more of this news crap.”
Neither of them protested, so she scrolled through the Pay Per View channels until she found something dumb and fun, and purchased it.
Fulk kept his head on her shoulder, and slowly, she felt the tension bleed out of him as he relaxed. His lashes fluttered, tickling her neck, and then his breathing evened out. A glance from the corner of her eye proved he’d fallen asleep, and her heart squeezed.
He hadn’t been sleeping well on the road, fretting, trying to keep them all orchestrated like a school field trip chaperone. They’d taken a zig-zagging path to New York, in hopes of throwing off a potential tail, and he’d done all the driving. She’d awoken more than one night in hotel rooms to find him wide awake and staring at the ceiling.
He had to be exhausted.
Anna didn’t think she was tired, but having her mate slumped against her, relaxed for once, proved to be incredibly soothing. Her eyelids flagged, and though she fought it, sleep finally dragged her under, too, as the movie played softly, unwatched, in the background.
She dreamed they were in their wolf shapes, trotting
along happily behind their prince as he strode through a forest, humming to himself, content in the sun-dappled shade of ancient trees.
She jolted awake when Fulk shifted against her and said, “Hey!”
Her eyes fluttered open as Fulk leapt up from the sofa, and she saw what had made him shout.
Kolya was trying to climb out the window.
He had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up, and wore his long, shapeless black coat, the one that resembled the black leather trench he would have worn as a Chekist. He’d worked the window open, despite all its safety locks, and given the only sound she heard was traffic down on the street, had managed to disengage the security alarm, too. The curtains fluttered in the cool, autumn breeze, and Kolya paused, hands on the window frame, one foot up on the sill, to look back at them over his shoulder.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Fulk demanded, furiously, and strode to the window.
Kolya blinked up at him, guileless, uncomprehending. He had moments of something like panic, when his eyes would widen, and his hands would shake, and he’d breathe in little stutters. That was when the memories returned, Anna thought. But when she asked, he always said he was fine, and, eventually, he would calm again, and return to his placid state of compliance.
She was starting to wonder how much of that was genuine at this point, and how much of it was a self-defense mechanism.
“I’m going out,” Kolya said, like it was obvious.
“Yes, I see that. But you can’t.”
“Why not?”
Fulk reached as if to push his hands through his hair, encountered the braids she’d given him, and dropped them to rest on his narrow hips instead. “For starters.” He sounded very parental; later, when he wasn’t worked up, Anna was going to tease him about that mercilessly. “You’ve never been to New York. You’ve never been to America. You have no idea where you’re going, and you’ll get lost.”
Kolya considered that a moment. “I’ll figure it out.”
“My good man,” Fulk said through his teeth, “you’ve only just learned how to speak English. Once step at a time, shall we? We need to stay together.”
Golden Eagle (Sons of Rome Book 4) Page 29
