Golden Eagle (Sons of Rome Book 4)

by Lauren Gilley

  He made a face. “I don’t want to – the guy’s been lying to us. But my gut read right now is that he’s being honest. It’s hard to fake being that kind of upset. And” – he laid a finger alongside his nose – “I’ve got the sixth sense these days, you know.”

  “You can smell honesty?” She fought a grin.

  “Totally.”

  She chuckled.

  He grew serious again. “So what is it?”

  A decision that made her stomach hurt, but one that, once she’d come to it, she’d known was right. “The Institute’s got to go. We’ve got to get rid of it.”

  He nodded, like he’d expected as much.

  “And honestly? I think it could do great work. If there’s a way to cure cancer and every other disease known to man, using vampire blood or antibodies or whatever is actually a genius idea. That kind of research is going to save the world one day – it’s the only reason the human race has lasted as long as it has. Scientists are gonna save the planet one day.

  “But the way they’re doing it – capturing, and torturing, and testing people against their will like lab rats. That’s not – that’s so many kinds of amoral it makes my head spin. They’re turning people into drooling monsters and siccing them on civilians. They’re murdering their own failed test subjects. They’re doing more harm than good.

  “I thought we could just mind our business, and let them do their thing, but we can’t ignore it anymore. The Institute needs shutting down. If I thought I could play whistleblower and get them shut down, I’d do that – but I kinda think that’ll just get me disappeared.”

  “Let ‘em try,” he said fiercely.

  Dear sweet, violent Lanny. She smiled at him, fleetingly. “It’s going to have to be us. Maybe Val and his crew will help. Maybe Will and Much can stick around a little longer – maybe bring in more of their guys.”

  He frowned. “Speaking of: why haven’t they shut them down already?”

  “Something I’m planning on asking Will the next time we see him, believe me.” The morning’s violence and chaos seemed to catch up with her all at once, helped along by the weight of what lay ahead. She propped her elbow on the edge of the chair and rested her temple against her fist. “There’s a lot we don’t know, still. And talking about Romulus, and the end of the world, and a war–” Her heart lurched just at the mention. “That freaks me out in a way I never thought possible. We’ve got to do something, though.”

  “I think so, too.”

  That surprised her, though maybe it shouldn’t have. “You do?”

  “Hey, I may be an idiot, but I’m not heartless. This is my city, too; these jokers are killing my New Yorkers.” He offered a lazy grin, and aimed for teasing, but Trina detected a note of real hurt in his voice.

  “I know you’re not heartless,” she said, softly. “And you’re not an idiot either.”

  He lifted his brows.

  “I mean, sometimes, you do idiot things.” A smile tugged at her mouth. “But you’re mostly a good egg.”

  His grin eased into something truer. “I try.”

  “When you’re not entering illegal cage matches.”

  “That was totally Alexei’s idea.”

  “Sure, blame the prince.”

  They smiled at one another, the rain drumming overhead, hissing through the gutters.

  “Our lives are weird,” Lanny said.

  “True that.”

  ~*~

  “There’s a mage at my kitchen table,” Colette said, her movements quick and precise – agitated in a controlled way – as she pulled down a tumbler from above the sink, poured a few fingers of red wine, and then topped it off with the heated pig’s blood she’d just taken out of the microwave. She spilled a drop down the edge of the glass, and she caught with a fingertip and sucked it off; even that looked agitated.

  Nikita could smell the anger on her; she hadn’t looked directly at him since she’d come up from below, during a lull in customers.

  He glanced over his shoulder, quickly, and stole a glimpse at Severin, sitting mannequin-stiff at the table, still, pale hands folded together on the wood. Every time Nikita looked at him, he was shocked all over again by how young he was. Just a freckled boy, expression faintly puzzled, removed from everything he’d ever known…and with the power to burn this whole block to the ground in a matter of minutes.

  He shuddered and turned back to Colette – to her clenched-jaw profile, as she took a long swallow of blood-laced wine. “I know.” He kept his voice low. “And believe me, I’m not thrilled about it either. But he came to us – he escaped that place, and he wants to help us. Or for us to help him. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Her eyes cut toward him, finally, her gaze unimpressed. “That’s not even a little bit true.”

  He sighed.

  “You hate mages,” she said. “Why the hell would you care that this one wanted your help?”

  “Because things are different. Things are changing.” And once he’d said it, he knew it was true; the truth Will Scarlet had wanted him to see.

  He and Sasha had encountered other immortals on their wandering – he’d killed a fair number of the vampires they’d met, the ones he’d found preying on humans with the intent to kill. There had been one, especially, with a penchant for children…

  But that had been happenstance. Coincidence. There were immortals in the world, and sometimes they brushed up against one another; some formed alliances, even small packs; but mostly they kept clear of each other, vampires prickly as cats, not wanting to share Familiars or territory.

  But the past year had brought a shift, one he could no longer chalk up to chance. Vlad Tepes was awake; Valerian was escaped. The Institute was flexing its muscle in an unprecedented way. Fools like Gustav were trying to make real grabs for power. There were child mages bred in labs, and heroes of myth foretelling war. It all held the stink of prophecy; of an inevitable, monolithic purpose, one that would reel them all in without apology.

  He’d resisted to start.

  Because he resisted everything.

  Whatever his face was doing, it caused Colette to slowly lower her tumbler, and turn to face him fully, one hand braced on the countertop. “Nik?” It was prompt and question both, her brows drawing together, frown tugging at her lips.

  “You told me to mind my own business,” he said, “and I really did try. That’s what I wanted to do. But. There are things happening that I can’t ignore.”

  “You could leave the city. Go somewhere safe–”

  “Where’s that?”

  She shrugged. “Anywhere people don’t want to kill you.” He started to respond, but she cut him off. “You’re the one who’s always telling me you’re done fighting because someone else wants you to. You were gonna look out for you.” She poked him lightly in the chest with one forefinger, its nail painted bright yellow. “You and your boy.”

  “I’m still doing that. But it’s not just us anymore. We have a pack again.”

  She rocked back on her heels.

  “We have to look after them, too. And I don’t think this is one of those times when – to do that – running away is the best option.”

  She studied him a long moment, lips pursed, and then smiled. “Listen to you. Caring about something.”

  “I care,” he huffed, affronted.

  “Sure you do, sweetie.” She cupped his cheek a moment. “But it’s nice to see you take a stand.” She pulled back. “Even if I don’t want shit to do with whatever it is you’re gonna do.”

  He chuckled.

  “And I want that mage out of my house before David gets home.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He turned around, and said mage was staring right at him.

  ~*~

  By unspoken agreement – a few darted glances between them – it was decided that Sasha would have the honor of questioning Severin. Trina sat beside him, both of them across from the mage at the table, yet more tea in front o
f them; Trina felt made of tea at this point. The rain kept coming steadily down, and the light was fading, and it was time to make some decisions and get out of Colette’s hair.

  As discreetly as she could, Trina slipped her little spiralbound notebook from her jacket pocket and uncapped a pen under the table.

  Severin noticed. There was something birdlike in the way his head turned toward her. “What are you writing?”

  “Nothing yet.” She put the pad up on the table where he could see its blank, waiting lines. “Do you mind if I take some notes about the Institute while we talk?”

  He considered a moment, and then nodded.

  Her chest felt lighter and more fluttery with nerves than it ever had while interrogating a murder suspect.

  Sasha’s arm brushed hers, and she heard the faint rasp that sounded like every hair on his forearm was standing at attention. His voice was light and sweet, though, when he said, “Severin, thank you for helping us today.”

  Severin said, “I came to help Alexei. He said you were his friends.” His gaze flitted over toward Nikita, standing not-so-nonchalantly in the center of the rug with his arms folded, watching them from the corner of his eye. “Nikita Baskin killed my brother.” It sounded more like a statement of fact than an accusation, but Sasha twitched beside her.

  “Yes, well, I know he’s very sorry about that. He regrets it.” Sasha’s voice held an edge of detectable nervousness. “He was very upset at the time, and–”

  “He was looking for you.” Severin’s gaze returned to Sasha; snapped back to him, cool, and clear, and inscrutable.

  Sasha’s throat clicked audibly when he swallowed. “He was.”

  “Because you’re his Familiar,” Severin said, flatly.

  Sasha knitted his fingers together, and flexed them. “No, we’re–” he hedged, looking and sounding hesitant.

  “He’s my mate,” Nikita said, behind them.

  Beside her, Sasha stiffened; one fast moment of tension, and then she heard him exhale, felt him settle.

  And Nik…Mr. Repression himself…

  In the midst of – of everything – Trina took a moment for an internal fist-pump. To hear Nik own up to it – mates – forwardly, strongly. Without remorse or embarrassment. She heard him take a step closer toward the table, and didn’t need to turn to know the fierceness of his expression; she could hear it in his voice.

  She snuck a fast, sideways glance toward Sasha, and saw that he was working hard to suppress a smile, corners of his mouth twitching.

  “We’re mates,” Sasha said, schooling his features back to an appropriate level of gravity. “Nik didn’t go in there that day looking to hurt anyone; he was upset, and scared for me, and he reacted badly, yes, but. He went looking for me – for his mate. Because he loves me, and he would have burned the whole place down if that’s what it took to get me back. Just like I would have, if the situation had been reversed.” His voice trembled, briefly, near the end, quavering with emotion. And honesty.

  Trina slid forward in her chair, drawing the mage’s attention – he’d been staring at Sasha with rapt amazement, eyes glimmering as he sought to understand. She put on her best work with me, here detective voice, low and earnest. “Severin, I understand that you grew up there, and you’ve got no reason to believe me over any of the staff there, but the doctors at the Institute are just that: staff. They’re in the business of experimenting on immortals. They kidnap people: trick them, drug them, chain them, and keep them locked in cells so they can draw blood samples. They did that to Sasha. And Dante, and our friend, Val.

  “You read the letter that Will gave you,” she said, nodding toward the coat pocket where she’d seen him tuck it carefully away earlier. He reached up to touch the pocket, reflexive, and the paper inside crinkled. “You and your siblings were bred and raised as weapons.” She hoped that there had been moments of kindness, too, but she had strong doubts. “If you didn’t already know that, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

  He swallowed, throat moving. Very still, his eyes very wide, and clear, the color of old glass bottles.

  “The Institute has the potential to be a good and useful place,” she continued. “But so far, they’ve failed. Pretty spectacularly. We can’t let that continue.”

  “Severin, do you understand what we’re saying?” Sasha asked, tone gentle.

  “We’re shutting it down,” Lanny said, before the boy could answer. “The local branch here is toast.” A beat. “I mean – not actual toast. You don’t gotta roast it.”

  Nikita muttered under his breath.

  But Trina watched Severin. Watched his gaze flick toward Lanny, and then come back: to Sasha, to her. Watched the way his lashes lowered, and knew he was considering.

  He wasn’t normal. How could he be, after he’d been raised anything but normally? No sleepovers, or s’mores, or Saturday morning cartoons, or dodge ball. No bustling school full of squeaking sneaker soles, and slamming locker doors; no chance to make honest friendships, to laugh, and experiment with romance, and just be.

  He wasn’t a regular kid, no…but that didn’t mean he wasn’t intelligent; wasn’t observant and quick to adapt. The tiniest muscle twitched in his cheek, and he sucked his lower lip between his teeth, briefly, and Trina knew his brain was spinning; that he was mulling over everything they’d said.

  And what a risk it was to have spoken to him so openly. Whether or not he’d thrown flames at one of his teachers and escaped, he was still someone raised wholly by the Institute. Someone obviously holding a grudge against Nikita, and maybe unable to show forgiveness, depending on the lessons he’d learned in his short life.

  She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until he finally looked up, shoulders pushing back with the air of someone who’d made a decision, and nodded. “You’re right. What they’re doing is unethical.” Then she let out a deep, trembling exhale, and felt some of the tension in her gut melt away.

  She heard several relieved sighs behind her.

  “We certainly think so.” Her breath might have hitched, but her voice remained steady. “We don’t want anyone to get hurt – human or immortal. That’s why the Institute can’t keep functioning the way they have been.”

  “So,” Lanny said, tactless as always, “you in?”

  Alexei’s turn to mutter.

  Nik sighed out an “oh, Christ.”

  But Severin didn’t seem bothered. He said, “I want to get my siblings out. My – my brothers.”

  How heartbreaking, she thought. It didn’t sound like he’d said the word brother much before, the way he tripped on it.

  But busting out more mages was a tall, tall order.

  “Well,” she said. “I don’t guess we can argue with that.”

  And no one did.

  39

  Deprive a being of simple, everyday occurrences long enough, and all of them, no matter how mundane, become wondrous when they return. At some point in the past, Val probably hadn’t cared either way about rain; at some point in the future, it would doubtless lose its splendor. But for now, he reached out beyond the shelter of his umbrella to catch a handful of cool raindrops in his palm, smiling helplessly, delighted by nothing more than a cool autumn shower.

  Evening approached, and the lamps along the path flickered on, warm yellow light haloed by shifting tides of mist. The Park wasn’t empty – it didn’t strike Val as the sort of place to ever be empty – but its traffic had slowed. He and Mia walked alone down the trail, Fulk and Anna trailing, far enough back not to overhear if they whispered.

  Val turned his hand over, and watched the collected water pour out, and said, “I went to see Vlad.”

  Mia paused. Only a fraction of a second, it didn’t interrupt her stride. But Val felt the shiver of hesitation move through her. “How is he?” she asked, and he read something like genuine affection for his brother in her tone – and the fear that they were being pursued.

  “Single-minded,” Val said, and felt himself
smile. “Focused, and restless, and absolutely dominating all those poor fools in Virginia. We’re quite safe from them, don’t worry,” he said, patting the back of her hand where it rested in the crook of his arm. “He’s preparing an expedition to find our uncle.”

  Up ahead, a rain-slick bench sat beneath the bare limbs of a tree. Mia towed him toward it, fished a bit of clean newspaper from the trash can and wiped down the metal seat. They sat down together, snuggled close to fit beneath the umbrella. “You’re worried about him,” she guessed, and rightly so.

  He turned his head far enough to see her face, soft and lovely with concern in the silvery light. He kissed her forehead, on sudden impulse, and felt her settle even more fully against his side, under his arm. “I am,” he admitted, resting his temple against the top of her head. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of touching her, of the pressure of her warm body against his. “All he’s ever cared about is revenge. I thought he hated me for so long…” he said, voice going faint. “Finding out that he didn’t was one of the happiest moments of my life. And I hoped – foolishly – that he would bury all the old hatchets and just live. There’s nothing of our old existence left: no palaces to hold, no lineages to uphold. A chance to start over. But he’s ready to pick up the sword again.”

  She hummed – lips vibrating faintly against his throat – and said, “Maybe he’s too noble for his own good.”

  He pulled back so he could see her face, heart thumping with surprise, delight. And she wasn’t lying, he could tell. “Nobody calls him noble, you know.”

  She smiled. “Please note I’m not approving of some of his – uh, methods. But helping us leave was pretty darn noble. So is going after your uncle.”

  He smiled back…but it dimmed when a thought struck. “I supposed it’s been terribly ignoble of me to run away–”

  Her forefinger landed on his lips, silencing him. “No. Nope, we’re not doing that. You didn’t run away, Val. You finally got the hell out of your prison cell. Leaving was the best, healthiest thing you could have done.”