Page 8 of The Stalker

The doctor winced again. “And for his psychic abilities. I mentioned side effects? There’s some concern as to those abilities presenting themselves in any test patients. Not to mention his lack of consent presents a bit of an ethical dilemma.”

“I thought he didn’t put up a fight?”

“Yes, but…well, he is aprisoner.”

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” Fulk muttered.

“We have every reason to believe, however, that Prince Vlad will be amenable to our research and will help willingly. He might even provide insight into the process.”

“Every reason to believe?”

“He preserved the Western world once, my lord. I don’t see why he won’t be willing to do it again.”

“But you can’t wake him up.”

“To be fair, we haven’t tried. I wanted to do it the proper way first. Though.” And here his expression changed, some of his star-struck wonder replaced by a sternness he hadn’t shown thus far. “Wewillwake him up. With or without your help. And if you don’t help. Well. I’m afraid I must warn you that the government funders of this project won’t take kindly to your lack of cooperation.”

“Ah.” His stomach clenched so tight he thought he might be sick. “So it’s like that, is it?”

Dr. Talbot nodded, face grave. “I’m sorry, but yes.”

Fulk wanted to be angry. He wanted to smash the projector and hook his strong fingers into the doctor’s throat, rip out his voice box in a shower of blood and grim satisfaction. He wanted to howl. A deeply sick part of him wanted to go down to subbasement level two and throw the locks on Valerian’s cage; who would notice two wolves slipping out the gate when the antichrist was ripping through the place?

But a part of him had always known this day would come. He’d been cut loose from the immortal world since 1865, since he turned Anna and fled with her across the Atlantic.

They had been one-hundred-and-fifty-two blissful years, but he’d always known he would be asked to do his job again.

He cast a look to his Anna, his heart, and she stared back at him with her jaw kicked up to a stubborn level.We can run, her look said.

They were strong, and they could live forever, but they weren’t invincible. And if anything happened to her…

Fulk looked back at the doctor. “You understand that I won’t be able to control him. That’s not how a Familiar works.”

“I’m not asking for control, my lord. Just the chance to make the world a healthier place.”

~*~

“You don’t have to do this,” Anna whispered into the sensitive skin just below his ear. She stood on her tiptoes, body pressed flush to his. She smelled metallic with fear, though her face was soft and carefully guarded when she pulled back to look at him.

Fulk knew his smile was sad. “Yes I do, darling.” He kissed her mouth, shutting his eyes a moment, letting the memory of her taste seep into him. In case this went south. In case…

“My lord?”

It was that annoying woman Jennifer from the phone before, standing with a lab coat and clipboard, nervously shuffling her feet on the flagstone floor.

Fulk sighed and rested his forehead against Anna’s. “Wait over there. Please?”

“Okay.”

Only when she was back against the wall, in the shadows, did he turn to Jennifer.

The woman looked properly frightened. “We’re ready,” she said, almost whispering.

The coffin was old.Old. Well-made, but crude: weathered boards fitted together with nails and craftsmanship. The sort of thing that, if dug up by random graverobbers, would have seemed like nothing more than a simple farmer’s final resting place.

The stone sarcophagus lay off to the side in pieces; it had been too bulky and heavy even for the new service elevator to handle, and they’d had to jackhammer it to bits in order to get the coffin down here, in subbasement one, set up on two sawhorses beneath an array of operating room chandeliers.

The coffin was dusty, rotting in places, coated in a thick layer of dust. By contrast, the figure that lay against its moldy satin liner seemed fresh from a bath. He was tall and broad, a true hero for the ages, with heavy shoulders and arms, a tapered waist and muscled legs, his power visible even through the tattered clothes that had left him almost bare. His skin was pale, but smooth, poreless. Shiny dark hair framed his face, long enough to reach his shoulders. He had a harsh, masculine face, Eastern European features, sharp cheekbones. He was a little too thin, from hibernation, but that would change once he was awake…and fed.

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