Page 195 of White Wolf

He was so…pleasant. She guessed she’d expected him not to be.

“He’s fine.”

His mouth continued to smile, but his eyes took on the sort of calculated coldness she’d seen in more than one guilty suspect. “So hetoldyou about me, then? Come on, Sasha,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “And after I was sohelpful.”

“You’re the reason I’ve been having these dreams,” she said, realization dawning. Nikita and Sasha had been in New York for over a decade now, and she’d been here her whole life. Why make contact now? Why would the bell suddenly ring? If she could forge some kind of psychic link with her great-grandfather, why hadn’t it already happened? Because they’d needed a means of connecting, and this man – vampire – Prince Valerian, was the conduit. “You’re who connected me with Nikita.”

His gaze returned to her, smile pleased. “As clever as you are charming, it seems. Yes, I’m the reason.”

Her heart started to pound. Getting caught up in the business of immortals made sense given that she was related to one. But this felt like being singled out, like being used. “Why?”

He shrugged, sable-covered shoulders lifting. “It’s like I told Sasha. Everything everyone does is about power.”

“Yeah? Why would you want power over me?”

“I don’t. I just needed to arrange a conversation with Nikita – he’s terribly hard to get hold of. I thought knowing about you might be a little bit of an incentive.”

“Incentive to do what?”

“Ugh. I forgot you were adetective. All these questions.” He leaned in close to her, close enough she should have felt the warmth of his breath on her face – but she didn’t. At this distance, his eyes were composed of layered bands of different shades of blues, from the jeweled tones of Caribbean waters to the gray of hammered steel. “Because,” he said, low and sinister, “I’d like very much to get out of this goddamn box before my uncle gets here.”

Son of Remus.

Which, if true, would mean that his uncle was…damn, she should have paid better attention in history class.

“Gets where? Where are you?”

He pulled back, smile slipping. “I expect you’ll find out soon enough. Everyone will. It’s starting.”

“What is?”

“The end of the world.”

And then she woke up.

~*~

She sat up with a gasp.

They’d left the lights on, and her living room was a puddle of comforting, golden light. She was too hot, sweating, clothes clinging to her skin, and she kicked at the blanket over her legs.

Too late, she realized the movement would wake Lanny, who cracked his eyes and grunted a wordless question.

“Sorry, sorry.” She turned and put her feet on the floor, braced her elbows on her thighs…and then put her head in her hands for good measure. She felt unmoored, hungover though she hadn’t had anything to drink.

Her heart pounded loud enough to interfere with her hearing. She was dimly aware of a rustling as Lanny sat up and settled in beside her; she saw his foot bump up next to hers, noted the hole in his sock, the little peek of toe it afforded.

She jumped when his hand landed in the middle of her back.

“Sorry,” she said again, letting her hands fall to dangle between her legs.

Her rubbed her back a moment, wide circular passes of his palm, his calluses catching on the fabric of her shirt with quiet sounds. “What was it this time?” he finally asked.

She turned her head to look at him, Valerian’s name on her tongue, and pulled up short. The couch had pressed a woven pattern into his bristly cheek. His eyelids were heavy, eyes dark and warm as fresh coffee. Hair mussed, sticking up in cowlicks on one side. Tired, sick, scarred, rough around the edges. He wasn’t classically handsome…but he was beautiful.

“I don’t wanna talk about that,” she said, voice coming out rough.

He nodded, cupped the side of her face, leaned in and kissed her.

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