Page 297 of Dragon Slayer

“I’m not a monster.”

He didn’t blink. “Neither is he. I mean what I’m saying.”

“I know.”

She didn’t draw a breath until he turned away from her again. Like a declaration: “I won’t suffer any more tyrants when it comes to my brother. No one will hurt him again while I draw breath. I will burn this house to the ground, and I will kill everyone in it who ever touched him.”

Mia bit back a gasp.

“Tonight. Get some rest, prepare yourself. I will bring him to you. I will see to it that the wolves take care of the rest.”

Her pulse beat high and fast in her ears. She rested a hand against the slick wall of the elevator. “Okay.”

“Whatever happens, don’t look back.”

Trust him, Val had said. And somehow, she did.

~*~

The grand dining room across from the library was not only ostentatious, but for Fulk, it held some memories he didn’t like to relive unless absolutely necessary. He never spent any time there unless ordered to – how quickly he’d fallen back into the habit of taking orders. Of being in someone’s service. He hated himself for that.

But, luckily, there was a small family dining room just off the kitchen. It had plum-colored flocked wallpaper, golden candlesticks gathered in clusters on the marble top of the buffet table. But it was overall modest when compared to the rest of the house. It was where he and Anna took dinner tonight, blissfully alone, candlelight flickering off silverware, a view of the glowing conservatory through the window rendering the chandelier unnecessary.

Anna picked at her food, pushing the roasted potatoes around with her fork. It was nerves, he knew, because his own were making his stomach tight and restless. Like a dog sensing an oncoming electrical storm, he could sense the energy rippling through the old house. The knife-edge moment ofwhat’s next.

Fulk smelled the revenant long before he appeared in the doorway. Kolya Dyomin slid into the shadows of the threshold like a wraith. His hood was down, but he wore his long dark coat, and boots, the scars on his face gleaming faintly silver in the low light.

He stood, gaze somewhere on the table, not self-conscious enough to understand the awkwardness of the moment.

Fulk didn’t take pity on him, but Anna did. “Do you need something?” she asked, just enough steel in her voice to tell him that they weren’t really looking to help him. Fulk had nothing against the man – he’d once been a friend of Sasha Kashnikov, after all, and alpha wolf or no, that boy was impossible to dislike – but he’d dealt with Liam’s playthings before. He didn’t want to deal with this one.

Kolya blinked a few times, as if surprised by the question. His brain wasn’t running on all its cylinders yet; that would come with time. So too would the memories, and then heaven help the poor wretch, he’d be distraught.

Maybe. He was Russian. Soviet at that. Maybedistraughtwasn’t possible.

“Lady Price said there was food.” His voice was low and rusty; the voice produced by a throat that hadn’t been recreated quite right. “She said I should eat.”

Anna snorted and set down her spoon. “First off, she’s not nobility, so you don’t gotta call her ‘lady.’ Liam’s not a lord either.”

“Oh,” he said, without inflection.

Anna cocked her head. “Sit down. I’ll have someone bring you a plate.”

As she got up to do so, Kolya pulled out a chair and slowly settled into it. He could move fast – Fulk had seen it firsthand – but he tended to creep through the house, almost cautious. Like maybe he didn’t quite remember what his body was capable of.

He folded his hands together on the edge of the table and cast a blank look around the room. Blank, but – candlelight caught in his eyes, a quick flash, and Fulk thought this blankness was born of intent. The gaze of a government agent trained to appear disinterested.

Fulk set his own fork and knife down, appetite gone. “Are your memories returning?” he asked, aiming for conversational.

Kolya turned his head a fraction, so their gazes met. The man was neither vampire, nor wolf, and definitely not a mage, but his stare wasn’t human. Fulk was struck with a terrible sense that he was looking into the void; behind his dark eyes lay a place from which no creature was meant to come back.

He wet his lips, and took a long moment before answering. “Some. It’s patchy.”

“That’s how it works, I’m afraid.”

Slowly, with movements that seemed deliberate, he reached down inside his coat and came out with two long, wicked knives. Fulk tensed – but then recognized them. The ones Vlad had been playing with in the training room. The ones he’d knocked out of Nikita Baskin’s hands.

Kolya laid them on the table with something like reverence. “These are mine. Vlad said. Or – they used to be.”

---