Page 132 of Golden Eagle

“Kolya,” she said. “Honey. I know you’re feeling impatient, and I don’t blame you one bit. What you’ve been through is ten different kinds of terrible. Anyone would be anxious to catch up with old friends, but in your case…I can’t even imagine.”

Beside her, Fulk let out a slow breath, relaxing a fraction.

“I hate to say this,” she continued, “and you aren’t gonna want to hear it, I know. It’s not easy. But your friends – Nikita and Sasha – think you’re dead.”

She gave him a moment to let that sink in. His gaze narrowed a fraction, and drew inward.

“Finding out someone you cared about isn’t really dead is – it’s gonna be a shock. Nobody’s got the equipment to handle that, you know? They’re gonna freak out. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they’ll be so happy. But at first, there’s going to be lots of questions. Some heart palpitations. I don’t think they’re gonna believe right away,” she said with real regret. “There’s a good chance they’ll think we’ve dressed up someone who looks like you did, back when they knew you.

“It’s important to tell them the right way, is what I’m saying. Somewhere private. Fulk will want to explain about Liam’s powers first. Not every mage can do that, you know. Most can’t. It’s something–” She started to sayspecial, but she didn’t like giving Liam that much credit. “They’re not expecting it,” she said instead. “And you don’t want to walk into the middle of a crowded bar and just say ‘hi.’ You know? That won’t be good for anybody.”

He studied her a long moment, his gaze inscrutable. He still smelled faintly of earth. Of something that had been buried, and like ash, because all of Liam’s magic required fire, even when he was forging something – even if he was forging a human.

But he smelled like a man, too. A scent that was just him. Would Sasha know it? Remember it? Would that be enough of an ID?

She had a feeling, though she’d never met him, that Nikita Baskin would be the hard sell of the two of them. And God knew what memories would come flooding back for Kolya when he finally came face-to-face with them.

“It’s better to wait,” she said, with a bit of firmness. “Okay?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment, but she knew he’d heard her, the way his gaze tracked back and forth across the width of her face. Finally, he nodded.

He turned back to the window, and stared out at the night; at the street crawling with lights and pedestrians.

Slowly, Fulk reached up and brushed her hair over her shoulder; trailed his fingertips down the back of her neck, a slow and gentle caress. An acknowledgement. A thanks. Then he retreated back to the couch.

Anna sat down in the chair nearest Kolya, tucked her legs up beneath her, and said, “It’s something, isn’t it?”

She didn’t know if he would acknowledge her, but she noticed a flicker of movement: his lashes, as he glanced over from the corner of his eye.

“They call it ‘the city that never sleeps,’ and it really doesn’t.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “We lived here for a little while. Fulk and me. It’s not my favorite place on earth, but it’s got its good qualities.”

It was quiet a moment, so it surprised her when she heard his rusty voice say, “Where is your favorite?”

She nearly choked on air. He’d never asked her anything approaching a personal question before.

The answer came automatically, though. “Georgia. That’s where I grew up. That’s home.”

And probably, bound to a Romanian prince, they’d never get to go back there.

~*~

“Now,” Val said after he’d taken a long swallow of the red wine he’d ordered, “what have all of you been up to this evening?”

Nikita realized that every member of his pack turned a glance to him. Deferring.

Val looked at him expectantly.

Nikita’s immediate, gut instinct was that they didn’t need an outdated prince nosing around in their personal business. Princes didn’t do things meekly, as Val had proved tonight, just with his entrance and his general theatrics. If he told him about their night’s adventures with the Institute, and with Gustav, Val would undoubtedly want to get involved. He might even want revenge; he probably loathed the Institute more than anyone else at this table.

Things would get messy, and dramatic, and all Nikita cared about, at this point, was keeping his pack safe, and putting Gustav in the ground – permanently.

He shrugged and said, “Nothing, really.”

Val grinned. “You’re a good liar, but still a liar.”

Mia, who’d been drinking wine, too, said, “God, Val.” The alcohol had eased some of her visible tension, but hadn’t improved her mood, it seemed. Newly turned, this must all have been insane to her.

“I smell a mage,” Val said to her, eyes trained on Nikita. “They just don’t want to tell me about him.”

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