Page 137 of Golden Eagle

Sasha nodded.

“I was surprised to find that you two are lovers, and that he hasn’t bound you,” Val said, a note of apology in his voice.

“He thinks he’s protecting me. He says he doesn’t want me to be a slave.”

“But it isn’t like that at all.”

“I’ve tried to tell him.”

“Of course.” A frown plucked at Val’s mouth, and his gaze flicked out across the landscape. “Not being a wolf, I can’t know this from personal experience. From what I gather, there’s a sense of responsibility on the part of the wolf; of wanting to please and be of use. Gods knows Fulk can be a regular mother hen sometimes.” He smiled to himself. Then looked back at Sasha. “But I observed my mother with her two beloved Familiars, and Vlad with his Cicero.”

“Cicero?” Sasha asked, momentarily startled.

“A nickname. Not the actual orator, dear. He was Father’s Familiar for centuries, and after Father’s death, when Vlad went home to Wallachia, he asked to be made Vlad’s. He was most devoted – and not slavishly. It was genuine love.” His smile turned inward, and bitter. “A love that drove him to imprison me. When he pressed hot irons to my skin, and glowered down at me with hatred, I could still see the love he held for my brother. I could smell it.”

Sasha fought off a hard shudder.

“Vlad doesn’t know that last bit,” he said, with a wink. “So let’s keep that our little secret, yes? Cicero, if he still lives, doesn’t deserve Vlad’s censure for torturing me. Any wolf would have done it.

“Wolves, you see.” He took a deep, unsteady breath and pressed on. “Are not quite like vampires. I imagine your Nikita knows this in theory, but he hasn’t come to truly understand it. Werewolves aren’t so different – instinctually, you understand, you know I mean no insult, darling – than purely four-legged wolves. You crave having a pack, a hierarchy. Your loyalty is genuine, born of love, and never faked. There’s no artifice to a wolf, and it’s the most beautiful thing about them.”

He reached to finger a piece of Sasha’s hair, smiling warmly at him. “The blue eyes don’t hurt.”

Sasha felt himself blushing again.

Val let his hand fall to Sasha’s shoulder, and squeezed. “It probably isn’t right. Humans certainly wouldn’t think it was. But we are not humans, my darling. And when a vampire is a loving and devoted pack leader, there is nothing wicked about the binding of a wolf. The binding has been in existence since my father and his twin washed up on the reedy banks of the Tiber. It was a wolf who nursed them; a werewolf and her pack. Perhaps binding is truly wrong; perhaps we’ll find a way, eventually, to eliminate the need for it. But so long as vampires can force themselves on Familiars, a bound wolf is a safe wolf.”

Sasha’s eyes stung. He blinked, and leaned into the hand pressed to his shoulder. “Nikita won’t do it.”

“Because he loves you,” Val said, “and because he doesn’t trust himself. He’s never really shed the coat and badge, has he?”

Sasha shook his head.

Val sighed, and put an arm around his shoulders, pulled him in so they were snuggled side-by-side. His sable tickled Sasha’s cheek. “I’ll have a talk with him.”

Sasha jerked reflexively. “I don’t think that’ll do much good.”

“Hmm. We’ll see. I’m very persuasive when I want to be.”

A comfortable quiet fell around them. Sasha realized the bodies had all gone, and that pristine snow stretched before them. A bird called – not a raven, but a songbird, a happy little trill.

“Come have brunch with us,” Val suggested.

Sasha felt a swell of glad anticipation at the idea. One that dimmed. “I don’t think Nik will.” Heknewhe wouldn’t.

“So leave him at home. He’s too cranky anyway,” Val said lightly, as if that was something Sasha coulddo.

Which…he could, couldn’t he? It wasn’t as if Nikita would do anything to actually stop him. He would scowl, and say he didn’t like it, and pout, and be even crankier – but he wouldn’t compel him. Wouldn’t bar the door or try to dominate him in any way. The only thing that would prevent him would be his own guilt; his own driving urge to make Nikita smile and keep him from worrying.

And how often, he wondered, had he stayed at home, or hung back, or stood on the sidelines because that was what Nikita wanted? And because the thing he wanted most of all was for Nikita to be happy?

He sighed.

“What are you thinking?” Val asked.

He shifted a little on the log. “I’m thinking I want to come.”

“So do,” Val said, as if it was that easy.

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