Page 141 of Golden Eagle

“He’ll have to be a bit more patient,” Val was saying, his voice low and soothing. “Nikita’s hardly in a state to tolerate my presence, much less deal with a shock like this.”

Fulk made a low, frustrated sound in his throat that wasn’t quite a growl. “We aren’t going to be able to keep him penned up much longer. He tried to go out the window last night.”

“And did he?”

“No.”

“So you can prevent it.”

Another noise, this time an actual growl, a low, unhappy rumble.

“He’s a human,” Val said, with a touch of disbelief. “A skilled fighter, obviously, but he has no preternatural strength, nor powers. Am I to believe you’re incapable of restraining him if necessary?”

Silence. Mia had known Fulk long enough now to imagine his expression, the pinched, sour look, the little lines across his forehead.

“It won’t be much longer,” Val said. Light sound that she thought was Val patting Fulk gently on the cheek. Doubtless it only deepened the wolf’s scowl. “Tonight, probably. Or in the morning.” Mia looked up in time to see him come breezing out of the bathroom, wearing black jeans, a silver-studded belt, boots, and a clinging tank top cut low enough to show the grooves of his ribs on the sides. He’d pulled his hair back at the crown and tied it with a simple elastic. She’d braided it for him yesterday, while he hummed happily, leaning into the scrape of her fingers like a happy cat, and she’d felt like a girl playing with a horse’s tail.

“I would invite you along for brunch,” Val called over his shoulder as he went for his jacket. Fulk leaned against the bathroom doorframe, arms folded, expression as sour as she’d expected. “But obviously someone has to stay with Kolya. I don’t expect you’d enjoy it, anyway.”

“And what are we supposed to do with Kolya?” Fulk asked tightly.

Val flashed him a grin as he shrugged into his jacket. “Keep him from leaping out of windows, of course.”

Fulk grumbled wordlessly under his breath, and headed for the room’s door.

Val came to Mia, his grin softening into a true smile, warm and gentle. He’d been handling her with kid gloves; she was mildly insulted by it, but not steady enough yet to ask him to stop.

“Are you ready, darling?” he asked, offering a hand. “You look lovely.”

She was wearing an outfit they’d bought several cities ago: jeans, a sweater, boots, and a corduroy jacket she would have worn at the barn. Fitted, with a leather collar, lots of pockets.

But she couldn’t wear it to the barn. Her life as a working student and trainer was over, and she was…

Val’s fingers wiggled, and she took a deep breath, and hauled herself out of the kind of spiral that would leave her breathless and clammy. She put her hand in his, and when she met his gaze, she found that his smile had grown pained. He knew what was happening; could sense it in every way.

What are we doing?she wanted to ask. They were on their way to have brunch with a Russian prince who was supposed to have died in 1917. And to what purpose? Val had wanted to come to New York, to meet up with his “friends” – only one of whom seemed genuinely friendly. The woman, Trina, and the vampire who, by scent, was her mate, Lanny, had seemed cautious. Nikita Baskin had been outright hostile. Val was charming enough to win them all over – but why did he want to? What was the plan here?

In the immediate rush of fleeing the Institute, she’d wanted only to get away. But as the weeks dragged on, as her anxiety mounted, she had trouble divining a big picture. Maybe there wasn’t one. Maybe they would find an apartment and live in New York.

And then what?

Asking herself those kinds of questions yielded nothing positive, so she let Val pull her to her feet, and slipped her arm through his, and went down the hall to the elevators with him.

~*~

The restaurant Dante had picked for brunch was fancier than Sasha was used to. The nicest clothes he owned were those he tended bar in, so that’s what he wore: his pressed black shirt, black skinnies, and his usual leather jacket. He’d put a quick coat of polish on his Docs. Secured his hair at the nape of his neck in a tiny bun.

Nikita had looked at him as he’d left in a way that had nearly crumbled all his resolve. But Nik hadn’t tried to stop him; had kissed him softly, lingeringly on the corner of the mouth, and told him to have a nice time.

“You could come,” Sasha had said.

“No, I can’t,” had been the simple answer.

He was early, the first one here, and stood on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, belly tight with nerves. Groups and couples moved in and out of the restaurant; sat chatting and laughing on the other side of the big smoked-glass windows. A few stopped, cupped their hands around their eyes, and peered through to see if their party was there; they smiled and hurried to the door when they noticed them.

Sasha felt keenly alone without Nik there. Even though Nik would have been terrible company – he wasSasha’sterrible company.

Alexei and Dante arrived first. Alexei looked different – like Dante had styled him as a toned-down version of himself. The British vampire wore peach silk, black pants, shiny oxfords, and a long wool coat unbelted, collar popped.

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