Page 154 of Golden Eagle

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The doctors and scientists who educated them, clothed them, fed them, drew their blood, and put them through tests and challenges referred to all of them as “the LCs.” LC-7, whom they called “Seven” for short, knew that the L and C stood for “Liam’s Children.” He didn’t know what that meant, though; if it held any special significance. He knew that, in total, twenty had been incubated and born of human women, none of whom they’d ever met or seen via photograph. He knew that they shared the same genetic material – full siblings, born of the same father and the same mother. And he knew that each had been given a number after birth, and that only five of them had survived past infancy.

The first to do so, the most successful, the strongest, the one they’d all been pitted against and who had been held up above them as an inspiration, had been LC-5, and she’d been gone for five years, now. Escaped.

Number five, the first of the five, and gone for five…nearly six, at this point, but Seven liked the triplicate of fives. Five, five, five. It was pleasing.

Seven was the next oldest, the star, now that Five was gone. The one with the strongest power – even more proficient with flames than his sister had been; he took pride in that, a vicious sort of pride that left his heart pounding and his skin prickling.

(She’d run away. She’d left them. Why would she leave them all? Why would she leave behind all that she’d ever known?)

There were three younger than him. Twelve, Thirteen, and Eighteen.

There had been.

Thirteen was dead.

The man the files labeledNikita Baskin, Russian, Fmr. Chekist Captain, Vampire, Power of Compulsion, Offspring of Grigory Yefimovich Rasputinhad wrapped his too-strong hands around Thirteen’s small throat, and broken his neck.

Seven remembered the day vividly, when Dr. Adams, with her sleek bun and her long white coat, had gathered them and told them that Thirteen was no longer living. She’d put a photo of Baskin up on the pull-down screen, and labeled him dangerous, to be avoided. They were still young, still learning, and weren’t ready to face an opponent of his caliber yet.

Eighteen, only six, had cried silently, his breath shivering in and out of his mouth, his sinuses clogged.

Seven had memorized the narrow, sharp face of the man who’d killed his sibling. And he’d practiced. He’d honed his skill; he’d pushed his body until he fainted, and then pushed it some more. He’d shaved precious minutes off the recovery time between strong uses of magic until he could close his eyes and go into a sort of meditative state, regaining his strength far quicker than Five ever had. Quick enough to have the doctors lifting their brows and murmuring excitedly to one another.

When Baskin came again, he would be ready, he’d vowed. He’d been the one to tell his doctors that he needed to practice resisting compulsion; the vampire Gustav Friedrich – (German, Fmr. Military Commander, Fmr. Advisor to Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany) – had been brought in to test him. After only a few weeks, he was able to shield his mind from the probing compulsion of a vampire; was even able to push back. In their last training session, Gustav had shaken his head, laughed uncertainly, and said, “Youarestrong.”

Yes. Yes, he was.

But he’d failed.

“My name’s Alexei.”The words had smoothed across his mind, salve going across a burn, soothing all his fury, all his anger, all his resistance. It had felt like his mind retreated; it hadn’t been merely pushed back, but it had fled on its own, deep, deep, and the small voice that had screamed for him to fight had been like a faint echo from down a hallway, barely heard.

That voice had clamored, though, had railed and fumed and, finally, though it had taken a herculean effort, he’d clawed his way back to full awareness. Had felt the vampire called Alexei’s mind bracing, shoving at his. A silent battle that had taken place entirely in their heads, one that left his muscles cramping.

He’d felt Alexei’s will shiver, and shake, and start to give; threads snapping loose. Only a little more, and–

Alexei had touched him. And pressed his mouth to Seven’s own. Damp, and soft, and then the wet heat of what he’d realized, belatedly, was a tongue.

Akiss. He’d dropped every defense, and two minds had flooded his own, overwhelming him, calming him.

He hadn’t cared. He’d turned completely inward, sorting through his own memories.

Kiss. They’d shown them a video about the mating habits of animals. Animals – with the exception of expensive competition horses – did not reproduce via test tubes and surrogates. There was a physical coupling, whole rituals of attracting and choosing mates. There had been humans in the video; they had pressed their mouths together again and again, until their lips were damp and shiny, and the narrator had called itkissing.

A behavior that was a prelude to mating, and Alexei had performed it. Had kissed him; the inside of his mouth had tasted like copper, like the times Seven accidently bit the inside of his cheek so hard that he bled.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there afterward, staring sightlessly, only that he had, and that when he’d returned to his senses, his quarry had been gone, the two guards flanking him still locked in a compulsion-induced trance.

He’d blinked, and then he’d flushed. With shame. With something more complicated that he hadn’t understood. And then he’d filled with fury. He’d called the fire, and he’d gone running after them.

They’d escaped, though.

Gustav had been found, his face bloodied, badly wounded. He’d been taken down to the lab, to be given blood and to be allowed to heal in safety.

Seven had gone to the room where they all slept, taken off his shoes, and lied back across his mattress. Dr. Adams had come around for her usual lights-out routine, plunging them all in darkness save the narrow, rectangular strip of bluish light that came in through the room’s one window.

After Dr. Adams’s footfalls had retreated down the hall, Twelve had rolled over in bed, propped himself up on one arm, and said, “What happened? Did you let them escape?” Threads of excitement woven through his voice.

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