Page 178 of Golden Eagle

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Fulk’s hand on the door prevented Val from shutting it. The baron’s face was a too-thin, too-tight mask of conflicting emotions, and he’d settled on anger to serve as the façade for all of them, dark brows slanted over sparking eyes.

Val could have sent a hard shove through their bond and forced him away, to his own room. Could have barked a command. But he didn’t want to do that. His wolves sat like comforting weights in the back of his mind, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected, and Fulk’s anger, he knew, without question – because he could feel his intentions – was all about worry, and even, though he wasn’t ready to admit to it, a kind of love. The love a wolf would feel for a new alpha packmate. The love of a Familiar for a master. He didn’t want to feel it, but it was there all the same, and Val meant to nurture it; to show his new charges that he could be trusted. He could feel the old, badly-healed wounds left by a previous master, and he didn’t want to give Fulk a single reason to feel the same way about him.

“Sweet Fulk,” he said, and Fulk flinched like he’d been struck. He stood fast, though, hand still braced on the door. “I assure you we’ll be quite alright until morning. Go and seek your bed, and your mate. I’ll see you in the morning.” He softened the words with a smile.

Fulk’s lips pressed together until they turned white. He breathed out harshly through his nose. He looked very put-out – but his eyes glimmered with true distress. He was warring with himself about this. He didn’t want to feel this kind of responsibility, poor thing.

Val reached through the gap in the door and touched his face, a gentle brush of knuckles down his cheek. Fulk’s jaw flexed but he didn’t pull away. Val did it again, and then the wolf’s eyes fluttered to half-mast, and he leaned into the slight pressure.

“It’s alright, darling,” Val murmured. “I know you’re tired. I’ll call for you if I need you.”

Fulk took another sharp breath…and relaxed all at once on the exhale, shoulders slumping, lips parting. “Alright,” he said softly.

Val cupped his cheek, one last caress, before he pulled back, and eased the door shut. This time, Fulk let it happen, and a moment later Val heard the door of the neighboring suite open and close.

He turned around and stood with his back to the door a moment, gaze going to Mia.

She was fresh from the shower, wearing one of the hotel’s fluffy white robes, bare feet folded beneath her. He loved the glimpse of the red polish on her toes, that hint she was still doing small, domestic things from her previous life, even amidst all this upheaval. He’d seen her sitting with Annabel, taking turns lacquering one another’s nails and talking quietly together. He knew they were fond of each other; he was unspeakably glad that his Familiar had been a package deal, that Mia had a female companion. She’d been so lonely before, when she was human, though she wouldn’t admit that aloud.

Her hair was damp, and she was braiding it carefully and tightly, just like she’d braided her horse’s tail. Her expression, though, was thoughtful. Wistful. Perhaps sad, even.

She tied off the braid with one of those clever elastics modern people used, and turned to him, a faint smile touching her mouth. She picked the comb up off the bed beside her. “Want me to do yours?”

“Please.” He went and sat cross-legged on the floor at the foot of the bed, a shiver of anticipation moving up his back. He’d always loved having his hair played with; he loved it even more when it was someone he trusted and adored doing it. Mother, Vlad, Arslan, and now his Mia.

“Any requests?” she asked, dragging the comb through the heavy, damp length of it.

It still struck him with the force of a punch sometimes, the knowledge that he could make requests. That he could show a preference; that he could ask for something, even something as small as a particular kind of braid. He shivered again, a giddy thrill, and,whatever you feel liketurned to, “French, please. Off my face for sleeping.”

“Okay,” she said, easily, and started combing it apart into tidy bunches. Her nails scraped gently against his scalp, and her legs were warm and soft where they bracketed his shoulders, and before long, he found his eyes sliding shut, a sound like a purr building deep in his throat.

She’d been working in silence for a spell, the tight plait along the top of his head providing a kind of pressure on his scalp that could, if he thought about it too much, stir his cock to hardness, when Mia said, “You kissed him.”

He went cold all over.

Her hands had stilled, so he pulled gently loose from her grip – he felt the braid begin to slide apart, a slow unraveling – and twisted around to face her, his forearms folded over her thighs. His pulse throbbed a moment, and his breath shivered in his lungs, and he felt like a boy again, standing draped in jewels and silks in front of his brother, when Vlad had first smelled sex and Mehmet on him both at once.

But, even though Mia wore a concerned look, brows knitted, she didn’t look like Vlad had – didn’t look contemptuous, or disgusted. Hurt, though. Betrayed, but working hard to keep from showing it.

He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her up snug against his chest, head tipped back so he could look at her face. “Darling.” He’d always had words for manipulation; honeyed lies to keep from being whipped, to bend his tormentors to his will. But he didn’t know if he had the honest words to explain this to her. “I won’t lie to you.” It hurt to swallow, his throat suddenly tight. “I did. But not as an act of passion.”

She stared at him, unblinking, expression unchanged.

He swallowed again, and felt cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. “It was the only – thebest– way I could think to show him what I meant. He’s so stubborn and bullheaded about Sasha, and I thought a little nudge…” In hindsight, offering to ride his cock had been a ridiculous embellishment.

“A nudge,” she echoed, voice flat.

“Yes, well, I…” His hands curled to fists at the small of her back, and he forced them smooth, swept them back and forth across the little twin dimples in her skin there, palpable even beneath the fabric of the robe.

Whore, Vlad’s voice said in his mind. His voice as it had been centuries ago, when his lip had curled in a sneer and he’d rejected him out of hand.

He closed his eyes a moment, and took a deep breath. Vlad had never thought that, he reminded himself. Vlad had pushed him away on purpose, trying to protect him, but he’d never thought Val a whore. Not really…and maybe Mia wouldn’t…

He felt a touch on his face, and opened his eyes. Mia settled her hand gently against his cheek, and her expression softened. Purely concerned, now. “Sweetie.” Her voice was low and gentle, and he realized, with a start, that it was the voice he’d heard her use with spooked horses. “Vlad said something to me, back at the mansion. Something about – what you’d been through.” The last she put delicately.

He suppressed a shiver. “What did he tell you? Exactly?”

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