Page 190 of Golden Eagle

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When Seven entered the basement lab, he found the vampire Gustav sitting on the edge of his bed, looking mostly improved, the wrist of his wolf Familiar held to his mouth as he fed. The wolf whipped her head around, defensive gaze landing on Seven.

Seven halted a few paces away. “They said you’re well.”

Gustave hesitated – went tense – and then pulled back with a thorough swipe of his tongue across the wound he’d left in the female’s wrist. He sat back, still cradling her arm, licking his lips clean.

Seven had been educated about vampires from the beginning, since his earliest memories sitting in a white-walled classroom in which a white-clad doctor flashed pictures up on a screen, telling them about all the most notable vampires recorded in history. About the brothers Vlad and Valerian, and the vampire Rasputin whom the Institute had worked alongside for a time. About the Duke of Havisham, abandoned by one Familiar and killed by another – this last lesson had been left vague, the instructor-doctor visibly nervous, wiping his brow.

So Seven understood that vampires required the ingestion of the blood of living things to keep healthy and whole; that their eye teeth were fangs, and that they were possessed of certain heightened sensual impulses.

But he could claim no sympathy for their physical condition. What was it like, he wondered, to pierce the flesh of another being and take their blood into your mouth? To swallow it down and grow stronger upon it?

Confounding.

Gustav regarded him a long, silent moment, and then said, “I’m not well, but I’m much improved.” He released his Familiar and she stepped back, and rolled down her sleeve. “Thank you for your concern, though, child.”

His tone was hard to place, but Seven knewchildwell enough. Knew that this creature thought him less than those around him; an adolescent not yet to be trusted, the way everyone else was. Child. A baby. A young one. Someone who needed the guidance of his elders.

“Are you leaving?” Seven asked.

Gustav sighed, and shared a glance with his Familiar, after which she withdrew and disappeared behind the curtain. To Seven, he said, “Yes. I have tasks to complete, still. A meeting.”

“A meeting with Alexei Romanov, the vampire?”

Gustav’s mouth fell open, his eyes sprang wide, and for a moment, he resembled the guards who feared Seven. Then he smoothed his expression and said, “And how could you possibly know that?” He stood, and buttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, dressed no longer in a colorless gown, but in a suit and shirt, fine human clothes that Seven was never allowed to don.

“I heard Dr. Severin talking to Dr. Reed,” he said. “Alexei Romanov called you. He wants to see you.”

“Yes, well.” Gustav cleared his throat, and his brows jumped, and Seven thought he looked unhappy. “Apparently, no phone call is private around here.”

“Why does he want to meet you?”

“To negotiate some sort of alliance, I’d wager.” He stepped into polished shoes, no longer paying attention, ready to leave.

“He kissed me,” Seven said, and, after, didn’t understand why.

Gustav lifted his head, sharply, his gaze narrow a moment. Then he laughed. “He did, did he? That little seducer. Did you enjoy it?”

“Are you going to harm him?” Seven asked, and Gustav’s smile slipped. “The way you’ve harmed the test patients?”

“Only if he doesn’t cooperate. He could be a great asset to our–”

“You shouldn’t,” Seven said, and when he took a tiny step forward, he felt the crinkle of paper in his pants pocket, the letter from Rob Locksley, word of Seven’s sister, of her life outside this facility.

Gustav studied him a moment. “Other people will kiss you, if you like,” he said. “You should tell your handlers it’s something you want. But you don’t want anything to do with Alexei Romanov. He’s a stupid puppet, is all.”

“He’s the last Tsarevich of Russia,” Seven said, with a mental sensation like the floor tiles were tilting beneath his feet. Alexei was a prince, he’d read so himself in the files. How could a prince be a puppet? Princes made puppets of others.

Gustav bared his teeth in an unpleasant expression. “Oh, yes.” His accent sounded thicker, all sharp, blocky consonants. “Tsarevich ofRussia. How special they are. How beloved that whole family. Get yourselves murdered by revolutionaries and suddenly the whole world forgets what monsters you are.” He hissed at the end, and snatched his suit coat off a hook with savage force. He met Seven’s gaze with an unusual directness; he normally avoided all eye contact. “Alexei will serve his purpose, just like all you little freaks here. And when he’s no longer of use, he’ll join the rest of his spoiled, rich family in hell.

“Hannah, come.”

His Familiar fell in behind him, and he stormed toward a side door marked with a red EXIT sign, leaving Seven standing, wondering…considering.

~*~

Trina’s phone woke her; not the alarm, but an incoming call. And by the time she’d rolled over, pulled a lock of hair out of her mouth, and disentangled herself from beneath Lanny’s arm, she winced to herself. She’d forgotten to set her alarm last night; should have already been cramming toast in her mouth, halfway out the door and ready for another thrilling day of weapon-less desk duty.

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