Page 205 of Golden Eagle

He was always lean, but he looked nearly skeletal, now, nothing but fevered blue eyes and cheekbones, the skin of his cheeks sunken and pallid under fluorescent lights. The lack of hair, and the deep bruised circles beneath his eyes gave him all the liveliness of a skull. Poorly healing wounds marred his arms, and Alexei realized they were bite marks, the deep puncture wounds of wolf teeth.

Keys rattled at the door, and the bars slid back to reveal two men dressed all in black, and a third, holding a clipboard, in dress slacks and a long, white lab coat. A scientist.

AnIngraham Institutescientist, Alexei realized with another start.

“Good morning, Mr. Norrie, how are we feeling?” the man asked, clicking his pen, like he wasn’t speaking to an injured, underfed vampire currently chained to the wall like a Fifteenth Century prisoner of war.

Dante blinked at the man, and didn’t answer.

The doctor looked to one of the guards beside him, and nodded. The guard stepped forward, and in his hands he held what looked like a travel coffee mug with a straw sticking out of the top; steam curled from the straw, and even if he couldn’t smell it, Alexei knew instinctively that it was blood.

Dante’s head strained upward on a neck that looked fragile as a flower stem. His nostrils flared.

The guard knelt down on one knee, doing an admirable job of hiding his fear; Alexei caught the glint of it in his eyes, though, and felt the savage urge to lean down and sink his fangs in the man’s neck; to pin him down and drain him dry. Dante was barely strong enough to hold himself upright, and was chained besides, and this hale and hearty mortal skirted around him likehewas the one in danger. He offered the mug, the straw steadied between two gloved fingers.

Dante stared at it a long moment, breathing quick and hard through his nose, scenting the air. Finally, hesitantly, he leaned forward and put his lips on the straw. The blood was thick, slow and dark as it filled the straw. Dante took one small sip, swallowed, and then his eyes fluttered shut and he drank in earnest, greedy gulps until he had to sit back, gasping, trying not to choke, a stray drop running down his chin, jewel-bright against the papery hue of his skin.

The guard stood, and Dante creaked out a soft, broken, “Wait…”

But he moved back to the door to stand alongside the doctor.

“Let’s try again,” the doctor said. “Good morning, Mr. Norrie.”

Dante panted a moment, and then his gaze dropped. “Good morning,” he croaked.

The doctor smiled. “Now, was that so hard?”

The vision shifted with a blur of gray mist, and Dante was laid out on a table, fastened to rails at both wrists, and both ankles, naked save a white towel draped over his hips in the barest suggestion of modesty. He pressed his head back against the table, neck corded and straining, teeth bared, as doctors on both sides pressed plungers on the syringes plugged into both IV bags that snaked tubes down to the vulnerable, visible blue veins in the crooks of his elbows.

“Injecting now,” one of the doctors said, and a tech with a clipboard scribbled notes. “This is test IC, human papilloma virus…”

Another flash, and Dante was on his stomach, shirtless, wearing an electrode helmet, while a doctor with latex gloves on his hands carved long, bloody lines down his back with a scalpel, and while Dante screamed around some sort of gag, the sound muffled.

Though Alexei was only a floating voyeur, he felt a rolling sickness in his belly, the urge to heave, and the vision flashed again.

Time had passed, he could tell. Dante had regained a little weight, a little color, and his hair curled out from his head in dark, unwashed ringlets like corkscrews. (That was why he was so ruthless with the pomade, Alexei thought faintly; if left undressed, his hair tended toward riotous curls.) He wore a white t-shirt, rather than a scrub top and a soft blue pants; rubber flip-flops on his formerly bare feet.

Gustav stood in front of him.

“As you can see,” Gustav said, gesturing, “talking with me has already bought you greater comforts.”

A pair of flip-flops. Pants that weren’t white.Thosewere Gustav’s provided comforts.

“If you cooperate.” He pitched forward at the waist, pushing his face into Dante’s personal space; Dante swallowed and inched backward on his cot. “You might even see the outside world again.”

“But I have cooperated,” Dante said, voice soft and broken. “I have. I’ve been so good, for all their tests.” Even softer: “I only screamed a little.”

Alexei’s nausea spiked again. He felt a low, insistent tugging in his chest, a plucking of heartstrings. God.God.

“They’re done with all their tests, Basil,” Gustav said, and laid a hand on Dante’s head. There was nothing comforting about it; the touch of someone reluctantly petting a stray dog. “No more pokes and prods. Now, we need you to do some sleuthing for us.”

Dante’s brows drew together. “S-sleuthing?”

“Yes.” Gustav smiled. “It’s time you put that magical brain to work.”

“But,” Dante said, drawing his legs up, wrapping his thin arms around his knees – just like he had on the chair in Colette’s living room. His eyes were red-rimmed as they had been just moments ago, in real time; big, and terrified, and full of doubt. “But I don’t–”

“Do it,” Gustav said, “or the testing will continue.”

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