Page 22 of Golden Eagle

5

The Lion’s Den had become the informal gathering place for their little group. Their pack, Alexei supposed. He wouldn’t let himself think family yet. Not when Nikita still hated him a little bit, and not after the fate that had befallen his real family, over a century ago.

It was a pub that managed to be both sprawling and cozy, full of nooks, allowing for privacy even on crowded nights. No one there cared that Nik smoked, nor that Sasha didn’t exactly look twenty-one in his fake ID photo. Alexei liked it – mostly because it was a place where he could go to keep company other than his own.

But some nights, he craved something a little different.

The fights broke up around ten-thirty – early for a Friday – and after there was the usual period of bets changing hands; Jamie’s hands had almost been too small to hold their night’s winnings.

Lanny had left to go see Sasha at the club for reasons he hadn’t wanted to relay to Alexei. Jamie had said something about a painting he was working on.

That had left Alexei alone. Not that he minded; he was overdue for a trip to Nameless anyway.

Because here was the thing: Alexei liked his new little pack. Truly he did. And he respected Nikita, even if the other vamp still mistrusted – and maybe hated – him. But Alexei wasn’t ready to commit to the kind of isolationist attitude to which Nik ascribed. Not quite yet. He still, occasionally, craved the company of those that haunted dark places.

The bar that he went to occupied a basement beneath a warehouse. You had to access it via a hatch, and a ladder, and once down had to pass the inspection of a hulking werewolf doorman whose name Alexei hadn’t been able to gain yet. The bar itself was mostly just that: a bar, poorly-stocked, a few scattered tables tucked along the cold, windowless concrete walls. It stank of spilled beer, urine, unwashed bodies, and immortals. It wasn’t called Nameless, exactly, but it had no name, and so everyone had to call itsomething.

It was crowded tonight. Alexei slid onto an end stool beside a female vampire who smelled like a fresh kill, and like a distaste for small talk. The bartender, a bound wolf, strolled over, expression bored.

“Vodka?”

Alexei was something of a regular. “Please.”

He turned around and put his back to the bar while he waited for his drink, elbows braced back on its edge, to survey the night’s patrons.

A surprising number of humans occupied the tables tonight – well, he thought a stranger might find it surprising. But the three men playing cards in the corner booth were regulars; one dealt blood slaves, Alexei knew. A human sitting alone at a table, staring down into a dirty glass of half-drunk beer, was a bounty hunter, one aided by the nose of a wolf friend who hadn’t shown yet, or maybe wouldn’t. A vampire named Dante held court in his usual booth, surrounded by pretty young mortal women who hung on his every word, blue light glinting off all the product he’d put in his hair.

Piss-poor company, all of them. But Alexei kept coming back.

The vampire beside him slid off her stool and headed for the door; Alexei released a deep breath that eased the tension in his shoulders.

Piss-poor company,andthey made him nervous. But here he was.

A glass thumped down on the bar and he twirled back around to pick up his vodka. He met the direct stare of the bartender, and paused, glass held in front of his face, tension dialing back up again. “Something wrong?”

“There’s scent on you,” he said, flatly.

Alexei lowered his glass, slowly. “Yes. That’s how…scents usually work.”

The wolf’s nostrils flared as he inhaled, face blank, eyes shining like cold marbles. “I recognize him. One of your friends.”

For a moment, panic gripped him. Was this someone with a vendetta against Lanny? Surely not young Jamie, who’d never stepped a toe out of line in his life. Probably there was someone he’d brushed past at the fights tonight; he had to be wearing dozens of scents by now, from gamblers to the hotdog vendor he’d bought dinner from just an hour ago.

But the wolf said, “It’s that vampire that kills other vampires.”

Ah. Nikita, then.

“Don’t mind him,” a smooth voice said to Alexei’s right, and a vampire slid onto the now-vacant stool beside him. “Carey has a tendency to jump to conclusions.”

Alexei tried hard not to look startled as he turned to the newcomer. But then he felt his brows go up.

This wasn’t the sort of vampire who frequented a place like this. Finely dressed, he wore a sleek, fitted three-piece suit, with a wool topcoat draped over his shoulders. His dark hair, slicked back with a tasteful amount of pomade, spoke of the past century in a way that was an elegant throwback, intentional, rather than outdated.

He offered Alexei a fang-tipped smile, but made no move to shake hands – perhaps he could sense that Alexei wouldn’t be willing to touch him. “Good evening,” he said. “I’m Gustav. And this is my bar.”

“Y-yours? But you…” Alexei gestured toward his clothes.

Gustav laughed. “Doesn’t exactly seem to match my aesthetic, does it? But, yes, this is my place. I think it’s important that people like us have the chance to gather together in safety.”

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