Page 220 of Golden Eagle

Fulk stiffened, and his brows lowered.

“He had an interesting story to tell me about his own involvement in this whole war business.” And he relayed what Liam had told him, about the mage, and nearly dying, and Romulus having a Familiar.

“GoodChrist.” Fulk slammed his fists down on his thighs and surged to his feet, paced across the room, instantly furious. “That fucking –of courseit’s his fault!” He whirled, teeth bared, eyes flashing. “How fucking typical of that prick! He makes a terrible mess, and then twists and manipulates everyone else into cleaning it up for him.” His fiery gaze latched onto Val. “Please tell me you told your brother. I hope hecrusheshim.” He was breathing hard, chest heaving.

How surreal it always was, to be the one witnessing that choked-up feeling of turmoil, rather than living it. It had a way of sharpening his mind; bringing all the logic to the fore. In a way, just this was helping him come to a decision that he now saw had been inevitable all along.

“Come sit down,” he urged.

“Did you tell Vlad?”

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking. Come sit down.”

He did, still huffing, the last coils of his braids coming loose so his hair fell in a dark curtain around his face. He looked at Val like a man betrayed.

“I have tried,” he said, with a tremulous effort at controlling his voice, “to live a less violent life this past century. But trust me when I tell you that Liam deserves whatever violence Vlad would serve him. Tenfold.”

“What was it that he did to you to make you hate him so much?” Val wondered aloud.

Fulk growled.

“Alright, alright, we won’t talk about that. To answer you: no, I didn’t tell Vlad.” He held up a hand when Fulk tried to protest. “Because I told Liam to tell him, and made it very clear to him that it’s in his best interest to confess – or else deal with retribution from both of us. If I’d told Vlad, he would have killed Liam.”

“Yes, that’s my point,” Fulk said tightly.

“Sweet one, I know that you hate him, and I know that he’s dangerous–”

“You have no idea.”

“I spent six centuries chained to a wall,” Val deadpanned. “I have some idea of danger. My point is this: right now, he’s more useful to us alive.”

Fulk stared at him a moment. “Us?”

“Hmm?”

“You said ‘more useful tous.’”

“Yes, well, obviously I meant more useful to Vlad. And someone being of use to my brother is always, by default, useful to me.”

Fulk planted his hands on the mattress, and his shoulders locked up tight around his ears. “Your grace. What did you and Vlad discuss this evening?”

“Oh? Just family drama.” He waved it off.

Fulk wasn’t dissuaded, his gaze unrelenting. “Your family is a bit moredramaticthan most.”

Val stared back.I’m not dragging us into battle, he wanted to say, just to ease his worry.

But he wasn’t sure that was the truth, and he didn’t want to lie – not to his Familiar.

Finally, Fulk let out a deep breath, shoulders slumping. “Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head. His face softened, the tension bleeding out of it, leaving him tired, and young-looking. He’d been in his twenties, it was obvious to see now, in the softness of lamplight, when he was turned. A young man just starting to come into his own. His eyes, though – unguarded now, lovely blue, full of questions and fears – told the story of the centuries that had passed since then. A hundred lifetimes’ worth of strife, and struggle, and servitude. He’d been free for a while, but not anymore.

“Will you promise me something?” he asked, voice unusually raw.

Of course, darling, Val thought, but again didn’t say. “If I can.”

“If you decide – if you feel that you must fight. To take your place at Vlad’s side. Will you at least tell us first?”

“Oh, love. Yes. Yes, I will promise you that.” His eyes were stinging again. “Here, you’re right: I need to feed, but we don’t need a cup.” He held out his hand, palm up in gentle invitation.

Fulk took a deep breath and stood, the silk of his old dressing gown rustling. He pushed his sleeve up again, exposing the blue tracks of veins at the inside of his pale wrist, and laid the back of his hand in Val’s.

Val pulled him in closer, until his gown fell over Val’s knees. Until he could hear the soft rush of his breathing, and see the way his pupils expanded. He brushed his thumb over the veins, once, twice, and Fulk shivered.

“It’s alright,” Val murmured, and lowered his head, and bit, as gently as possible.

Fulk shivered again, as his blood filled Val’s mouth, and he began to drink. But another moment, and Val felt Fulk’s hand settle on his head, long fingers stroking through his hair.

Darling mother hen, Val thought, with a great swell of fondness, and then didn’t think of anything else, except the way the blood hit his belly like wine.

When he’d finished, and stopped the bleeding with a few passes of his tongue, and was licking the last sweet traces from the corners of his mouth, he heard a phone start to ring.

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