Page 23 of Golden Eagle

“People like us,” Alexei echoed. His skin prickled, nerves awash with uneasiness, but he couldn’t say why. Certainly this Gustav was much more civilized company than Nameless’s usual set. But…perhaps Nikita was rubbing off on him. He was suspicious.

Gustav could probably tell, if his grin was anything to go by. “Immortals, of course. Though I’d say you’re of a totally different class, aren’t you, your grace?”

Alexei hissed in automatic reaction, and ducked low on his stool, darting a glance toward the other patrons. None seemed to be listening. “Don’t – no one calls me that. Not anymore.” And better yet, how did this vampireknow?

Gustav looked surprised. “If that’s true, then you’d be the first person I’ve met who didn’t want to be treated like royalty.”

“I’mnotroyalty.”

“But you are the Tsarevich Alexei Nikolaevich Romanov, yes?”

Alexei gritted his teeth, and didn’t answer.

Gustav leaned in close, close enough for Alexei to smell another bound wolf on him, a female, and lowered his voice, conspiratorial. “Most of the immortals who come in here are young. Weak. Nobodies. But you were going to be the emperor of Russia.” His gaze shifted over Alexei’s face, searching, serious. “You honor us with your presence,” he said, sincerely, and sat back.

Alexei reached for his vodka and downed it all in one, long swallow. “Yes, well. Thanks.” He moved to slide off his stool.

Gustav halted him with a gesture. “Carey was right before. You do smell like Nikita Baskin.”

Alexei’s pulse jumped. But he lifted his chin, and drew on old courtly manners, responding coolly. “He’s a friend.”

“A friend.” A single brow lifted. “One walking around with your family crest sewn to his jacket.Pretty bold for someone who made a career serving your family’s murderers.”

The words bit, quick and sure, like a serpent strike. They hurt. Alexei swallowed and said, “It’s more complicated than that. And, frankly.” He got to his feet. “None of your business.”

“You’re right, it isn’t. But I thought it prudent to warn you that, given his reputation, Captain Baskin isn’t welcome in this establishment. I’m sure you understand why, and you of course may come whenever you like. But.” He gave a close-lipped, apologetic smile.

“Of course,” Alexei said, woodenly.

Gustav produced a card, black with silver lettering. He offered it between his first two fingers, slick as any modern, mortal businessman. “Here. If you should ever find yourself in need of a friend.”

Alexei stared at it a long moment. “I have friends.”

“As you’ve said.”

Another beat. Then he snatched the card and turned for the exit.

Behind him, Gustav chuckled.

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