Page 230 of Golden Eagle

~*~

“Alright,” Val said, leaning forward in his chair. Nikita had never seen him like this, delighted in a way that was so genuine he seemed to radiate light, and still so soft and quiet. “Think of a binding not as a bending to will, but as a marriage. A union of souls.” He brought his hands together, fingers laced, to demonstrate.

Nikita and Sasha sat pressed together on the sofa, across from him. Nikita’s palms were damp, his mouth was dry, but he wasexcited, he realized. He felt a little curl of shame, deep in his gut, and banished it savagely. No, no shame, no guilt. This was a good thing. This would keep Sasha safe; it would bring them closer. This was like a marriage.

Whatever his face was doing, it caused Val’s smile to widen. “I thought you might like that idea. Now. I did it with my Familiars the way Vlad did it with his. Wolf bites first, and then the vampire bites. Sharing blood together. Then, with open, untroubled minds, and willing hearts, you find yourselves on the proper plane. You find one another. Then it’s only a matter of acceptance.”

“That…sounds too easy,” Nikita said.

“Oh, it is, if it’s a mutual binding. If both parties are in harmony.”

“What do you mean by ‘find’?” Sasha asked.

“I’m not sure I can explain it all that well. It’s an exercise of the spirit, rather than the mind. I would try to come along, if I could, and guide you, but a binding is a sacred thing. There shouldn’t be any intruders.”

“So we just…swap blood?”

“That’s the crux of it, yes. Don’t be nervous, darlings. Once you start, it’s as easy as breathing.”

Nik turned to his mate; met his eager gaze, searched his beloved face for any signs of hesitancy – but there were none. The room seemed airless around them. “Ready?”

“Ready.” His pupils widened, and his canines elongated, subtle fangs.

Nikita offered his bared wrist, and Sasha took it reverently in both hands, fingers trembling faintly. “You’ll have to bite hard.”

“I know.” He lowered his head, lamplight gleaming on his lowered, platinum lashes, on the baby-fine softness of his cheek. A few more hairs slipped loose of his bun, and Nikita tucked them behind his ear, so he could see his face, watch the flicker of his tongue as he wet his lips.

At the last moment, Sasha glanced up at him through that pale screen of lashes, and said, “Come find me.” And bit.

He did bite hard. Ithurt. But the moment Sasha’s fangs pierced his flesh, Nikita was flooded with a drug-like calm.

The last time anyone had fed from his vein, it had been Rasputin, and he’d been compelled, a false calm, like his head was full of cotton batting.

But this…this was true peace, euphoric and perfect. He basked in it a moment, stroking the crown of Sasha’s head, watching his throat ripple as he swallowed, drawing slow mouthfuls of Nikita’s blood into his body.

“Nikita,” Val said, light as spring raindrops, “your turn now. Go on. He’ll be waiting.”

Slowly, dreamily, Nikita thumbed aside Sasha’s collar, leaned down, and nosed into his throat where he was warm and vital, where his heartbeat was strongest. When he bit, the blood exploded on his tongue in a way it never had before, like perfectly ripe fruit, sweet enough to make his teeth ache. The first swallow left his body humming, the room spinning. His lashes lowered, his eyelids so heavy, and then–

Fog. He stood in a void of indeterminate shape or color. There was no sky, and no ground, only dark edges providing the semblance of borders, and a thick, viscous fog that boiled up from the ground like something in an old black and white movie.

Come find me, Sasha had said. But Nik turned in a circle and saw only fog – and the flaring tail of his own coat. A glance down proved that he was dressed as he had been the day he met Sasha for the first time: the black, waxed wool of his uniform, the boots and gaiters, the long, black leather coat that he’d worn the day they rescued Sasha in Virginia, sinister and symbolic. Black gloves on his hands, and, when he reached up, the black fur hat with the hammer and sickle.

He sucked in a breath, and the fog rushed into his mouth, filled his lungs, damp and choking.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Something had gone wrong, surely. This was supposed to be like a marriage, Val had said, but here he was, dressed in funeral black, Stalin’s killer again, back to square one. And he–

Something stepped toward him through the fog. The vapors parted, and it was Sasha in wolf form, tall, and shaggy, and white, eyes the same burning blue that they were when he was human-shaped.

Nikita took another deep breath, and it was easier now. “There you are. It looks like you found me, instead.” He gestured to his clothes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Sasha walked right up to him, and nosed at his gloved hand. Nikita scratched behind his ear automatically, and Sasha leaned into the touch, eyes closing.

“I’m not sure what we do now. How will we know when it’s worked?”

Sasha’s eyes opened, and he snuffled at Nikita’s pants leg, and the inside of his coat. Then he sat down on his haunches and reached up to delicately paw at his knee with one massive, clawed forefoot. He shot Nik one of those penetrating wolf looks, like he could see right through his skull and knew every thought churning through the coils of his brain.

“What?”

---