Page 34 of Golden Eagle

Nikita pulled back to shoot him an exasperated look – an ineffective one, given the dusting of pink along his high cheekbones, and the sparkle in his gaze. “Yes. We need to talk. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think you’ve ever…?”

Sasha’s turn to blush. “Um. No.”

“I didn’t think so.” No judgement. “And I want to tell you some things.” He leaned forward, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Sasha’s forehead. Then stepped back and turned away. “And we need to eat.”

Sasha heaved a big, fake sigh. “You’re finally hungry. Now. That’sgreat.”

But he smiled so wide his face hurt.

They unpacked their food and sat down in their usual kitchen chairs across from one another. From those first early days in the Soviet flat in Moscow, through Alaskan cabins, and LA apartments, and in diners on the long trip to New York; to here, now: there had always been tables, and chairs, and meals between them.

But tonight, Nikita actually took a massive bite of his sandwich, and kept eating.

Sasha was so glad to see it that he didn’t dare comment on it, afraid he might stop. Instead, he admitted, feeling his face heat, “Val actually tried to get me to confess to you before.”

Nikita swallowed, and his brows drew together. “Really?”

“Yeah, it was in the nineties, and he thought…” He trailed off, shrugging. He didn’t want to talk about that night, because he didn’t want to have to talk about Nik’s bar hookups. Not tonight, not withwhole heartfresh in the air between them.

Nik’s tight, sideways smile said he understood. “Yeah. Well.” He glanced back down at his food, and then, to Sasha’s dismay, laid the sandwich back in its wrapper. “Val likes to get all up in everyone’s business.”

“Can you blame him? He’s been locked up for centuries.”

“Yeah.” The groove between Nik’s brows deepened, and he reached to wipe his hands with a napkin. Done with eating, then.

This was awkward.

Uncharted territory for both of them, and Sasha could sense that Nikita wanted to get this right as badly as he himself did. Desperately wanting to bridge the gap that had lain between them, that unlooked-at, unspoken chasm of their shared feelings, always carefully skirted for fear of the other’s intensity, and of ruining what they already had.

In light of all they’d lived through, it seemed pretty stupid.

Quietly, Sasha said, “What did you want to tell me?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Nikita nodded, but his mouth got tight, cheekbones throwing shadows down the taut lines of his jaw. “I…”

Sasha had the impulse to reach across the table, and didn’t check it; covered Nik’s hand – balled tight into a fist around his napkin – with his own, and squeezed. Sasha said, “You can tell me anything.” It broke his heart that Nik didn’t already know that.

He nodded again, and let out a slow breath. “I know that the past is in the past. I know it doesn’tmatter. Not now. But I want – I want to be honest with you. You know about Katya.” His gaze, trained on their hands, lifted, imploring. “But I wanted to tell you about Dima.”

“Dima,” Sasha echoed, confused, and then it dropped. Pyotr’s brother. The one killed in a Cheka raid before the pack had ever come to find him in Siberia. “Dimitri,” he said, and Nikita nodded yet again, and his gaze dropped, and his throat jumped when he swallowed.

Sasha’s breath hitched. “You and him…the two of you…”

“Yes. We grew up together. We…” He gritted his teeth, bared them; a hard shudder moved through his body, his hand trembling beneath Sasha’s palm. “I never told Pyotr. I never told anyone; I was always telling Dima he was too obvious, and we had to be more careful. I wasn’t – I wasn’t kind about it. I didn’t deserve…and then he died. And–”

He broke off with a surprised sound when Sasha let go of his hand, and, heedless of their half-eaten dinner, climbed over the table and into his lap. His arms came up immediately, though, holding Sasha to him as he settled, his face in Nik’s throat; not just holding, but clinging, hands curled tight and shaking.

Sasha reached up and stroked the backs of his fingers gently down Nik’s cheek; found the skin damp with tears. “Shh, it’s alright. I knew. Darling, I knew.” The pet name came as a surprise; it was one that Val always used, but it felt right, like something Nikita needed to hear. That hedeserved, no matter what sort of self-flagellating ideas he had to the contrary.

“You knew?” Nik asked, voice watery and surprised.

“I knew that you loved him very much.” He’d floundered for only a second after Nik said it, and then it had slotted neatly into place. Ah, so that was why. “The way you talked about him. The look on your face when you did – you were so, so sad. I didn’t know that you and he” –

Black gloves, and black coats, and pale, frostbitten skin warmed by stolen kisses, in shadows, and in stairwells, biting and furious and desperate and secret. Nik, anguished by nature, hating himself, his gaze haunted.

–“were together.”

He didn’t respond.

“Nikita,” Sasha said, and let all his wounded sympathy bleed into his voice.

Nik took a shattered breath and pressed his face into Sasha’s hair. “I’m so afraid,” he said in a small, cracked voice. “It hurt to lose Dima, and it hurt to leave Katya, but Icannot liveif I lose you. I’m so afraid something terrible will happen. I’m so – I’m so afraid I’m not allowed to be happy, and that if I kiss you, it’ll mean that you’ll…” He couldn’t finish, letting out a small, feline growl.

Sasha put his arms around his neck, and held tight. Pressed his nose to the side of Nik’s face. “You will never lose me,” he said fiercely. “Not ever. Wolves mate for life, and I choose you. You aremine, Nikita Baskin, and I won’t let you go. I will fight, and claw, and tear out every heart I have to to keep us safe. Don’t be afraid. Not of this.”

Nik’s mouth fell open on a low gasp. But for once in his stubborn life, he didn’t protest.

“I love you,” Sasha said, his voice half a growl. “I love you, I love you, I love you. And you will have me always. You always have.”

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