Page 63 of Golden Eagle

She gave them a smile, then went to join her dark-haired friend at the bedroom doorway. Naked, they went down the hall toward the kitchen.

Dante reached over and slapped Alexei lightly on the stomach. “Still frowning, huh?”

He was. Up at the ceiling, now that the girls had gone, still loose-limbed, and sweaty, still catching his breath. But still unsettled, too.

When he didn’t respond, Dante sighed and sat up to get a cigarette from his nightstand. “Want one?”

“Please.”

Dante rustled around, the lighter clicking twice; little sharp inhales. He settled back a moment later, on his side, propped on an elbow, and set a crystal ashtray on the mattress between them, an already-lit cigarette held out in offering.

Alexei accepted it with a murmured thanks and took a slow drag.

“You were looking for Gustav,” Dante observed, tone deceptively casual. He wasn’t an idiot, but he wasn’t half as suave as the ladies seemed to think he was.

“I was.”

“Why?”

Alexei twisted onto his side, mirroring Dante’s posture braced on one elbow, so he could tap his ash into the tray.

Dante’s hair had gotten hopelessly mussed, strands clumped and greasy with pomade hanging down past his ears, framing his face.

“You shouldn’t put so much shit in your hair,” Alexei said. “It would look nice if you just left it be.”

Dante raked it back with the hand holding his cig, grinning sharply. Self-consciousness glimmered in his eyes, though, poorly disguised. “You just gonna avoid the question?”

“Someone I know is pissed at him,” Alexei said. “I wanted to get his side of things.”

Dante snorted. “Everybody’s usually pissed at Gustav. Your friend’s gonna have to get in line.”

Alexei worked to keep his expression bland. He’d come home with Dante and today’s diversions thinking that, even though his morning had been a bust, he might as well have a little fun. But perhaps it would prove more useful than that. “Everybody?” he asked. “How so?”

“Oh, you know. Guys like him are always making enemies.”

“Enlighten me.”

Dante’s gaze – drifting lazily – flicked back to him, and then held, narrowing. He took a thoughtful drag and turned his head to exhale the smoke, eyes staying pinned to Alexei’s. “What’s this really about?”

“I already told you.” His pulse gave a little bump. He was a terrible liar; always had been.

All traces of his grin gone, Dante studied him a moment. Tipped his head to the side. “Who’s your friend? The one who’s pissed?”

Alexei shrugged. “Nobody special.”

“Liar.” A hint of a smile returned. “I heard you the other night, you know, talking to Gustav at the bar. You know Nikita Baskin.”

Oh, shit.

“What is he, a celebrity or something?” Alexei grumbled, sucking down the last of his cigarette and stubbing it out.

“Kinda, yeah. Guy goes around killing vampires for fun or something. Word gets around. Speaking of.” He pressed his hand over his heart, dramatically. “You’re not his little apprentice or something, are you, Lex?”

“Ugh. No. Fuck you.”

Dante gave a facial shrug. “Can if you want. Or we can do it the other way. Whatever.”

Alexei rolled over onto his back with a groan, fluffy pillow cupping around his head. He made a mental note to ask where Dante had bought them. “He doesn’t do it for fun,” he said, before he could register the thought forming. It caught him by surprise.

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