Page 64 of Golden Eagle

“Who doesn’t what now?” Dante asked, shifting closer, so he could look down at his face. His expression was relaxed.

“Nikita Baskin. He doesn’t kill other vampires for fun.”

“So it’s a compulsion, then? He’s a serial killer?”

“No.” He made a frustrated sound, and smoothed away another frown when he felt it forming. “It’s – he thinks it’s honorable. He’s all about honor, that one.” Despite being a fucking Chekist, he reminded himself grimly. “He kills vampires who are killing or turning humans. The ones who hurt people.”

“The ones who bring willing ladies home to their lairs?”

“No, don’t be stupid.”

Dante chuckled. “Will you protect me if he changes his mind about that?”

“Shutup.”

“Oh, lighten up.” Dante stubbed out his cigarette and then set his fingertips lightly against Alexei’s sternum. Drew aimless patterns there, skating out to the sides, toward his nipples, but not touching them. “I’ve never seen someone so tense after coming. Is it really as bad as all that? What does Nikita Baskin want with…” His hand stilled, and his eyes widened. “…Gustav?” he finished, looking like he’d already figured it out.

Damn it, Alexei had said far too much. He could stop now, get up, get dressed, and leave – stop digging the damn hole – or he could see just how much Dante knew.

“Does Gustav kill humans?” he asked.

“I’m sure he does. That shouldn’t be a surprise.”

“Does he…he doesn’t sic his wolves on people, does he? Kill them that way?”

Dante looked surprised again. “Shit. What’s been going on?” His hand flattened out on Alexei’s chest, and it almost felt like a gesture of caring concern.

Dangerous, that.

“I don’t know.” He tried to sound flippant, but was afraid it came out worried. “Humans keep being eaten. Torn apart by wolves. The crime scenes stink of ferals and Gustav’s wolf, Hannah.”

“Christ,” Dante said, sounding truly worried for the first time. “There’s having a snack” – he tipped his head toward the door, toward the two women in the kitchen they’d fed from – “and then there’seating people. Nikita wants a word, huh?”

“More than that. I haven’t agreed to help him,” he said with a sniff.

Dante grinned. “Yeah, but you’re gonna, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

“You know.” Dante shifted, getting up on his knees. “For a prince.” His grin became mischievous, and he swung a leg over Alexei’s hips, so he straddled him. “You’re awful gloomy.”

“Princes are gloomy,” Alexei huffed, but interest stirred in his belly.

Dante leaned down into his face, laughing. He smelled like sex, and fresh blood, and smoke. He smoothed both hands across Alexei’s chest. “Prove you can have a little fun, and then we’ll talk about Gustav, if you want.”

Alexei scoffed. “Fun? What do you call what the four of us just did?”

“I call it lunch with a side of handjobs. Now I wanna fuck.” He leaned down and kissed Alexei roughly, with fangs, and Alexei didn’t think about Gustav much after that.

~*~

When they finally came up for air, the angle of the sun had changed, and the women, and their clothes, were gone. One had left a Post-It note stuck to the fridge, a pair of phone numbers with a little smiley face in the corner. Dante flicked it with a fingertip before he opened the freezer in search of ice.

Alexei, in a borrowed velvet dressing gown, sat at the breakfast bar, a wadded-up paper towel pressed tight to his lip. It was still bleeding where Dante had bit it over an hour ago. The blood had made a mess of the sheets.

“Turning didn’t fix that?” Dante asked, frowning, as he pulled back and tossed Alexei a tube of frozen margarita mix.

Alexei barely caught it, then pressed it to his lip, hissing at the sting of cold. “It’s livable, now,” he said. “But it could still send me into a sleep if I wasn’t careful.”

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