Page 66 of Golden Eagle

“Because it was my job. I’m a historian; I was employed by your great-grandmother Queen Victoria. Alexei –Lex.”

Dante looked very worried, in the moment before Alexei’s eyes shut.

Fuck, he thought, and passed out.

~*~

He came to with blood in his mouth, and fingers combing through his hair. He lay on his side on the rug, his head cushioned in Dante’s lap, while Dante fed him from his own bitten wrist and petted his hair with his free hand.

“Awake?” he asked, and yes, that was definitely a British accent.

Alexei swallowed one last mouthful, then passed his tongue over the wound and drew back, licking the last drops off his lips. He felt heavy, and exhausted, as he always did after he’d lost too much blood; but there was no pain, and his head felt clearer.

“You tricked me here,” he accused, without any heat. “You’re one of those freaks obsessed with my family.”

“No, love.” Dante smoothed a cool thumb along his cheekbone. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then why did you bring me back here? You only ever invited me along because of who I am–”

“I invited you along,” Dante said, speaking over him, “because you’re beautiful.” He tapped Alexei’s lips with a fingertip. His other hand continued scratching through his hair, and it felt divine. “And because I’ve spent decades fucking and drinking and trying to forget that I’m going to live forever, and because the first time I saw you in Nameless, I saw that you feel the exact same way.”

“No, I don’t,” Alexei huffed, but gooseflesh broke out across his arms.

“Hm. I saw how lonely you were before I saw that you were you. And even when I realized – well, I’ve not been in the habit of denying myself.”

He felt betrayed.

But he felt curious, too, and he didn’t suppose he had any room to talk when it came to deceiving people. He used his power of compulsion freely and without any care for consequences.

But he wanted to cry, at least a little bit.

He sat up, slow and unsteady, and Dante helped him, a hand on his shoulder. When they were face to face, he saw that Dante looked miserable with worry and guilt.

“Will you let me explain?” he asked. “Please.”

Alexei sighed. “Fine. I want wine, though.”

Dante’s mouth hitched up at the corners, a hopeful smile. “Wait here.” He squeezed his shoulder before he got up to fetch glasses.

~*~

“My name,” Dante said, blushing, but making game eye contact. He held his glass of merlot in a hand that trembled slightly, and looked impossibly young with his hair tucked behind his ears, and his legs crossed, velvet robe spread over his thighs, “is, um, Basil–”

“Basil? Are you joking?”

The blush deepened. “Shut up, yes, Basil. Basil Norrie. You can see why I go by Dante.”

“An equally stupid name.”

“It’s mysterious,” he defended. “And dangerous.”

“It’s a douchebag name. Which.” He gestured to him; Dante of the slicked-back hair and women on each arm was a douchebag. There was no getting around it.

Dante – Basil – turned beet red. “Anyway. I was born in 1701, and was turned in 1724. I was working on a research assignment with my mentor – in Egypt – and, well, we encountered a vampire. My poor mentor was killed, but I was turned, and.” He shrugged, and sipped wine, the gesture eloquent of a wealth of hurt and sorrow and confusion. “I decided, seeing as how I had lots and lots of time on my hands, that I might as well continue pursuing my studies. History is fascinating.” A sparkle came into his eyes. “I made it my mission to study all the royal families of the world. I was – well, I’d had a good education, one that put my family quite literally in the poor house. My parents both died of consumption, so it seemed I ought not to waste the opportunity they’d given their lives to offer me. And, gauche as it is, I admit to being fascinated with all the pomp and wealth of royalty.” Another shrug, this one self-deprecating.

“I wrote about the British monarchs that the young Victoria loved, apparently. She had me found and brought to court to meet her. I was petrified – I mean, the things I’d revealed about her family…But she was very kind and gracious. And she hired me. She wanted me to write similar records for Germany, and Russia, and France as well. I became her personal historian.”

“Didn’t she notice that you never aged?”

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