Page 122 of Golden Eagle

“Fuck her.” Nik didn’t care. She was just a weapon; he wanted the monster who wielded her.

Despite the close fit of his suit, and his flat-soled dress shoes, Gustav was quick.

Nikita was quicker. He sprinted two blocks, and caught him at the mouth of another alley. Tackled him and they both went sprawling across the rough concrete of the sidewalk. It scraped Nikita’s hands and cheek, but he hooked his fingers in Gustav’s jacket and refused to let go.

When they stopped rolling, he was on top, straddling the other vampire. He balled up a fist and punched him as hard as he could, right in the nose.

It broke with a satisfying crunch.

Blood sprayed.

And Nikita wasn’t powerless against the familiar iron tang in the blood, the scent of the substance that kept him alive, that made him strong. It wasn’t like in movies and books, a bloodlust that sent him into a mindless frenzy. No, blood was like any other food. Perhaps more like a stiff drink for someone with that particular weakness.

But.

The sight and smell of Gustav’s blood ignited a fury in him. Here was the creature who’d been killing for sport, who had looked too long and lingeringly at Sasha twenty years ago. Who he now knew was linked with that hateful Institute. He had him at his mercy, now…and he wasn’t going to show him any.

He struck, and struck, and struck again. Knuckles hot and wet with blood. Gustav’s face turning to pulp, steaming in the chill air.

Nikita lifted his arm again – and couldn’t strike. A hand had him by the wrist, and held him fast. He twisted around, vision swimming, black spots crowding at the edges. He’d zeroed in on his violent task, and everything else had faded.

Including Sasha, who stood over him now, expression grave, holding him by the wrist with white knuckles. “We have to go.”

Nikita was panting, chest heaving as he fought for breath. Adrenaline electric in his veins. His mouth was numb, his voice clumsy. “I’m going to kill him.”

Sasha tugged at his wrist. “You can’t. We have to go.” More desperate: “Nik, please, we can’t stay.”

Half-dazed, he turned to look over his other shoulder. There was the white plumber’s van idling at the curb. Will Scarlet hung out of the passenger window, waving at them, motioning for them to hurry. Farther down the street, a gate had been rolled open, and black SUVs were rolling out. They were coming from the Institute.

Coming for them, he registered dimly, his pulse throbbing inside his skull, drowning out all rationality.

“Nikita,” Sasha pleaded.

He let his mate pull him to his feet, but made an abortive reach for Gustav. He could take him with them, get him somewhere private, and then kill him, burn his heart…

“Leave him, you idiot!” Will shouted.

Sasha hooked a strong arm around his waist and hauled him bodily toward the open rear doors of the van.

Lanny and Trina were waiting inside, and they took his arms, pulled him in.

Things went fuzzy after that. Slamming doors, and roaring engine, and a hard lurch.

And the warmth and scent of Sasha; Sasha’s face in his hair, and his hands on Nikita’s throat, and his murmur in his ear, low and soothing and Russian.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright.”

~*~

Much drove like a madman. They’d found Jamie scrambling out from behind a dumpster. Alexei and Dante jumped down off a low roof. With some fast turns, running a few lights, and even going the wrong way up a one-way street, they managed to shake their Institute tail, and cautiously doubled back to pick up Lanny’s Expedition.

“We need a debriefing,” Will said, jaw clenched, but otherwise outwardly calm.

“Somewhere public,” Trina said. “If they manage to catch up to us, they won’t make a scene in front of a bunch of civilians.”

They went to the Lion’s Den, again, like always.

And while everyone else went to secure a table and order drinks, Sasha shepherded a terrifyingly pliant Nikita to the restroom and positioned him in front of a sink.

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