Page 175 of Golden Eagle

He very nearly called Trina, just to hear a concerned voice, just to beg, shamelessly, for help.

Instead, he made bacon and toast, because it was fast and easy, heaped it all on the plate, and juggled three cans of soda in the crook of his other arm.

They were just as he’d left them, sitting across from one another, both their gazes fixed on the coffee table, the glossy magazine covers bright in the lamplight. A sad tableau, softer, safer than the scene in the clearing, the blood and char on the snow, that had haunted him for decades: less horrifying…but no less tragic.

Sasha set the food on the table, and opened all three sodas, settled them on coasters. He sat down next to Nikita and handed him a piece of toast. Nikita looked at it a long moment – like he was being offered something unpleasant – before finally taking it. If he took one bite of it, it would be a small miracle.

Sasha caught Kolya’s eye – he was peering up through his lashes, a little like he used to, long ago – and smiled as reassuringly as he could. “Are you hungry?” he asked again. “I’m not the best cook, but it’s hard to screw up bacon, and it’s always tasty.”

Kolya hesitated, but his gaze went to the food, the wet shine of grease on the black-edged bacon. Slowly, he leaned forward and took a piece between careful fingertips. It soothed a bit of Sasha’s tension when he took a bite – and then another, hunger obviously awakened by the crunchy-salty-savory taste.

The quiet between them all was not the quiet of easy companionship, and Sasha realized he couldn’t stand it.

There were no safe topics of conversation; no small talk to possibly be made. Kolya hadn’t been away on business; they hadn’t been separated by jobs or circumstances. He’d been dead. There was no sense, Sasha reasoned, treating that like something forbidden and unspoken.

“So you speak English,” he said.

Nikita sucked in a breath and said, “Sashka.”

Later, Sasha would tell him that he sounded like a scandalized old woman. Secretly, he was thrilled to hear Nikita sounding more like himself.

“And well, too,” he continued, smiling at Kolya. “Who taught you?”

Kolya swallowed the last bite of bacon and reached for a slice of toast. “Liam,” he said, voice less stilted, more normal. “He speaks every language, I think. He knows lots of things.”

“Apparently,” Sasha said, and felt Nikita’s elbow in his ribs. His grin widened. “What’s he like? He’s a mage. Is he like Philippe?”

He wondered, belatedly, if Kolya would remember the kindly-seeming man with the graying hair and the fur coat who’d introduced all of them to the supernatural.

But Kolya frowned, and shook his head, and chased toast with a long swallow of Coke. He didn’t react to the taste of the drink, so he’d had it before, then. Val had been introducing him to modern things – even as he encountered them for the first time himself, it seemed. “No, not like him. He’s young. Or.” He made a considering face. “He looks young. Like you two.”

Sasha had known that mages were immortal, and always wondered why Philippe had looked like an older man, and not like someone in the prime of life, as had all the vampires he’d met.

“He’s very…” Kolya continued, considering. “Proper. And charming. A little bit like Val. But not.” He frowned.

Charismatic, Sasha deduced, but perhaps less genuine. Philippe had been built of lies; he wondered if all mages were, even if he’d liked little Red.

“He has the fire,” Kolya said, and motioned with his free hand, fingers up and splayed, like an opening flower – or a forming ball of flame. “But not the little shit Philippe did,” he said, reverting to Russian, almost sneering. “He’sstrong.”

“He’d have to be,” Sasha said, quietly, “to bring someone back to life.”

Nikita went rigid beside him.

Kolya didn’t, though. He nodded, and sighed, brows knitted, like he was struggling with memories. “I don’t understand how it works. How is that possible? But.” His gaze came to Sasha, intense, suddenly. “I saw you turn into a wolf. So I guess anything’s possible.”

“I guess so,” Sasha agreed, filled with wonder again. With doubt, and fear, and a dozen questions that might never be answered. They were all of them in this room the products of strange magic; of forces thought unbelievable by most.

Nikita leaned forward, suddenly. When Sasha glanced over, he found his expression to be tense, focused, his gaze trained on Kolya. “Kolya, listen.” Low and serious.

Oh no, Sasha thought. This was too much, too soon. But Nikita had never been one for casual.

“You were raised for a reason,” Nikita said, swallowing hard,gulping. “They were going to use you against us. But that isn’t going to happen anymore. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to anymore, okay? You’re free. No one will force you to fight another war.”

Sasha laid a hand on his arm. “We don’t have to talk about war now,” he said, meaning it for both of them.

Kolya didn’t visibly react.

But Nikita flinched; his jaw was clenched tight, tendons visible through the skin.

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