Page 184 of Golden Eagle

“Good.” His gaze went to the fire, the strong lines of brow, nose, and chin limned in red-orange. A stranger would have thought him frowning; sullen. But he’d been this stern-faced as a boy, in Val’s earliest memories. He looked thoughtful, now.

“And how are you, brother?” Val asked, quietly.

“I’m putting together a mission. Most of the foot soldiers here are hopeless, but perhaps with–”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Vlad turned toward him, expression touched with surprise. “I’m well.” When Val continued to stare at him, he said, “It’s vital that I find Romulus, that I kill him and any of his foul offspring.”

Oh, Vlad. He’d gone to sleep bent on one revenge quest, and awakened nearly six centuries later to pick another right up, without missing a beat. “What will you do after?” Val asked.

Vlad’s brow furrowed. “What does it matter? I’ll succeed or die trying.”

Val shoved down the immediate swell of panic that boiled up in the pit of his stomach. He attempted a smile. “Why is everything always so bleak with you? Always life or death. You might try a little optimism for once.”

Vlad snorted. “I’m optimistic that I’ll kill him or die trying.”

“Vlad,” Val breathed, patience wearing thin. “Couldn’t you humor me at least a little?”

“What good would it do?” he asked, genuinely curious.

To be so intelligent, he was an absolute idiot when it came to matters of the heart. “Because I don’t like to think about you being dead, you fool,” Val said, chuckling despite himself.

“Oh.” Vlad’s brow knitted and smoothed, knitted and smoothed. “Well. I can’t promise anything like that.” Coming from him, it sounded almost like an apology. He cleared his throat. “Where are you staying?” and there was the stern older brother again, blustering his way through his disapproval.

It was, in all honesty, a comfort. Familiar waters.

“In a hotel,” Val said, sinking back in his chair. “And let me tell you, modern hotels are marvelous. A great improvement over the old medieval inns of our day…”

They talked for another half hour or so, Val expanding upon the wonders of New York and all its modern conveniences, and Vlad listened, something like fondness plucking at the corners of his mouth every so often. Val wasn’t conscious of leaving; didn’t return to his body. But he must have drifted away, because the next he knew, he was opening his eyes to his hotel room, a dim strip of light filtering in through the parted curtains, and Mia’s face was right in front of his on the pillow, relaxed and innocent with sleep.

She was depending on him: to guide her into immortality, to help her understand all her new senses and instincts. It felt like a huge task, one he’d failed at so far.

He took a deep breath, snuggled in closer, and closed his eyes. A few more hours of real sleep, and he’d try to start over again – start better – in the morning.

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