“Your captain had them when he fought me.”
He lifted his head, and whatever he felt about Vlad, whatever Liam Price had told him, was swept aside in favor of his desperate search for information. “Fought him? That was – his name is Nikita, right? I…” He trailed off, gaze clouding. “He was here?” he asked in a small voice.
“He came to break his wolf loose.”
His brows twitched, and drew even tighter together.
“I am told they are the only survivors of your original team. The vampire and his wolf–”
“Vampire?”
“You died before he was turned, then. Yes, he’s of my kind. Bitten – not bred. He and the wolf, Sasha, live amongst mortals, I am told. The captain was a passionate fighter, if an inept one.”
Kolya winced, as if his head hurt. He brought his free hand up to massage at his temple, and the other shook over the knives. “You – you didn’t kill him, did you?” He looked afraid to know the answer.
“No. I have no conflict with him, so long as he stays out of my way. I had hoped to bind his wolf, but…” The revenant’s eyes were wide, and half-wild, struggling to remember, Vlad thought. “Bound or not, your captain and his wolf are too closely bonded for another vampire to make any use of him.”
“Oh. Alright.” His gaze dropped back to the knives, and he hesitated another long moment before he finally took both hilts together in one grip. “Thank you.”
Vlad let his hand fall to his side. “My brother knows where they are if you want to find them.”
“I work for Mr. Price,” he said, half-heartedly. “I…”
Vlad backed away. “Then stay with him, if that’s what you want.” He turned and walked to the hidden door that led into the stairwell, paused there and glanced over his shoulder one last time.
Kolya held the knives in one hand, down low along his thigh. The breeze stirred the tails of his coat, and his too-long hair. A portrait of the truth that the dead should be left to peaceful graves.
~*~
Val was awake long before the guard brought his breakfast. It was only fruit, bagels and lox, and his stomach fizzed with anticipation, but he forced down every bite, drained the accompanying milk and pig’s blood, too.
Mia was here.
He was jiggling both knees by the time he scented his brother at the outer door, and was on his feet to greet him.
Vlad carried a canvas tote bag, an image so incongruous it startled a laugh out of Val.
“What have you got there?” He looked like a mother at Disneyland with that bag. A murderous mother with bulging biceps.
Vlad passed it over with an unimpressed look. “Suitable clothes.”
Val set the bag on the cot and drew out a plain black t-shirt…and a pair of modern riding breeches, the kind with suede patches sewn inside the knees. At the bottom of the bag he found a folded leather jacket and…yes, a doubled-over pair of worn knee boots.
His pulse jumping, he looked up at his brother again. “Clothes suitable for what, Vlad?”
“Do you want to go riding or not?”
“Yes.”
“Here.” Vlad snapped an elastic off his wrist, and pulled a hairbrush from his back pocket. “Do you want your hair braided?” He sounded grudging, but his own hair was braided down his back, and Val knew his warrior’s fingers had always knitted the tidiest plaits.
Val sat down sideways on the cot in wordless answer, presenting his waterfall of unmanageable golden hair. He could have done it himself, though his arms would be shaking by the end, but the offer was…unimaginably important to him.
He dragged the boots into his lap and petted their butter soft uppers, eyes closed tight against the sting of sudden tears, as Vlad carefully brushed all the tangles from his hair and then separated it into bunches.
He’d always found it soothing to have his hair played with, the steady tug, the drag of warm fingertips across his scalp. He remembered Mama’s slender fingers winding through his little-boy curls, her hummed bits of song that belonged to colder shores, and a culture she’d left behind long before giving herself over to the Roman traditions of his own youth.
“I invited your mortal along,” Vlad said.
Val gasped. He opened his eyes and tried to twist around, only to have Vlad put a hand on his temple and shove him back. Oh, right, braiding.
“What did she say?”
A snort. “What do you think she said? Yes, she’s coming. She was readying when I came down.”
“God,” he breathed. Then: “Wait, how do you have horses?”
His half-finished braid lifted, and he imagined Vlad shrugging. “There’s a stable. I asked for horses, and now there are horses.”
“Asked? You mean you demanded, and some poor intern went scrambling off with a trailer to get you some.”
“It isn’t my fault they’re all afraid of their own shadows.”
“Beg pardon, brother, but it’s exactly your fault.”
“You’re one to talk. You’re the one they think is a magical liar and traitor.”
“Ah. Yes.” Val sighed, and some of his excitement dimmed. “I suppose their fear of you is the only thing stronger than their fear of me, after all.”
Vlad was quiet a moment, and when he spoke, there was almost something of an apology in his voice. “They are soft, these humans. They’ve never known a real traitor in their lives.”
“Hopefully they won’t ever have to.”
Vlad made a noncommittal sound, and finished off the braid with a snap of the elastic. When he dropped it, the braid landed like a rope against Val’s back, heavy and secure. An anchoring sort of feeling. “Get dressed.” He then stepped to the corner of the cell and looked down at his boots. It was a silly bit of privacy, given he’d lowered Val into and out of a bath yesterday, but throughout his captivity, Val hadn’t even been afforded this small gesture, so he took it to heart.
Drinking Vlad’s blood yesterday had gone a long way toward strengthening him, but he still wobbled a little when he stood to tug the breeches up over his hips. They were meant to fit snug – he thought of Mia in hers, the thick fabric hugging every line and curve – but his legs were still too thin, and there were wrinkles where there should have only been taut material stretched over tauter thighs. Oh well. Perhaps Mia wouldn’t find him too hideous.
The boots were a dream, already broken in by someone else. He tucked the shirt in behind his belt buckle and then, while Vlad’s gaze was still diverted, slipped his hand mirror from beneath his pillow and checked his reflection. A little gaunt, too pale, but clean and presentable. More like himself than he’d looked in centuries, with his hair braided neatly and color blooming along his high cheekbones. It would do.
“Finished?” Vlad asked, and Val tossed the mirror down onto his cot, face heating.
He cleared his throat. “Yes.” He tried to say it with dignity, but Vlad rolled his eyes and muttered “stupid” under his breath.
Just like old times.
When they reached the main basement, where the lab bustled away like a beehive that couldn’t tell night from day, Vlad wrapped a strong hand around Val’s bicep. A gesture that probably looked restraining, but which felt comforting to Val.
“Do not make a fool of me,” Vlad said in warning, low enough that the humans couldn’t hear.
“Of course not,” Val said, and in this moment, he meant it. He may not have been the sweet, adoring little brother he’d been as a boy, but in this instance, free of cuffs and walking on his own two feet, being bratty was the absolute last thing on his mind.
Techs and doctors gave them a wide berth; some masked their horror, but a few gawked openly. No doubt they all were thinking of Val charging through this lab with his sword in his hands; throwing Major Treadwell across a room; slaying guards with his bare hands.
Vlad had always believed in the Machiavellian ideal: better to be feared than respected. Respect had never been in the cards for Val, not in any lifetime; a little
fear, he thought now, wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
He caught a whiff of Mia in the elevator, and his spine straightened unconsciously.
Vlad noticed. “This mortal–”
“She has a name, Vlad.”
“Your Mia. Do you trust her?”
A snap answer formed and died on Val’s tongue. It wasn’t the simple question that it seemed – nothing ever was with Vlad. “Yes,” he finally said, careful. “I do.” He would list the reasons if he had to, but mostly it was a gut sense. He hadn’t felt that way about anyone in a very, very long time.
Vlad nodded. “Will you turn her?”
His stomach lurched. “That’s up to her to decide.”
“It’s the only way to keep her alive.”
“I know that,” he said through his teeth.
Vlad thankfully didn’t say more, and the elevator deposited them into the library.
His pulse picked up with every step, a rapid hammer-beat that echoed through his ears and fingertips. Excitement. A rabid kind that elongated his fangs in his mouth and made him salivate, though there was nothing in him that wanted her blood. It was just – visceral, his anticipation of seeing her. Something as primal as all the vampire parts of him.
Vlad gave one low warning growl that meant calm down as they passed through the library and out to the vast atrium. But Val couldn’t calm down. He–
There she was.
She was dressed as she normally was back in Colorado: buff breeches, and a casual t-shirt, and lovingly worn schooling boots. Someone had given her a black baseball cap with a little checkmark logo on it – Nike, he’d learned in his dream-walking; modern men and women were obsessed with the makers of things – and her honey-colored ponytail had been pulled through the hole in the back. She held herself a little uncertainly, arms folded across her chest, and she had dark smudges of exhaustion and creeping sickness under her eyes.
She was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.
His breath left his lungs in a shaky rush. “Mia.” It was the only thing he could think to say, struck dumb all over again that she was here.
“Good morning.” She smiled, and her gaze trailed down his legs and back up. He wanted to preen a little under the attention; he might be a little sallow and thin, still, but he was pretty, and she noticed. When her eyes met his again, she was blushing, faintly. “I can’t believe Vlad was able to find you riding clothes.”
“He’s very resourceful, my brother.” His voice sounded breathless, smitten. He didn’t care. Grinning, he said, “What do you think? How do I look?” And gave her a spin.
Her blush deepened.
“You can say ‘fetching,’ darling.”
“Don’t be arrogant,” she chastised, but smiled.
He wanted to step in close to her, pull her into his arms, press his face into her hair and tattoo its fragrance into his brain. But he felt suddenly self-conscious with Vlad watching. And with–
Ah, yes. They had an escort. Sergeant Ramirez waited a few paces away, arms folded, expression one of tense, studied disinterest. She was dressed to ride as well, her ensemble entirely black, a gun strapped to her hip.
“What’s she doing here?” Val asked.
Mia huffed an annoyed breath and said, “Babysitter.”
“Sergeant Ramirez will be escorting us,” Vlad said, and Val wondered if Ramirez knew how dangerous that tone was. “Apparently, she’s the only military person here who can sit a horse and manage to stay on.”
“I rode jumpers in high school,” the woman said icily. “I can sit a horse just fine.”
Vlad smiled – but it wasn’t a smile at all, just a brief flash of fangs. “We shall see. Come.” And all of them followed him like the prince he still was.
~*~
The stable was made of the same pale stone as the manor. The interior had been designed in the European style, with big box stalls paneled in tongue-and-groove and iron grillwork, U-shaped openings through which the horses could hang their heads and see who was walking up the brickwork aisle.
And the heads that hung over the doors weren’t the tame cattle or plow horses she’d been expecting, but sleek warmbloods with trimmed manes and shiny coats. And someone had consulted with the staff about proper care of them; Mia spotted brand new plastic water buckets, slowly-spinning upscale fans overhead, and even saw a few bales of alfalfa peeking out of a cracked-open feed room door.
“Like I said,” Ramirez said, and Mia sent her a sharp look. “I rode jumpers in high school.”
“You don’t have to be so defensive about it, though.”
The other woman strode on down the aisle without reaction.
“How unpleasant,” Val said, lightly, and Mia tightened her arm where it was looped through his. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he’d been shaky on the walk down from the manor. She was glad to have him in out of the sun; now it was time to find him a horse that wouldn’t try to buck him off. He could have been the best horseman in the world, but he hadn’t ridden in centuries, and there was no way his watery muscles could hold him on in the event of a bucking bronco incident.
“When Vlad says ‘jump,’ they really say ‘how high,’ don’t they?” she said, towing Val along the stall fronts, determined to push all thoughts of her father and his experiments and staff out of her mind. This morning was, so far, a kind of perfect she hadn’t dreamed of when Val first appeared in her living room, and she wasn’t going to waste it fretting.
He chuckled, and brought his hand up to cover the back of hers. His skin was soft save a distinct callus in the center of his palm; from holding the bars, she thought. Maybe even calling through them for food, or help, or mercy. She shuddered, and he gave her hand a squeeze in acknowledgement, tone determinedly cheerful when he said, “Everyone always has, ever since he was a boy. All save his tutors – whether it was people Father hired, or the mullahs, those men weren’t all that impressed.”
Mia snuck a glance at the prince and found him pushing back the door to a stall that held a tall, rangy black horse with a fat blaze down its face. The horse greeted Vlad with a few whuffed breaths and a gentle touch of his nose. Vlad cupped its jaw and murmured something low, haltering it with the ease of someone who, though royalty, was well familiar with saddling his own animals. It was a small checkmark in his favor.
She turned her attention back to Val. “See someone you like?”
“Maybe. Just up there.”
The next stall held a lovely dappled gray mare with big, square knees and a thick neck. A sturdy hunter, from the looks of her, with massive hooves…and gentle, liquid brown eyes. She watched them approach with calm attentiveness.
Val lifted his free hand and offered his palm for her to sniff. “Hello, lovely.”
She stepped up closer, thrusting her head fully over the stall door, so she could sniff Val’s shoulder and face.
Val’s resultant smile was beatific.
Mia thought of Brando seeing him, of her horse’s quiet, curious regard of him. A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed it down. “You’re a natural, aren’t you?” she murmured.
“There’s only a few things I’m good at,” Val murmured, gaze far away. “This is by far the best of them.”
~*~
Behind the stable lay a patch of flat ground, freshly-mown, glittering with dew drops. They started there, just to let Val get reacquainted with his “horse legs,” as Mia put it with a smile.
He couldn’t bring himself to believe this was anything besides a dream until he was seated in the saddle, reins drawn between careful fingers. He closed his eyes a moment, breathed in the scents of saddle soap and clean horses. Felt the mare’s steady breaths, her ribs expanding against his calves. Her skin rippled beneath the touch of a fly, and he opened his eyes and squeezed her gently forward.
As a boy, he’d favored fleet-footed Arabs, but as a man and a warrior, he’d ridden the heavy destriers better suited to carrying an armored soldier. That’s what this gir
l reminded him of, with her solid, swaying gait, sure of herself and unhurried. They’d found a stall chart in the tack room, and apparently her name was Gin Fizz – a Trakehner, which Mia had informed him was a very kind and eager-to-please German breed.
So far so good. She lengthened her walking stride with the softest pressure from his heels, stretching her neck politely down and forward, testing his grip on the reins. She steered into a circle with a thought, following his shifting weight as he turned his head. He was shaking, and he couldn’t decide if he was already weakening, or if it was simple joy. He was riding again. Riding.
He urged Gin into a trot, and she obliged immediately, her gait huge and swinging. Sitting was hopeless, given the current state of his core muscles, and he bounced in the saddle. But he laughed, bright peals that echoed off the surrounding tree trunks. This was perfect.
He trotted a few laps around the mown grass oval, and tried a bit of canter. Gin had a deep, rocking gait that covered an immense amount of ground, though she wasn’t hurrying. When he finally pulled up beside the others, Mia was watching him with wide eyes.
“I’m more than a little rusty,” he said, face heating. He patted Gin’s neck and her ears swiveled back; yes, they would get along splendidly, and hopefully he could keep from going jelly-legged and sliding right off of her. “A bit embarrassing.” Or a lot.
But Mia shook her head. “You look good.”
“Such flattery.”
Ramirez cleared her throat.
Vlad said, “Will you stay on?” Flat and disinterested.
Val swallowed another laugh. He couldn’t decide who looked less pleased with this outing: his brother, or the quietly furious Army sergeant. “Yes, I do believe so.” He gave Gin’s neck another pat and she craned around to nudge the toe of his boot affectionately.
“There’s a trail,” Vlad said, and turned his horse and started down it.
Dragon Slayer (Sons of Rome Book 3) Page 69