Dragon Slayer (Sons of Rome Book 3)

by Lauren Gilley

  Decide.

  “Here, sit, sit.” He wheeled over a stool and ushered her into it. Offered her a bottle of water from a mini fridge tucked into the corner. “My assistants like to make sure I remember to eat,” he said, fondly. “Now, allow me to show you…”

  He showed her still photos, and video clips taken under microscopes. He explained vampire blood on a cellular level that she was too tired and woozy to fully grasp, walked her through his thought processes on a dozen different experiments.

  He was so excited throughout it all. This meant so much to him. Meant everything.

  Finally, when he was out of breath, and had stopped to sip water for his dry throat, when Mia was getting dizzy again and thinking she needed more crackers before the next bout of nausea hit her, Dad snagged another stool and sat down right in front of her. Close enough to set one tentative fingertip on her knee.

  “Mia,” he said, voice going heavy, and if she hadn’t known he was capable of performing experiments on prisoners, she would have thought he looked like a kindly man – he did, despite all that she knew. That had always been one of the trickiest parts of his abandonment: he wasn’t a snarling asshole. He was nice. It had always made it so much harder to maintain her insistence that he was the one in the wrong.

  “I know,” he continued, hesitant, delicate, “that you have very strong feelings about our past together. About my split with your mother, and about the work I’m doing here. I know that you–” here he winced – “might have some feelings about Prince Valerian as well.”

  “Dad–”

  He held up a hand. “I don’t want to dissuade you, or argue with you. This is just about you, now. Your health. I want to be a good father to you. I know it’s too late for that. I know you can’t love me.” Sad smile. “But I do love you. Let me help you.”

  “Dad, I…” Decide. She took a deep breath. Decide. “You are…doing important work. I couldn’t tell when I was a kid, but I think you always have been. There are terrible diseases out there in this world. Awful injuries. If you can help people with your research and your medicines, then I can’t hold onto any kind of resentment. I missed you growing up, and I’ve been angry with you for a long time, yes, but this is more important.

  “Your methods, though…” His gaze dropped; ashamed of what he’d done? Or ashamed to have been called out on it. “Dad, I won’t even buy makeup that’s been tested on animals. And this is…oh my God, this is…” She shut her mouth, clenched her teeth. She couldn’t get sidetracked; it wouldn’t change anything.

  “I know, I know,” he murmured.

  “But that was your choice. “You made it, and there’s no going back. In life, we all have to make our own decisions, and then we have to live with them.”

  His eyes widened. “Does that mean–”

  “Yes. I’ll let you help me.”

  55

  I CALLED HIM NIK

  On their way back through the main basement, they encountered a tableau that had all the techs and scientists staring: Vlad stood in the center of the room, arms folded, expression stony, while a well-dressed, whipcord thin redheaded man attempted to have a polite argument with him.

  It at least sounded polite, comments laid down in a fastidious British accent, but each word had barbed tips. “I’m saying, you’ve seen what I can do. Why in the world would you take action this rash and irreversible when I was quite literally upstairs twiddling my thumbs?”

  Vlad appeared unimpressed. As ever. “This didn’t concern you, witch.”

  His laugh sounded more like a cough. “My dear man, everything in this whole bloody house concerns me.”

  “Gentlemen,” Dad said, and both of them turned to him. “If this is about Sergeant Ramirez, then there’s no sense arguing after the fact.”

  “What about Sergeant Ramirez?” Mia asked. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

  “Nothing,” Dad said, hurriedly. “She’s fine.”

  Vlad looked…beneath his granite façade…pleased. Or maybe that was just her imagination.

  The redhaired man frowned at her a moment, and then his expression cleared. In a blink, he was convivial, smile seemingly genuine. “Ah. Dr. Talbot, this must be your daughter. It’s Mia, correct?” He extended one pale, manicured hand.

  A pale, manicured hand she had to force herself to shake. She’d figured out who he was. “And you’re the Necromancer.”

  He winced. “That old moniker again? Please. Liam Price, my lady.”

  She pulled her hand back.

  “Dr. Talbot,” Liam said, gaze hardening as it shifted to her father, “there are some things about this – latest development – that we need to discuss.”

  Dad sagged a little. “Yes, of course.”

  “I’ll escort Mia,” Vlad said – a command rather than an offer.

  But at the moment, his was the company Mia wanted, needed, the most. “Yes, thank you.” She slipped her arm through the one he offered her and let him lead her toward the elevator. She was alone with him, the cab moving upward, when she realized the enormity of what she’d done: grabbing onto Vlad the Impaler and letting him lead her away from her own father.

  She tried and failed to squelch a laugh in her hand.

  “What?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “This is just crazy, is all. And I think it’s time I stopped referring you to ‘Vlad the Impaler’ in my head.”

  When she snuck a glance, a faint smile was touching the corners of his mouth. “Vlad will suffice,” he said, magnanimous. Then turned to face her fully. “Have you decided yet?”

  Her stomach turned over, but this time it was nerves and not sickness. “I have. I want to take Val up on his offer.”

  His brows lifted in obvious, if quiet surprise.

  “You thought I’d say no.”

  “I thought you’d say yes immediately,” he countered. “Humans don’t tend to take anything into consideration when the offer of unlimited health is dangled in front of them.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  He gave her a narrow, appraising look and faced the doors again. “I misjudged your eagerness.” It almost sounded like an apology.

  “Yeah, well. It wasn’t a snap decision. I put a lot of thought into it.” She didn’t feel like she owed anyone an explanation beyond herself and Val. But Val had said to trust Vlad. And he was Val’s brother. So she said, “I’m doing this because I love your brother. Because I want to help him get out of here. And – and be with him.” That sounded corny, but it was the best she could do right now. She wasn’t about to explain the revelation of kissing Val.

  Vlad said, “My brother has never…” Uncharacteristic hesitance. “Been allowed to – to choose for himself. Love.” He said it like a curse. “He was a hostage. A slave. And it wasn’t love that was forced on him…but I wonder sometimes if he believed it was. Unwilling romance is the only sort he’s ever known.” He turned to her again, and his eyes were fathomless. “He’s chosen you. Now. Don’t ever make him regret that choice.” Or else hung unspoken between them.

  “I’m not a monster.”

  He didn’t blink. “Neither is he. I mean what I’m saying.”

  “I know.”

  She didn’t draw a breath until he turned away from her again. Like a declaration: “I won’t suffer any more tyrants when it comes to my brother. No one will hurt him again while I draw breath. I will burn this house to the ground, and I will kill everyone in it who ever touched him.”

  Mia bit back a gasp.

  “Tonight. Get some rest, prepare yourself. I will bring him to you. I will see to it that the wolves take care of the rest.”

  Her pulse beat high and fast in her ears. She rested a hand against the slick wall of the elevator. “Okay.”

  “Whatever happens, don’t look back.”

  Trust him, Val had said. And somehow, she did.

  ~*~

  The grand dining room across from the library was not only o
stentatious, but for Fulk, it held some memories he didn’t like to relive unless absolutely necessary. He never spent any time there unless ordered to – how quickly he’d fallen back into the habit of taking orders. Of being in someone’s service. He hated himself for that.

  But, luckily, there was a small family dining room just off the kitchen. It had plum-colored flocked wallpaper, golden candlesticks gathered in clusters on the marble top of the buffet table. But it was overall modest when compared to the rest of the house. It was where he and Anna took dinner tonight, blissfully alone, candlelight flickering off silverware, a view of the glowing conservatory through the window rendering the chandelier unnecessary.

  Anna picked at her food, pushing the roasted potatoes around with her fork. It was nerves, he knew, because his own were making his stomach tight and restless. Like a dog sensing an oncoming electrical storm, he could sense the energy rippling through the old house. The knife-edge moment of what’s next.

  Fulk smelled the revenant long before he appeared in the doorway. Kolya Dyomin slid into the shadows of the threshold like a wraith. His hood was down, but he wore his long dark coat, and boots, the scars on his face gleaming faintly silver in the low light.

  He stood, gaze somewhere on the table, not self-conscious enough to understand the awkwardness of the moment.

  Fulk didn’t take pity on him, but Anna did. “Do you need something?” she asked, just enough steel in her voice to tell him that they weren’t really looking to help him. Fulk had nothing against the man – he’d once been a friend of Sasha Kashnikov, after all, and alpha wolf or no, that boy was impossible to dislike – but he’d dealt with Liam’s playthings before. He didn’t want to deal with this one.

  Kolya blinked a few times, as if surprised by the question. His brain wasn’t running on all its cylinders yet; that would come with time. So too would the memories, and then heaven help the poor wretch, he’d be distraught.

  Maybe. He was Russian. Soviet at that. Maybe distraught wasn’t possible.

  “Lady Price said there was food.” His voice was low and rusty; the voice produced by a throat that hadn’t been recreated quite right. “She said I should eat.”

  Anna snorted and set down her spoon. “First off, she’s not nobility, so you don’t gotta call her ‘lady.’ Liam’s not a lord either.”

  “Oh,” he said, without inflection.

  Anna cocked her head. “Sit down. I’ll have someone bring you a plate.”

  As she got up to do so, Kolya pulled out a chair and slowly settled into it. He could move fast – Fulk had seen it firsthand – but he tended to creep through the house, almost cautious. Like maybe he didn’t quite remember what his body was capable of.

  He folded his hands together on the edge of the table and cast a blank look around the room. Blank, but – candlelight caught in his eyes, a quick flash, and Fulk thought this blankness was born of intent. The gaze of a government agent trained to appear disinterested.

  Fulk set his own fork and knife down, appetite gone. “Are your memories returning?” he asked, aiming for conversational.

  Kolya turned his head a fraction, so their gazes met. The man was neither vampire, nor wolf, and definitely not a mage, but his stare wasn’t human. Fulk was struck with a terrible sense that he was looking into the void; behind his dark eyes lay a place from which no creature was meant to come back.

  He wet his lips, and took a long moment before answering. “Some. It’s patchy.”

  “That’s how it works, I’m afraid.”

  Slowly, with movements that seemed deliberate, he reached down inside his coat and came out with two long, wicked knives. Fulk tensed – but then recognized them. The ones Vlad had been playing with in the training room. The ones he’d knocked out of Nikita Baskin’s hands.

  Kolya laid them on the table with something like reverence. “These are mine. Vlad said. Or – they used to be.”

  Oh.

  Fulk recalled the files Talbot had laid in front of him, the ones he’d tried to shove aside…but caught glimpses of anyway. Kolya Dyomin had favored knives and close combat. He’d been a ballet dancer…

  “He kept your knives,” Fulk said quietly, and Kolya’s head snapped up. “Baskin. Your commander.”

  The man’s bewildered gaze dropped to the blades again. “Nikita…Nik.” He sucked in a quick, sharp breath. “I called him Nik.” Slow at first, and then gaining speed as the memories tumbled in to fill the blank places in his mind. “We grew up together. Us and Dima…” A sideways, humorless smile tugged at his mouth. “Nik always liked him best, he was…and then he died…” He lifted a hand and wiped it down his face, pushed his long dark hair back. “Jesus. That asshole. He was totally in love with that kid, and he–” He caught himself, bit his lip. He looked up through his lashes. Voice thin and wavering: “They’re still alive? They…?”

  Fulk took a deep breath. He didn’t want to feel sympathy, but it was unavoidable. This reincarnated thing – this man – was too pitiful to feel otherwise. “In 1942, you died in a field, along with most of your comrades. Rasputin and a mage named Philippe killed you all.”

  The air left his lungs in a rush, mouth open and gaping afterward.

  Fulk pressed on. “One among your company, Sasha, was a wolf, like me. He killed the mage and Rasputin. And he used Rasputin’s blood and heart to save your captain. The two of them still live, yes. They are immortals, as am I, and your Lord Price, and Vlad.”

  “They’re…” His gaze darted, flicking over Fulk’s face, around the room. “Nik and Sasha, they’re okay?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded, slow, and wet his lips again. “Good. That’s – that’s good. Do they know…?”

  “About you? I would assume not.”

  “But they’re alive.”

  “Very much so.”

  His fingers, still long and slender – Fulk could envision them splayed artfully against a backdrop of stage lights, arms held aloft in some impossible ballet pose – but now crossed with faint, pale scars, moved over the blades. Familiarizing himself with them again. “I don’t…Liam, he’s the one who brought me back–”

  “Kolya,” Fulk said, as gently as he could manage. Scent aside, the poor Russian made a heartbreaking picture, clutching knives like lifelines, memory and confusion warring for supremacy in an outwardly visible way. “Liam didn’t bring you back as a favor. You didn’t ask for it. You don’t owe him anything.”

  He swallowed, throat moving. “My friends…” Too somber for hope, more like grief. But longing all the same.

  “Would like to see you, I’d imagine.” They would be horrified, yes. And confused. But a man who walked willingly into this house with nothing but idiot children for backup was of the sort who’d like to know that a childhood friend was back from the dead.

  Kolya pressed his hands flat over the hilts of the knives, and the faint tremors in his arms stilled. Soft, just a whisper: “I used to work for some really bad people.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  When he lifted his head this time, he seemed more deeply rooted in himself. More of the real him filling out the shell of his body. “I don’t want to do that anymore.”

  Fulk opened his mouth to respond–

  And Vlad stalked into the room. He never walked anywhere idly, but there was an extra level of intent to his stride now.

  Kolya whipped around to face him, hands closing on the knives, white-knuckled.

  Vlad shot him an unimpressed look before he turned to Fulk – and heeled the door shut behind him. “We need to talk.”

  Anna returned and set a plate heaped with roast beef, vegetables, and gravy in front of Kolya. “Talk about what?” she asked, sliding back into her seat.

  Vlad cut a speaking glance toward Kolya.

  “Don’t worry,” Fulk said. “I think he’s about to jump ship.”

  “Is he now?” The glance became a stare. To his credit, Kolya didn’t flinch away. “Do you want to see your friend
s again, Chekist? Do you want to leave his place?”

  A muscle in Kolya’s jaw twitched, but he nodded.

  To Fulk, Vlad said, “I asked you before to think about your feelings toward my brother. I’ll ask you again, but this time, you need to know.”

  It was quiet a beat, and then Anna breathed out, “Oh.”

  “Dr. Talbot got it wrong,” Vlad continued, smug. “I never meant for you to be my wolf, le Strange. But my brother needs one. Two, even, if he’s going to manage an escape.”

  56

  DARLING

  They’d taken his cat away. Val thought of Poppy often, wondering if someone had killed her, or if she, hopefully, wandered the manor’s hallways, eating bits of table scraps from friendly hands. She was only a kitten. Could her association with him have earned her a death sentence? Stranger things had happened.

  But he thought of Mia, too. Constantly. Thought of the firsthand sight of sunlight gliding down the slope of her nose. Thought of the heat of her pressed all down his front. Thought of her mouth, warm and sweet under his. He hadn’t put a hand around himself for pleasure’s sake in a very long time, but he was tempted now, just thinking of what they’d done, just the weight of her on his lap, and the soft sounds of kissing her.

  He’d been aroused in his life, more times than he could count, but the rush of blood and heat had always been accompanied by shame. Fear. Revulsion. Pain – always pain. He’d hated himself for finding pleasure in torture, but it had been his body’s way of coping. There had been moments when it had been good – welcome, even. But nothing had ever felt like the gentle, mutual wanting that spilled out of Mia in soft looks and quiet, delighted breaths.

  His own want, by contrast, was nothing but violent.

  He tipped his head back against the wall and stared at the damp stone of the ceiling. He’d never felt like this before; never wanted to consume someone. And it wasn’t about the blood; he wanted inside her, a want so bad that it ached.

  Vlad had said he would return, and the squeal of door hinges announced that he’d kept his word. He wasn’t alone, though; Val smelled wolf.