He turned around and put his back to the bar while he waited for his drink, elbows braced back on its edge, to survey the night’s patrons.
A surprising number of humans occupied the tables tonight – well, he thought a stranger might find it surprising. But the three men playing cards in the corner booth were regulars; one dealt blood slaves, Alexei knew. A human sitting alone at a table, staring down into a dirty glass of half-drunk beer, was a bounty hunter, one aided by the nose of a wolf friend who hadn’t shown yet, or maybe wouldn’t. A vampire named Dante held court in his usual booth, surrounded by pretty young mortal women who hung on his every word, blue light glinting off all the product he’d put in his hair.
Piss-poor company, all of them. But Alexei kept coming back.
The vampire beside him slid off her stool and headed for the door; Alexei released a deep breath that eased the tension in his shoulders.
Piss-poor company, and they made him nervous. But here he was.
A glass thumped down on the bar and he twirled back around to pick up his vodka. He met the direct stare of the bartender, and paused, glass held in front of his face, tension dialing back up again. “Something wrong?”
“There’s scent on you,” he said, flatly.
Alexei lowered his glass, slowly. “Yes. That’s how…scents usually work.”
The wolf’s nostrils flared as he inhaled, face blank, eyes shining like cold marbles. “I recognize him. One of your friends.”
For a moment, panic gripped him. Was this someone with a vendetta against Lanny? Surely not young Jamie, who’d never stepped a toe out of line in his life. Probably there was someone he’d brushed past at the fights tonight; he had to be wearing dozens of scents by now, from gamblers to the hotdog vendor he’d bought dinner from just an hour ago.
But the wolf said, “It’s that vampire that kills other vampires.”
Ah. Nikita, then.
“Don’t mind him,” a smooth voice said to Alexei’s right, and a vampire slid onto the now-vacant stool beside him. “Carey has a tendency to jump to conclusions.”
Alexei tried hard not to look startled as he turned to the newcomer. But then he felt his brows go up.
This wasn’t the sort of vampire who frequented a place like this. Finely dressed, he wore a sleek, fitted three-piece suit, with a wool topcoat draped over his shoulders. His dark hair, slicked back with a tasteful amount of pomade, spoke of the past century in a way that was an elegant throwback, intentional, rather than outdated.
He offered Alexei a fang-tipped smile, but made no move to shake hands – perhaps he could sense that Alexei wouldn’t be willing to touch him. “Good evening,” he said. “I’m Gustav. And this is my bar.”
“Y-yours? But you…” Alexei gestured toward his clothes.
Gustav laughed. “Doesn’t exactly seem to match my aesthetic, does it? But, yes, this is my place. I think it’s important that people like us have the chance to gather together in safety.”
“People like us,” Alexei echoed. His skin prickled, nerves awash with uneasiness, but he couldn’t say why. Certainly this Gustav was much more civilized company than Nameless’s usual set. But…perhaps Nikita was rubbing off on him. He was suspicious.
Gustav could probably tell, if his grin was anything to go by. “Immortals, of course. Though I’d say you’re of a totally different class, aren’t you, your grace?”
Alexei hissed in automatic reaction, and ducked low on his stool, darting a glance toward the other patrons. None seemed to be listening. “Don’t – no one calls me that. Not anymore.” And better yet, how did this vampire know?
Gustav looked surprised. “If that’s true, then you’d be the first person I’ve met who didn’t want to be treated like royalty.”
“I’m not royalty.”
“But you are the Tsarevich Alexei Nikolaevich Romanov, yes?”
Alexei gritted his teeth, and didn’t answer.
Gustav leaned in close, close enough for Alexei to smell another bound wolf on him, a female, and lowered his voice, conspiratorial. “Most of the immortals who come in here are young. Weak. Nobodies. But you were going to be the emperor of Russia.” His gaze shifted over Alexei’s face, searching, serious. “You honor us with your presence,” he said, sincerely, and sat back.
Alexei reached for his vodka and downed it all in one, long swallow. “Yes, well. Thanks.” He moved to slide off his stool.
Gustav halted him with a gesture. “Carey was right before. You do smell like Nikita Baskin.”
Alexei’s pulse jumped. But he lifted his chin, and drew on old courtly manners, responding coolly. “He’s a friend.”
“A friend.” A single brow lifted. “One walking around with your family crest sewn to his jacket. Pretty bold for someone who made a career serving your family’s murderers.”
The words bit, quick and sure, like a serpent strike. They hurt. Alexei swallowed and said, “It’s more complicated than that. And, frankly.” He got to his feet. “None of your business.”
“You’re right, it isn’t. But I thought it prudent to warn you that, given his reputation, Captain Baskin isn’t welcome in this establishment. I’m sure you understand why, and you of course may come whenever you like. But.” He gave a close-lipped, apologetic smile.
“Of course,” Alexei said, woodenly.
Gustav produced a card, black with silver lettering. He offered it between his first two fingers, slick as any modern, mortal businessman. “Here. If you should ever find yourself in need of a friend.”
Alexei stared at it a long moment. “I have friends.”
“As you’ve said.”
Another beat. Then he snatched the card and turned for the exit.
Behind him, Gustav chuckled.
6
Sasha woke slowly, his body warm and relaxed beneath the covers. And beneath the weight of the arm thrown around his middle. A brief, fierce joy filled him. Before Virginia, and especially before Trina and Lanny had come into the picture, waking like this would have been normal. But it had been weeks, now, and he wanted to savor it for as long as Nikita would let him.
And then, like dawn breaking, he remembered what else had happened last night. He hadn’t forgotten it – he never would – but the sense-memory of it flooded his mind, and set his heart racing, and he opened his mouth on a silent gasp.
Nik shifted behind him, sheets rustling. Cool fingertips brushed Sasha’s hair aside, drawing a shiver, and then his face pressed into the back of Sasha’s neck, cold nose and warm breath.
Sasha held very still.
“Sashka.”
He closed his eyes. Just a moment. Took a deep breath full of familiar, well-loved scents: their apartment, this bed, the sheets that smelled like both of them. All of it undercut by the low musk of sex, dizzying and thrilling. And probably doomed never to repeat.
It doesn’t matter, he told himself. He loved Nikita. He was pack, he was family, he was the single most important figure in Sasha’s life, and nothing could change that. Not even rejection; not even if Nikita told him, gently, that last night had been a mistake. That some lines shouldn’t be crossed.