Maybe not unnecessary at the moment, given Nikita’s spiraling blood sugar.
The woman pulled up beside Gustav, folded her arms, leaned into him a moment, familiar and comfortable. She cast a bored look across them. “This is them?” Her accent was American.
“This is Hannah,” Gustav said.
Nikita didn’t comment.
Neither, to his surprise, did Sasha. He only jerked a fast nod, one which left Hannah smiling for some reason.
“We need to get going,” Nikita said, coldly, not caring if he was rude. He’d been rude his whole life. He was Cheka, for God’s sakes. And disliked people besides.
Gustav chuckled again, for reasons he didn’t understand. “Very well, then. Remember us, if you please. I don’t think we’ll stay in New York, but we might. I’d appreciate it if we weren’t on your kill list, Captain Baskin.”
Nikita showed his teeth. “Don’t give me a reason to put you on that list.”
He turned away, into the tree lot, towing Sasha with him. And kept walking until he sensed that the other immortals had moved on.
He didn’t realize he was growling – low and constant – until Sasha touched his hand and said, “Nik.”
“What? Oh.” He took a deep breath, and let it out as a sigh. He turned his head, trying to glance back over his shoulder even as Sasha took the reins, pulling him now, deeper into the rows of fragrant trees. “We should turn back. Follow them.”
“Why?” Sasha sounded like he was trying not to laugh.
“Well, because…” He didn’t want to say it when he glanced at Sasha, and found him guileless, unconcerned. “You didn’t like them either,” he said, more than a little defensive.
“I didn’t like them because you didn’t like them,” Sasha said, patiently. “But I don’t have any real problems with them. I’ll always back you up. But I’m not worried about them.”
You could take the Cheka out of the USSR, he supposed…
“You weren’t?”
“No.”
“I’m…overreacting.” It caused a physical tightness in his chest to admit that. Nikita frowned to himself, and reached to massage the spot. He swayed a little; he really needed to eat.
Sasha moved in a little closer; his own personal scent smelled a lot like the needles of the trees around them, but sharper, wilder. He smelled like the Siberia that had birthed him. “I know you worry,” he said, his fond smile taking any bite or hint of condescension out of the words. “And you have good reason. We’ve seen more evil things than most. But not every vampire is evil, Nik. I’m sure there are plenty like you.” He rubbed both hands down Nik’s shoulders and upper arms, a fast, affectionate stroke.
Nikita snorted to cover the way he wanted to lean into the gesture. Sasha was so free with touch, always ready with his physical affection. He never wanted to take advantage of that; to impose. “God, I hope they’re not like me. They’re miserable and stupid if they are.”
Sasha grinned, but said, “Don’t say that. Come on.” He turned and looped his arm through Nikita’s and started forward again. “Let me show you the tree.”
“Fine, fine.”
“And if Gustav and Hannah ever are a problem,” he said, softer, “then we’ll take care of it.”
Nikita bumped their shoulders together in silent thanks. “I just like to leave my options open.”
“I know.” And in the dazzle of lights and gently falling snow, Sasha beamed at him, glorious as a winter angel.
1
New York City
Present Day
“It’ll be Halloween in two weeks.” It was said hopefully, but Nikita didn’t react right away.
He stared at the street a moment longer; a windy evening, pedestrians clutching the halves of their coats together, exhaust snaking up in streamers from tailpipes. Then he dropped the blinds and turned to face his small living room with a knot that felt like dread lodged in his chest.
Sasha lay on his stomach on the rug, in front of the TV, watching Entertainment Tonight. They were talking about celebrity costumes from years past, amid a host of other things Nikita didn’t care about, but tolerated for Sasha’s sake.
He turned to look at Nik, tiny spark of hope shining in his eyes, but already visibly braced for a negative answer.
“What?”
“Halloween. In two weeks.”
“I don’t care about Halloween.”
“I know.” Small voice. Sasha turned back to the screen. “But it means Thanksgiving’s close. And then Christmas.”
Nikita studied him a moment, the pale flicker of his lashes in the blue of the TV light, the subtle lines of tension in his shoulders and arms. The drugs were out of his system – he was fully detoxed, according to Dr. Harvey, and what she’d been able to make of werewolf blood biology under her morgue microscope. But he didn’t eat quite enough, still; carried dark bags beneath his eyes; tired easily and early at night.
Nikita hadn’t fed from him. Had been drinking pig and cow blood chilled from the fridge since they’d returned from Virginia.
“We need to leave soon,” Nik said, voice frayed at the edges.
“Yeah.” Sasha lingered a moment, then finally got to his feet.
~*~
Nikita…wasn’t doing well.
He was doing poorly.
He was doing shitty, to be blunt.
Sasha had reached a stage of anxiety over his best friend that reduced him to a clingy, whining mess; like a scolded dog trying desperately to get back into his master’s good graces, he followed Nik around as much as possible, plastering himself to his side on the couch when they watched TV, rooting up under his arm until Nik slung it around his shoulders with a sigh. At first, that sigh had been patient, but that patience was wearing thin. Last night, when Sasha spooned up behind him in bed, Nikita elbowed him back with a muttered, “It’s too hot for that.”
Sasha had curled up at the foot of the bed, shivering a little, because it hadn’t been hot, and he didn’t know how to make things better.
He felt he could be forgiven for his desperation…
But he regretted his plan now that it was sitting across from him drinking cheap bourbon.
The Wet Whistle didn’t have a dress code, per se, but it drew a crowd that tended to dress up for a night out on the town: slinky dresses, tight shirts with the top few buttons undone, artfully styled hair and expensive colognes and perfumes.
Lanny had obviously shown up straight from the gym, his leather jacket thrown over a sweat-stained muscle shirt and ratty old gray joggers.
Sasha had offered him a free drink, and he was now working on his third, scanning the pulsating crowd over his shoulder.
“Did I, uh, interrupt your workout?” Sasha asked. He was trying to be subtle and accommodating. But. Crushing anxiety and all that.
“Nah, I was done.” Lanny drained his glass and set it back on the bar, firing Sasha an expectant look over the top of it.
“I said one free drink.”
Lanny tipped his chin down, and his eyes got comically wide. Like he’d been practicing compelling in his bathroom mirror and thought making a face was somehow part of it.