“You sniffed us out like hunting dogs?” Nikita asked, incredulous. His fangs scraped across his lower lip, too long for the middle of a pub.
Much sneered again.
Will looked like he suppressed a smile. “No. Like wolves.”
“Do you not have cellphones?”
Their server returned, tray heaped with plates that he began doling out, heedless of the bristling tension at the table.
Really, the tension was only Nik’s. No one else seemed bothered by this encounter, since he didn’t think teenage insolence really counted.
A plate thumped down in front of him: grilled cheese on thick buttery toast, small mountain of fries beside it.
His stomach shrank.
When the server left to get them drink refills, Sasha leaned in close and said, “Eat. Please.” Soft, but urgent. Begging.
Nikita lifted a fry with a shaking hand and dutifully nibbled at the end, stomach cramping.
“I do apologize,” Will said. He looked distinctly roguish, in a battered old canvas jacket, long green hoodie, jeans, and with his hair in haphazard curls across his forehead, but he spoke like someone who’d been brought up in a royal court somewhere. Or, at least the way Nikita imagined someone who had would sound. “We’ve bungled this a bit, I’m afraid. But we came only with the friendliest of intentions.”
Nik glanced over at Much, who’d ordered a bacon cheeseburger the size of his head, and who was trying to take an unsuccessful, messy bite of it, ketchup and grease dripping down onto his plate.
He set the fry down and drained off his vodka. “Which are?”
“Recruitment, of a sort.” Will fished something from his pocket and flipped it out onto the table. A business card, Nik saw, matte black, with a glossy embossed lion on it. One word: Lionheart.
“Lionheart,” Nikita said, without taking the card. “As in…?”
“Richard, yes.”
“So he’s a…”
“Yes. Turned, actually, during the Third Crusade.”
Nik lifted his brows. “I don’t keep up much with world history.”
“Shame,” Will said with a grin. “It’s quite useful. But, here allow me to–” He leaned forward, rested a fingertip on the card. Gearing up for a speech of some kind.
Nik thumped his empty glass down. “No.”
“No?” Will asked, not surprised, but questioning. You sure of this?
Much snorted, licking a piece of wayward bacon into his mouth.
“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t bother,” Nikita said. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Nik,” Sasha said, “Will was telling me a little about Lionheart while you were…”
“Passed the fuck out,” Much supplied.
Sasha gave a low, quick chuff of warning. To Nikita: “They help people. Mortals who are having trouble with immortals.”
Nikita stared at Will.
“We’re military contractors, of a sort,” he explained. “As wolves, we have a bit of a leg up on mortal soldiers, as you can imagine. We take private cases. Special ones. The kind governments don’t want leaked to the public.”
“You mean the kind that pay well.”
A head tilt of concession. “Sometimes.”
He thought the rolling in his gut was only part blood sugar sickness, at this point. “No,” he repeated. “Not interested. We have jobs. We don’t want to join your little crusade.”
A smile, edges sharp; not mocking, but pitying, almost. “You were in that house, Nikita. You fought with Dracula himself. Are you really going to paint this as a crusade? Like it’s something we’re taking upon ourselves? A war is brewing. A big one. Maybe the final one. We’re only gathering what allies we can.”
Silence reigned afterward. A long moment. Nikita never broke the wolf’s gaze.
Finally, Will gave a little sigh and glanced away. “Finish your food,” he said to Much. He himself had only ordered a whiskey.
Sasha’s elbow touched Nik’s ribs, and he mechanically picked up his sandwich and forced a few bites while Much crammed down the rest of his burger.
“We’ll be in town for a week or so, I think,” Will said, sliding out of the booth. He pulled out his wallet and thumbed a few bills down onto the table. “I wrote down my number and the name of our hotel on the back of that card. If you change your mind in the next few days, or you just want to talk, please call. Come on, Much.”
The small wolf wiped his face hastily with a napkin and then slipped out.
Will gave them one last surveying glance, and nodded. “Lovely to meet you both. I do hope you’ll think of us as allies.” And they left.
Nikita stared at the tufted leather across from him, the whole booth still scented with strange wolves, breathing shallowly through his mouth.
“Nik,” Sasha said, softly, beside him.
“How did I get here?”
“What?”
“I passed out at the hospital, and I woke up here.” And for the first time since then, he turned his head to really look at Sasha.
Blue eyes big and full of guilt, Sasha wore the kind of uncertain expression that made Nik want to put arms around him immediately; pull him in close and assure him that everything was alright – that they were alright. He’d watched him tear a man’s throat out with his teeth without a backward glance, but with Nik, he was always afraid he’d done something wrong; especially lately.
God, Nik hated himself.
“I carried you,” Sasha said, gaze dropping to his lap. “Mostly. Your feet held you up, a little.” Quick, humorless smile. “The server thought you were drunk when we came in.”
His pulse beat quick and light in his ears, and his next words tasted foul in his mouth. “Why did you – why did you go with them? Why did you listen to them?”
A tiny shrug. “They were bound, I could tell. And they weren’t – they weren’t bad, Nik. I could tell that, too. And they helped us, before. I just…” He trailed off, biting at his lip.
A realization dawned, one that kept Nikita up more nights than he’d like to admit, one that frightened him worse than facing off from Dracula. He alone wasn’t enough for Sasha. He didn’t doubt the love, the caring, the desire to be close – more often than not he’d pushed those things away, lately, bastard that he was – but Sasha had so much love to give. Eventually, at some point, he’d find a pack as loving, welcoming, and warm as he himself. One that could provide him with everything he needed.
It was Nikita’s greatest fear, and yet he sabotaged himself at every turn.
Maybe for the better. Maybe Sasha would be better off…
“I’m scared,” Sasha whispered, and it took Nikita a second to drag himself out of his own pity party and register the words.
“Scared? Of what?” His heart was climbing, was up in his throat now.
Sasha lifted a glance up through his lashes, unintentionally alluring; Nikita’s breath hitched. “I spoke with Dracula, Nik. Some. He’s violent, and he’s frightening – but he’s not like Rasputin was. He isn’t trying to trick anyone. Not that I could tell. He’s…he says there’s a war coming. A bad one.” He shuddered. “I don’t want anything to do with that. But.”