Then he just stood there.
Sasha shifted forward a cautious step, the chain between his cuffs chiming against itself. “It’s true, I don’t like mages,” he said, stiff and formal.
The girl watched him, outwardly calm. But Sasha could smell her fear; sense the fluttering of her pulse, rabbit-fast.
“Have you ever killed anyone?” he asked.
No hesitation: “Yes.”
“Have you ever killed one of your friends?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s something,” Fulk said.
Sasha took a deep breath…and it got caught halfway to his lungs. He’d been able to shore up his panic and push himself through the days here. The conversations with the doctors, all the blood samples, and the tests. Earlier, they’d put him on a treadmill with a dozen monitors taped to his chest and had him run until his legs gave out. It had been uncomfortable, yes…but suddenly it was all unbearable. Pressing down on him. Annabel had said the others were coming, but were they? And here he’d beencooperating. And was about to be made Vlad the Impaler’s Familiar, and he couldn’t…
“Sasha.” Fulk stood over him.
Oh. He’d sat down on the floor, somehow. Or maybe his knees had buckled. Sasha tipped his head back and looked up at the other wolf.
Fulk snapped his fingers. “Sasha,get up.”
His breath sawed in and out of his lungs as if he’d just staggered off the treadmill. “I can’t – I just…butNik…”
Fulk sighed and crouched down in front of him, something almost like softness in his face. “You’re having a meltdown.”
“I can’t – I won’t…”
“Listen to me.” His hand closed around Sasha’s neck and squeezed. “I know,” he whispered, too low and close for the cameras to pick it up. “I know, alright? I belonged to the same master for centuries, and I still have nightmares. Iknow. But right now, it’s more important to stay alive, and to earn some trust. You won’t see Nik again if you fuck this up. Alright?”
Sasha breathed. In and out.
He thought about Nik being hungry, and irritable, slipping into one of his too-long sleeps because he refused to feed.
He thought about the warmth of sunlight falling on the bed through the window, sheets that smelled like pack; the awful buzz saw snoring that Nikita denied. Shoulders touching on the sofa, fingers combing through his hair. Safe, and warm, and not owned, but loved.
He closed his eyes and breathed some more. Worked on slowing his lungs.
“Okay,” he whispered.
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
~*~
He got them to shake hands, though Sasha visibly flinched. Just a fraction. The girl, Red, remained stoic throughout, but Fulk could feel the vibrating anxiety lifting off her like steam. She was worried, and frightened…and furious, too. The mages he’d known – the girl’s own father, judging by scent commonalities – had possessed a smug superiority. Not her. She was just enraged.
Fulk had no idea how it would all shake down; he knew things were coming to a head, could feel the pressure swelling to fill all the dark crevices of the manor, but right now, he was just tired.
He stripped on his way through their opulent suite, down to his CKs by the time he reached the bathroom with its historic marble and modern fixtures. He started a bath and unbraided his hair in front of the mirror.
His fingers picked with careful familiarity through the tight little braids that Anna liked to layer over his ears. Each day was a slight variation on a similar theme: pulled back at the crown so it didn’t fall into his eyes, but artfully twisted and threaded with flowers, and sometimes even jewels. “Better than a doll,” she’d said on more than one occasion, laughing, beaming, pressing her soft warm cheek to his as she kissed the corner of his mouth. He liked it long, that had been the style in the year of his birth, but he’d gladly let her shave it if that was what she wanted. The simple joy she found in his hair, playing with it, styling it, filled him with an echoing sort of joy.
As if summoned by thoughts – really, it was the scent, the magnetism of having imprinted on one another as mates – Annabel appeared in the threshold, shoulder propped against the jamb.
“Mm,” she hummed, Southern accent coming through strong. “Look at the handsome thing I stumbled across. I’m a lucky, lucky girl.”
