Here's the Nik-and-Sasha-centric prologue:
PROLOGUE
New York City
1988
“Sashka…”
“But look at them. They’re so pretty. And they
smell nice. And one will look nice, and smell pretty in our apartment! In the
corner by the TV. Don’t you think?”
Nikita refrained from groaning, but barely. They stood
on a corner, snowflakes sifting down from a winter sky gone dark early, cold
enough to crack, while rush hour traffic chugged past, cars belching exhaust
and throwing up little waves of slush. The tree lot, set up in the parking lot
of what had once been a pharmacy, and was probably about to be a liquor store,
once the plywood came off the windows, sparkled with dozens of strands of lights,
the snow settling in the branches of the trees set up on display stands. A
portable trailer cranked Christmas music out into the air, and the employees
wore Santa hats.
Nikita’s stomach growled, reminding him that he
hadn’t eaten, or, more importantly, fed in more than twenty-four hours. He felt
woozy, and more than a little weak, and all he wanted to do was get somewhere
warm, choke down some microwaved soup, and let Sasha talk him into having a
little drink from his vein. He didn’t want to haul a sap-sicky, needle-shedding
tree ten blocks; not even a little bit.
But he couldn’t refuse Sasha, not when his eyes
got big, and his voice got excited, and he wagged his figurative tail about
something.
Nikita put on his sternest, chilliest expression.
The one that little babushkas had quaked in front of, begging him not to take
the last of their grain. Folded his arms for emphasis.
Sasha’s grin only widened, in that way that meant
he knew he was about to get his way, but that he was thankful, and not going to
gloat, because he was the genuinely sweetest person Nikita had ever met.
“Fine,” Nik huffed, breath pluming white in front
of him. “Pick one out.”
Sasha gave a whoop and whirled, darted into the
lot, where a couple wrapped up in furs gave him a startled glance as he darted
past.
Nikita sighed and shoved his hands in his
pockets, trying to keep out of the way of the other pedestrians. He took a
breath…
And caught an unwelcome scent.
Vampire.
He lifted his head, and searched the sidewalk.
A dozen paces down, women bundled in furs and men
toting briefcases splitting around him, a man stood – a creature. Dark-haired
and unremarkable, but with a wry twist to his lips, like he knew a secret, and
smelling of something that drank blood to stay alive. To stay strong. He stared
right at Nikita, and tipped his head in silent greeting.
Nikita felt his fangs elongate in his mouth. He
swallowed a growl, just barely.
One day, a vampire in this city would catch Sasha’s
scent, and want to bind him as a Familiar. Whoever it was would have to kill
Nikita first before that happened.
The strange vampire walked toward him, and Nikita
put his shoulders back, and stood up to his tallest. To his slight
satisfaction, he was a half-inch taller. Though, dressed in jeans, combats, and
his favorite denim jacket, the one with the Romanov seal patch sewn to the collar,
he didn’t much resemble the other vamp’s moneyed look: trench coat, wool
slacks, wing-tips.
Nikita tensed, ready for a fight.
The vampire pulled up just an arm length away,
and smiled. “Good evening.” He had a German accent.
Nikita bristled. He remembered mud, and snow, and
rain; the crack of Katya’s rifle, and the low rumble of a Tiger. The whistle of
bombs falling; the drone of Luftwaffe.
He took a breath, sinuses full of strange
vampire. Not all Germans were Nazis, he told himself. Not all Germans were the
reason he and Sasha were…what they were.
“What do you want?” Nikita asked, and his accent
rolled out thick, spurred by his anxiety, and he didn’t try to check it.
The stranger’s smile widened. “So you’re
suspicious. That’s healthy. My name is Gustav. And your name is Nikita Baskin.”
Nikita bared his teeth. “How do you know that?”
Gustav shrugged, still smiling. “Word gets around
in a city like this. You kill other vampires. Your own kind. You’re a bit of a
celebrity, you know.”
Nikita growled, low enough he hoped the
pedestrians couldn’t hear. “What do you want?” he repeated, and let all his
agitated dislike bleed through.
“My, my, you’re impatient. I don’t want
anything,” Gustav said, clucking. “Nothing beyond introducing myself. We aren’t
like them.” He gestured at the mortals walking past them; more than a few
tossed them halfway curious looks.
Nik checked that he was no longer growling; he
wasn’t.
Softer, Gustav continued. “They’d never accept us
if they knew what we were – what we must do to survive. It’s important to stick
together. To keep company with our own kind.”
Nikita didn’t respond. And, the same moment
Gustav’s nostrils flared in sudden interest, he caught Sasha’s scent. A moment
later, he slid up to Nikita’s side, seemingly out of thin air, slightly
bristled, projecting an energy of uncertain, but preparatory aggression.
“Hello.” To anyone else, he would have sounded
friendly; to Nikita’s practiced ear, he sounded downright hostile.
Gustav smiled again, though, flashing his teeth;
fangs long, just noticeable alongside his regular human teeth. “Ah,” he said,
“your Familiar.”
Nikita growled – too loud this time. He didn’t
care.
Gustav chuckled. “Now I smell it: not your
Familiar. Your companion, then.” His dark eyes danced.
Nikita’s lungs opened up, ready for a proper
roar. Sasha touched his arm, immediately calming.
“Who are you?” Sasha asked. He could ask truly
rude things, and still come across as sweet. It was those eyes. “Why are you
making Nik unhappy? Hmm? We’re Christmas tree shopping.”
“I’m not trying to make him unhappy, I assure. My
name is Gustav,” he said with a bow that belonged to the manners of a previous
century. “And if this is Nikita, then you must be Sasha.”
Sasha let out a quiet, lupine ruff of surprise. His hand tightened on
Nikita’s arm; his features hardened, not a scowl, but almost. “Nice to meet
you, Gustav,” he said, in a tone that Nik knew was a threat.
Nikita shook his arm loose – Sasha swayed in
closer, on instinct, wanting the pack-contact in the face of a possible threat
– and slung it across Sasha’s shoulders, who subsided happily beneath its
weight. “Did you find a tree you liked, brastishka?”
he asked, gaze pinned to Gustav.
The other vampire had trouble hiding his mirth.
“Yeah,” Sasha said. “I think it’s too big,
though.”
“Show me. We can move some furniture around.”
“A moment, please,” Gustav said, before they
could walk away. “I’d hoped you could meet my
Familiar.” He lifted his hand above his shoulder, and signaled.
A woman walked around the corner, sleek and
stylish, her hair big and bouncy, in tight jeans, and killer boots, and a
leather jacket, and–
Oh. She was a wolf. The wind came at their faces,
and carried her scent. A bound wolf,
no less. Gustav’s.
“Your Familiar,” Nikita echoed, arm tightening
around Sasha.
Sasha in turn braced a hand against his ribs; it
was both a comfort – soothing caress, bracing, even – and a place from which he
could push off if he decided to throw himself in front of Nikita and be
unnecessarily protective.
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. Bored.
“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 they’d walked away.
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…overacting.” 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.
Really looking forward to these books! Thank you!
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