#TeaserTuesday: Sons of Rome

More debriefing will continue, hopefully later in the week.

Today, for #TeaserTuesday, I wanted to talk briefly about the series as a whole. About where we've been, and where we're going, and about the approach going forward. 

If you've read the series up to this point, you'll know that, while each book ties up some immediate storylines, it's definitely one big story told in serial format, like a fantasy series. As the characters learn, grow, and form family and friend groups, we learn more and more about the threats from the past that are still causing problems today. Problems that will need to be dealt with. You'll also know that it's completely character-driven, so we aren't rushing to get to the endgame. 

If you haven't read the series yet, the first three - White Wolf, Red Rooster, and Dragon Slayer - close out the arc for the first third of the series, so it's a great time to start! Dragon Slayer ties up the loose ends from WW and RR, and sets the stage for the next phase of the series. It answers the questions about Vlad and Val's origins, and ends on a positive note for both of them. DS introduces our central villain - Romulus - and puts the "war" Vlad keeps talking about in motion. 

At this point, we've met all of our main cast, both POV and secondary characters, and that's who we're going to follow - to live and grow with - going forward. I know where the series is going, and the notes we need to hit, the major beats - currently thinking it will be between 8 and 10 books, depending - but I want to take plenty of time to play out all these characters' personal journeys, so I'm not going to rush anything. If that means longer books, or more books, so be it; these characters are my book babies and I don't want to cheat them out of anything. It's going to be immersive; it's going to be dark. But there is hope, and there is love, and they're all learning how to be the best versions of themselves under tough circumstances. I'm so thankful I have the chance to tell this story! 

You can find the books here:

The Sons of Rome Series

And here's a long teaser from book four, Golden Eagle, which I hope to have out this Christmas (warning for raw, unedited text):

The Lion’s Den had become the informal gathering place for their little group. Their pack, Alexei supposed. He wouldn’t let himself think family yet. Not when Nikita still hated him a little bit, and not after the fate that had befallen his real family, over a century ago.

It was a pub that managed to be both sprawling and cozy, full of nooks, allowing for privacy even on crowded nights. No one there cared that Nik smoked, nor that Sasha didn’t exactly look twenty-one in his fake ID photo. Alexei liked it – mostly because it was a place where he could go to keep company other than his own.

But some nights, he craved something a little different.

The fights broke up around ten-thirty – early for a Friday – and after there was the usual period of bets changing hands; Jamie’s hands had almost been too small to hold their night’s winnings.

Lanny had left to go see Sasha at the club for reasons he hadn’t wanted to relay to Alexei. Jamie had said something about a painting he was working on.

That had left Alexei alone. Not that he minded; he was overdue for a trip to Nameless anyway.

Because here was the thing: Alexei liked his new little pack. Truly he did. And he respected Nikita, even if the other vamp still mistrusted – and maybe hated – him. But Alexei wasn’t ready to commit to the kind of isolationist attitude to which Nik ascribed. Not quite yet. He still, occasionally, craved the company of those that haunted dark places.

The bar that he went to occupied a basement beneath a warehouse. You had to access it via a hatch, and a ladder, and once down had to pass the inspection of a hulking werewolf doorman whose name Alexei hadn’t been able to gain yet. The bar itself was mostly just that: a bar, poorly-stocked, a few scattered tables tucked along the cold, windowless concrete walls. It stank of spilled beer, urine, unwashed bodies, and immortals. It wasn’t called Nameless, exactly, but it had no name, and so everyone had to call it something.

It was crowded tonight. Alexei slid onto an end stool beside a female vampire who smelled like a fresh kill, and like a distaste for small talk. The bartender, a bound wolf, strolled over, expression bored.

“Vodka?”

Alexei was something of a regular. “Please.”

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 the 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 it. 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 hard, 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.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Another beat. Then he snatched the card and turned for the exit.

Behind him, Gustav chuckled.