I mentioned yesterday on Insta that, while Golden Eagle is mostly a book about Nik and Sasha, it's also a book about Alexei - it's from him we derive the book's title. I love his journey in this installment; I love that he's starting to face some of his issues head-on, and that he's growing. So today's Teaser Tuesday snippets are all about our tsarevich. (And Dante, the character I didn't expect to become so invested in, whom I can't wait for you all to meet.)
From Golden Eagle
copyright © 2019 by Lauren Gilley
“Turning didn’t fix that?” Dante asked, frowning,
as he pulled back and tossed Alexei a tube of frozen margarita mix.
Alexei barely caught it, then pressed it to his
lip, hissing at the sting of cold. “It’s livable, now,” he said. “But it could
still send me into a sleep if I wasn’t careful.”
“Ah.” Dante leaned a hip against the edge of the
counter, draped in another velvet robe, and studied him a moment, arms folded. “Are
they true? All the stories about your family?”
Alexei pressed the margarita mix tighter to his
lip, and resisted the urge to scream. He stared at the other vampire until he
glanced away, gaze flicking across his expensive kitchen.
It was an apartment with lots to look at. A
shockingly spacious third floor walkup that Dante had furnished with a bit of
Victorian flair, and populated with relics, knick-knacks, and curiosities that bore
the patina of true wear. From the Persian rugs, to the hand-painted Japanese
fans in shadow boxes, to the Louis XVI chairs, Alexei thought all of it
authentic. A story behind the acquisition of every piece, no doubt. Dante might
have called himself that – Dante, ugh – and he might speak with a modern
American accent, and style himself like an eighties throwback, but the apartment
hinted at more than one century of life. And occasionally, but only
occasionally, his mask slipped, and Alexei caught glimpses of something very
old and very lonely in his eyes.
He looked that way now, blunt nails tapping at
the granite countertop, gaze resting unseeing on the medieval tapestry hung
above the TV. It was a hunt scene, a mounted human pursuing a white stag, and
the loneliness on his face left Alexei’s chest aching in an unfamiliar,
unwanted way.
He pulled the tube of mix down and dabbed at his
numb lip; no blood this time. “Some of them are true,” he said, surprised at
his own openness. “Not the more lascivious ones.” He swallowed a growl as he
remembered the things said of his mother, the bits of court gossip his sisters
had whispered to him, cheeks blazing with righteous indignation. That Mama was
a whore; that she gave herself to Rasputin; that she was a German spy trying to
bring down the empire, and Papa. All those tales of orgies, and devil worship,
and dark magic.
Well, there had been the seances…
“Rasputin, though,” Dante said, turning back to
him, spark of curiosity in his gaze. “That part was true.”
“It’s true that he was a vampire.” It took an
effort not to bristle. Not to show his fangs, and hiss, and defend the man he’d
called Grisha, whom he’d loved, for so long. “And it’s true that he saved my
life during my hemorrhages.”
“He turned you.”
“Slowly. One drop at a time, over years. I didn’t
realize it had happened until–” His voice cut out, and he couldn’t go on. He’d never put it into words, what had
happened in that basement; what had happened afterwards, in the cold dark of
the forest. When he woke up, and clawed his way out of the pit, and overtook a
young Bolshevik soldier barely older than himself. Fangs in a white throat, a
choked gasp, and his first taste of human blood. A feast.
~*~
Alexei – his current, adult self – stood by,
unseen, and watched the boy he’d been sit up, eyes wild, and reach out with
stark white hands for the man who’d meant to cut him into pieces. Grab his
throat, and drag him in close. Bite his neck with new fangs, instinct driving
every cell in his body to latch on, to feed, to kill, to survive.
The man’s scream choked off into a wet gurgle.
Young Alexei held him tight with both arms, close as a lover, and twisted,
rolled; they both went toppling into the open pit.
The other henchmen came running over, lanterns
swinging.
“What was that?”
“Is someone there?”
“Where’s Sergei?”
“Wolves,” one said in a panicked voice. “Must be.
There’s wolves out there!”
“Sergei! Answer me!”
Slowly, as a unit, they crept up to the edge of
the pit, lanterns held high, squinting out into the darkness beyond it.
They didn’t look down. Didn’t see the
dead-looking hands that reached up over the edge, knuckles smeared with blood
and dirt. Didn’t see the boy that crawled up, using exposed roots and rocks for
handholds, fingers digging in like claws.
“Lex,” Dante said, low, urging.
Alexei stood rooted. Watched himself scuttle up
out of the pit like something not at all human, and grab one of the Bolsheviks
by the ankle.
~*~
“Hmm.” A beat passed. “And what will you do, Your
Majesty?” Voice going soft, and uncertain.
Alexei laid what he hoped was a reassuring hand
on his knee. “Figure out how to be a better Romanov than all the ones who came
before me. Probably see if the Brothers Dracula need help saving the world.”
He could feel Dante’s smile. “Is that all?
That sounds lovely.”
“It kinda does, doesn’t it?”
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