It was quiet a moment as they picked through Tiffany lamps and elaborate chess boards, dusty rolled-up rugs and pottery that looked ready to crumble at a touch – Lanny let Jamie move those, not trusting his own indelicate hands.
When Jamie finally spoke, his tone was hushed, and Lanny was expecting it. The air had vibrated with hesitant silence, the kind that wanted to be broken. “Hey, um,” he said. “You and Trina – you’re dating, right?”
He snorted. “I dunno what you want to call it. We’re something.” Or at least they had been, before his turning. She twitched every time he touched her now, and he couldn’t blame her for that. She smelled nice – too nice – and he didn’t trust the wanting that built when he was around her, the need that was focused strongest in his mouth and throat and belly.
“Are you nervous about, you know, hurting her? Accidentally?”
“What do you think?” He hadn’t meant to snap, nor to growl. But.
“It should come in handy at work, though,” Jamie said, changing the subject. “Chasing down criminals, making arrests. You’re not wrong about the super powers.”
No, he wasn’t. Lanny opened his hand across the lid of an old steamer trunk, examined the fine, pale web of surgical scars that mapped the bones beneath the skin. His bad hand, the one that had been mangled in a bar fight years ago, the one that had lost him his preferred career, felt better than it ever had. He flexed his fingers and there was no stiffness, no catch in the joints. He made a fist and a thrill moved up his arm, down his spine. Healed; being turned had healed him.
He caught Trina’s scent before he heard her voice: the lavender soap in Colette’s bathroom, and Trina’s skin, its own unique smell. She paused in the other room to tell Alexei and Sasha that breakfast was ready.
His whole body was vibrating by the time she propped a shoulder in the doorway and said, “Bacon’s on if you guys are interested.”
Jamie set down the lamp he held and headed for the stairs with the glee of a kid who’d just heard the ice cream truck.
Lanny waited, until it was just the two of them.
Trina had borrowed clothes from Colette: slouchy jeans with patches of silk, and lace, and velvet; a blousy peasant top with flowers embroidered around the collar. It softened her edges, made her look more feminine and vulnerable than she ever wanted to seem.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt and glanced across the room, toward the massive hanging lamp with its stained-glass grapes and leaves that Jamie had gone nuts over. “Damn, is that a real Tiffany?”
“That’s what the art major said.”
She whistled. “Damn. There’s probably all sorts of amazing stuff down here.”
“Probably.” He didn’t give a damn about rare furniture. “Maybe after breakfast you can come sort through it with us.” He was a little ashamed of the hopeful note in his voice, but unable to stem it.
“Maybe.” She frowned. “We need to go back to work. I called the precinct and said we were out chasing leads, but that won’t work as an excuse long-term. Shit.” She massaged the spot between her brows with a fingertip. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. I hate sitting around feeling helpless. Like some damsel.” She spat the word, lip curling in disgust.
“I seriously doubt there’s ever been a damsel in your family.”
She smiled, faintly, looked up at him through her lashes. “Mom plays one, sometimes, when she wants something from Dad.”
“But not you.”
“Nah. I’m all Baskin.”
Just like her great-grandfather.
And he was all Webb – which sometimes meant he was as contemplative as his father, but most of the time meant he was blunt and fiery as his mother.
“Is it going to get better?” he asked.
“Is what going to get better?”
“Us.”
She stared at him a long moment, and he felt the push-pull of one step forward, two steps back. She had leaned into him outside the hospital yesterday, but then she’d flinched away walking up to Colette’s door last night.
“You’re the one who said I was the same person,” he said, bitter now.
“I know,” she said, softly. “You are. It’s just…instinct, I guess. Fight or flight.”
“Because you don’t trust me.”
“Because it’s still early. You went through a major change, and I don’t think it’s fully sunk in yet. It’s going to take some time. You – we should both – be patient.”
He snorted.
“What do you want me to say?” She sounded like she was really asking, looking for him to shine a light on this situation that neither of them had ever expected.
He shrugged. “I dunno.” And he really didn’t.
*
Disabling the security cameras and destroying the footage of him entering the building was an easy enough task, with Mona the nurse guiding him straight to the security center and watching him adoringly as he charmed the guard on duty.
Figuring out what the hell the Institute was up to was more complicated.
He used the charmed guard’s ID badge to swipe his way into several labs, and sat at a desk in one now, unsuccessfully trying to hack his way into the computer system.
“Can I help you with anything?” Mona asked, voice spacey and drugged-sounding, as she hovered behind his chair.
“No, I need a doctor’s password, and I–”
“I’ll go get one.”
She was gone before he could turn around and order her to stay.
He sighed. Why did anyone enjoy enchanting people? They were so stupid and worshipful when they were under the influence.
When his phone rang, he kept one eye on the door as he answered it.
“It’s me,” Sasha said, voice low and urgent. “I can smell them.” Low, urgent, and angry.
Nikita didn’t need to ask who it was his wolf could smell, nor if he was sure. Sasha was never wrong. “Where?” he asked instead.
“A few blocks away.” On the other end of the line, Nikita could hear the rush of traffic, and a sharp sniff as Sasha scented the air. “I could catch up to them, easy.”
Mona the nurse reappeared, towing a confused, disgruntled doctor along behind her.
“What in the world?” he said. “Who is this.”
Nikita took a deep breath. “Sasha, listen to me. Colette has the house warded. When they get close enough, they won’t be able to follow the scent to the door, and whichever humans are with them are going to catch a bad case of amnesia. Go back in the house, keep the others safe, and wait for me to get back.”
Sasha’s answer was a growl.
“Sashka.”
“How did you get in here?” the doctor demanded, voice rising. “Who are – I’m calling security.”
“Please,” Nikita barked into the phone, ended the call, and got to his feet. “Hello,” he said, rich dark velvet and melting chocolate. Calm, he pushed into the air around him. Help me. You know you want to.
The doctor cut off mid-sentence, face slowly going blank, mouth hanging open as his pupils blew.
“Now,” Nikita said, “would you mind logging me into the system?”
“Not at all,” the doctor said, and moved languidly toward the keyboard.
*
Sasha didn’t realize just how many hours a day he spent walking until he was forced to cool his heels for a while. He’d always liked Colette’s place, and goodness knew moving furniture was good exercise, but sitting around waiting for a threat to bypass them went against every instinct he possessed. Their little band was starting to feel very much like a pack – even if a pack with far too many vampires and only one wolf – and his lupine side wanted to be out on the streets, prowling, hunting, going on the offensive.
He stepped outside to get some air. That’s what he told himself. He was tired of looking at Alexei, of listening to him breathe, of smelling him. Ugh. No one understood – except for Nik. The scent of all vampires, that dark copper tang, made him want to bow up his back and show his teeth. He felt the urge around all of them, even little Jamie – all except for Nik. Nik was the exception to most things.