Page 143 of Red Rooster

“Dr. Talbot,” a cool, British-accented voice said behind him. Fulk had approached, and Sasha had been too distracted to notice the other wolf’s presence. “You can dismiss the armed guard. I’ll provide security.”

Sasha saw a groove sprout between Dr. Talbot’s brows and turned a fraction to read Fulk’s expression.

The baron’s sharp features gave away nothing. He stared at Dr. Talbot with something worse than contempt: complete and utter disregard. It reminded Sasha, a little, of Alexei. The ingrained arrogance of royalty.

“The prince,” Dr. Talbot started, and Fulk cut him off.

“The prince ruled a kingdom. I think he can rule his own actions for a half hour.”

A stare-down ensued, and if Sasha hadn’t known any better, he would have guessed that Fulk was the master, and the doctor the pawn. But. Yet again in his experience, physical power was overshadowed by governmental power.

“Very well,” Dr. Talbot said, mouth twisting with disapproval. “That’ll be all, sergeant,” he told the guard, and the man left them without a word.

Fulk folded his arms and leaned a hip against the heavy metal table.As you were, his expression said.

Talbot took a breath. “Where were we? Ah, yes, your files.” He rubbed his hands together, smile returning as he focused on Sasha once again.

Nikita was coming, Sasha reminded himself, and endured it.

~*~

Dr. Talbot talked a lot, but said little. He spoke at length about Rasputin, asking Sasha question after question about his skills, his strength, his psychic abilities. Eventually, when his legs grew tired from standing, Sasha climbed up onto the table. He didn’t try to hide his dislike for Rasputin – “He was wicked,” he said, to which Dr. Talbot lifted his brows in disbelief – and refused to participate in the glowing wonder that the doctor was trying to cultivate.

Once or twice, Fulk snorted, an amused sound, but when Sasha twisted back to look at him, the baron was blank-faced.

Sasha had begun to think he’d been captured just to have this conversation, but, finally, Dr. Talbot set aside his notepad and picked up a syringe.

Sasha felt his flagging energy rebound, anxiety spiking.

“I’ll just need to take some blood samples.”

After, crook of his arm bruised and bandaged, woozy and hungry again, Sasha was surprised to feel Fulk move in beside him.

“I’ll escort him back,” he said, and Dr. Talbot thanked him.

“We’ll speak again soon, Sasha.”

“Yes, sir,” Sasha mumbled, and slid down off the table on jelly legs.

Talbot turned back to his computer monitor, blood vials secure in his lab coat pocket.

“Come,” Fulk said, and Sasha shuffled after him through the maze of workstations.

When they reached the mouth of the hallway – all its bright white and fresh cinderblock – Fulk hesitated. Sasha caught himself with a palm against the wall and thought it might have been a kindness: giving him a moment to rest.

“Why do I feel like this?” he asked, panting.

Fulk propped a shoulder against the wall; it looked like a negligent pose, but Sasha could read the tension in the lean lines of his body. “When the anesthetic starting wearing off too quickly, they pumped you with horse tranquilizers and heroin,” he said, dispassionately. A muscle in his jaw ticked, though. “If you were human, you’d be dead three times over. I imagine you’re experiencing withdrawal.”

“Oh,” Sasha said. “Well.”

“Can you walk?”

“Yes.”

They continued down the hall to Sasha’s room. In his absence, someone had made up the bed with fresh sheets and left some bottled water and protein bars on the night table. He smelled lemon cleaner. This place was as good as a prison cell, but in the moment, his shaking becoming uncontrollable, Sasha moved to the bed and sank onto it with a grateful sigh, real relief easing the tension in his shoulders.

He thought Fulk would leave right away, but to his surprise, Fulk eased the door shut and leaned back against it, sealing them in together.

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