Page 123 of White Wolf

He felt too hot under his skin even now. Restless and furious and frightened and so, so confused. Which wasn’t any way for an alpha to feel.

His initial horror had dulled to something more manageable and blunt, but it wouldn’t go away. As he sat cross-legged in the dirt, he wanted both to take off running through the trees, and to open the footlocker, peel back the linen, and see Rasputin’s face.

The beast, some detached voice whispered in the back of his mind. Rasputin smelled like dust, and earth, and blood. Maybe all vampires smelled a little of blood the way mages smelled of ash and smoke. But this one smelled…evil. That was the only way he could describe the acrid tang ofwrongandrottenandget awaythat made the hairs stand up on Sasha’s arms.

He was so consumed by his thoughts that he didn’t notice Pyotr approaching until he was almost on top of him.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, dropping down to sit beside Sasha. He offered over a hunk of bread that had been slit open, toasted over the fire, and stuffed with salty tinned sardines.

“Thank you.” His stomach was still cramping with nerves, but he made himself eat, choking it down one bite after the next.

He expected Pyotr to leave, but he stayed, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What did you smell?”

Sasha, mouth full, sent him a questioning eyebrow lift.

“That got you upset. What was it?”

The memory of Monsieur Philippe’s shout –Aleksander, that’s enough!– sat jagged and painful in the center of his mind, and he flinched away from it, not wanting to answer Pyotr. It hadn’t just been impatience, or fear of bombs or more cannibals; Philippe had known what Sasha smelled, that it wasn’t right or natural. He’d turned Sasha so that he could be this vampire’s right hand – his servant, more or less – and Sasha had hated the smell of him. That sort of infighting would jeopardize the plan, and no one wanted that.

Sasha huffed a sigh and licked the grease off his fingers. “Nothing.”

“Sasha.” Pyotr wriggled closer across the pine needles of the forest floor, gaze intense, a little spooked, the fire a twisting curl of brightness in his eyes. “You can sense things we can’t. What did you smell?” It was a frightened plea, and Sasha wasn’t proof against it.

“I don’t really know,” he admitted, frustration bleeding into his voice. It was a relief to be able to tell someone. “When we got down to the coffin, I could smell that he was a vampire – that he wasn’t human, or wolf, or mage. I could tell – and I don’t even know how – that he drinks blood. But that…I don’t think that’s why it was so awful. There’s something else. Something that makes me feel…violent.”

Pyotr breathed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, we noticed.”

“I don’t know if all wolves feel that way about all vampires. I’ve never met one before.” He shrugged.

“Or maybe,” Pyotr said, hesitant. “Maybe it’s like when a dog decides he doesn’t like someone, but no one knows why. Maybe it’s that.”

“Maybe. What then?”

Pyotr shook his head. “I don’t know.”

But Sasha knew. He would have to swallow any violent impulses for the good of the cause. Of the country. Try to get past it.

It was an unpleasant train of thought, one that kept him twisting inside long after the others laid out their bedrolls and settled in to try and catch some sleep. It was a warm night, muggy, air thick with mosquitoes. Sasha offered to keep first watch and sat at the back of the truck, his wolves ranged around him, some sleeping, some keeping watch with him.

He smiled to himself when Nikita and Katya slipped off into the trees, probably thinking they were being stealthy. They didn’t go far, so he didn’t worry too much.

It was quiet, eerily so, no sounds save the buzzing of insects, so he thought later, in hindsight, that he should have expected some sort of disturbance. He just didn’t think it would be of the astral projection variety.

His alpha female growled once, and then Val stood before him, fair hair glowing faintly in the moonlight, catching on the sharp points of his teeth when he smiled. As usual, there was no scent whatsoever.

“Hello, Sasha.”

Sasha was proud of the fact that he didn’t startle. Outwardly. “Hello, Val.”

“Dug the old creep up, I see.”

Sasha snorted…and then straightened. “Did you ever meet him?” He had no idea if the vampire prince was friend or foe, but he undoubtedly knew more than Sasha did about the immortalstarets.

“Who, me? No. You forget I’ve been locked up forages. But I’ve seen and heard some things. None of them pleasant.”

“You didn’t ever visit him like you do me?”

Val made a dismissive sound in his throat. “I’m bored out of my mind, but I’m not insane. There’s no such thing as conversation with that one.” He tilted his head toward the truck. “Raving lunatic.”

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