Page 126 of White Wolf

“Why does he smell like this?” he asked through his teeth.

Val shuffled around so he could look inside the box, shoulder-to-shoulder with Sasha. “Like what?”

“Like…” And it came to him, finally. “Likehell.”

“As in actual hell? With Satan?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“Interesting, that’s all.” He motioned toward the head of the wrapped, crumpled form. “Get on with it, then, let’s see.”

Sasha reached for the rotting line and paused, hands hovering over the body. Itwaswarm, just like Feliks had said.

Notit, buthe.Hewas a person, and he was alive.

And warm.

Sasha took a shaky breath and hooked his fingers in the linen. There was a knot at the back of its –his– head and it took a long, tense moment to work it loose, the old fabric shredding under Sasha’s touch. Then he drew it down, inch by inch, until it was gathered at the base of the body’s neck.

Val whistled.

Sasha had seen enough grainy black and white newspaper clippings at the university library to know that this was Rasputin, without question. He looked like he had in the morgue photos, battered and bruised, lips pulled back in a pained grimace. His forehead was a raw and pink mess, the residual ruin of the gunshot he’d taken at point blank range.

Sasha touched his cheek with trembling fingers. Warm, alive, a slow but steady pulse beating inside him.

He snatched his hand back, chills chasing across his skin. “How could he survive that?”

“Vampires can survive almost anything,” Val said, “save the loss of their hearts.”

Sasha glanced at him, and saw that, for once, he wasn’t mocking.

“Rasputin’s killers were industrious, but they didn’t know what he was, and they didn’t know about the heart. They failed.”

“Will I be able to wake him up?” Sasha asked, already dreading the prospect.

“Oh yes. You will–”

Val disappeared.

Monsieur Philippe stood at the truck’s tailgate, expression thunderous. “What are you doing?” he shouted.

Sasha blinked at him.

The mage lifted both hands, and fire leapt to life in his palms. “Sasha!”

The wolves started growling.

Philippe glanced at them, startled, on his left and right. They were all on their feet now, circling him. When he looked back at Sasha, he was still furious, but Sasha caught a whiff of fear, too. He didn’t trust or like the wolves, as well he shouldn’t.

Where had that thought come from? Sasha didn’t know, but he felt it lodge in his heart, and begin to fester.

“I told you,” Philippe said, spit flying he was so angry, “that Grisha wasn’t to be disturbed on the trip!”

Sasha had never been rebellious a day in his life, but he felt that way now. He shrugged.

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