Page 132 of White Wolf

The exam table had been traded for a hospital bed, and there lay Rasputin, propped up on pillows, a bandage wound round his head, over the lingering gunshot wound. He was gray, but awake, listening to what Philippe was saying to him. His lips were the only spots of color, dark red – from the blood, Sasha realized, and shuddered.

The back of Sasha’s neck tingled. It hurt – like a bee sting. The urge to bow his head, to get down on his knees, was instant and unwelcome. He gritted his teeth and fought it.

His stomach rolled, and sweat popped out along his temples, and under his arms. He thought he might vomit.

No, he thought savagely. And then the discomfort eased. He took a deep breath. He could do this. He didn’t have to be anyone’s puppet.

He came to a halt a few feet from the end of the bed, and Rasputin turned to him. Whether they loved him or loathed him, everyone who’d ever written about Rasputin could agree on one thing: his eyes. The intensity of his gaze was legend, and, Sasha realized now, completely true. A perfect silver shade of gray, bright, almost glowing, otherworldly. He wondered if they’d always been like that, or if being turned was the cause for the penetrating stare that rested on him now.

Thestaretsextended a thin and trembling hand. “My child.” His voice was a rough croak. “You have saved me. Come here so that I can kiss you and thank you.”

Sasha had never wanted to do anything less. But he was caught, he knew. He’d agreed up to this point; if he suddenly pulled back, and refused to cooperate, he would be seen as abandoning the plan.

And he couldn’t let Nikita down. His pack. Hell, his country.

Slowly, hating it, he walked to the side of the bed, Philippe smiling at him with teeth the whole way.

“Hello,” he said, stiff and formal.

Up close, Rasputin was horrible. Painfully skinny, starved-looking, his skin the color and thickness of cheap paper. He smiled up at Sasha, revealing long, yellow teeth, eyes unnaturally bright in his pallid face. “Hello, blessed child. The wolf who woke me. You’re a strong one.”

Sasha didn’t know what to say, so he kept silent.

Philippe’s hand landed on his shoulder, a light touch that turned to a pinch. “Young Sasha here is from Siberia, Grisha. From Tomsk.”

The hold man’s face lit up – as much as it could in the situation. “Siberia! Wonderful! Have you seen Pokrovoskoe? What of my family?”

Philippe smiled at him. “One moment, friend.” Then, pinching hard at the tendons in Sasha’s neck, marched him over to the door.

Sasha shrugged his touch away.

“Outside,” Philippe said, no longer smiling.

Nikita waited for them in the hall, arms folded, leaning against the wall.

Philippe made a frustrated sound, rounding on Sasha. “He doesn’t know what year it is yet. He thinks it’s only been a few weeks since his murder.Attemptedmurder.”

Nikita snorted. “That’ll be fun to explain.”

“Captain,” Philippe said, sighing, “if you please–”

“Oh, I’m going, don’t worry.” He straightened. “And so is Sasha. We’re going to get dinner.”

Sasha wanted to hug him.

“But,” Philippe protested.

“Later, Monsieur,” Nikita said, firmly.

Sasha went to his friend’s side and didn’t look back.

28

A THREAT

They all decamped to Katya’s room, her roommate once again absent; the whole pack, two- and four-legged, crammed into the narrow space. The sour-faced matron in charge of the kitchen hadn’t wanted to send them with food, but Ivan had managed to charm a loaf of bread and several cans of SPAM from her.

Nikita chose not to eat, knowing one of his people would chastise him about it later.

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