Page 137 of White Wolf

“Sasha, where are you–” Dr. Ingraham started, but Sasha was already out the door and down the hall.

The door to Rasputin’s room was open, and thestaretssat upright in bed, in a loose brown shirt, covers puddled around his waist, drinking tea from a china cup: Sasha could smell it, brewed strong and heavy with jam.

Philippe sat in a chair beside the bed, sipping from his own mug. “Sasha,” he greeted. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “How good to see you, finally.”

It was a dig, and bait. Sasha wasn’t going to take it. His skin tingled and he wanted to flee, but he forced himself to stand upright and say, “Dr. Ingraham wants to try something new.”

Philippe’s sharp look said that he already knew what that something was.

Rasputin looked much improved. The bandage had been removed from his head and the gunshot wound was a faded pink circle, a little scabbed at the edges. His face looked fuller, his skin brighter, his hands less skeletal when he set aside his cup and reached for Sasha with both of them. “Wolf child.” He smiled broadly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

It was such a human thing, those little wrinkles around his eyes. Signs of age and frequent smiling. For a moment, they knocked Sasha off his guard, and then the voice flooded his mind: it was wordless, but it was loud, a howling inside his head like storm winds. It seemed like invisible fingers hooked themselves into his belt and urged him forward, a slow and relentless pull.

“You haven’t visited me,” Rasputin said, and sounded hurt. “We have to talk, you and I, as wolf and master. But you avoid me.”

Sasha trembled, all his muscles clenching against an urge that threatened to take him to his knees.Submit,submit,submit. Not a word, but a hard shove on his shoulders. A craving to obey that ran stronger than food, or sleep, or sex.

He gritted his teeth. “You’re not my master.” His voice came out a rough scrape, all that he could manage with his jaw clenched tight.

Rasputin looked crestfallen.

But Philippe smiled again. “You’ll have to forgive Sasha. He’s very young and has much to learn. He speaks out of turn sometimes.”

Rasputin linked his hands in his lap, expression troubled. “All young ones do. I understand.” His voice was tremulous as a child’s. “Sasha, I’ve been praying for you. Hoping that God will show you your true path.”

It hurt to swallow. Hurt to speak. He curled his hands into fists and stuffed them in his pockets. “The true path with you?”

“Well of course.” Warmth filled his voice. A hint of the smile returned. “Everyone in the world has a place, and yours is here, with us, where you can serve. God wants us all to do our earthly duty, and yours is serving your master. You want to stop the Communists, don’t you?”

“I…” It even hurt to think. “Yes.”

“Of course you do. Come here, my wolf child, so that we can pray together.”

Slowly, impossibly, Sasha took one step forward. And then another. He closed his eyes tight and thought about resisting, but the howling in his head had reached a fever pitch. He heard himself growl, a low and threatening sound, but when he opened his eyes he stood at Rasputin’s bedside.

Thestaretsreached out and took one of Sasha’s hands between both of his. His palms were dry and warm. Not dead. Vampires were not dead creatures. He rubbed at Sasha’s knuckles until his fist relaxed.

“Good,” Rasputin said, humming his approval. “Now let us pray for the wisdom to know what is right, and the strength to achieve victory. And we’ll pray that there will be love between us. God is love, and with love, all things are possible.”

He looked into Sasha’s eyes, his own wide, gray, and glowing. Pain lanced through Sasha’s head but he couldn’t look away.

“You will come to love me,” Rasputin said. “Just as I already love you, my wolf.”

~*~

Afternoon sunlight slanted in through the window, swirling with dust motes. The cot’s frame creaked; it hadn’t been built for two, even when they moved slow.

Nikita sat against the wall, legs out in front of him, and Katya straddled his lap.Let me, she’d whispered, chewing at her lip, pupils blown. She had her hands on his shoulders, nails digging in, and moved in slow, almost-teasing undulations. Rolling her hips, head tipped back, hair loose and blazing with red highlights in the sun.

He wanted to have her like this in paint. Or a secret photo kept tucked away in a pocket. Some way to keep this moment with him forever, even once their brief respite was over.

He realized his hands had gone soft, opening at her hips, and Katya stilled a moment, looking down at his face.

“What?”

“It’s fine.” He smoothed his hands down the strong, tensed length of her thighs and back up. Traced inward with his thumbs, through her curls until he found the spot that made her gasp and clench tight around him. Jesus.

He grunted. “I’m alright. Don’t stop.”

---