Page 149 of White Wolf

Rasputin groaned happily, and smiled, lifting his hips to meet her thrusts. He tipped his head to the side so he could look around her at Philippe. “Have a turn. You’ll feel better.”

Philippe sighed. “You have five minutes. I’m keeping time.”

“Fine, fine.”

In the parlor, the girls’ mother had sunk down to sit on the floor, head lolling, stupefied.

Philippe stepped over her, grimacing as he listened to the sounds behind him speed up and intensify.

God, he hated vampires.

At least this one could be controlled with blood and women. Thank God for small favors on that front.

32

SUMMER IN A RIVER CITY

The windows were open, letting in hot, heavy summer air that was so thick it barely ruffled the curtains. Nikita was sweating inside his clothes; he felt it gathering under his arms, trickling in little rivulets down into the waistband of his pants.

It smelled like summer in a river city outside.

Inside, in their cramped rooms, it felt like a campaign tent on the edge of a warzone.

Nikita had a map of the city unrolled across a table, the corners weighted down with empty vodka bottles. He stared at it, and stared at it…and had no idea what he was supposed to be doing, or thinking. He wasn’t a soldier; he was a paid bully. He had no access to military intelligence.

Not yet.

He finally heaved a deep sigh and glanced up at the faces around him, all of them looking to him for guidance. No thanks to his insistence that he be in fucking charge. What an asshole.

“I got a note a few hours ago,” he said, fishing it from his pocket and laying it on top of the map for the others to see. “The major general here wants us to report in. He’s been in contact with Stalin and he wants to formally integrate us into a special unit.”

Everyone stared at it like it might bite.

Kolya finally picked it up. “We knew this was coming.”

“Yeah,” Nikita said.

“Tomorrow.” Kolya glanced up from the note, gaze cautious. “First thing.”

“All of us?” Feliks asked, with a not-so-subtle glance toward Sasha.

Poor Sasha, still eerily vacant-eyed after yesterday’s debacle. All day they’d meant to take him back to the Institute to fetch his wolves, and it kept getting put off.

Now, he smiled a little, forlorn and small-seeming. “I have to go. I’m the point of all this. Or.” He drew his shoulders up a little closer to his ears, gaze on the table. “Rasputin is, I guess.”

As if on cue, the sound of footfalls coming up the stairs reached them.

“That’ll be them,” Nikita said, and registered grim looks all around.

“You think he killed any of them?” Ivan asked, a note of accusation in his voice.

Nikita gave him a flat glance. “I don’t really care at this point.” But he did. It ate at him, like every other damn thing. It was a miracle he had any stomach lining left.

Philippe entered first, as stiff and composed as always, and in waltzed Rasputin behind him, loose-limbed and well-fucked, reeking of sex and alcohol. He tripped on the edge of the rug and laughed to himself, stumbling to a halt just shy of colliding with Philippe.

“Well don’t you two make a classy picture,” Nikita deadpanned.

Philippe managed a tight, quick smile.

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