Page 152 of White Wolf

Ekaterina, that low, rough voice said inside her head again, and she gasped.Open yourself to me. It will be so good for you.

There was a sudden rush of wetness between her legs, a spike of need so intense she gritted her teeth together.

And her stomach rolled so hard she thought she might be sick.

No, she thought wildly.No, no, no.

An image that wasn’t of her own imagining flared to life behind her eyes, two writhing bodies on a rumpled bed.

No, no, no, no, no…

She couldn’t stay here, not in the room right next to him. He was controlling her somehow, and she had to get out.

She staggered to her feet, grasping at the bedstead for support, clothes clinging to her sweaty skin. She felt drunk. Aching, needy, desperate for touch, for relief. And so scared she thought she might swoon. This was twice as terrifying as wrestling with a Nazi intent on killing her, or a Chekist about to rape her; those threats had been external, and this one was coming from inside her.

She stomped into her boots and fled the room. The candles had all been snuffed in the parlor of their suite. The boys were asleep on their pallets, Ivan snoring like a tank engine.

She had reached the doorway when she spotted the dark silhouette at the window. The blackout curtains were drawn, but she could still see him somehow, the shape of his long hair, his narrow, rounded shoulders.

Something inside her tugged, urged her toward him.

She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream and tore away from the invisible grip.No, no, no, she chanted internally, fumbling her way onto the landing. The banister was cool and smooth against her damp palm, and she clung to it. Followed it down, down, around the next landing.

She seemed to run downstairs forever, and then suddenly she hit the bottom, going to her knees on the runner in the first floor hallway.

She stayed there for a long moment, gulping air, fighting the repulsive urge to go back upstairs, to shed her clothes and let that…thatcreaturetouch her.

She didn’t notice there was a lamp on in the library until she head the delicate clearing of a throat. Then she startled hard, almost falling on her face, scrambling around to see who was watching her.

It was Monsieur Philippe, and he lifted both hands, palms toward her, to show her he was harmless.

They stared at one another, his gaze shrewd and assessing. He knew, she figured.

But all he said was, “Nightmare, dear?”

Her teeth were chattering. “Y-y-yes.” The worst one of her life.

“You can sit with me for a while if you like,” he offered, and instantly, she felt calmer.

Slowly, she got to her feet. “Yeah. Thanks.”

~*~

Dr. Ingraham was sorry that he wouldn’t get to speak with Philippe or Rasputin again for some time, but seemed more than a little relieved to be rid of the wolves. “They keep howling,” he lamented, watching as Sasha knelt among them and they swarmed over him, yipping and panting and smiling with all their teeth showing.

Nikita handed over Philippe’s gift, shook the doctor’s clammy hand, and was glad to be off.

The wolves seemed happy enough to ride in the wide-open back of the lorry, and the humans sat three-across in the cab, Sasha in the middle.

Sasha had become more and more animated the farther away they drew from the city, and by the time they started back, he was his old chatty self.

“Do you think our landlady will mind too much about the wolves?” he asked, voice ringing with boyish excitement.

“If she does, I figure the old man or khlyst can enchant her or whatever it is they do,” Nikita said, and immediately wanted to kick himself when he saw Sasha’s face fall in the glow of the dash lights. “Not that they’ll need to,” he rushed to add. “She seems a reasonable sort.”

“And they’re basically tame now,” Pyotr said, catching on to Sasha’s sudden shift in mood. “They’re amazing. Who could turn away a tame wolf?”

“We’ll tell her they’re special, military-trained guard wolves, keeping her house safe,” Nikita said, nudging Sasha with his elbow.

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