Page 153 of White Wolf

“Hmm.” Sasha breathed one soft, humorless laugh. “Yeah.”

It was time for a new topic, and fast.

Pyotr to the rescue again. “Do you think I could borrow one? Just for a little while, to impress some of the local girls?”

That startled a genuine laugh out of Sasha, and then the boys settled back into a real conversation, Sasha in light spirits again.

Nikita studied the road ahead and went slow, to keep from jostling the wolves in back, and because he had to, the road illuminated only by the full moon. It was lights-out across the Eastern Front; no one wanted to create a target in case the ever-present threat of German planes finally descended upon them. Tomorrow would bring more duties, more higher-ups to impress, more lies to tell, but for now, he enjoyed a quiet, dark road, and the happy sounds of the young ones talking about unimportant things.

Sasha withdrew into himself again, though, once they reached the city limits, and by the time they were parked in the alley behind the house, he’d gone stiff and silent.

“Sasha.” Nikita shook his shoulder lightly. “Come on inside.”

“Okay,” the boy said, blank-faced and passive.

Nikita shared a worried look with Pyotr, but there wasn’t much they could do…short of driving a stake through Rasputin’s heart.

If that even worked. He was fast learning that all the myths from legends were just that – myths.

The landlady – who Nikita suspected had indeed been magicked, probably by Philippe – had given him a key and said she’d be in bed at eight sharp every night. So when he let them in, he was surprised to see the dim glow of a single oil lamp burning in the room they all referred to as the library, its shelves full of dusty Soviet-approved books no one would have ever wanted to read.

He was flat-out shocked when he saw Katya and Philippe sitting across from one another in a pair of matching, tattered wingback chairs.

Katya was still dressed, unlaced boots lined up on the floor, sitting stiff and prim, staring at a spot on the wall, hands twisted together in her lap.

Nikita was on instant alert. “Katya? What’s wrong?”

When she didn’t respond, he went down on his knees beside the chair. There wasn’t much light, just the single flickering lamp, but there was enough to see that her eyes were dilated.

“I think I’ll take the young ones up and leave you to it,” Philippe said helpfully, getting to his feet with a pop from each knee.

Nikita twisted around. “What’s wrong with her?” She still hadn’t responded, sitting passive beneath his gaze, his touch.

Philippe looked at her a long moment, something like sympathy in his eyes. “I would recommend staying here after we leave, at least for a little while. She’ll need your company, I think, captain.”

“What are you talking about?”

But Philippe didn’t answer. He herded the boys upstairs and left them alone.

The second he was out of sight, Katya slumped forward with a low, pained-sounding groan.

Nikita caught her by the shoulders. “Sweetheart. What is it?”

Her hair was down, and it fell around her face, shielding her. He got the impression she was trying to hide in it. She was trembling all over, shaking under his hands.

He gripped her tighter. “Did he do this to you? Philippe, has he–”

“No,” she gasped, lifting her face, and again he was struck by the size of her pupils. The rosy blush high along her cheekbones. The way her bottom lip was wet and pink, swollen, like she’d been chewing on it. She looked…

“Katya,” he said, and this time he wasn’t just angry, but afraid, too. Afraid of what she might tell him.

Her voice came out low and throaty. The voice she used right in his ear when he was inside her. “I had a dream, and when I woke up, I was – God, Nik, I know how he does it. Rasputin. With the women. He makes them want it.”

Cold terror washed through him. “Jesus. Did he touch you? Did he - ? I’ll kill him, I swear–” He started to stand, and she grabbed his shirtfront and pulled him back, nearly on top of her. He had to grab at the arms of the chair to keep from falling.

“He didn’t – it was only in my mind, he – I ran down here, and.” She was panting. “Philippe helped keep me calm. But.” Her nails felt sharp even through the shirt, trying to bite into his skin. “Nik, I’m scared.” Her voice wavered. Tears filled her eyes.

He tried for a moment, poised over her, not to be jealous. Jealous of a damn vampire. He really tried. But he knew he sounded jealous – and scared, and furious – when he said, “You want him?”

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