Page 155 of White Wolf

In that shivery post-coital state after a good orgasm, tired, sick of all the talk of war and plans and monsters, he didn’t stop to question the words that built on his tongue. He let them out. “Will you marry me?”

She barked a surprised laugh and knocked their shoulders together. “Where would we find a priest to marry us?” she asked, like she thought he was teasing.

He halted, and their linked hands forced her to also. “I’m serious.”

She studied his face in the full moon a moment, expression going from amused, to confused, to dumbfounded. “Nik…”

“But maybe you don’t want to.”

“No! No, I do. It’s just.” She squeezed his hand. “When?”

He hadn’t thought this through. At all. He shrugged. “We can say I do now, and make it official later. After.”

After the war.

After this nightmare was over.

She grabbed his other hand with hers, a slow smile dawning. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“I do.”

His heart leapt. “I do, too.”

~*~

It was almost midnight, and Dr. Ingraham’s vision was blurry. He sighed and sat back in his chair, massaging his tired eyes. He was working himself to exhaustion every day, clumsy with fatigue each morning, drinking unsugared tea cup after cup until he nearly gagged on the stuff. But there was justso muchresearch to conduct. He’d never dreamed, back in the early days of his thesis, when his classmates were laughing him out of every toom, that he’d have an opportunity like this one. A mage, and wolf, and a vampire. The vampireRasputin.

He was giddy at all times. It was the thing that kept him drinking gross tea and pushing past the eye strain. The keys to human immune system response and longevity were locked in these creatures’ blood; all he had to do was find a way to use them.

He rubbed his eyes until he saw starbursts behind his lids, then put his hands in his lap and opened his eyes. Light spots danced across his office a long moment. When they cleared, his gaze landed on the paper-wrapped package Philippe had sent.

“Oh,” he said, excited all over again. He’d been crushed to learn that he wouldn’t be able to examine them again for a while, but the gift had softened the blow.

He grabbed it up and fumbled the paper away, breathing rapidly through his mouth. He felt like he had as a boy at Christmas time, tearing into presents under the tree with his brothers.

Inside the wrapping he found a small stoppered vial of dark liquid – blood! – and a note written in Monsieur Philippe’s graceful hand, in English.

Dear Dr. Ingraham,

Our strange band of misfits has arrived safely in Stalingrad proper and we’re settling into our rooms. It’s a shame your facility isn’t here so that, for one, you could enjoy a relatively clean, unscathed city, and for two, so that we might see one another again. But, I think you well know by now that we won’t speak again for some time.

Given that, I think it only fair that I finally answer your question. When I told you about our plans to wake Rasputin, you asked, me, “What will a Russia led by Rasputin look like? He was an advisor to the tsar, but not a tsar himself.”

Yes, this is true. He has no ability to lead and would make a most terrible tsar. The truth of the matter is, there’s no hope for the empire. It’s been dead a long time and will stay dead.

The Russian empire, anyway.

Russia is merely a stepping stone for a global movement I wish to initiate. You see, I’m afraid I’m quite ambitious. If, through virtue of being a mage, I’m to be the left hand of a powerful being, I wish to belong to the MOST powerful being. That would be a very ancient lord who slumbers still. Rasputin is to play an integral part in my campaign to wake him – I need the help of a powerful and persuasive vampire, you see.

The time of human rule is at an end. As it should be.

Enclosed you will find a vial of my own blood.

Handle it carefully.

Best wishes,

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