Page 161 of White Wolf

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THE DEVIL INCARNATE

The snows came in October.

Stalingrad was in ruins.

They were alone, out in the wilderness, an army of nine.

Something was wrong.

Sasha knew it the moment he woke that morning – the scent of frost heavy in his lungs, rolling over beneath his cloak, warm fuzzy bodies of his wolves pressed around him – and cracked his eyes to see two figures sitting as silhouettes against the rising pink sun.

He recognized Philippe’s voice: “It’s time. We’ve waited too long as it is.”

“Agreed,” Rasputin said. “But they’ll never allow it.”

“No. They’ll have to be dealt with.”

Sasha sat up and pushed his hood back. His breath came out in thick, white puffs; it felt like his eyes were freezing in their sockets. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

Both of them turned to look at him over their shoulders, and for a moment, he was struck by how horrible they were. Bearded, and pulsing with energy, radiating a malice so thick it raised a growl in his throat.

But then Philippe smiled at him and Sasha was enveloped in calm. A thick, fluffy, warm sort of calm, like a blanket.

He’d imagined they were horrible, that was all. Some clinging remnant of a bad dream. They were wonderful, and powerful, and he belonged with them. Their wolf.

“Come and sit with us,” Philippe said, and Sasha did.

~*~

His sense of peace pervaded…up to a point. He felt sluggish, unconcerned. Tired and in need of a nap. But something tickled at the back of his mind. An uneasiness that threatened his calm, but which flitted away when he tried to pin it down, like a fly.

The snow was thick and wet, halfway to their knees, and like walking through stew that had been left on the stove too long. Everyone breathed raggedly through their mouths, already tired, and now drained by the effort of slogging through the drifts. Even the wolves seemed sleepy, Sasha noted, their tongues lolling, steps slow and careful as their group picked its way up a short rise and came to a break in the trees.

Again, he was struck by the sense that something waswrong. He was sweaty from exertion, but he shivered as he was hit by the notion that there was something lurking, something dark brewing.

He halted, breathing deep through his mouth and nose, trying to catch the scent of a threat.

A clearing lay stretched before them, smooth and white with virgin snow, the leafless trees standing like black matchsticks at its edges. He saw ravens perched in the trees, heard the squawks and croaks. Overhead, the sky promised more snow, gray with swollen clouds. The wind whipped through the clearing as if through a funnel, tugging at his cloak and the bits of long hair that had slipped out from beneath it.

What was he…

Why was he…

They were on yet another errand to move into German-held territory and pick off units one by one. One of now-dozens of missions just like it. Killing had become commonplace to him; he didn’t flinch when the enemy screamed anymore. So why was he so uneasy now? What flickered at the edges of his consciousness that raised the hairs on the back of his neck?

Pyotr had noticed that he’d fallen behind, and stopped himself, turning around. His long black leather coat and black fur-trimmed hat were dusted with snow. The first new flakes were falling.

“Sasha, are you alright?”

“I…”

Feliks turned. And Kolya. Ivan. Kolya had a hand at his hip, on the hilt of a knife.

Nikita halted, and steadied Katya with a hand on her shoulder. Sasha had been able to scent the baby growing in her womb for a while now, sooner than even Katya had known about it. He was happy for them, and worried. But right now that, and all sentiments, seemed remote.

Something waswrong.

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