Page 167 of White Wolf
Nikita woke with a pounding heart, and the taste of blood in his mouth. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was sitting upright, propped against something. There was a fire burning in the clearing.
Shit, he had to –
“Easy,” a familiar voice said, and a hand landed on his shoulder, pushed him back down.
He turned his head and found Sasha, mouth caked with drying blood, face lined with thin little scratches. He was gray-faced, and hollow-eyed, but he quirked a smile. There was blood on his white cloak, in the ends of his hair. Finger-shaped smudges of it on his throat and collarbones.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
He felt…well, fine, actually. Better than he should have.
He flexed his hands, wiggled his toes inside his boots. He was tired, but nothing hurt.
He clapped a hand to his neck, and instead of a raw bloody wound felt two small scabs, well on their way to healed.
His gaze went out to the fire. “Who is that?”
“Grigory Yefimovich Rasputin,” Sasha said. He sounded tired, and older. World-weary in a way he never had before. “He’s really dead this time. I’ll scatter the ashes when he’s done burning.”
Nikita looked at the boy again, searched his face. “Did I dream it?” But the taste of blood told him no, he hadn’t.
Sasha’s expression seemed to cave in, chin quivering a little. “Everyone’s dead, except...” He gestured off to his right, and that’s when Nikita saw two huddled shapes sitting against a tree trunk, pale and big-eyed, staring at him with disbelief…and fear.
Katya and Pyotr.
“Oh God.” His heart lurched. “Sweetheart…”
She shrank back, clutching at Pyotr’s arm.
“They’re shaken up,” Sasha said. “They’re more afraid of me than you, I think. I…I shifted.”
“How?”
“I just did. I had to.”
Nikita swallowed. His throat was beginning to ache. His eyes burned. “Sasha.” He fixed him with a look. “What happened to me?”
Sasha looked pained. He put a blood-smeared hand over top of Nikita’s, and squeezed. “Rasputin nearly drained you. I…Nik, I’m sorry, I turned you.”
“I’m a vampire.” A slow, creeping numbness began to overtake him.
“Yes.”
The wind sighed through the trees, spattering the trunks with snowflakes. Overhead, the ravens cackled to themselves.
Two monsters studied one another, and for them, the war was over.
Part III:
Modern Monsters
36
ON THE OTHER SIDE
Trina came back to herself with an awful start. Her eyes flipped open, and her lungs filled on a desperate, too-big gasp. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she was chanting before she even knew which way was up. She was cold, so cold, shivering, back teeth chattering. And she was lying on her side on the hardwood floor of her bedroom, curled up in a little ball. She ached all over, and her head throbbed. And if the pale light filtering through her curtains was anything to go by, it was morning.
“Jesus!” she cried, and forced herself upright.
