Page 194 of White Wolf
Lanny shoved his warm socked feet under the blanket and pressed them to her ankles, a small but welcome comfort. “Why not?”
“I’m Russian,” she said, “and there’s a certain acceptance of mysticism that comes with that. But it’s one thing to talk about folk tales, and another thing to know that actual, honest to God, blood-drinking vampires exist. To berelatedto one.” She shrugged the blanket up onto her shoulders. “I guess if Nikita and Sasha were real, it meant thatanythingcould be real. And that’s a terrifying concept. I like for there to be limits.”
“Yeah. I get that.”
Her eyes were drawn against their will to the side of his neck where the tumor lurked. “I think maybe it’s easier to think that some things aren’t possible. Because if theyare…doesn’t that mean we don’t have any excuses?”
He kicked lightly at her ankle. “I don’t wanna talk about that.”
“Lanny–”
“No,” he said, without heat. “Knowing monsters are real…that doesn’t change anything for us. We already knew that. We put monsters away every day, and they don’t have fangs or freaky voodoo eyes.”
She stared at the humped shapes of their tangled feet beneath the blanket.
“Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he said, gruff and affectionate. “You’re too tired.”
“That’s the first smart thing you’ve said all day.”
He chuckled.
She tipped her head back and shut her eyes, expecting to be too uncomfortable and forced to retreat to her room. But sleep claimed her almost at once, dark and blessedly obliterating.
42
THE REASON
It was the snow dream again. The blood. The bitter cold. The dead wolves. But it wasn’t Sasha who waited for her, howling mournfully for his fallen friends. This man was blond, and blue-eyed, yes, but that was where the similarities ended.
He stood in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by fallen wolf bodies – bodies she recognized now: the sweet, lanky omega, the fearless alpha female, the betas who’d snuggled up beside Katya at night to keep her warm.God.
The blond man’s hair came nearly to his waist, caught in the fierce wind, trailing over his shoulder and streaming to the side like a banner. His cloak was a thick, shiny black fur; it looked like real sable. Beneath its edge, she glimpsed the tops of shiny leather knee-high boots.
He stared at her, and reached with one pale, elegant hand to push his hair back from his eyes. Everything about him spoke of decadence, and wealth. A projection of power she couldn’t quite pin down with words.
He walked toward her, not smiling, but his expression pleasant all the same. He looked young…but as he drew closer, she realized that wasn’t a correct impression. He could have been thirty…or a hundred.Ageless. Smooth, unblemished skin, but an aura of experience around his eyes she’d never seen on a young man.I’ve seen things, his gaze said. The smirking curve of his lips said,And done things.
“Hello,” he greeted, his accent vaguely European. “You must be Ekaterina.” He smiled then, and her stomach clenched when she saw the sharp points of his canines.
Vampire.
She remembered what Sasha had told her.
A very old vampire, Nikita had said.He’s locked up somewhere, but he likes to visit. A ghost or something, I don’t know.
A prince, Sasha had said.
“And you’re Val,” she said.
His smile widened and he bowed with a flourish, flinging one arm out behind him, the cloak fluttering. “Prince Valerian at your service, madam,” he said, straightening, blue eyes dancing. “Second son of Remus; heir to Transylvania; brother to the Impaler. Generally loathed. That’s me.”
“God,” she whispered, before she could stop herself, and he laughed.
“Flattering.”
“No, I meant…Sasha told me about you. A little.”
“Ah, my friend Sasha. How is he? I haven’t been able to contact him.”
