Page 49 of White Wolf

“That’s the spirit.”

~*~

Nikita woke to the warm rim of a tea mug pressed to his lips. He could smell the strawberry jam in it - the ratio was at least three-quarters jam to one-quarter tea.

“What?” he asked, just in general.

“You passed out, you stupid fuck, that’s what,” Kolya said.

“Oh.”

“That’s all you say. ‘Oh.’ How about, ‘You’re right, Kolya, Iama stupid fuck.’”

Nikita looked up at his second in command, perched on the edge of the bed, one hand steady on the mug of tea at Nikita’s lips, the other gesticulating angrily. “You’re right,” Nikita said. “I am.”

But that didn’t seem to help. “You’re damn right I’mright. Look at you, carried to bed like a child. Having to have tea forced down your throat – take a sip of that, fuck, come on.”

Nikita took two swallows, teeth aching from the sweetness. It wasn’t until he’d taken a third and then a fourth that Kolya pulled the cup back and gave him space to breathe.

“Do you know how bad you frightened the little ones?”

Nikita winced; he hadn’t thought of that. “Are they–”

“Sasha went white as a sheet. And Pyotr, well, he’s seen it before, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t get him upset. He’s making you breakfast, and when he brings it in here, you’re going to eat it.” His thunderous scowl suggested that attempts to avoid eating would result in Kolya shoving it down his gullet by the fistful. Possibly while Ivan sat on him.

“Alright, alright.”

“What are you thinking?” Kolya ranted. It was the most emotional Nikita had ever seen him. “What we’re doing is important. It’s what we’ve been working toward our entire lives. And we’re following you – you’re ourleader, Nik, and you’re letting yourself fall apart.” His shoulders slumped and he swiped his too-long hair back off his face with one hand, a dramatic gesture that revealed a glimpse of the pale, vulnerable lines of his throat. “We can’t do this without you,” he said, quiet now. He looked at the wall. “I know that losing Dima…broke something…inside you. But we’re still here, and we still need you.” His eyes cut over then, glinting in the sunlight, uncertain in a way he never liked to show.

Nikita sighed and let his head fall back on the pillow. Clouds scudded across the sun, patterns of stripes in the sunlight that played across the ceiling. He thought a proper leader would condemn his subordinate for such boldness – suggesting he wasbrokenin some way. But even if he was their leader, Nikita was also their friend, and that was the side of Kolya he was seeing now: the angry friend. The steadfast comrade who, though understanding of his grief, was hurt that Nikita was eschewing all of them in favor of nursing his own guilt.

And damn. The boys had lost Dima too. Pyotr was hisbrother, for God’s sakes. They wereallhurting.

“You’re right,” he said, voice coming out thick and clotted. The tea mug pressed into his hand and he curled his fingers around it. “I’ve been an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“Drink.”

He lifted his head and did.

Kolya sat forward with his elbows on his knees, picking at loose skin around his thumbnail with the opposite hand, face obscured by his hair. It was the reason he wore it too long, Nikita knew, to shield his eyes in the moments he dared to allow emotion to bubble to the surface.

“He wouldn’t regret it, you know,” Kolya said, and Nikita felt the tea like a lead ball in his gut. “Some days, I thought Dima was more committed to the cause than you.” He snorted, like that was impossible. “He believed in it, Nik, and he was willing to doanything. You know that.” He turned to give Nikita a look, eyes dark and open, gaze raw through the thin veil of his hair. “He knew – just like we all know – that we could die any moment. We understand the risk. He wouldn’t want you to make yourself sick over what happened. I know he wouldn’t.”

He grabbed Nikita’s knee and squeezed. “Don’t let it be in vain, okay? Because that old man’s crazy, but so are we, and I have the feeling something important is about to happen.”

Nikita hitched himself up against the wall into a proper sit, tea cradled in both hands. He sighed. “Yeah. I hear you.” He frowned. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a shit captain.”

Kolya said, “Don’t be sorry. Just do better.”

12

THE SHARPSHOOTER

Her weapon was a 7.62mm Mosin-Nagant sniper rifle with a PU optical sight. She carried a Nagant M1895 revolver on her hip, and a NR-40 combat knife strapped to her thigh, but it was the Mosin-Nagant that turned her from girl to predator.

Or maybe she’d been a predator all along, she just needed the weight of the rifle to point her in the right direction.

“Ladies,” Madame Vishnyak called. She paced down the line, hands clasped behind her back, scanning their faces with a critical eye. Searching for weaknesses. “Take your posts,” she instructed, and everyone scrambled.

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