Page 68 of White Wolf

“Yes, sir.”

“The major general has asked that a sniper be among their company. You’ve been chosen.”

“But, sir–” she burst out, overcome with sudden emotion, and then snapped her mouth shut. Shit. She couldn’t afford to do that sort of thing.

He stared at her, like he was waiting to see if she’d continue.

She didn’t, but it took some restraint.

“You’re a patriot, yes?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I trust you’re ready and able to do the things your country demands of you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This is your assignment.” But the corners of his mouth ticked up in what she thought was sympathy. “Typically,” he added in an undertone, “these sorts of assignments lead to more important ones in the future. If you catch my meaning.”

That was almost a relief. Almost. “Yes, sir. I do.”

“Good. Report to the back gate at oh-seven-hundred tomorrow morning. They’ll be waiting.”

~*~

Sasha was happy. It was the strangest thing: he wouldn’t have ventured to say he was happy since the day Nikita and the others had appeared in his mother’s kitchen, but now, as unlikely as it seemed, he was filled to bursting with a heretofore unknown happiness.

He spent most of every day out in the yard of the compound, becoming better-acquainted with his new strength and speed. He’d outrun Pyotr on a morning jog – and then lapped him, not even out of breath, laughing with delight. He could leap up and grab hold of the second-story window ledges. Could do a backflip from a standstill. Could put Ivan and Feliks on the ground in sparring matches – alone or together.

He still caught their disbelieving and worried looks – when they thought he wasn’t paying attention – but bless them, they didn’t treat him like he was dangerous.

He didn’tfeeldangerous. He felt hungry, and full of energy, and playful, and curious. He felt better than he ever had before.

He couldn’t say the same for his comrades this morning, though. They all looked half-asleep in the pale wash of daybreak, sipping tea from tin mugs and holding lit cigarettes between their fingers. They looked worried, and tired, dark circles smudged beneath their eyes.

Pyotr looked actively frightened. “I don’t like the woods,” he confessed to Sasha. “You can’t see what’s coming.”

Sasha chuckled. “That?” He pointed to the tree line beyond the gates where they stood. “That’s not woods. Not like I’m used to. That’s just a handful of trees. Nothing to be scared of. And there’s not even any tigers.”

“Oh Jesus,” Pyotr said, gulping and going a shade paler.

“He said there’snottigers,” Feliks said, cuffing Pyotr gently upside the head. “And even if there were, so what? We’ve got a bodark on our side.”

Old Sasha might have paled like Pyotr did, but New Sasha laughed outright, delighted by the prospect. He felt like he really could take on a tiger.

Apparently, being a wolf made him a reckless idiot. Who knew.

The soft sucking sound of footsteps reached his ears and he whipped his head around. Through the veil of fog, he glimpsed a figure walking toward them, a rifle slung over its shoulder. He took a deep breath and caught her scent – knew that it was aher, and that she was damp beneath her arms with nervous perspiration. The scent sharpened, until it was full-fledged fear by the time she stepped through the last swirl of mist and joined them.

It was Katya, face a careful mask, her scent a kaleidoscope of anxiety.

Sasha thought telling her he liked the way she smelled – that she smelled pack compatible – might not be the compliment he intended it to be. So he smiled at her instead.

She nodded in recognition, but didn’t return the expression.

A moment later she stiffened when Nikita said, “What are you doing here?”

Sasha knew a sudden, intense urge to reprimand his friend. His captain! Nikita was in charge.

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