Page 74 of White Wolf

~*~

She couldn’t figure them out, and that unsettled her. After several days in the wilderness, she knew that Feliks was the default cook, and hated it. Knew that Kolya was spooky, quiet, and no doubt capable. Knew that Pyotr was uncertain and young – he smiled at her in a way that the others didn’t, more nervous than Sasha, but friendly all the same. Nikita was their leader, and the most unsettling of all. It had been easy to think of him as cruel before this morning – the gray eyes, and clenched jaw, and unsmiling mouth – but not after he’d spoken to her kindly, without condescension or licentiousness.

In fact, none of them had said anything untoward. They’d been cool, distant, secretive even, but no one had offered a leer, or a wink, or a suggestive comment. Not even their captain – the way she understood it, the leader always got the first taste, and passed things along to his men if he felt generous. But not Nikita.

That morning, at the stream, she’d thought seriously about shooting him and then taking off on foot. She’d rather face a firing squad than the indignity of a Chekist’s attentions again. But fear had gotten the best of her – no matter how often she told herself she didn’t care what happened anymore, she hadn’t been able to stand the idea of death – and so she’d waited. And he hadn’t done anything but talk to her. Kindly, even.

She watched him now, stolen glimpses across the breakfast fire. Feliks had skinned and gutted the rabbits and roasted them on a spit; they were thin, but delicious, and she ate quickly, greedily, lest someone took her share, noting that Nikita ate little, and said nothing.

During one of her covert glances, she saw Kolya elbow him in the ribs, and Nikita took a mechanical bite.

A wheezing breath and a rustle of fur coat announced Monsieur Philippe’s arrival as he sat down on the rotten log beside her. He was another mystery – the biggest, actually. Whatever Sasha was, he was still Russian. But Philippe was French. Andcheerful. He spoke Russian flawlessly, but his presence here conjured more questions than answers.

“Good morning,” he greeted her. “Excellent rabbit, don’t you think?”

It was warm, and fresh, and greasy on her tongue. She nodded. “Yes.”

He leaned in close, until their shoulders touched; it was an effort not to shift away. “Sasha was an accomplished hunter back in Siberia,” he said, tone confidential, “and now he’s unmatchable.”

“Hmm.” Probably because he had a pack of wolves helping him now. Which was apparently something these people all took in stride.

“I expect you’re quite the hunter yourself, my dear,” he continued, and the rabbit turned to lead in her stomach.

“A marksman,” she corrected. “Not a hunter.”

“Is it really so different? Men are just animals, after all.”

When she glanced at him, she found his brows lifted, smile curving his small mouth.

It was difficult to swallow. “No, I guess it’s not.”

She turned her head away, not wanting to look at him any longer, and saw that Nikita was staring at her.

She ducked her head and kept eating.

~*~

Sasha had never known a feeling like this. He wanted to call itfriendship, but that wasn’t right. Every friendship he’d ever maintained had been built upon mutual interest, interaction, and play. That could be said of this, too, but there were no words between them, no differences to overcome. The wolves were his pack, and he loved them unconditionally. There was no room for jealousy, or anger, or fear. He spoke to them – soft, soothing, affectionate words of praise – and they spoke back with little whines, and the warmth of their bodies against him at night, and the gentle press of wet noses into his palm. No dog and master had ever shared this kind of bond. Theyknewhim, his wolves, and he knew them.

Knew that his alpha female was the cleverest hunter, the most ferocious, but that two of the beta males were stronger, quicker. Knew that his little omega was nervous, sometimes fearful, and that he needed lots of ear-scratches and kind murmurs. He knew that they had accepted Nikita, Ivan, Feliks, Kolya, Pyotr, and Katya as their own, but that, like Sasha, they didn’t like the fire-ash-smoke smell of Monsieur Philippe. It couldn’t be helped, though – Philippe was a mage just as Sasha was a wolf; they were the left and right hands of a more powerful being. Familiars, Philippe called them, each with their own special gifts and uses.

At night, when the others were huddled in their tents and bedrolls, Sasha and Philippe sat by the dying fire, under the stars, the wolves keeping watch, and Philippe educated him in the true ways of the world.

“Once there were twin brothers,” Philippe said, voice becoming resonant and sure; a story-teller’s voice. The last log on the fire collapsed, sending up a whirl of sparks that lifted into the night sky like fireflies. “Left abandoned on the bank of the Tiber River, they were suckled by a great she-wolf, and taken in by a shepherd and his wife.”

Sasha blinked, surprised. “Do you mean–”

Philippe smiled. “Romulus and Remus, yes. The founders of Rome. The immortal children of the god Mars. Immortal warriors – and vampires.”

The little omega snuggled in tight to Sasha’s side, and he found that he believed this story, no matter how impossible. He was living proof of the impossible.

Philippe heaved a deep sigh that was echoed by the omega. “Remus is long dead, I’m afraid. Killed by his brother, as the story goes. Not quitewhen, however. But that’s a story for another time. Before his death, Remus sired two purebred vampire sons, half-brothers: Vladimir – Vlad III, you know, The Impaler – and Valerian. Both are still living. Vlad’s been buried for a long time, and Valerian – well, again, that’s a long story.

“But I’m getting off topic. Yes. My point is that ever since the she-wolf nursed the twins, there’s been a complementary relationship between wolves and vampires.”

Sasha felt the fine hairs stand up all over his body. “Are there–” his throat felt tight “–are there vampires here?”

In the last of the firelight, Philippe’s eyes seemed an unnatural color. “There is one. A very powerful one. He slumbers, underground. When the time is right, we shall wake him, you and I.”

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