Page 80 of White Wolf
Katya sat beside him, and henoticed. In a way that he probably shouldn’t, but couldn’t seem to help. She’d stuck close…after. Even once she’d pulled away, her warmth had lingered against his side, the shape of her head burned into his shoulder like a brand.
It had all happened so fast – by the time he could register shock, and then fury, fear for her, she was already back on her feet and putting a bullet through the Nazi’s face.
He’d dared totouchher, that German. Every ounce of rational thought had abandoned Nikita in that moment. If she hadn’t shot the man, Nikita would have gouged out his eyes with his thumbs and driven his knife through his throat. He was still reeling from the impulse; violence was in his job description, but a dispassionate, clinical sort. This, though – this had been like the urge to kill Philippe when he’d first thought Sasha dead.
If he’d had any delusions about his burgeoning feelings toward Katya, he didn’t hold them any longer. He wanted to drag her into his tent like a caveman, sure, but his sentiments went deeper than that.
It terrified him.
Ivan crammed the last bite of disgusting sandwich in his mouth and rooted around inside his coat with a grunt of discomfort.
“Don’t mess up my bandage job,” Feliks told him.
“Fuck off. Oh, here it is.” He pulled out a big canteen that Nikita would bet ten-to-one contained vodka. “I want to propose a toast.” Yep, vodka. “To the sniper who saved all our asses today.” He thrust the canteen across Nikita and toward Katya with a wide, sincere grin.
Katya watched him a moment, expression guarded. Finally, her lips twitched – not a smile, but some sign of emotion – and she took the canteen, sipped at it gingerly.
Ivan grinned at her the entire time, taking the canteen back when she handed it and tipping it back for a deep slug. “Here.” He shoved it into Nikita’s hands. “Drink up to our Nazi-killer.”
He slid a sideways look to Katya, and found her almost smiling now, dabbing her lips with the back of her hand.
He imagined he could taste her mouth on the canteen when he drank.
“Did they teach you how to spar at your sniper school?” Kolya asked. He sounded disapproving – Katya would probably think so – but Nikita recognized his problem-solving tone; she needed hand-to-hand training, he’d decided.
Katya’s eyes shifted between them all. Still uncertain, still on-edge.
Nikita squeezed her knee in what he hoped was a reassuring way before he could second guess the wisdom of the gesture.
“Not really,” she said. Her pulse fluttered in her throat, a visible tremble in the firelight.
Kolya made a grunting sound of acknowledgement. “We’ll start tomorrow.”
“I…” Katya started.
“I can help,” Sasha chimed in, smiling and excited. “Kolya and Feliks taught me, before I was – well, now I’m really fast.” And strong as a goddamn ox, he didn’t say.
“Kolya and Feliks?” Ivan asked, mock-offended. “Was I just holding up the wall?”
“You, too, I mean, of course–”
Nikita turned his shoulder to their bickering so he could face Katya. “It would be a good idea,” he said, almost consoling. Maybe she really didn’t like the idea.
But she took a deep breath and reached to smooth a stray piece of hair back, a gesture that looked unconscious, but somehow brave, coupled with the smile she attempted. “No, it would be good. Maybe they have some tricks they can show me.”
Surprised, he felt his own smile threaten. “Yeah. Kolya’s probably the most dangerous person I’ve ever met.”
Her brows quirked. “Yeah, but Kolya didn’t try to strangle me this afternoon.” Another act of bravery, trying to joke about the attack.
There was a story there, he knew, something that went deeper than the Germans she’d shot today. But he left it for now. “Don’t insult his mother’s cooking and he won’t ever.”
Another weak smile, and then Monsieur Philippe spared him any more awkward attempts at private conversation.
“I have a proposal,” he said. “Sitting around a fire calls for storytelling, doesn’t it? Let’s have some stories.”
“Monsieur, I think that’s the first good idea you’ve had,” Ivan said, laughing.
~*~
