Page 99 of White Wolf

“Let me guess,” the prince began once they were settled. His expression was caught somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “You’re traveling in the company of Monsieur Philippe, a most charming Frenchman with ties to the late tsar and tsarina.”

Sasha blinked at him. “Um…yes. How did you know?”

Another wave.Don’t worry about that. “He’s probably given you the whole patriotic speech, hasn’t he? About bringing back the empire, and destroying Communism? Overthrowing Stalin in a rain of bullets and the glorious screams of your enemies.”

“He didn’t put it quite like that. But. Yes. More or less.”

The prince snorted. “It’s all a bunch of bullshit.”

“Says theprojection.”

The prince grinned, his very-sharp eye teeth flashing in the sun. Sasha remembered those teeth, and felt his imaginary hackles rise in response. “You catch on fast.”

Sasha snorted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Nikita would have given a little wave and said “get on with it.”

The prince rolled his eyes skyward. “I’m not lying to you, projection or not. Your mission is doomed, Sasha, it always has been. Whites, Communists, Mother Russia – none of that matters to our esteemed Monsieur Philippe. He wants only to be the left hand of the devil, so that he can rule in a hellish court of his own design.”

Sasha refused to react in any outward way, but inwardly, his stomach tightened and his breath chilled in his lungs. If any of this was true…and not just the crazy ramblings of someone who might have been a figment of his imagination…

That thought soothed him somewhat. He wasn’t himself anymore, after all, and who was to say that he wasn’t capable of hallucinating.

“You doubt me,” the prince said, leaning forward. He seemed soreal: the smooth white skin catching the light along his high cheekbones, down the straight slope of his nose. The trees were reflected in his eyes, evidence of his reality. “Tell me, Sasha: what do you think is the single strongest driving force on this earth? What moves the men you travel with? What’s their driving motivation?”

Sasha thought of Ivan, and Feliks, and Pyotr, and even stern-faced Kolya, all brothers to one another. Thought of Katya with her rifle and her Red Army uniform, and her brave attempt to hide her heartbreak. Thought of Nikita, the way he stared at Katya when no one was looking, the way his eyes grew somber when he talked about his dead best friend. Thought about the way he’d gently cupped the back of Sasha’s neck and told him – promised him – that he wouldn’t let him become a soldier. Thought of all their collective bitterness when they talked of what had been done to a tsar they were loyal to still, despite twenty years of Communist rule – or maybe because of it. Thought of his wolves, of Mama and Papa safe back home in Tomsk because he’d left.

And the answer came immediately and simply. “Love,” he said. “That’s the strongest thing.”

“Love. Ha. That’s a rich word. Let me tell you something you probably don’t want to hear, Sasha. Those men you’re traveling with – you think of them as friends, yes? Well, I can’t say they feel the same. Those men, with their politics and their revolutions and their vendettas, they don’t love anyone. Not one another, not their cause, not their country, not some dead tsar who’s nothing but a heap of bones at the bottom of a well.” Snort. “Love is a foolish concept. People – petty mortal humans – don’t love, theycrave. Fleshly pursuits, yes, but most of all they crave power. This quest you’re bound on has nothing to do with patriotism. Your friends don’t want to avenge anyone, save anyone. They’re all fools, the old man is a pompous windbag out of his depth, and the beast you’re setting off to wake is just that – a beast. Communism, the empire, the war, none of that matters. This is about one thing: power. Everyone craves it, and only a few can hold it. It’s the one lasting tenant of this world that survives century after century: the craving and pursuit of power.”

Sasha swallowed the rising lump in his throat. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” He arched a single brow, smile mocking.

“Why would you tell me all of that anyway?”

He shrugged and sat back. “I’ve always liked wolves, myself. Couldn’t stand the mages – crafty liars, all of them. But wolves have a certain rough honesty to them. They’re emotion, and instinct, and so rarely have machinations of their own.” He smiled up at the sky, almost wistful. Then glanced back at Sasha. “Consider it my good deed of the day.” He snorted. “Better make that decade.”

“Are you a vampire?” Sasha asked.

“Yes,” the prince answered, just as simply.

“Is Rasputin like you?”

“He’snothinglike me.”

In the silence that followed, Sasha heard his wolves approaching, their breath and heartbeats, felt their curiosity and wariness. They couldn’t smell the prince either, but could sense their alpha’s distress.

Finally, the prince got to his feet and dusted off his pristine breeches. “I better be going, then.”

“Wait!” Sasha said, and it came out a shout.

The prince gave him an amused glance.

“What’s your name?”

That earned him another fang-flashing smile. “I always tell my friends to call me Val,” he said, winked, and then was gone. Vanished into thin air, as if he’d never been there at all.

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