Page 105 of White Wolf

“Can I ask something?” Pyotr moved in close, dropping his voice. “Why don’t they like Monsieur Philippe so much? I mean, he is…magical, after all.”

“It’s the smell,” Sasha said, also quiet. He thought Philippe probably had ways of spying on their conversation if he wanted to, but no sense being loud about it. “Like burnt toast and melted iron. Like a forest fire,” he said, and realized, finally putting that term to it that, yes, he smelled like a forest that had caught fire…and the men who’d done the setting, industrial and iron and threatening to all the wild things in the woods.

Pyotr’s eyes widened, but he nodded, understanding. “I don’t suppose animals like that smell.”

“No, and me neither.”

One corner of Pyotr’s mouth twitched, holding back a smile.

“Yeah, I’m an animal, too.” Sasha grinned at him, to show he wasn’t offended. “I guess maybe I always was.”

Pyotr chuckled, but then grew serious again, thoughtful, glancing down at the omega as he stroked his tawny fur. “Do you think he’s telling the truth? About everything?”

“Well.” The true answer to that wasn’t easily put into words. “He told the truth about me. That I wouldn’t get hurt. That I’d be strong, and fast.”

“Yeah, but hestabbedyou.” Pyotr’s head snatched up, brow clouding with anger. “He stuck a knife through your heart. You – you screamed, Sasha.” His face paled, throat jumping as he swallowed, remembering. “I thought Nikita was going to kill the old man. He – he did hurt you.”

He suppressed the low growl that built in his chest. Barely. “Yeah. Well. I got better, didn’t I? I’m fine now.”

But Pyotr looked unconvinced. He dropped his gaze, watching the movement of his hand, eyebrows pinched. “You look like my brother,” he said, so quietly Sasha didn’t think he would have heard it if he wasn’t a wolf.

Some of the four-legged wolves lifted their ears, glancing between Pyotr and Sasha, reading Sasha’s surprise.

“I don’t,” Pyotr went on. “I look like our mother, and Dima looked like Papa. But you do, and that’s why Nikita gets so worried about you.” He lifted his head, smile sideways and half-hearted. “I know I remind him of Dmitri, in my own way – he feels guilty, thinks he got my brother killed. It’s why he pushes me away, I think.”

“Pyotr,” Sasha started, reaching a hand toward him, wanting to comfort him somehow. He’d always been the first to offer an arm or a hug; “my caring boy” his mother would call him. It was the only child in him, that longing for brothers and sisters. It was an urge that had been amplified after his turning, the alpha wolf in him wanting to gather his packmate close and reassure him.

But Pyotr shook his head. “It’s fine. But.” His weak smile went even more lopsided. “I think he sees a ghost when he looks at you. Like…like maybe you’re his second chance to save Dima.”

Sasha whined – a purely wolfish sound – and then cleared his throat. He felt an instant, alpha distress:pack,comfort,love,together. And then the human weight of unasked-for responsibility. He knew Nikita had come to care for him like he did the others, that he was one of them now, but he hadn’t suspected it ran deeper than that, or that he himself was a constant, painful reminder of the man’s dead best friend.

“I shouldn’t have told you that,” Pyotr said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m glad you did.” Sasha smiled to show him that he meant it. “Thank you, Pyotr.”

~*~

Katya spent twenty heavenly minutes in the showers on the second floor, enjoying the hot water and the harsh soap too much to care if anyone walked in on her. No one did, thankfully, and she went back to her quarters to change into clean clothes (cleaner than what she’d worn on the road, at least), and braid her hair into two tidy plaits that she secured with a bit of stained white ribbon and flicked back over her shoulders. Then she went in search of breakfast.

The mess hall was busy, but there were plenty of empty seats, and after she’d had porridge slopped in a bowl, she made her way to an out-of-the-way spot that put her back to the wall, so she had a good view of the wide room.

She wasn’t surprised to see her roommate seated too-close to a young soldier with a strong jaw and a stronger nose, the two of them cozy, though not looking at one another while they ate. She hadn’t been in the room when Katya crawled into bed last night, and clearly she’d been bunking with her beau.

Shewassurprised to see the furtive, suspicious glances shot her way. Some curious, some almost hostile.

After the near-disaster in Moscow, women had become commonplace in the Army, but she guessed the men still so far outweighed them that she was, by default, a novelty.

But. She spotted a group of Army nurses sitting together, laughing with one another over their breakfasts. And there was her roommate. No one was giving them dirty looks.

Her bite of porridge went down like a lead ball when realization hit. It was because she’d gone off on an expedition with the Cheka, wasn’t it?

In a feat of horrible timing, Ivan and Feliks appeared opposite her, thumped their bowls down, and settled on the bench across from her, blocking her view.

“Morning,” Ivan said, cheerfully, and Katya decided she wasn’t going to give a damn if strangers didn’t like her because of the company she kept. These boys, as imperfect as they were, liked her – or at least seemed to – and that was better than she could say for most.

“Good morning. Ivan, did you get your side looked at?”

He lifted his shirttail from his pants, hiking it up to show her a clean white bandage wrapped around his midsection. “Scraped it clean, washed it out, gave me three stitches. Hurt like hell.”

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