Page 139 of White Wolf
“What? How?”
“He’s getting stronger. And. Dr. Ingraham fed him some of my blood.”
“What?”
Footsteps coming up behind her heralded Nikita’s arrival. “Whatwhat?”
Katya kept her hand on Sasha’s as she turned to face Nikita. “Dr. Ingraham is giving Rasputin Sasha’s blood to drink.”
Nikita’s reaction was immediate, and, to be honest, frightening. In a heartbeat, her lover’s face transformed into an angular, murderous mask, eyes flat and slate-colored. “What the fuck? He is?” He turned to Sasha. “Youlethim?”
Sasha shrugged and looked like he tried to crawl down into his shirt collar. “What was I supposed to do?”
Nikita’s jaw clenched tight, tendons leaping in his throat. “Stay with him,” he said. “I’m going to have a word.”
“Nik, no,” Sasha said, sad and worried, looking like the puppy Ivan always called him.
“Stay with him,” he repeated, and marched back down the stairs.
Katya drew Sasha’s arm through hers and urged him the other way, up toward the main floor, and daylight. “Let’s go visit the wolves,” she suggested.
Sasha whined, but followed along.
~*~
The door to Dr. Ingraham’s office stood ajar, but Nikita kicked it anyway, gratified by the way it slammed back against the wall, and the way the doctor nearly fell out of his chair. A pen went flying, and papers slid off the desk to land with a puff and a swirl, like kicked leaves.
Nikita didn’t give him a chance to recover. “You’re giving that monster Sasha’s blood? Why in the fuck would you do that?” If he was shouting, he didn’t care.
“I – I–” Ingraham stuttered.
“Captain Baskin,” Philippe snapped. “Is there a reason you’re verbally assaulting the doctor?”
Nikita whirled to face him, realizing belatedly that he’d raised his fists, poised for a fight.
The mage gave him a mild look. “Really?”
Nikita forced his hands back to his sides, but he couldn’t temper the fury in his voice. “I’m fucking sick of you,” he snarled. “Everything Sasha gives, you take more. Every time you say you won’t hurt him, you do, and feed us all a buncha bullshit about what has to happen. This is it. This is the last goddamn straw–”
“Dr. Ingraham,” Philippe said. “Would you give us a moment, please?”
The doctor couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. He tripped on his way out, nearly fell, and snatched the door shut behind him.
When he was gone, Philippe’s calm façade dropped…and gave way to gray-faced exhaustion.
Nikita was expecting a fight, and wasn’t prepared for the worn-out gaze that met his. His anger couldn’t help but cool.
“Go on,” he said with a deep sigh. “Tell me about your last straw.”
Nikita was still mad…but not yelling mad. He felt foolish, suddenly. Stupid, naïve, and used. “I waste my breath every time I talk to you, don’t I? The plan all along was to utterly ruin that boy, and idiot me has gone along, wanting to believe your promises.”
“No, no. I’m at fault. I haven’t been completely honest about vampire nature.” He made a face, and then walked around and sat at Dr. Ingraham’s desk. “Would you like to sit?”
Nikita folded his arms. “No.” He knew he was being led on. He would listen, because some scrap of what Philippe said might be true, but he wasn’t going to settle in for tea and a pleasant chat.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t match up to the legends. Vampires aren’t harmed by sunlight, nor garlic, nor holy water, nor crosses. They aren’tevil; the church doesn’trepelthem. Vampires need blood to survive,” the mage began. “But not in the way they tell it in the stories. They need food, as well. And they don’t have to feed – on blood, that is – every day when they’re healthy.
“But when they’re ailing.” He chewed at the inside of his cheek, considering. “Then they need more. And strong blood, at that.”
