Page 163 of White Wolf
“But, Nik.”
He spared her the briefest glance, saw the anguish in her eyes. “Please.”
She wanted to argue, her jaw set, but she turned and ran, tripping through the deep snow.
Nikita stood in front of her retreat, his gun aimed at the vampire.
Sasha was still on the ground, making a horrible sound, half wolf howl and half human scream.
“Monsieur Philippe.” Nikita couldn’t believe the calmness of his own voice. “Care to explain?”
The mage heaved a deep sigh that sounded truly regretful. “Captain, I’m afraid that our time together has come to an end. You’ve been a wonderful help these past months, but you’ve outlived your usefulness, I’m afraid.”
The worst part was, he wasn’t surprised. He should never have started down this path.
But now here they were.
He sighed, too. Nodded. “Right.” And pulled the trigger.
The bullet didn’t reach its target. Rasputin stepped in front of the mage, and he jerked a little, like he’d been shoved, when the round went into his abdomen.
The shot echoed off the flat plane of snow, on and on, the only sound save Sasha’s whimpering.
Rasputin smiled, and it looked strained, blood bubbling between his teeth. But he was on his feet, unwavering. “Captain,” he said, chuckling, “you’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”
Ivan let out a roar, and charged.
~*~
Katya reached the tree line and turned back, already shrugged her rifle off her back. She heard the yell, and when she put the rifle stock to her shoulder, she saw that it was Ivan, running full-tilt at the vampire.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. They’d all watched Rasputin and Philippe in battle. Ivan had no hope.
She was so clear-headed now, more herself than she had been in weeks. Rasputin was in Sasha’s head, she realized, and it was taking all his mental strength to keep the boy down on the ground and writhing.
Philippe raised his hand, a bright curl of fire unfurling in his palm.
Katya wanted to scream for Ivan to get down.
She lined up her sights and fired.
Philippe threw fire, like he had so many times before, and it hit Ivan like a shove, threw him to the ground, bursting and spreading. The big man screamed.
Katya’s shot went straight through Rasputin’s skull, blood, and brain, and bone flying across the snow.
He fell, limp, and Sasha staggered to his feet, weaving like a drunk.
Nikita turned his gun on Philippe, fired once, twice, three times. The shots didn’t land, pinging off thin air, whizzing off through the trees.
Feliks and Pyotr fell on Ivan, throwing handfuls of snow on him, smothering the flames. He’d stopped screaming, though.
Kolya pulled his two long knives, and even in the snow, he was graceful as the dancer he’d once been as he advanced on the mage.
Philippe kindled another palmful of fire –
And Katya fired again.
He’d been just distracted enough. The bullet caught him in the knee with a bright explosion of blood and tissue.
