Page 175 of White Wolf

“It’s fine,” Sasha said, his smile amused, but kind.

“Here, drink this.” Nikita slid his glass of vodka across to Trina and, well, that seemed like a good idea.

She downed it in two swallows. “It’s really you, isn’t it?” she asked.

He nodded, expression guarded.

The vodka had hit her empty stomach with a warm flare, and it spread quick. Somewhat revived, she took a deep breath and said, “Right. Lanny, this is Nikita Baskin. And Sasha…”

“Kashnikov,” he supplied. He tilted his head, and a fading sunbeam landed on the side of his throat, on a fading purple mark there that startled her.

He noticed, smile tweaking.

Lanny noticed too. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “It’s you two. Goddamn it, Trina, did you bring your cuffs in? A little warning woulda been nice.” He fumbled at his belt, looking for his own.

“Stop,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. “Let them explain–”

“Like fuck,” he muttered, breath coming in frantic little huffs. He was winding up tight, reminding her alarmingly of the boxer he’d been, rather than the level-headed cop he was now.

“Listen to me,” Nikita said, and Lanny froze. His voice was low, but resonant, flavored with Russia, powerful in a way that sent a shiver skittering down Trina’s back. The look he leveled at Lanny belonged in a previous century, in a time of world wars and double-agents, of dead tsars and slaughtered thousands.

Trina didn’t breathe.

Across the table, Sasha caught her gaze and mouthedit’s okay.

Nikita said, “You’re looking for the creature that’s killing young people outside of clubs, yes? That isn’t me. I’m the same sort of thing, but I’m not doing that. Yes, I bit Sasha.” He tipped his head to indicate his friend. “My kind have to feed, and I feed from him, because he’s strong, and because it keeps me from hurting anyone. Innocent people,” he added, an amendment.

Lanny stared at him, expression slack with shock. “And I’m what, just supposed to take your work for it? I’m not even sure you are what she says you are.” Tilt of his head toward Trina.

She snorted. “Thanks.”

Without any fuss, Nikita reached with one hand and lifted his upper lip with his thumb. His teeth were white, clean, even. And his canines were sharp points. They didn’t stick out, didn’t draw attention or give his mouth that unnatural, lumpy look that fake movie fangs always gave actors; but as they watched, they seemed to drop, growing longer, curved and wicked, meant for tearing into animals.

“Jesus,” Lanny hissed.

The canines retreated and Nikita dropped his hand, shrugging. “There are other ways to show you, but less pleasant, I think.”

“Do the growl,” Sasha suggested. Then, grinning, gave one of his own, a low, deep, obviously canine rumble.

Nikita stopped him with a hand on his arm. “That’s enough,bratishka.”

“It’s okay, we believe you,” Trina said.

“I don’t,” Lanny said.

“Ibelieve you. Lanny’s being a stubborn ass.”

Sasha laughed.

Nikita shrugged. “It’s okay that he doesn’t believe. Suspicion is good, I think.”

A waiter in a green apron arrived, asking if Sasha and Nikita wanted more vodka; they did – Sasha drained his still-full glass and then set it on the waiter’s tray. Lanny asked for bourbon. Trina ordered coffee.

“I’m not losing consciousness again,” she said as the waiter walked off. “I want to understand this.”

Lanny gave a noncommittal grunt beside her.

“He wants to understand, too, but, you know, he’s got that whole stubborn ass problem.”

---