Page 60 of White Wolf
The sudden, vicious heat of it blasted him back, a hot gust of wind that sent him sprawling back on his ass. He choked on it, that heat, coughing and sputtering, shielding his face where the skin felt immediately tender, like fresh sunburn. Tears filled his eyes and he shut them, briefly, trying to regain his feet.
“Jesus,” someone swore behind him.
A big hand caught him in the armpit – Ivan – and hauled him upright, the other tugging his shirt straight, checking for burns. “Alright, Nik?”
“Yeah.” He was panting, his heart racing. He cracked his eyes open and saw that the flame had receded into a pulsing ball, warm and crackling like a campfire, hanging in the air between them and Philippe.
“Honestly,” the old man said, heaving a put-upon sigh. “If you’d justwait, you’d see that he’s fine.”
Nikita shook off Ivan’s grip and took a step forward.
The fire expanded.
Behind them, the soldiers edged forward, but they were afraid of the flame, too, and they didn’t come close enough to touch him.
Philippe’s smile was cruel. “What do you think you’re going to do, Captain Baskin? What will burning yourself to cinders accomplish?”
“If it means I can choke you to death, it’ll be worth it.”
“Ah, well–”
Someone moaned, low and pained.
“Oh.” Philippe smiled and turned to Sasha’s body – Sasha’smovingbody. His head rolled on the steel table, and Nikita’s pulse leapt. “He’s perfectly alright, Captain, go and see for yourself.” The old man took a step back, taking his hovering ball of fire with him, leaving the path clear to the table.
Nikita’s legs were so unsteady that Ivan had to help him, but he made it to the table, to Sasha’s side.
His eyes went to the knife first. Sunk to the hilt in the tender young muscle of his chest, crimson pearls of blood running down his side, sliding down the grooves of his ribs. And somehow, impossibly, he was breathing, his chest rising and falling.
Pull it out, pull it out, pull it out, a voice chanted in the back of Nikita’s mind. A base instinct to remove the thing that had hurt him. But he knew that it was a miracle he was still alive, the pressure of the blade the only thing that kept his heart working. If he pulled it out, Sasha would hemorrhage to death.
Sasha’s head rolled toward them, his mouth slack and full of blood. He moaned again, louder this time, gritted his blood-slick teeth and hissed.
Shit. Oh shit, oh shit.
Nikita’s hands hovered over him, useless. He would die anyway, wouldn’t he? Yes. Maybe it was a mercy to pull it out, help him go quick. Once blood flooded his chest cavity, he would stop feeling pain.
Nikita wrapped a shaking hand around the hilt of the knife and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Go on, Captain,” Philippe said. “It has to come out.”
Well.
He did it slowly, though, dimly aware of Ivan’s steadying hand on his shoulder. Slow, slow, slow, fresh trickles of blood pouring across the boy’s chest.
Nikita’s throat was too tight to swallow. He wasn’t in the business ofremovingknives from people, and it was terrible. He wanted to scream.
“What the…what the fuck?” Ivan whispered beside him.
The knife was almost free now, just another half inch to go, all of it grisly red and shiny. It was…
Oh.
The wound wasclosing. The bleeding had slowed – was slowing further. Gone thick and clotted in the well of the wound – a wound that was shrinking shut by the second. Smaller, smaller, smaller…
Nikita’s hand went limp, and the knife clattered to the floor at his feet. “What…?” he started, too shocked to form a proper question.
Just.What.
