Page 69 of White Wolf
Wasn’t he?
Without expression, Katya said, “I’m assigned to you by the major general. If you don’t like it, you can take it up with him.”
They stared at one another across the muddy patch of yard. Nikita ground his teeth, muscle in his jaw flexing.
And then Sasha realized what was happening: Nikitalikedher. Well, notliked, because he didn’t know her, but hewantedher. The sharp tang of want emanated from him, and Sasha almost smiled.
“We don’t need a sniper,” Nikita said. “We’re not even Army.”
“That’s what everyone says,” Katya shot back, “until they’re dead.”
Philippe made no noise when he walked; if not for the fire-ash-smoke smell of him, Sasha wouldn’t have known he was approaching. As it was, he startled everyone else – Pyotr even jumped – when he materialized out of the mist and said, “Our sniper’s arrived, wonderful. We’re all here then.”
The muscle in Nikita’s jaw leapt again, but he didn’t comment.
Sasha caught a sharp whiff of wolf, and death, and turned to face the sorcerer. He carried something white in his hands.
“Sasha,” he said, smiling, and stepped forward. “This is for you.”
Sasha felt a wave of great sadness crash through him. This was the dead alpha, the white wolf Philippe had killed in order to turn him. He’d been a strong, healthy male in his prime, and he hadn’t deserved to die.
But even so, Sasha felt himself reach for the pelt that lay folded in Philippe’s hands. The alpha was dead, but he was Sasha’s alpha – he washim. A part of his soul longed for the warm white fur, wanting to be reunited with it. A voice that wasn’t a voice at all, but a gentle murmuring like melting snow, told him that this was right and good. He was the alpha now, and he should wear the pelt of the great beast that had become a part of him, whose heart’s blood had pierced his own heart.
With the aid of pale, soft leather and wool, the pelt had been fashioned into a hooded cloak. The hood bore the head and ears and upper jaw of the wolf, his wicked ivory teeth preserved. The body would fit around his shoulders, the tail trailing along the outside of one thigh.
“Try it on,” Philippe urged.
Sasha threw it around his shoulders and it settled with a soft thump, a gust of musky wolf scent as soothing and welcome as his mother’s freshly laundered skirts when he was a shy toddler and wont to press his face into her leg. The clasp was made of bone, and it fastened with a deft flick of his thumb. He pulled the hood up over his head; it was warm and homey inside it, the tips of the teeth just visible if he strained his gaze upward.
“Holy Christ,” Feliks muttered. “He really is a wolf.”
Sasha grinned and felt his lip lift too far, knew his teeth were flashing.
I am the alpha, he thought,and this is my pack.
“Shall we?” Philippe asked, and they set off from the Ingraham Institute and into the forest.
~*~
“It’s nice to see you again,” a voice said right beside her, and Katya nearly leapt out of her skin.
Sasha settled in beside her without a sound save the quiet rustle of his cloak. When she looked at it from the corner of her eye, without turning her head, the sight of a wolf walking upright on its hind legs sent a chill skittering down her back. But then he turned to face her, blue eyes bright, his smile warm and easy, and she the chased the sudden fear away with a forceful mental shove.
“Hello,” she said, glad her voice sounded steady.
His smile widened, and she was struck by the sense that he was different somehow. More relaxed than he’d been on the ship. His eyes seemed bluer than she remembered; and his teeth, when his smile got yet another fraction wider, seemed too-white – the canines were sharper than any she’d ever seen. Not fangs, but close, noticeable points that gleamed in the sunlight.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Fine. How areyou?”
“I’m wonderful.” The funny part was he sounded like he believed that.
Without leaning toward him or doing anything to draw attention, she dropped her voice to a whisper and said, “Sasha, what are they dragging you out here in the woods to do?”
“Oh, they’re not dragging me,” he said, too-loud for comfort. She glanced up the line of black-clad backs in front of them, sure someone would turn around and catch them talking. Probably that stone-faced captain. “They’re my pa – they’re my friends,” he said, and she wondered what he’d started to say. “This is a training exercise.”
“Training for what? None of you are in the army.”
