Page 87 of White Wolf
Like Sasha, she’d picked up on Monsieur Philippe’s burned-toast smell.
“Bonjour, Monsieur,” Sasha called, and the man stepped out from behind a tree, smiling, small clean hands folded together in front of him. The rest of them were all dirty and bristly and smelly from their trek – Sasha hardly recognized his own wild reflection when he looked into streams and puddles – but Philippe was always tidy and composed, his long fur remarkably clean; there wasn’t even any mud at the hem.
“Good morning,” Philippe said. “I see you had a successful hunt.”
“It’s spring. Game’s plentiful – and not careful this time of year.”
Philippe’s smile twitched at the corners, curling up into a sly smirk. “Loveisbewitching. And nothing male is immune to it, I’m afraid.”
Sasha had reached him now, and came to a halt, adjusting the carcass on his shoulders.
The alpha female growled quietly.
“What do you mean?” Sasha asked.
“Nothing, nothing.” The old man waved away the concern. “I’m sure the others will be hungry and ready for venison steaks. They’ve been busy this morning.”
Sasha nodded, his earlier happiness returning. “I can hear them.”
“Don’t let me keep you.”
Once they’d passed him, the female snorted, a clearly derisive sound.
“I know,” Sasha murmured to her. “But I don’t think we have a choice.”
At the top of the rise, the trees thinned, leaving a plane of dry, pine needle-covered ground perfect for pitching tents…and learning how to spar. Sasha lowered the stag to the forest floor and watched a moment.
Feliks had put Katya in a headlock, but it wasn’t a perfect one, and she knew it, too, wriggling and bucking against his hold. She elbowed him in the solar plexus and when his grip spasmed, she bit his hand.
“Ow, damn it!”
She slid out from under his arm, whirled, and aimed a kick at his crotch.
“Hey!” he protested, flailing to cover himself…and leaving his face exposed, her open-handed slap catching his cheek with a satisfyingsmack. “Fuck,” Feliks said, with feeling, and stepped back, rubbing his face.
Katya was breathless, red-faced, and smiling. Smiling in a way Sasha hadn’t seen yet, and it made him smile too.
“Good,” Kolya said from the sidelines, nodding with approval. “Closed fist with a real opponent, though.”
“Yeah,” Katya said, pushing loose tendrils of hair off her forehead, trying to get her breath back.
“Or stab his eyes out with your fingers. He can’t kill you if he can’t see you.”
“Okay.”
“Are your balls alright?” Ivan asked Feliks with faux concern.
“Fuck you.”
The big man burst out laughing.
Pyotr smiled and shook his head as if to saywhat can we do with these hopeless idiots?
And Nikita…
Nothing male is immune to it, Monsieur Philippe had said, and smirked, and Sasha understood now. Nikita probably had no idea that his face was full of softness, and fondness, and longing as he watched Katya. It might not have been love he felt toward her, not yet at least, but it wasn’t simple lust. There was too much admiration in his gaze for that.
Sasha smiled, overcome by a sense ofgood, andright. Nikita was many things, lonely and guilty and miserable chief among them. He loved his brothers-in-arms, Sasha knew, and felt that love turned toward him, too. But some wounds could only be healed by the intimate, hot-blooded love between two people, the kind that lived in the spiritandthe body.
