Page 166 of Golden Eagle

“Jesus Christ, he got away!” the male wolf who’d spoken snarled. He had an accent. “We’ve chased him all over the bloody city!”

Nikita wasn’t listening, his attention caught by the eerily still human in the hood. He didn’t stand like most humans, wasn’t flat-footed with his shoulders jacked up. Didn’t hold himself like he was ready for a confrontation, one of those awful, mortal things full of posturing and machismo. No, he held himself like–

The thought hit him like a gut punch, painful and unwelcome, but there was no denying it, not judging the lightness of the man’s stance, the way he held his arms, the finely-crafted tension in his body.

It was a stance he’d seen before.

A dancer’s stance.

“Nik, dear,” Val said, and placed a hand on his arm. “Perhaps we should–”

The man lifted scarred hands and pushed his hood back. The wind blew his hair across his face, and brought his scent right to Nik: death, ash, dirt, blood. The moonlight struck him, through the thinnest veil of clouds, and Nikita’s brain stopped working.

Kolya. It was Kolya.

---