“Oh,” Feliks said, and he must have been able to read the indecision in her. “Oh. Um. Well.” He attempted a smile. “It might be helpful to have a sharpshooter along. If you want to come, I mean.”
“Don’t let us pressure you,” Ivan said, unaccountably cheerful. He made a motion toward her bowl. “Are you going to finish that?”
~*~
Nikita spent a good twenty minutes looking for his people – he thought of all of them that way, fondly, rolling his eyes, like an exasperated parent almost – and finally found them down in the basement labs, that rabbit warren of windowless concrete hallways, caged lights, the beeping of strange machines, and the chemical tang of experimentation.
He heard their voices – Ivan, loudest and most-recognizable of all – and glanced down toward the closed door of the massive operating theater where Monsieur Philippe had driven a knife through Sasha’s heart and turned him into a wolfman. He shuddered, skin going suddenly cold, and he turned instead toward one of the smaller labs, one that didn’t hold such violent memories.
They were inside, all of them, even Katya, who slouched with one shoulder resting against a cabinet face, arms crossed, her loveliness set off by the drab green shirt and trousers she wore. She was so clean, her skin ivory and smooth, brows and lashes and hair shiny-dark under the lights, her lips pink like she’d been chewing at them. She’d been beautiful in the outdoors, windburned and smudged with dirt; but seeing her fresh and put-together, standing with Kolya, belonging there, with them all, hit him right in the gut.
He wanted her. Badly. How the hell had he waited so long to touch her?
Kolya sent him a smug look that said he knew what he was thinking, and Nikita shook the stupor off and stepped into the room.
Sasha sat on the edge of a table, long legs dangling, arm extended and sleeve pushed up as Dr. Ingraham drew a vial of blood. The wolves crowded on the opposite side of the table, glaring at the doctor, who shifted under their scrutiny and darted them a nervous glance.
“They won’t attack you,” Sasha said, tone mild. “Not unless I want them to.”
“That’s g-good to know.”
Sasha lifted his head, saw Nikita, and smiled so hard his eyes turned to bright blue slits, truly happy, just as Dmitri had always been. Nikita was the gloomy friend, of the two of them – had been; he had to remind himself constantly that that time was past. It was so easy to fall into the old thought patterns around Sasha.
“Nik,” he greeted.
The wolves turned to regard him, too, going from wary to welcoming – though he had no idea how he managed to read that in their faces. One of the betas let out a quiet woof of hello.
“Morning,” he said to everyone. Then let his gaze land on Monsieur Philippe. “What’s going on? Is he sick?” The thought set his pulse thumping.
“No,” the Frenchman assured. “Healthy as a horse. Or, well, as a wolf, I guess you’d say. Just some routine testing for Dr. Ingraham’s study.”
“His study?” He glanced at the other faces, saw that his men and Katya looked skeptical in the extreme. Katya tugged her lower lip between her teeth; she’d been chewing on it after all, then.
Dr. Ingraham pulled the vial and needle away from the crook of Sasha’s elbow in a practiced movement, replacing it with a wad of gauze that he pressed tight to the pricked vein. “Oh, yes.” He sounded eager for a chance to talk about his work, shooting Nikita an excited smile that went unreturned. “It’s a study I began in America – one that was, at the time, largely theoretical.” He gave a single bitter laugh. “My colleagues at Harvard told me I was insane. And I started to think maybe I was: believing that occult forces could be harnessed in some way to aid in the treatment of complex medical conditions. ‘Black magic,’ they called it. Said I was a Satanist. They didn’t believe that anyone with supernatural powers actually existed.”
He shook his head as he bandaged Sasha’s arm. “I knew I was right, though, I knew I was, and I was.”
Nikita was glad he hadn’t eaten yet, his stomach grabbing unhappily. “You’re using him, then.” Just like Monsieur Philippe was – hell, just like all of them were. Sasha had been nothing but a sweet pawn from the first.
Dr. Ingraham – bent over a rack of vials full of dark, viscous crimson liquid – jerked upright with an alarmed look. “I would never harm him – harm anyone! This is such a unique opportunity for me – for everyone!–”
“What Dr. Ingraham means to say is,” Philippe said, “is that prior to leaving America he obtained a sample of wolf blood.”
“Accidentally,” the doctor put in, recovering somewhat, nudging his glasses up his nose. “I didn’t even know what it was, at first, but then I put it under the microscope and discovered it had nearly triple the amount of white blood cells of a normal, healthy person.” He took a breath, settled a bit more, and continued, growing excited again. “Naturally I thought my test subject must be very ill – but somehow, miraculously, he wasn’t. He was well. He was strong and fever-free. He was a wolf! Like Sasha. And he was willing to help me with my research. At least, he was…” His shoulders drooped. “Until he went missing.”
The doctor sighed. “I spent five years crafting a grant proposal. My thesis was that preternatural beings existed, and that, having once been human, an extensive study of their anatomy and physiognomy could potentially benefit the medical field.”
“Dr. Ingraham’s grant built this facility,” Philippe said, something in his look pointed.
Nikita wasn’t feeling cooperative. “So why not build it in America?”
Kolya rolled his eyes skyward.
Katya bit down hard on her lip.
Ivan coughed into his hand.
Flustered again, Dr. Ingraham said, “Well, after Monsieur Philippe’s invitation–”
“Captain Baskin,” Philippe said, stepping forward finally. “Can I talk to you in the hall a moment?”
“Smooth,” Feliks chuckled under his breath.
Nikita let the old man take his elbow and steer him out of the room, managing not to jerk away like a petulant child. It was a near thing, though.
“So you invited this idiot here,” he said once they were alone. “That sounds like a good way to further our cause: involve an American scientist who wants to study Sasha like a lab experiment.” His tone was cutting, but Philippe responded calmly.
“Tell me, Captain, do you think any of the secular leaders of this nation would have listened to a word I had to say if I phrased it as a matter of spells and spirits? No,” he said before Nikita could respond. They walked slowly down the hall, voices low. “They wanted facts, and science, and probabilities. That’s what I’ve given them with Dr. Ingraham.”
Nikita snorted, unconvinced. “Why an American?”
“He had the money. And the wolf he used to write his proposal? That was Mitya – an idiot Russian wolf I once met who ended up immigrating to Siberia, and then Alaska, and, apparently, Boston at some point. He’s a useless fool, but he is a wolf. I learned of his involvement with Dr. Ingraham through the underground gossip network, and let’s just say he’s the sort of man with more resources than good sense, and he knew too much to leave him in the wind.”
“You’re using him, then, and not the other way around.”
“Precisely.”
Nikita reached to rub a kink from his neck. Ten hours back in this place had left him sorer than all their traipsing through the countryside. “Sasha isn’t a lab rat to be studied,” he said, tiredly.
“Agreed. I don’t intend for any of Ingraham’s samples to survive, in the long run. We’re humoring him for now. Can you do that, Captain?” He sounded genuinely curious.
“I don’t know.”
“Hmm. Ingraham’s likely only the first of many. There have always been members of the scientific community who want to study the occult, trying to merge the two. Someone almost always ends up dead, in those instances.”
“Comforting.”
The clic
k of canine toenails on cement floor heralded the arrival of Sasha and his wolves; Sasha had learned how to walk silently; it was probably second nature by now.
Nikita glanced back over his shoulder and saw the whole pack was following them, Sasha seemingly unbothered by the bandage around his elbow.
The big female came right up to Nikita and ducked her head into his palm, demanding a head scratch. He obliged and felt his blood pressure ease instantly. They were good for that, if nothing else.
Sasha seemed to know what he wanted to ask. He unrolled his sleeve, covering up the gauze, and shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
“You’ll mind when they lock you up in a cage,” Nikita huffed, sounding angrier than he’d intended. He didn’t want to worry the boy – but his own worry proved hard to contain.
Sasha gave him a smile that was so cocky and familiar it was obvious he’d adopted it from Ivan. “That’s not going to happen. And if it does, well.” He curled his hand into a fist and examined it, thoughtful. “I don’t think a cage would hold me at this point anyway.”
Nikita had to smile back, a little, though he knew it was touched with concern. “Not all cages are made of bars, Sashka.”
It was the first time he’d used the affectionate nickname, and Sasha noticed, gaze lifting, face splitting in a wider, truer grin, one that was sweet and excited, and all him.
“Still,” he said. “I think I’ll be alright.”
“I hope so.” Please God, let it be so. I can’t lose any more of them.
~*~
“Just humor him,” Monsieur Philippe said of Dr. Ingraham. “The tests are harmless, and then we can be on our way. We need his help with Our Friend Grigory.”
So Sasha humored the good doctor – he was a kind, if terribly nervous man, so it was no hardship. And none of the tests were painful or embarrassing. Sasha gave blood, and saliva, and urine samples. He lifted barbells loaded with impossible weights to test his strength – he hefted five-hundred pounds overhead with only a little effort, and Dr. Ingraham swore under his breath, astounded. He ran around the base’s yard, lapping the young private sent to represent the experiment’s constant, only stopping because Dr. Ingraham said that was enough, but not because he was tired.
None of the wolves would allow themselves to be touched by the doctor or any of his staff, and Sasha wasn’t going to force them. They were real, biological wolves, after all; Sasha was the anomaly in want of studying.
Finally, Dr. Ingraham nursing his fourth cup of tea, – grimacing at the taste, claiming he’d much prefer American coffee – the long day of tests ended, and Sasha realized he was famished and dying to breathe the clean, cool air of the outdoors.
“You’re sure we’re done?” he asked, hopping down off the table and swinging his wolf-skin cloak over his shoulders. He left the hood down between his shoulders, thinking Dr. Ingraham might faint with shock if he met the alpha’s snarling upper jaw face-to-face.
“Quite.” Dr. Ingraham produced a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket – the label read “Marlboro” – and shook one out, eyelids flagging with exhaustion. “Oh, sorry. Do you want one?” He tipped the pack in offering.
“No. Thanks. I haven’t been able to stomach them since the turning.”
“Really? Fascinating.” Dr. Ingraham glanced at his discarded clipboard longingly, like he wanted to write that tidbit down. But ultimately gave in to fatigue, shrugging and lighting his smoke. “Thank you, Sasha, you’ve been a big help.”
He didn’t see how, but oh well. “Sure,” he said, and ducked out of the lab, his wolves at his heels, before the doctor could decide to ask him anything else.
They passed two soldiers on their way up the stairs to the main floor, both of whom flattened themselves against the far wall, scared as schoolchildren. Sasha didn’t guess he blamed them, but he wondered what they’d been told. No one had tried to stop him from bringing his four-legged pack into the base, so he guessed there must have been some sort of announcement. Don’t mind the wolves, boys, they won’t bite. Much.
He didn’t take a deep breath until they were outside, crushing the early shoots of spring grass underfoot, and then he couldn’t stop breathing, sucking in great lungfuls of air. He was surprised to note that it was evening, the sun going down with one last matchstick flare above the tree tops, smeared orange and taking the last of the day’s warmth with it.
He stood for a long moment, head tipped back, enjoying the feel of the breeze through his hair, feeling the warmth of his wolves around him, tasting a hundred nameless scents on his tongue. Smells could be tasted now, in a way they never had been before the turning. The copper of spilled blood when he took down game, the ash of a smothered fire, the musk of unwashed humans, all of it delicious in its own way because it was alive and vital and real.
Finally, he sighed out a breath and reached to pet his alpha girl on top of the head. “Well, silly us, we came out here without food.”
In response, she looked toward the open gates and whined, a soft question.
Sasha grinned. “I don’t see what a little hunt would hurt, do you?”
She snorted in obvious agreement.
The guards stationed at the gate spared them only a passing glance, but didn’t try to stop them. Once they were clear, Sasha broke into an easy jog, long legs eating up the distance, the wolves loping alongside and behind him, tongues lolling as they smiled happy, wolfish smiles.
Sasha smiled too, laughing, giddy with the sense of freedom, of possibility, of being where he belonged. He was different now, and he didn’t regret it, not at all. He was something Dr. Ingraham could never quantify in his test tubes and charts. He was wild. No one could take that from him, no matter what happened, and for the moment, he was glad.
24
CHOICES
The base had a crude rifle range and that was where Katya spent her afternoon, bits of cotton stuffed in her ears, knocking out the centers of targets. She earned some appreciative whistles and catcalls from the male soldiers – as much for her ass, she knew, as for her aim – but none of them offered to get too close to her. Going off into the woods with a wolf-boy, a magic man, and a group of Cheka had served her well in that sense; they all thought she was spoken for – or maybe cursed.
Maybe she was.
Something was nagging at her, after, when the sun started to dip and she went inside to shower and change. She had a stare-down with her reflection while she toweled and then braided her hair, looking for clues to her melancholy in the tightness around her eyes.
Nikita had given her a choice. Go to Stalingrad and join the war efforts there, or go with them to Petrograd. Only, she was a soldier, so “choice” wasn’t really the word for it. Still. She could choose not to go, and Nikita would go to her superiors and tell them they were no longer in need of her services, thank you very much. So. Some choice. One that wasn’t any easier now than it had been in the woods.
She tied off her braids, tossed her towel in the hamper, and headed to the mess hall.
She went around the first bend in the hallway and found Nikita there, hands clasped loosely in front of him, shoulders braced back against the wall. He wore his long, black leather coat, and something in his stance made her think he was on sentry duty.
“What are you doing?” she asked, not stopping, and he peeled off the wall and fell into step beside her.
“It looked like a good spot to stand for a while,” he said, in a voice she’d since learned was too casual. When he really didn’t care he sounded bored; this flat, toneless voice was hiding something, and she prided herself on knowing that.
“Right outside the bathroom? That struck you as a good spot?” She darted a glance to the side and caught the faint pink stain of a blush creeping up his neck. “Were you waiting for me, Captain Baskin?” she teased.
He shrugged, and the blush spread, licked up over the harsh line of his jawbone. “Could be.”
Katya chuckled. “You’re not very
good at this, you know.”
“I know.” He sighed, and she felt a light touch on her elbow. He halted in the middle of the hall and urged her to do the same. Turned to face her, expression grave. His gray-blue eyes were large in the gloom of the hallway…and touched with worry. “I know I’m not good at it. I’m.” He sighed again, a quick, frustrated breath through his nose. “In my line of work, being what I am – it hasn’t given me many chances to practice.”
“Oh god.” She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a horrified laugh. “You aren’t saying that you’re a…?” She didn’t mean for her eyes to stray to the front of his trousers, really she didn’t, but her horror was so great – and hilarious – that she couldn’t help a quick glance.
“What? No.” His blush crept up into his cheeks, high and bright across his beautiful cheekbones. “No, not that. Christ. I meant.” He was discomfited, and it was adorable. “I meant that most respectable ladies like yourself think – well, you know what they think. We aren’t exactly the types invited to parties. I’ve never properly courted anyone, is what I mean. It’s just been…well, you don’t want to hear about whores and – fuck, why am I doing this so badly?”
Katya giggled into her hand. There was a lightness in her chest now that she hadn’t felt since before her family was killed, and she wanted to kiss him for giving her that – she wanted to kiss him for a lot of reasons at this point, but right now, that was the main one.
“That’s alright,” she said. “I was a little afraid you’d say you’d never, um, been–”
“I have,” he rushed to say, blushing wildly.
“Good. Because my only experience has been…”
His face fell, and he leaned in closer, hand tightening on her elbow.
“But that doesn’t matter,” she said, rushing now too, not wanting to break the fragile wonder of the moment. “No one’s ever courted me, so I won’t know if you mess it up. How’s that?” She smiled up at him, encouraging.
White Wolf (Sons of Rome Book 1) Page 30
