Anatoliy pressed against her left hand, hoping she’d look in that direction. Her skin smelled different than anything he’d smelled before. He could smell the dogs, the dirt, iron, but underneath that, there was a sweetness to her skin. Like citrus and sunshine, or clean air and a sharp winter day. It was wholly her.
She jerked her hand away from him. “No biting!”
He’d been sniffing her, rubbing his nose all over her hand and arm. He wanted to laugh, when, to his amazement, he made a sound like a bark.
The girl turned her arm over and wiped it on her dress, narrowing her eyes. “You don’t have to laugh. It’s not out of the realm of possibility.”
He nudged her lightly one more time, and she glanced over to see the flag pinned to a birch tree.
“Oh,” she whispered, her cheeks blushing.
She walked a bit slower this time. Anatoliy followed her, staying behind and listening closely for footsteps. He sniffed the air, but the scent of the woods was overlaid with a dozen different human scents, most of them old.
The girl stepped lightly through the forest, impressing Anatoliy with her silence.
Everything about this girl impressed Anatoliy, and that scared him. He didn’t need to worry about another person.
But if he could have smiled, he would have. She had saved him. Here he was worrying about how to protect this girl, and she had fought off a half dozen wild dogs, unlatched him from irons, and saved him before he could be shot by a firing squad.
“I see something,” she whispered.
Anatoliy lifted his head. He didn’t see anything, but he didn’t want her to go forward without him surveying the area. He leaned forward, clasping her dress lightly in his teeth and tugging.
At the pull, she stopped and glanced at him. He dropped her dress and stepped forward.
“Shouldn’t I go?”
Slowly, hoping she would understand, he shook his head.
Her blue eyes widened. “No?”
Relieved she seemed to understand, he repeated the action.
Turning away, he carefully sniffed the air before taking a wary step forward. He looked for traps, trip wires, or nets and found nothing.
He turned back to her. She had her tail wrapped around her waist and held it clasped in both hands. “Is it safe?”
He lifted and lowered his head, yes.
She nodded then followed him.
Between the tall pines, nestled low to the ground, was a cabin. It wasn’t newly built, but was snug and lopsided. It was so small Anatoliy wondered if he’d fit inside. He probably wouldn’t, especially if Aleksandr had anything to do with this retreat.
The girl placed her hand on the latch, her thumb pressing down on the hinge, and waited for him. She looked at him questioningly. “Is it safe?”
He didn’t know. He walked to a cut-out in the frame, standing on his hind legs and looked inside. Tins were piled on a table, along with rolls of bandages, glass bottles of salve, and a wooden cask. He stuck his nose inside and sniffed.
It smelled of more recent humans, but he could scent no gunpowder or metals that would suggest a trap.
He lowered himself heavily to his paws again, grimacing inwardly when the wounds reopened. She took a breath, like she was readying herself, before she stepped slowly inside. She kept one foot outside the door, her tail swishing from side to side.
Anatoliy found himself fascinated by it. Earlier, when she had leapt over fallen logs and pounded up the hill, it had stayed low and still, and then, when she was nervous, she had pulled it around her body like a blanket. Now, as she was investigating something, it swung gently, as if the girl’s curiosity was displayed by her tail.
It was a magnificent tail. It looked soft, but muscled. Anatoliy wanted to feel it, to touch the fur and see if it was like an arm or a hand, or stronger, like a leg.
He wondered about its purpose, if it helped her remain steady, or if she could lean on it. When he was a human, he’d seen the pictures of the pouched animals who jumped on strong legs and kicked up in the air, using their tail to balance before knocking away their opponent.
He moved forward just as she whipped around, and her tail slapped him across his face.
“I’m sorry!” she said before narrowing her eyes. “Why are you so close?”
Unable to tell her he’d been near hypnotized by her tail, he instead pushed against her waist, forcing her through the door. Her gaze jumped, scanning the woods. “Did you see something?” she asked, backing through the door. “Is there something out there?”
He sighed, breathing out noisily through his nose.
“It’s not a stupid question.” She crossed her arms.
His body raked the sides of the doors, but he could fit inside. There was just enough room for the two of them. One or two steps would be enough to make it from one side of the cabin to the other. He stayed where he was though, since any movement would result in knocking over the few small pieces of furniture.
The girl immediately saw the issue. She pushed the table until it scraped against the floor, flush against the wall. Then she picked up the chair, hoisted it above her head, and threw it outside.
With more room, Anatoliy stepped all the way inside. He turned his body around to face her. Hands on her hips, she looked over the cabin before eyeing him.
“You’re hurt,” she said, her gaze resting on the places on his body most obviously injured.
She pushed by him, her body shimmying against his, making her scent stick to his fur, then began to inventory the items on the table. She picked up a glass jar, unhinging the top and sniffing it. Dissatisfied, she closed it and put it back down. Then she picked up the wooden cask and pulled the stopper from the top. She sniffed it and pulled her head away quickly.
“I don’t know what that is.”
Anatoliy watched her, turning his head to the side curiously. She studied him for a moment before hefting it into her arms. “Want to smell?”
He stretched his neck forward. Alcohol, something that was a very high proof.
Back at the table, there was another cask, this one much smaller. She pulled the stopper out. “I don’t smell anything. I guess it’s water.”
Figured that there would barely be enough water for her, let alone an animal of his size.
“I hate to do this,” she began slowly, putting the water back down. “But I think we have to use this.” She pulled forward the alcohol.
Anatoliy went still. They couldn’t use the water to clean. They would have to ration it. He felt a growl erupt, his frustration boiling over.
“Don’t growl at me!” Frowning, she stomped her foot. Her tail whipped wildly behind her, and his growl turned into a barking laugh.
She stomped her foot again. “Don’t laugh at me either!” she yelled.
As she turned, her tail snapped against his nose again, and he batted it away with his sore paw.
Suspiciously, she peered at him over her shoulder, and caught him shaking his head against the building sneeze in his nose as the tail brushed against him over and over. When he did sneeze, she burst out laughing.
Then she turned and sat, right in front of him.
Anatoliy was amazed by her trust. He could snap her in two with his jaws, and here she put herself at a distinct disadvantage for no reason he could fathom. Until she leaned forward and lightly touched his paw.
“This is going to hurt,” she whispered. “I’m really sorry.”
Polya and Anatoliy in the Cabin
Anatoliy kept his paw on the girl’s lap while she blew on the skin, as if to cool the hurt the alcohol had made. She began wrapping it with bandages, careful not to wind it too tightly.
“My name is Polya,” she said, looking up at him briefly before looking back down at his wound.
“Do you have a name?”
Anatoliy rolled his eyes. Does it look like I can talk?
She smiled a little smile, not having noticed his eye roll. “Dumb question. Not like you co
uld tell me.”
Well, he could, but he wasn’t sure he was quite ready for that. It took away the distance he needed, one that made him act without thinking. It was a distance he’d created between his soldiers and himself. He was the leader, and they were his troops. He commanded, and they obeyed.
Yet, he didn’t feel that distance with the girl… Polya. He lingered on her name. Her tail gently flicked against the floor. He watched it, distracting himself when she dabbed at a particularly deep cut. He snarled.
“Sorry,” she whispered again, blowing on it.
She finished what she was doing and moved his paw off of her lap. He lowered his head, resting it against his paws, and she let her head thud against the wood of the wall before wincing.
“What should we do?”
He honestly didn’t know. He couldn’t plan for these challenges, or prepare for them, because he couldn’t even communicate with her.
Polya stood up, glancing at his back. “Did I miss anything?” she asked suddenly, weaving her fingers through his fur against the direction of growth, peering at it in the waning light as she moved the fur aside.
She hadn’t missed any cuts, bites, or lashes. She’d been meticulous as she cleaned, standing on the chair to reach his back, demanding he stand so she could check his belly and underneath his arms. It had been wonderful.
Anatoliy had not had anyone touch him in any of the years since he’d been transformed, and even before that, if he was honest. He’d been too busy. He joined the army. His family connections allowed him to join the ranks of the officers.
Then there was school to learn about strategies and history and planning and weapons, and the actual war.
It meant months away from everything, hunkering down in the woods, digging trenches in open spaces, uncoiling trip wires, setting up bombs.
His mother and father had died long ago, and though they were part of the aristocracy, their money was long gone. They lived in a rotting and decaying mansion of gray and dusty opulence. The land that had belonged to their family for generations had slowly been parceled away to other nobles to pay for things like race horses, jewels, and dresses. Not that his parents had seen any of that. By the time they’d inherited, everything was gone except the house.
“I don’t see anything,” she said finally, interrupting his reverie.
She stretched her arms above her head and winced, turning to look over her shoulder. She tried to look down, but she couldn’t see her wound. Anatoliy lifted his head, watching her closely.
She knelt down next to him. “Do you see anything on my back?”
He sniffed. He could smell dried blood, but he couldn’t see where it was located. She shifted, and the back of her dress gaped a little. There was a small tear running along her lower back at an angle. She’d probably managed to tag herself with the whip when she tried to get the dogs off of him.
When she glanced at him, he lifted his head up and down.
She reached her hand back and sucked in a breath. “Oh! It’s funny. I didn’t even feel that until I stretched.” Without another word, she rolled up a bandaged and dabbed at her cut. It was an awkward angle, and she could barely swipe at it. Anatoliy stared at the ground in shame. He couldn’t help her clean one tiny wound after everything she’d done for him.
Efficient, she finished and tossed the bandage on the table. Her satchel rested on the floor near the wall, and she pulled it between them to unpack it.
Inside was an extra set of woolen underclothes and a canteen. She began to take the items off of the table and lay them out on the floor.
“What do we need?” she asked.
Anatoliy watched her for a moment, admiring her pluck and courage, the way she moved forward even though she didn’t know what she was planning for. He nosed aside the bottles, overwhelmed with the desire to rest and to give her a little measure of comfort. He rested his head lightly on her lap.
Her hands lifted in surprise before she gently laid them on his head, stroking between his ears and along them. Her warm breath ruffled his fur as she laid her cheek on him.
“You’re very heavy,” she whispered into his ear.
A strange sensation filled Anatoliy, akin to the blush he used to feel creep up his neck when he was embarrassed. He was a soldier, a leader of men, not a lapdog.
He lifted his head and stood, mentally shaking himself. He extended one paw and pushed the items they needed to take with them: water, bandages, the alcohol, the salve, the tins of sardines, the dried meat. She couldn’t carry all of it, but he had no idea how to tell her to fashion a bag for him to carry.
She reached behind her, yanking the bustle off her dress. It ripped, the stitches pulling until it tore away.
“If I wrap some of this up, do you think you can help carry it?” she asked.
Anatoliy lifted and lowered his head. She tore a strip of her bustle, winding it around one cask and then another. She examined him, and raised an eyebrow as if to ask, may I? He lowered his head and she draped the material over him, measuring his size.
Focused on her task, she cut strips to tie together. She put the finished product around his back, each cask balancing the other, before she tied it together at his stomach. The rest of the items went in the satchel with the extra material.
“If you weren’t so raw, I’d anchor it around your neck, but I really don’t want to irritate the abrasion from the chain.”
Anatoliy lumbered from side to side, testing it. It was secure. She was a very smart girl.
Distractedly, she handed him a piece of beef that she’d kept out, and he ate it quickly. She tore into the one in her hand, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Here.” She held out the rest of the beef, but he nosed it toward her. It didn’t matter how the food tasted. She needed her strength.
She rolled her eyes, her tail snapping against the chair to betray her annoyance, but she shoved it into her mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly.
“Happy?” she asked and held out another piece for him.
He ate that one, and the next she hand fed him as well, before he finally pushed her hand away. They needed to ration their food.
“You need to eat, too,” she argued. “I can tell you’re underfed, and you’re healing. It’s one piece, stop being a martyr.”
He growled, and she lifted her lip and growled back. He cut off his growl, jerking his head back in surprise when he saw her fangs.
Her hand came up immediately to cover her mouth, her face paling. She suddenly rubbed at her face. “Do I have blood on me?” she asked, her voice rising as she scrubbed her chin and around her lips. “I bit them. Is it all over me?”
Panicked, she moved quickly, and Anatoliy could smell the sharp acridity of her fear. He acted without thought, something instinctual inside him driving him, and he swiped his tongue across her chin.
“Gross!” she yelled, wiping it off with her sleeve.
As her hand moved away, he licked her again. “Stop it!” she gasped, laughing.
There. Better.
Chuckling, she wiped at her face before she gave a sigh and sat next to him.
“Can I lean on you?” she asked, pulling on the satchel and flipping her braid over it.
He lowered his head, and she leaned carefully against his side.
“Am I too heavy?”
He snorted. Hardly.
“Sorry for being considerate,” she said.
He turned his head, giving her a long directive gaze, until she leaned against him. Her head came to rest along his flank.
“Should one of us stay awake?”
He didn’t think it would matter if one of them kept watch. Whatever was coming would come. They should find rest and comfort while they could, because things were only going to be harder.
Polya Dreams
The bear’s fur was softer than Polya expected. She’d thought it would be coarse and wiry.
It was thick. When she’d had to push through the fur with her fingers, searching o
ut the wounds from the dogs and whips, her fingers sank all the way to her knuckles. Underneath that outer wiry fur was a softer undercoat of tightly packed hair protecting his skin.
She tried not to react to his wounds, but they had horrified her. She knew that the aristocracy baited bears. She’d read about bullfights, and fox hunts, but there was something about seeing it, seeing how helpless the magnificent animal was, that made it so much worse. They had him strapped as tightly as they could to the pole and ground, because had this bear been free, he could have massacred them.
Polya turned her face into the bear, whose even breathing led her to believe he was asleep, and took in his scent. He smelled better than he had when they’d first arrived. He had smelled musty, sick, pained. After cleaning him, dabbing at his wounds and feeding him, after the wind blew through the broken window about their heads, he smelled more like a bear.
Or the way she believed a bear should smell.
She turned gently to the other side, trying to find a comfortable position. Sitting up certainly wasn’t it. Polya slowly lowered her body to the ground, moving in tightly against the bear who was giving off massive amounts of body heat. She folded her hands under her head and closed her eyes. She could hear air snuffing out of his nose, and his big heavy breaths tossed her hair across her face. She tucked it behind her ear and concentrated on his breath. She soon fell asleep.
Polya stood in the square. Bombs exploded around her. A man, shrouded in darkness, stood amidst the explosions. The fires burned so bright she had to narrow her eyes against the light.
“What do you want more than anything?”
The words echoed in her ears, and though she couldn’t see the man speak, she knew the words came from him.
An explosion behind her threw her forward. She rolled and skidded, scraping her palms against the cobblestone until she stopped at the man’s feet.
She peered up at him. The sky roiled like it was a churning gray ocean, and his eyes bored into hers, black and red like the fires.
Her mind went blank.
“Polya!” A different voice called her name, and she searched for it.
Wrath and Ruin Page 14
