23
FOUR WALLS
He’d shaved closely, carefully via his reflection in puddles and slow-moving streams while they were camping out in the woods north of here. Feliks had a little hand mirror he’d borrowed a time or two.
Standing at a sink full of clean water, face white with lather, mirror steaming as he shaved in the white-tiled bathroom at the base seemed the height of luxury. Dr. Ingraham was annoying, but his American money had bought an American-style base, with showers the likes of which Nikita had never seen before. He passed the razor along his jaw, taking off stubble and revealing a stripe of pale skin, and he thought he looked thinner, but not unhealthy. He realized, with some surprise, that he’d been eating regularly, nothing but protein, lots of fresh game, with the occasional bit of cheese or bread thrown in. He didn’t feel weak or unsteady. Studying his reflection – naked save the towel around his waist – he thought he looked leaner, harder, more muscular than he had before, and he felt better than he had in months even though his hipbones stuck out sharp, framed by deep shadows.
“Huh,” he said aloud, voice echoing off the wet tile around him.
“Talking to yourself again?” Kolya asked, drawing up to the next sink over. His hair had grown so long that it hung almost to his shoulders, longer than normal since it was wet from the shower. He slicked it back with both hands and shot Nikita a questioning glance. “You had breakfast?”
“Fuck you. Yes.” Nikita snorted and returned his attention to the mirror, feeling only a little guilty that he’d lied.
They’d trooped in after dark last night, bone-tired, swaying on their feet, too exhausted to even get cleaned up. Nikita had awakened earlier that morning to realize he’d even slept in his muddy boots.
The door to the bunk room had been cracked, and the scent of breakfast had wafted down from the floor above: the nauseating stench of burnt grease and something pre-packaged. The appetite he’d enjoyed during their expedition shriveling up into nothing.
“Your girl,” Kolya started, and Nikita made a dismissive sound.
“Not mine. It isn’t like that.”
“Uh-huh. You just wish it was.”
“Shut up.”
Kolya chuckled, a rare and surprisingly-delicate sound from him. It was easy to forget, when faced with his daily scowling countenance, shaggy hair, and the cold way he killed, that he used to be charming and courtly. “I’ve never even see you look at a girl before.”
Nikita stiffened, razor hovering against his cheek. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Kolya said easily, and began to lather his own face. He shrugged. “You’re too tense. Always gloomy. It’s good for you, I think. At least a little.” In measurements, he meant. Enough to cheer him up, but not enough to distract him.
“I’m gloomy? What about you?”
“I’m just very, very proficient.”
Nikita felt something light and effervescent bubble in his chest, and it was such a rare occurrence that it took him a moment to realize it was laughter.
Kolya grinned at his reflection and said, “I wonder how Sasha’s wolves are getting along with being inside.”
~*~
His wolves hated being inside. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” Sasha cooed for the thousandth time.
His alpha girl responded with a doubtful snort.
“It is, I promise.” He scratched her ears. But she didn’t lean into the attention like normal, pinning him with a yellow-eyed, accusatory glare.
“It’s remarkable how they listen to you,” Dr. Ingraham said, circling the steel table where she sat.
“Not really.” Sasha shrugged and took a tighter grip on the wolf’s ruff. “It’s a pack thing.”
Ingraham looked up from his clipboard, pen poised at the ready. “Could you describe that to me? The ‘pack thing’?”
“Oh. Well…”
Dr. Ingraham reached with one finger toward the wolf and she swung around to snarl at him, teeth bared.
“Oh!” he gasped, leaping back, almost tripping over his own feet.
Sasha tried not to laugh. “I don’t think she wants you to touch her.”
The doctor, now white as chalk, nodded and took two careful steps back, until his shoulders hit the bank of cabinets behind him and he was forced to stop, eyes trained on the alpha female the whole time.
“In the pack,” Sasha explained, “there’s always one alpha male, and that’s me. I’m their leader. If I say that it’s safe, they’ll believe me.” Even if they didn’t like it, like right now, indoors and underground. “But a good alpha listens to his pack, and takes it seriously when they sense danger.”
“So they actually speak to you? In words of some sort?”
Sasha frowned. God, this man was dense and overeager. He couldn’t really believe Monsieur Philippe had entrusted this man with their secrets. “No,” he said, speaking slowly, in case the doctor’s poor grasp of Russian was part of the problem. “Some of it’s growls, and yips, and howls. But mostly it’s a…a sense.”
“A sense?”
“I can’t explain it very well.”
“Doctor,” Philippe said as he entered the lab, “you’ve studied wolves in America, haven’t you? They aren’t so different in Russia, I wouldn’t think.”
For once, the mage wasn’t wearing his fur coat and hat, instead an outdated suit with a long row of gold buttons down the front and at the cuffs, the collar buttoned all the way up to his chin. It looked like something a military officer might have worn twenty years ago…save there were no marks of rank or accomplishment. Without the coat, under the harsh caged lights, Philippe looked like nothing more than a pudgy old man with bags beneath his eyes and a carefully-groomed mustache.
His presence immediately put Dr. Ingraham at ease. “Monsieur Philippe,” he greeted with a relieved sigh. “Sasha was trying to tell me about communicating with his pack.”
Philippe drew up beside Sasha and offered the back of his hand to the female; she sniffed his knuckles and turned her head away, disinterested.
“Sasha communicates with his pack the same way any wolf would,” Philippe said.
“Yes. But.” Ingraham drew himself up straighter, which looked like it took some effort. “I’ve never had the chance to – well, to ask a wolf what that was like. And now I do.”
“And you’re not happy with the answers you’re getting?”
“What? No. Oh no! It’s just. If Sasha could collaborate–”
“Elaborate,” Philippe corrected, and then said a word which must have been the English translation for benefit of the doctor.
“Yes, yes, elaborate. It would be so helpful.”
“What do you say, Sasha?” Philippe turned to him. “Care to put it into words.”
Sasha knew he made a face, but figured he might as well try.
He pulled his hand away from the female and said, “Go to the door, please, that’s a good girl.”
She got up on all fours, leapt gracefully down from the table – Dr. Ingraham flattened himself against the cabinet faces with an alarmed sound – and went to the door where she sat down and craned her neck to look at Sasha, searching for instructions.
He patted at the air and she lied down, going into sentry mode.
“But – but I thought–” Ingraham looked between Sasha and the wolf, brows at his hairline. “You said you didn’t talk to them.” He sounded offended.
Sasha made another face. “It’s not the words. I don’t think so, anyway. She knows what I want her to do– what I’m asking her to do,” he amended. “I don’t force them. It’s not mind control. It’s…” Shit, this was hard to explain.
“If I may?” Philippe said, to Sasha’s relief. “All mammals communicate largely through non-verbal cues. I believe that the wolves read Sasha’s intent and energy through body language, and his tone of voice, yes, but, in this case, I do believe there’s an element of the supernatural at play.”
“Really?” Dr. Ingraham looked delighted. “Fascinating.”
“Perhaps we can convince Sasha to give you a demonstration in one of the larger laboratories.”
“That would be wonderful.”
Sasha bit back a sigh. He hadn’t been an impatient person before, but now he felt restless after just one night back at the base.
The wolves had bristled the moment they drew close enough to the building to smell the humans inside it, which was well before they were able to see its lights through the dark lace of the trees. They’d stopped in their tracks, looking to Sasha, asking with their eyes to stay back, not to go.
It had stirred a physical pain in his belly to force them onward, a dull ache that lingered now. They were wild, and didn’t belong indoors – not like this, in a heartless concrete box of a building, deep underground surrounded by steel and tile and machines.
A “demonstration” sounded a lot like circus tricks to him, and he found himself frowning heavily just thinking about it. They’d decided on a course of action, and he wanted to pursue it – not sit in a basement growing lazy.
“Let’s go to your office, doctor,” Monsieur Philippe said, moving toward the door and snagging Ingraham by the elbow, towing him along, “and I can tell you more about the behavior patterns of wolves.”
Dr. Ingraham twisted to watch Sasha over his shoulder as he was dragged, obviously reluctant – and he almost missed the alpha girl at the door, remembering her when she growled a warning not to step on her. He yelped, jumped over her, and drew a quiet laugh from Philippe.
Sasha just sighed again, holding out a hand and wiggling his fingers in invitation. “Come here, girl.”
She did, nosing into his palm, licking the thin skin of his wrist.
“I know.” He scratched her just behind the ears, until she closed her eyes and tipped her head to give him better access.
“There you are,” a familiar voice said from the doorway, and Sasha glanced up to find Pyotr, with the omega wolf leaning against his leg. “Found something of yours in the hallway.”
“Oh no. Did you see the others? I wanted them to stay together.”
“They were in the big lab, but Monsieur Philippe and Dr. Ingraham went in there.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in indication, and the rest of the wolves crowded in behind him, slipping past his legs to come into the room with Sasha.
He greeted them all with pets and scratches, letting them crowd around and scent him.
Pyotr came in, too, stroking the omega between the ears in an absent way that meant he was totally at ease with the animals now, a sight which filled Sasha with gladness. He wanted his pack to get along – his whole pack, human and lupine.
“Can I ask something?” Pyotr moved in close, dropping his voice. “Why don’t they like Monsieur Philippe so much? I mean, he is…magical, after all.”
“It’s the smell,” Sasha said, also quiet. He thought Philippe probably had ways of spying on their conversation if he wanted to, but no sense being loud about it. “Like burnt toast and melted iron. Like a forest fire,” he said, and realized, finally putting that term to it that, yes, he smelled like a forest that had caught fire…and the men who’d done the setting, industrial and iron and threatening to all the wild things in the woods.
Pyotr’s eyes widened, but he nodded, understanding. “I don’t suppose animals like that smell.”
“No, and me neither.”
One corner of Pyotr’s mouth twitched, holding back a smile.
“Yeah, I’m an animal, too.” Sasha grinned at him, to show he wasn’t offended. “I guess maybe I always was.”
Pyotr chuckled, but then grew serious again, thoughtful, glancing down at the omega as he stroked his tawny fur. “Do you think he’s telling the truth? About everything?”
“Well.” The true answer to that wasn’t easily put into words. “He told the truth about me. That I wouldn’t get hurt. That I’d be strong, and fast.”
“Yeah, but he stabbed you.” Pyotr’s head snatched up, brow clouding with anger. “He stuck a knife through your heart. You – you screamed, Sasha.” His face paled, throat jumping as he swallowed, remembering. “I thought Nikita was going to kill the old man. He – he did hurt you.”
He suppressed the low growl that built in his chest. Barely. “Yeah. Well. I got better, didn’t I? I’m fine now.”
But Pyotr looked unconvinced. He dropped his gaze, watching the movement of his hand, eyebrows pinched. “You look like my brother,” he said, so quietly Sasha didn’t think he would have heard it if he wasn’t a wolf.
Some of the four-legged wolves lifted their ears, glancing between Pyotr and Sasha, reading Sasha’s surprise.
“I don’t,” Pyotr went on. “I look like our mother, and Dima looked like Papa. But you do, and that’s why Nikita gets so worried about you.” He lifted his head, smile sideways and half-hearted. “I know I remind him of Dmitri, in my own way – he feels guilty, thinks he got my brother killed. It’s why he pushes me away, I think.”
“Pyotr,” Sasha started, reaching a hand toward him, wanting to comfort him somehow. He’d always been the first to offer an arm or a hug; “my caring boy” his mother would call him. It was the only child in him, that longing for brothers and sisters. It was an urge that had been amplified after his turning, the alpha wolf in him wanting to gather his packmate close and reassure him.
But Pyotr shook his head. “It’s fine. But.” His weak smile went even more lopsided. “I think he sees a ghost when he looks at you. Like…like maybe you’re his second chance to save Dima.”
Sasha whined – a purely wolfish sound – and then cleared his throat. He felt an instant, alpha distress: pack, comfort, love, together. And then the human weight of unasked-for responsibility. He knew Nikita had come to care for him like he did the others, that he was one of them now, but he hadn’t suspected it ran deeper than that, or that he himself was a constant, painful reminder of the man’s dead best friend.
“I shouldn’t have told you that,” Pyotr said. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m glad you did.” Sasha smiled to show him that he meant it. “Thank you, Pyotr.”
~*~
Katya spent twenty heavenly minutes in the showers on the second floor, enjoying the hot water and the harsh soap too much to care if anyone walked in on her. No one did, thankfully, and she went back to her quarters to change into clean clothes (cleaner than what she’d worn on the road, at least), and braid her hair into two tidy plaits that she secured with a bit of stained white ribbon and flicked back over her shoulders. Then she went in search of breakfast.
The mess hall was busy, but there were plenty of empty seats, and after she’d had porridge slopped in a bowl, she made her way to an out-of-the-way spot that put her back to the wall, so she had a good view of the wide room.
She wasn’t surprised to see her roommate seated too-close to a young soldier with a strong jaw and a stronger nose, the two of them cozy, though not looking at one another while they ate. She hadn’t been in the room when Katya crawled into bed last night, and clearly she’d been bunking with her beau.
She was surprised to see the furtive, suspicious glances shot her way. Some curious, some almost hostile.
After the near-disaster in Moscow, women had become commonplace in the Army, but she guessed the men still so far outweighed them that she was, by default, a novelty.
But. She spotted a group of Army nurses sitting together, laughing with one another over their breakfasts. And there was her roommate. No one was giving them dirty looks.
Her bite of porridge went down like a lead ball when realization hit. It was because she’d gone off on an expedition with the Cheka, wasn’t it?
In a feat of horrible timing, Ivan and Feliks appeared opposite her, thumped their bowls down, and settled on the bench across from her, blocking her view.
“Morning,” Ivan said, cheerfully, and Katya decided she wasn’t going to give a damn if strangers didn’t like her because of the company she kept. These boys, as imperfect as they were, liked her – or at least seemed to – and that was better than she could say for most.
“Good morning. Ivan, did you get your side looked at?”
He lifted his shirttail from his pants, hiking it up to show her a clean white bandage wrapped around his midsection. “Scraped it clean, washed it out, gave me three stitches. Hurt like hell.”
“He cried like a woman,” Feliks said into his porridge.
Ivan elbowed him so hard Katya thought he might go tumbling off the bench, but the big man laughed: no hard feelings.
“It hurt!” he protested.
“More than getting shot?”
Ivan drew himself upright, expression turning indignant. But his mouth twitched. “Yes.”
Feliks made a dismissive sound and turned to Katya. “You talked to Nik yet this morning?”
She felt her face heat. “No. Why would I?”
Feliks rolled his eyes. “Alright. I thought you might know when we’re leaving.”
Because they assumed she was traveling with them.
She set her spoon down. “Oh. No, I have no idea.”
Ivan wasn’t as dumb as he looked. His eyes narrowed. “You’re not coming with us, are you?”
She shrugged, and it was an effort not to keep doing it. “I don’t know.”
Feliks started to look cagey. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “You aren’t thinking of saying anything to anybody, are you?” It wasn’t quite a threat. Not quite.
“No,” she said, firmly. “Absolutely not.”
He didn’t relax much.
“She’s in the army,” Ivan said, like Feliks was being stupid, shoveling porridge into his mouth. “She wants to shoot Nazis, not go chasing ghosts with us.”
“No, that’s not it. I–” She stopped herself. That was exactly the excuse she would have given a few weeks ago, but now, she found that wasn’t the first protest that came to mind. In fact, it wasn’t even in the top five.
For the first time since her family died, she found that she was scared. Of several things: the idea of magic, of monsters, of a dead starets. Of the handsomeness of Nikita’s face, and the way the sight of it opened up a vulnerable place in her heart that she thought she’d welded shut when everything went up in flames. She was scared because she felt unsure, and girlish, and because she was questioning her commitment to the cause.
She loved her country, was a patriot through and through – but maybe there was another way to save the Motherland. A better one.
That’s why she was scared. She was shaking with it, suddenly, pressing her hands flat to the table to keep them still.
“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 click 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.