NIKOLAI
"Za zdarovye," Sasha and I toasted each other, and I took a gulp of the vodka. After piling our kill in a shed the pack had for exactly that, he invited me over to the beta wing of the packhouse to throw back a few.
"Not bad, eh?" he asked.
"Not bad," I replied.
He gave my shoulder a shake. "Hey, Volkov, loosen up. Life's getting better. We're free now."
I grunted.
Sasha was my good friend going back to when we were pups. People had always remarked we could pass for brothers. They clearly lacked keen eyes. Sure, we both sported thick blond hair and tall frames—although I had at least a good ten centimeters on him—our facial shapes were much different. His was more rotund, and his cheeks constantly reddened with emotion.
My features were far sharper, and hardened, and had bec
