The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

Polya slipped away alone, giving Aryol and Nika privacy to go off together. As much privacy as they were likely to get on a crowded base.

He had the feeling he was going to be spending a lot of time on the firing range for a while.

All for the good. His shooting skill could use the improvement, and it was soothing, in an irrational, very loud way. It might also afford the chance to run into Leshovik again. Polya had taken an immediate liking to the gruffly gregarious soldier. It would be hard not to feel a fondness for someone hunting whoever was trying to hurt the Colonel. Not to mention he'd had the grace not to show disgust at Polya's unwanted advances. That was nice.

The range was also where the Ocelots practiced.

But not this late. Not usually. And, were luck to run sour, it wasn't as though Isaev would notice him.

That's just it, isn't it? something acerbic in him whispered.

That quality. Whatever it was that drew him as much as it terrified him, or maybe because. He had seen it before, in those rare men, those rare moments.

It was good that they had little reason to encounter each other. The base could be oddly isolating that way. Everyone staying in his repsective territory. Good, also, that the situation was what it was, as Nika had casually spilled over dinner. Otherwise, there was no telling what Rakitin might have done.

That was a lie. He knew exactly.

If a man like that could look at him, see him, acknowledge for the least moment in the basest way that Ippolit existed, then, for that moment, Ippolit could believe it.

He had believed that, once.

Look how well that turned out, Polya thought sardonically.

The living evidence of that should be along any minute now.

Better to face it head on, on ground of his choosing, than to wait until he lost the illusion of courage anger provided.

Polya slipped behind one of the huge, rectangular steel crates that seemed to be all over the base. He had no idea what they were for. It was like the place was specifically designed for people to sneak around.

Soon enough, he heard footsteps approaching, and their owner passed by into view.

He really was following him. Absolutely shameless.

From behind, before he could lose the chance, Polya moved quickly out from the shadow and grabbed Utrov by the arm.

Rakitin wasn't the kind given to casual pats on the back, arms around the shoulders, or grabs of any sort. He didn't often touch people at all, really.

Still he thought it unusual how quickly Utrov faced him, and the moment before recognition dimmed his eyes made Ippolit pull his hand back before thought could form.

No way now but forward.

"What in the hell did you think you were doing?" Rakitin demanded.

Utrov stared at him, mind shifting gears visibly in his dark, flat eyes.

“I don't see how that's any of your business.”

Polya gritted his teeth. “You're following me, and you're not going to let it drop. That makes it my business.”

Utrov moved forward. Rakitin stood his ground, though the proximity was quickly uncomfortable.

His voice lowered. “Not going to let what drop?”

Exasperation gripped Polya firmly by the brainstem. “Is that what you want? I'll acknowledge it. Yes, I know you, yes, I've fucked you, and yes, if I'd realized you were going to insist on suicidally provoking my partner over it, I would have known better.”

Utrov crossed his arms and gave him a long, level stare.

He was shorter than Polya. Rakitin hadn't noticed that before.

“The pompous bastard got on my nerves,” he said. “That's all.”

(cont.)