Cheslav rocked back on his heels, inhaling so sharply it hurt.

He stared helplessly into Aleksandr's wild eyes.

"Shurik..."

Aleksandr's cry had been a howl so primal it had lanced straight through Cheslav and erupted like a thundercloud over his heart.

Not since the Siege had Cheslav been witness to such utter human agony wrapped in living flesh. He felt for a moment as if transported back to that time, recalling his hunger and need vividly.

His heart was pounding. His hand tightened on Isaev's wrist, convulsively.

"That's enough of that," he whispered.

Belatedly, he realized his danger, that he'd relied on the Liadov boy's word that Isaev had been disarmed. Cheslav had not even thought to check for a gun.

The strength he so blithely relied on would have made no difference if Aleksandr had pulled his sidearm.

He struck quickly, acted suddenly, because that was the only way he knew.

Cheslav leaned down to catch Aleksandr firmly at the elbow, then braced his knee against the armchair. Cheslav used his leverage to haul Aleksandr forward, wrestling him up and out of the chair in a swift, brutal motion.

"...then the coat can go in with you."