Rusame Cold War Novels & Stories

Before someone reframed it. For a moment Elder Voss met my gaze with those icily silver-grey eyes. “The Council recognizes Mara Ashfield as bloodline party,” he said. “Noted.” I sat. Damien’s hand found mine under the table again. This time he didn’t release it immediately. Rokan’s representative was a wolf named Aldric — senior, astute, possessing that specific efficiency of motion that comes from having learned that each movement within a Council chamber uttered something, and having determined long ago to speak only what he meant, in those particular motions.

My blood goes cold. KNOX YO he replied just to shut that down Romy I think you're onto something I type back: I'm leaving the groupchat because I hate you all. KNOX Nah you love us really. But more importantly ROMY YOU'RE DEFINITELY ONTO SOMETHING DMITRI We have a saying in Russian. Very beautiful. It translates to "if you throw a woman's Dunkin coffee at a fan, it is only polite to buy her a new iced coffee or a beverage of approximate equivalent value"

he said in a heavy accent, his eyes flicking to Ethan, and he just nodded at him. “Let’s get down to business,” Sasha said, her voice cool and detached. The Russian gestured toward the first truck. “This one contains automatic rifles—AK-47s, AR-15s, you name it. The latest models, all with night-vision scopes. Enough to supply a small army.” Sasha stepped forward and pulled back the tarp covering the cargo. Crates upon crates were neatly stacked, each labeled with codes she recognized. Everything looked in order. She moved to the second truck.

It’s the thrill of danger, the reminder of exactly who I’m provoking. "Where did you learn it?" I ask quietly. "Learn what?" "To kill. To fight. To be..." I wave a hand at his sheer bulk, at the latent violence that hums around him like static electricity. "...this." "Russia," he says shortly. "That’s a big country. Narrow it down a bit." "A camp," he says. "In the Urals. It does not exist anymore." "A camp," I repeat. "Like summer camp, only with strangling and beating people to death, instead of swimming and archery? Murder camp?"

"RUSSIA DOESN'T WELCOME ANYONE. IT SIMPLY DECIDES HOW HARD TO MAKE YOU WORK FOR WHAT YOU CAME FOR." DANTE Russia in winter is not a place that wants you there. That is the first thing I always think when I land here and I have landed here enough times to have formed a consistent opinion about it. The cold is not the polite cold of other places — the kind that inconveniences you slightly and retreats when you find shelter. This is the kind of cold that follows you inside. That gets into the car with you and sits in the back seat and reminds you it is there every time you breathe.

The woman’s voice boomed out again. “News just in. Russian embassy workers Maxim Petrov and Dimitri Antonov’s trial has been scheduled for August the 18th.” I paused the TV and turned to him. His face was pure white and he came towards me. “No. No. What the fuck is that?” I pointed to the TV. “A misunderstanding.” I stood up backing away as he walked towards me. Smashing into a chair I stumbled to the ground. “Harper!” he went to grab me and I slapped his hand away.

The caption read: "Someone spent all day cooking so I could have a taste of home. Love you." I stared at the screen. In the corner of the photo, part of a hand was visible. It was Kian’s hand. The watch on his wrist was the one I’d saved up for months to buy him last year. The table was overflowing with food. Braised short ribs, garlic butter shrimp, and a steaming pot of Tuscan white bean soup. Even through the screen, I could almost feel the warmth oozing from the dishes. Then I looked down at my own table. The frozen ravioli sat there in its plastic container, frost still clinging to the edges from the grocery store freezer.

How come this happen? Valentine let out a loud sob as the light in the eyes of Christine Romero diminished and after a few seconds vanished completely. Her body sprawled in bed and eyes closed on their own. Like beautiful poetry, she came to an end but raised a devil from her ashes. The innocence in him withered just like the last flicker of a candle and then extinguished forever. In the end, Italian men managed to overpower the Russians. They won the war, but at what cost? Their eyes were about to weep at the funeral of the century. 829 bodies will be cremated together to achieve peace in the afterlife.

Tension and anger built in his muscles, as he felt the primal need to drain the life out of them in many excruciating ways. "F*cking Russians!" Sergio gritted and clenched the phone in his hand, almost crushing it. Rosana appeared almost dead and he couldn't bear the sight one more time. Attached to the video was a message in Russian language. "Marking our territory" All he could see was red as his world shrank to one that consisted solely of metal, blood, and agony. The snap of bones, the wet sound of tearing flesh, the barest elements of a man spilling from the seams of his gutted torso, and endless pleas for death.

I wonder where the armed men Alena and Verónika told me about are. “It's a cold zima, even if you don't see them, they are here watching, always alert. “He informs, does he read minds? Silence. My response is silence. “What does zima mean? “She curious, she had never heard it before. “Winter in Russian. “It is brief, it does not extend, nor has it been cutting.