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The texts were completely unexpected, and it took Sasha quite some time to formulate a response.

Sasha did not send a response.

She arrived ten minutes early and looked a little surprised to see Kostya there waiting for her. The jacket was given an approving nod; she'd never entertained the thought of transferring Divisions, but Death looked good on Kostya.

All hungry smiles, approached the other hunter with a slow, soft step that belied the curiosity that clawed at her gut.

"Kostya. Congratulations on your transfer."

Enough small talk.

"Your text surprised me. I'm very interested in what you have to say."

Sasha was slightly taken aback by Kostya's apology, and there was an instant surge of something horrid and black and foul that rose in her throat like sick-sweet bile. It was gone nearly as quickly as it had risen, assuaged by Kostya's next comment.

She tilted her head at him, curious now, her thoughts moving rapidly. She'd never really had someone who would do her bidding, and it was a taste of great power. It was thrilling, delightful, beautiful; she could feel it from the tips of her toes to the crown of her raven-haired head. It was a drug, and she tapped the vein, let it course through her like a wicked, gorgeous poison.

Sasha narrowed her eyes at Kostya.

"I do. I very much do. And I'm sure you also know how intelligent this enemy is."

She pursed her lips and slid a little closer. Her voice was raw and dark and low, eyes keen on his empty gaze.

"What else do you know, Kostya?"

Sasha stopped just before she came into contact with the man.

"Tell me."

A whisper, an order, a blatant demand. A muscle at the corner of her eye ticked, and Sasha eased her features into a smile that was too feral to be welcoming, too ugly to be friendly, too black to be inviting.

"What do you know, Kostya?"

"Things change, Kostya. Sometimes they worsen," Sasha placed her hand on her hip, cocking it ever so slightly.

Look at me.

"And sometimes, Kostya, things change for the better."

Look at me.

"Being sweet can get you many things. Some are worthless; friends, for example. But," Sasha paused, moved closer, traced the gold trim on his jacket, "knowing how to use that sweetness, how to manipulate, well."

Look. At. Me.

"That will get you so much more."

She leaned in to Kostya, her voice a mere whisper - as if she were about to divulge a great secret.

"I don't need friends, Kostya. What I need is something much more valuable. What I need is someone to listen. Someone to be my ears, my eyes. You understand?"

Sasha pulled away from the Russian. Her expression was dark, wicked.

"I would never abandon you, Kostya. You would be far too valuable to me. Perhaps I could be valuable to you, as well."

When Kostya spoke of strings, Sasha's lips twitched in the slightest smile. She'd been expecting strings; his offer of subservience was far too good to be true. Even still, Sasha giggled softly, twirling away from Kostya before turning to face him again.

"Ruthless." The word was deliciously tart on her tongue, and Sasha's smile grew in size. Ruthless. Yes, she could be ruthless. She could do what needed to be done in order to get where she wanted to be. Kostya was loyal; that was a trait that could be utilized. That was a trait that was priceless to Sasha.

Loyalty was difficult to come by.

"I can be ruthless. I am not afraid. I have goals. But I have to worry, Kostya." Sasha moved to lean against the door of the barn. "These strings, will they pose a problem? A threat? Perhaps we should speak of these strings. I would hate for them to knot, to trip you up, to hinder you when I call for you."

She was silent for a moment, tilting her head back just slightly before speaking again.

"There may be a time where you will no longer simply be my eyes and ears. There may be a time when you are my fist, my weapon, my booted heel, Kostya. You speak of loyalty."

Sasha paused, and slipped closer to him. She reached out, index finger extended and placed beneath his chin; a purveyor of flesh, interested in the quality of his stock. Clean lines, clear eyes, loyalty.

"I must be cautious, you understand. I have to know how deep that loyalty will go. I have to be sure, Kostya. I have to be certain. How far will you go for me, Kostya?"

Sasha waved her hand, a dismissive gesture.

"I have no interest in America. I have no interest in the things she does, or what she seeks, or whatever childish games she plays with you or Jan or anyone else. Her world is different than mine, da," Sasha agreed, idly reaching to her side to loop a long tendril of black hair about her wrist.

"I will not ask you to part from your friends, from your toys. I would only ask that you come when beckoned, Kostya. Keep your eyes and ears open, and report back to me whatever you think might be interesting. Text me, tweet me - whatever you feel most comfortable with, mon petit chien."

She released his face and crossed her arms over her chest in such a way that allowed her to toy with the long, silky swathe of hair twined about her.

"Forgive me for asking, but there has to be some benefit for you. You need someone to serve, which is understandable. But what else is there, Kostya?"