Natasha sighs. Fifty years ago, she probably wouldn't have gotten the joke either. Natasha's not in a hurry to reveal the depths of her past, but if she's going to let Alex stay here, she might as well put her at ease a bit—if the truth will put her at ease.

"Before I was turned," she says and a little of her hesitation comes through in her voice but she pushes ahead, "I was recruited and trained by the KGB. This? It's not my first rodeo."

At least it should get the point across. Political killing? Not outside of her purview.

"As for you being a werewolf, I guess I don't see it the same way. I've had lots of enemies. Werewolves, hunters, other vampires..." She shrugs a little and gives a snort, almost like a laugh. "It was never personal with werewolves. Not for me."

She doesn't say that she'd barely seen werewolves as actual enemies. When she was younger, she'd thought of them more like rabid dogs. You didn't blame animals for being what they were, or for being sick; you just put them down. The past twenty-five years or so, she'd grown away from that as she'd grown away from many of those attitudes, but she'd never developed the same bitterness some vampires had toward werewolves.

"You need help... and you weren't wrong about Millicent deserving this. It was the wrong choice, but not not the wrong judgment."