"I need to examine Asya. Stas, go take a walk for half an hour," the doctor said as he stepped closer to the bed.
The moment he moved within arm's reach, unease rippled through me. Almost instinctively, I clutched at Stas's hand. He froze, confused, then sat back down though he'd already half-risen to obey.
"What? What is it?" His eyes scanned me quickly, searching for pain. "Does something hurt?"
I realized how ridiculous I must look and tried to recover.
"No," I said too fast. Then, spotting the crumpled burger bag in his hands, inspiration came to my rescue. "Actually… since you're leaving, could you bring me more fries?"
Stas smiled the way he always did when I asked for some forbidden indulgence, fully aware of the hospital's rigid diet. Of course, I had little reason to obey that diet — at least, according to Kostya's endless insistence that I was "more than healthy." Besides, the private room spared me the temptation of smelling other patients' bland meals. That's what I told myself each time Stas arrived with fast food, or when Dad smuggled in my favorite noodles with shrimp and oyster sauce.
Weekday mornings were the hardest — friends at school, Kostya at work, the ward suffocatingly quiet. I avoided the common areas and the other patients. I never knew when the "gift" might awaken, and the thought alone kept me isolated.
"Dad, are you sure Asya doesn't have a second stomach hidden in there?" Stas quipped.
"As far as I'm aware, lycanthrope anatomy is limited to one," Vladimir replied without looking up.
"Strange. She eats like two people now."
The corners of Stas's mouth twitched with suppressed laughter, ruining any chance at keeping a serious face. I swatted at his leg in mock outrage, but he dodged easily, winked, and slipped out with his usual cheer, closing the door softly behind him.
"Asya, please sit up and turn your back to me," Vladimir instructed.
Obediently, I lifted my T-shirt and turned toward the wall. The cold metal of the stethoscope touched my skin, and the doctor's equally cold fingers pressed methodically against my back.
"Breathing is normal," he murmured at last, tapping my shoulder so I could lower the shirt. "No wheezing, no constriction. That's very good. Your body is recovering well. Still, the changes are evident. The muscles around the spine are slightly inflamed — a familiar sign in those who suppress the beast inside for too long."
"Isn't there a way to never transform?" I asked quietly.
He placed the cuff around my arm, as he had three times a day for weeks. By now the ritual calmed me, almost like a lullaby.
"Your muscle mass is developing, your appetite has increased—Stanislav notices these things," he said, scribbling notes. His hurried throat-clearing failed to disguise a chuckle. "Transformation is inevitable. The unknown is frightening, yes, but only the first time. Once you've crossed the threshold, the rest becomes easier. All it takes is a single risk."
"But what if I don't want to? What if I'm content with the life I've lived for seventeen years?"
Vladimir packed away the cuff, the apparatus, the notebook — all folded neatly into his case.
"That's a question you should ask your father," he said, tightening the cord. "Tell me instead: have you noticed sharper senses? Stronger smells, richer tastes? Hearing more acute?"
I shook my head. Perhaps changes existed, but how could I notice them while trapped in this sterile box of bleach and lemon disinfectant? The only new scents were those Stas and Dad brought from the outside world. As for sounds — there was nothing to compare. Maybe at home, after discharge, the contrast would finally reveal itself.
"For seventeen years, nothing," I said. "No signs. Moon or no moon, I felt the same. Even now, I feel ordinary. Only you and Dad insist otherwise. What if you're wrong?"
"Unlikely. The changes are subtle now, but they're there. Nika's venom awakened what you inherited from Konstantin. Your body already shows the shift: higher temperature, muscle growth despite rest. If lycanthropy had not stirred, you would have either turned into one of us… or died in agony. The wolf within you burned away the venom. It saved your life."
"Is it so terrible, being like you or Stas?"
"Don't compare me to the children," Vladimir said. His voice, as always, carried a weight that belonged to another century. "Unlike me and my wife, they were born of vampires, not made. They grow, they change, and they do not thirst. They can pretend to be ordinary, eat human food without struggle. Their eyes do not blaze crimson when anger takes hold. That blessing is denied me. I walk a blade's edge until the call of blood grows too strong, and redemption lies only in death's embrace."
His words unfurled in heavy, winding patterns, like an old prayer memorized long ago. At first, his archaic manner of speaking had left me bewildered; by now, I'd grown accustomed to it. Today, his tone seemed almost plain — or perhaps I had finally learned to translate his antiquated speech.
"Are you certain I won't become like you?" I asked. "What if these changes are actually the opposite? What if tomorrow I wake as a vampire?"
"Impossible." From his pocket, he produced a vial of pearly liquid and a slim syringe. "Vampiric transformation is quick, brutal. The signs would be unmistakable: a body frozen at the moment of change, perfected by venom, senses sharpened to hunt. Nature's janitor, if you will. Or—rejection and death. You are not turning into one of us. You are becoming something else entirely, as your father did."
He drew the medicine, and I turned away. To him, it might have looked like I was bracing against the needle. The truth was simpler: I did not want to meet others like me. I did not want to transform, to hunt vampires maddened by weak blood, to inherit Kserton's hidden rules and duties. I was no hero. I could not carry the weight of strangers' lives before I understood my own.
The injection stung, sharp as ever. Relief followed, knowing it meant the end of today's ordeal. Soon sleep would come, heavy and warm, pulling me into another day.
"Well, that's it." Vladimir capped the syringe. "You're discharged tomorrow morning, seven sharp. I won't be here, but the nurses will help you. I'll prepare the paperwork tonight so you won't have trouble at school."
"Hard to believe anyone doubts I was hospitalized," I muttered. "Stas says everyone still talks about the 'accident.' I just hope the principal didn't get in trouble — it all happened during the school disco."
Vladimir only shrugged, his lips twitching into a faint smile.
"People always crave bread and circuses. What else can you expect in a town where nothing ever happens? Don't worry about the principal. Some things are beyond control."
"If only people knew half the truth…" I whispered, wondering if normal life was gone forever — if vampires and werewolves could ever live openly among mortals.
"Most fear what they cannot understand. Where fear lives, compassion cannot. That is why Konstantin and I keep the border intact, hidden. In time, you'll draw your own conclusions."
He patted my shoulder — a gesture I'd seen him use with Stas — and turned toward the door. At the threshold, he paused, pivoting back as though a final thought had struck him.
"Oh, yes. Tell your father I'll be expecting you in four days. We need to complete the course."