I wasn't ready to bare to my father the storm of disappointment, anger, and quiet hatred I carried for one very specific person. So instead, I shrugged and reached for the safer explanation.
"After what Dr. Smirnov told me about vampire abilities, it's not so hard to believe. If Nik truly loved me, he wouldn't have run like a coward. And the fact that he did…" I hesitated, the bitterness slipping out before I could rein it in, "it's almost a confession of everything he's guilty of."
Kostya's eyes widened, scandalized.
"What kind of words are those?"
"Sorry," I muttered, lowering my gaze. I had never cursed in front of him before. "It just slipped out."
He clicked his tongue, displeased but choosing not to scold me. For a moment, I braced myself for a lecture, but before he could say another word, the back door of the car swung open. A rush of icy air slipped in, followed by a tall figure shaking snow from his coat.
"Denis!" Kostya snapped, frowning. "Who's going to shake the snow off outside? You'll soak the mats."
"Sorry, Uncle Kostya." The stranger lowered his hood, and I blinked in surprise—it was Drozdov. He quickly stuck his boots out the door and banged the heels against the threshold before leaning back into the seat with visible relief, as though the cold had worn him out. Noticing my stare, Denis grinned, teeth dazzlingly white against his tanned skin.
"Hi! You're looking pretty good for someone who just left the hospital," he teased with a playful wink.
Kostya grunted disapprovingly from the driver's seat—he must have caught it in the rearview mirror.
"Thanks," I replied shortly, though I froze for an instant, startled by how much Denis had changed. In just a month, he had turned into a different person—broad shoulders, taller frame, an edge of maturity that hadn't been there before. If we had crossed paths on the street, I might not have even recognized him.
"You're growing like a weed," I said. "How old are you now?"
"Turned sixteen on the twenty-second," he announced proudly.
I smiled. For the moment, the gap between us seemed to shrink. I would be seventeen only until December—just a year apart, hardly anything. At least, that's how I had reasoned back in eighth grade when trying to justify to my mother that the boys in my class were catching up. She had only laughed in response, while Maria used to say girls matured earlier, though I never quite understood what that meant. Still, none of the boys I knew had changed as drastically in a month as Denis. Maybe I simply hadn't seen him often enough, so all the small changes piled up into one startling transformation. It was almost frightening to imagine what he would look like next time. At this rate, in a year I'd expect to see an old man with a fishing rod hobbling out of the tackle shop—recognizable only by his smile.
My mind betrayed me with a vivid picture: Denis with silver at his temples, his dark hair touched by moonlight, faint wrinkles softening the corners of his eyes. Strangely, I thought age would suit him, and the warmth that thought stirred inside me left me unsettled.
"Asya." My father's voice cut through my wandering daydreams. "I'm waiting for you to buckle up."
"It's just a short drive," Denis protested lazily.
"Denis," Kostya said, tone firm as steel.
From the back seat came the sharp click of a seatbelt locking into place.
The car rolled forward, tires crunching deep into the snow-packed ruts left by earlier tracks. Soon we entered a wide clearing ringed with tall firs, their branches heavy with snow, their lower boughs still dark green against the pale drifts. Off to the right, a two-story house appeared. Its wooden façade—whether imitation or real, I couldn't tell—stood with warm lights glowing from the ground floor. Through a large window I saw a kitchen: a long table of solid timber stood squarely opposite, and in my mind Galina's voice echoed like a ghost. This had to be where she once watched Nik.
My eyes traced the row of chairs. Which one had Nikita sat in that fateful day when she decided to storm his life—and mine? Could things have unfolded differently if she hadn't found him then?
The car turned deeper into the estate, the house vanishing behind the trees, but the ache it left in me lingered. I couldn't stop myself from playing the cruelest game—imagining alternate threads of fate, weaving moments where disasters never struck, where the puzzle pieces fell into place perfectly, the picture whole and bright. It was a sweet illusion, but a tormenting one. Still, I clung to it; the air-castles of "what if" felt far gentler than the bleak reality waiting outside.
"Asya, look." My father touched my shoulder lightly, enough to make me turn.
Ahead loomed another building, its walls pale beneath the tiled roof. Narrow rectangular windows stretched across the façade, glinting faintly with light from within. Snow and the dim yard lamps made the structure seem to vanish into the forest, its depth hard to gauge. Yet through the glass I caught the silhouettes of beams and supports, proof that something was stirring inside.
I strained my ears instinctively. A chance to test whether Dr. Smirnov's treatment had worked. And yet—disappointment. Even from outside, I heard it: the rhythmic, heavy pounding of metal or wood, echoing in steady cycles, louder the closer we drove. Someone was hammering.
I almost asked if Kostya heard it too, but bit my tongue in time. Better to give him no reason to think the wolf inside me was pressing for control. Better to pretend I was still just his ordinary daughter.
"What's that? A stable?" I asked.
"For now, just a construction site that never seems to end," Denis replied before Kostya could, puffing warm breath into his hands and rubbing them together noisily.
I rolled my eyes.
"And what is it supposed to be, once it's finished?"
"A kennel," my father cut in, his tone sharp enough to make me uneasy.
The word startled me. A stable would have made sense, but a kennel? What on earth for?
The question stirred old memories—I had overheard classmates mention it in the cafeteria, and Nik himself had once muttered something about dirt from the construction site when giving me a ride home. I hadn't pressed him then, dismissing it as trivial. Now, the gaps in my understanding felt like gaping holes, and questions piled up in my head.
"Is it some kind of charity?" I asked naïvely. "Like… a shelter for dogs or something?"
Kostya's expression twisted, lips tightening as though even the thought repulsed him. He opened his mouth as if to answer, then closed it again, as though the right words refused to form.
"I wouldn't call it charity," Denis interrupted. His voice held the casualness of someone who enjoyed stirring the silence. "It's a deal between two clans—everyone gets what they want."
Kostya's glare in the rearview mirror was sharp enough to cut glass.