Denis drew in a slow breath and let it out with deliberate calm, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed he might yield. All I had to do was push a little further.
"Please," I whispered, hoping the single word would tip the scales.
Finally, he gave a reluctant nod. "Alright," he said, and I felt a spark of encouragement flicker inside me. "But I'll answer only one question."
One question was better than none. The choice had to be precise. I hesitated, uncertain which burning question I needed answered most.
"Why do werewolves need a dog kennel?" I asked at last.
Denis was silent, and doubt gnawed at me, threatening to smother any hope of an answer—until he finally spoke:
"The kennel exists for those who can no longer live as humans."
I blinked in disbelief and instinctively pulled back. This time, Denis made no move to stop me.
"Most of them," he continued, his voice steady yet gentle, "like you, have decided never to let the beast inside run free. Unlike vampires, werewolves do not draw strength from the natural power of the earth, as witches originally intended. Our bond with ancestral spirits is what anchors us. Those who forge it remain connected forever. Over time, you learn to coexist, much as I have with my she-wolf. But not everyone can—or wants—to try. Many, like you, resist, and the price is always steep."
He paused, giving me a moment to process his words. But no words came; learning that my hopes were little more than fragile illusions hit me like a blow. My dreams of a normal life, college, freedom—all seemed cruelly out of reach while this beast stirred within me.
And yet, a thought pierced the fog: Kostya had somehow lived an ordinary life. He trained, worked, even started a family. My father had somehow balanced two utterly different worlds. But the evidence was glaring: Kostya was far from perfect. He had only one daughter, and his work forced him to maintain a fragile boundary between ordinary townsfolk and the hidden truths of Xerton.
I couldn't know if father had truly been happy choosing the path of least resistance with the beast, but I suspected not. Whenever I thought of him, the kennel door creaked open, and Kostya's critical gaze fell on Denis.
"What did you tell her?"
"What I had to," Denis replied softly, avoiding my father's eyes, staring instead at the snow beneath our feet. "You know Asya. She can't be handled like the others, and you hesitated long enough."
"If you wanted her gone quickly, you could've intervened," father said, his voice heavy with frustration.
"Sure," Denis said lightly, almost mockingly. "And Asya would've been thrilled to stay in the car instead of following us."
Father sighed, opening the door wider. "Come in."
Denis slipped past and vanished into the dim interior. I froze at the threshold, hesitant to step forward. Father's slight smile and silent nod encouraged me, and I inched inside, moving from heel to toe.
The main light came from the far end of the room, above a fenced enclosure of thick boards that reached Denis's waist. I suspected that this was where the new wards were released. Inside, warmth and the scent of damp hay enveloped me. The space was stark, almost empty, but I knew the truth I was about to face.
Each step brought me closer to the enclosure, closer to a reality I wasn't ready for. Seeing animals in cages was one thing; realizing they had once been no different from me was another entirely.
Two dogs lay inside. At first glance, they looked like ordinary huskies. One curled near the wall, the other stretched lazily nearby. The brown-furred one lifted its head, fixing me with a gaze so intense it made my chest tighten. I knew, without doubt, it was the same dog that had attacked me earlier.
Denis extended his hand, waiting, but I hesitated. Fear rooted me in place.
"There's nothing to fear. Go on. They won't reach you," Kostya said, his voice calm, confident. "You could slip your head between the boards if you wanted."
Denis added, "There's a metal mesh ahead." I looked closer and saw that the fence was reinforced with large-meshed wire, keeping the dogs confined. At last, I placed my hand in Denis's, and he squeezed it, a quiet anchor of courage.
"They're so huge," I whispered, barely meeting their eyes. "Are you sure they'll never become human again?"
Kostya leaned over the fence. My heart thudded as I feared his gesture might provoke them, but he remained calm, every movement radiating control and assurance.
"See that one by the wall? The one that attacked you outside? Meet him—your grandfather, Svetozar."