I smirked, noting to myself how the doctor's children acted around him: nothing he tried was working. If they respected him at all, it was out of fear, not love. You can't live long with that feeling inside, which meant that as soon as they got the chance, they'd jump ship without looking back. Family wasn't something people chose by right of birth, and the doctor could never claim an unquestionable place in Diana's and Stanislav's lives, no matter how hard he tried.
Blood is blood.
No beautiful ode about the good of the many at the cost of the suffering of a few could cover that. At least, I wanted to believe Vladimir's influence over my friends wasn't that strong.
"Interesting how things will be with you," the doctor added casually, and I lowered my gaze, not understanding what he meant.
Dad glanced at me. He looked as puzzled as I must have.
My father was aging. I noticed it every year when it was time for our next meeting. The fine lines I had seen on his familiar face since I was young had, after recent events, carved deep trenches across Kostya's forehead. The healthy flush in his cheeks had long vanished, replaced by skin pale and dehydrated from an erratic routine of sleeping and eating on the "whenever and whatever" system. There was more gray at his temples. He had been spending too much time within hospital walls, trading shifts with colleagues just to visit me again — and to bring me something tasty to lift my mood.
"Does that even apply to werewolves?"
For the first time, Vladimir gave me a genuine smile full of satisfaction, which I took as a bad sign.
"But you're not a werewolf. Not entirely," he said, falling silent again, savoring the moment. More than anything, I wanted to lunge at the doctor, to wipe that smug smile off his face. I was sick of the game Smirnov was playing — and of the bitter helplessness that came from endless not knowing. I felt it every single day: from the moment I barely recognized myself to the moment I realized I might be losing my future as an ordinary human with plans for university, final exams, and, of course, graduation.
"Your first transformation will happen anyway. Sooner or later. If not this month, then the next. The closer the full moon, the higher the risk. No matter how you try, you won't truly understand what you're dealing with until it happens."
"I would help my daughter if I could," Kostya said.
"Dad, what do you mean? You're already doing everything you can."
Kostya shut his eyes and struck the table, as if the words caused him pain.
"I'm doing too little! The closer the full moon, the more I notice… I see…"
He swallowed hard and tugged at the collar of his turtleneck as though the thin fabric were choking him. The words wouldn't come, no matter how hard he tried, though he kept pushing, discarding phrases that stubbornly refused to form into sentences. For a moment, I felt so sorry for him. I couldn't even imagine what it was like for Kostya — a man used to controlling not only his own life but others' from sunset to sunrise, gradually bringing chaos into order — to feel such helplessness. I wished none of this were happening. Guilt scratched inside me, and to dull its tearing sound, I reached for my father's hand and held it gently. I didn't care that the entire Smirnov family froze, watching this private scene.
Vladimir was the first to break the silence at the table. With a bored look, he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin and then spoke in an even tone. For a moment, I wished I had been born not a werewolf but, say, a superhero who could set that blindingly white fabric in his hands on fire with a glance.
"I dare say Konstantin is trying to gently convey certain nuances of lycanthropy to you. But that's not the only spirit you'll have to deal with."
"While my father is searching for the right words, maybe you could finally stop beating around the bush," I said, squeezing my father's hand tighter. "You keep promising to tell me everything you've been hiding, but I'm not seeing any eagerness. Why should I waste my time here with you, Vladimir, when all you do is use me as a lab rat?"
"Asya, you're being too harsh," Diana interjected softly in my father's defense, but Doctor Smirnov quickly waved her off, silencing her.
"Ow!" I hadn't even noticed that I was gripping my fork so hard that my nails dug painfully into my skin.
A chair scraped. Heavy footsteps sounded, and when I looked up from the table, I saw Kostya grab the doctor by the collar and lift him into the air.
"Oh, you find this amusing, do you? Being the chosen one, the only one who knows?" Kostya shouted, and something inside me tightened into a knot. I had never seen my father this angry. Even when he raised his voice before, it was nothing like the fury radiating from him now. The whole room seemed electrified by his energy, which swept over everyone at the table. From the look on Diana's and Stas's faces, I knew they had risen to their feet, tense and ready. Their expressions were full of concern — though for whom, I could only guess. They stood frozen, watching, ready to intervene the moment things turned worse.
"I let you run your experiments on my land once. But a second time — and on my daughter — I will not allow it!"
Vladimir laughed loudly and deliberately, and my father shook with rage.
"Your land? Konstantin, I think you're mistaken. Xerton was never yours, if you look at history."
"It hasn't been yours for a long time!" My father yanked Vladimir closer, and I saw his hands close around the vampire's throat, the veins swelling on Kostya's skin with the strain — but Smirnov didn't seem the least bit bothered. No gasping, no flush of oxygen loss; instead, the doctor kept laughing in short, sharp bursts, making the already dark atmosphere in the dining room even more oppressive.
"I strongly doubt that. If I wanted, I could bulldoze through the streets you guard so zealously. Level the forest, wipe out every reminder of centuries-old heritage along with its inhabitants — before you could blink or lift a finger."
"Oh? Just like that? And your wife would let you?" my father said in a mocking tone, as if trying to provoke the doctor — and judging by the abrupt end of his laughter, the words hit their mark.
"What Olga doesn't know won't hurt her."