Vladimir, who until now had been nothing more than a limp rag doll in my father's hands, suddenly wrapped his palms around Kostya's wrists. I expected him to try to loosen the grip, but instead he looked straight into Konstantin's eyes, unblinking, as if what he was about to say required perfect composure, and spoke in an even tone:
"We are friends, Konstantin. For so many years we've worked for the good of the city. Side by side. We've saved so many lives. Have I ever given you reason to doubt my methods? Have I truly harmed anyone? There are no victims — and therefore, no evil."
His voice poured into the room like honey, enveloping and calming. My lips involuntarily curved into a smile. How could I ever have thought so badly of this wonderful, kind man who lived forever and devoted his time not to pleasure, but to serving others? Like Atlas, he bore the weight, holding the fragile boundary between mythical beings and the human world, searching for a way to tame the thirst of those unfortunate enough to turn with weak blood.
My thoughts were broken by an unexpected touch on my shoulder, and startled, I turned to meet Kaandor's amber eyes, glowing almost golden. For the first time, he was this close to me, and I could study the creature, noticing that the silhouette which from afar had seemed a mass of darkness was in fact a smooth covering of short fur. At the tips of his pointed ears were neat tufts, and his leathery nose glistened slightly with moisture, like the polished toe of a freshly shined shoe.
"It will hurt now," Kaandor warned, and sank his long claws into my shoulder, painfully, torturously slowly driving them deeper beneath the skin. I cried out, not so much from pain as from the sting of injustice, not understanding why he was doing this to me. The very fact that Kaandor's body could be felt physically astonished me and only confused my thoughts more. The sharp pain spread through my veins like electricity along a power line. I felt the heat of it rise up my throat, higher and higher, until it reached my temples. Inside me, a blue flame of agony raged, and I wanted to scream — but every cell in my body seemed frozen in the moment, refusing to obey. The only thing I managed to do was squeeze my eyes shut.
"That's better. Now you will see. You will see the truth."
Soon it was over. Kaandor's hand slipped from my shoulder, and when I opened my eyes again, my strange companion had dissolved into nothingness, as if he had never been in the dining room at all. The pain faded as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only an unpleasant heaviness in my temples as a reminder.
I tried moving a finger, testing whether I could control my body again. As soon as I confirmed I could, I began frantically feeling my shoulder, searching for the wounds from his claws — but even my clothing was intact.
No wounds, no blood. So strange. Only the oppressive feeling inside reminded me of what had happened.
I turned to the others and realized that nothing had changed. For them, not even a second seemed to have passed. Vladimir had only just finished speaking, and a strange confusion flickered across my father's face, as if he had only just come to himself and didn't know why he had gotten angry in the first place, let alone directed that anger at the doctor. Smirnov Sr. continued to stare especially intently into my father's eyes and cling to his skin, as though his life depended on it.
"No one has ever died from my intervention, and Anastasia was treated with special care in the hospital thanks to my influence. You feel gratitude toward me."
The realization hit me as inevitably as an arrow. That manner of speaking. Those words… I remembered every time Nik had touched me and looked into my eyes in that same way. I remembered how my thoughts and mood had shifted — and, most of all, my feelings toward him. At that moment, the puzzle finally clicked into place in my mind, and I lunged forward, toward my father.
Without realizing what I was doing, I clenched one hand into a fist and covered it with my other palm, creating a grip as if I were about to block a ball in volleyball. I took several quick, wide steps, building momentum as much as the space between me and Kostya allowed. On the last step, I pushed off the floor with all the strength I could muster and swung my arm, pouring everything into the strike, before bringing my fist down on the spot where Vladimir was gripping Kostya.
No one expected that from me. More than that—I didn't understand myself how I had made the decision, moving more on instinct than thought. Somewhere deep in my mind I knew there was no time to hesitate, and I succeeded: Vladimir's hold broke instantly. The moment it happened, I shoved him away, hoping to keep him as far from my father as possible.
Vladimir must never touch my father again. No—I would not allow him to cloud Kostya's thoughts anymore. Damn vampires with their damn abilities.
Unlike my parents, Stas quickly assessed the space, and before I could open my mouth to expose Vladimir to my father—who was staring at me in confusion—Stanislav lunged at me. His arms wrapped around my waist mid-tackle, and we crashed to the floor together.
Diana screamed. Barely keeping up with what was happening, I felt Stas flip me over and pull my arms behind my back one after the other, immobilizing me. He pressed his knee painfully into my spine, pinning me down so I couldn't get up.
"Stop screaming, Diana! Better bring something to calm her down! She's having an episode—just like at school."
"I am not," I said. "I'm perfectly fine."
Stas froze for a moment, as if testing the truth of my words. Seeing that I wasn't trying to pull another trick, he loosened his grip.
That hesitation was enough to catch Smirnov off guard. I moved, trusting my new instincts: my wrist slipped neatly out from between Stas's thin fingers, and then I tensed my freed arm and, using my torso for power, twisted and threw Stas off me.
A moment later, I was straddling him like a rider. I grabbed his wrists and pushed them above his head. Leaning over him, our eyes met. The space between our faces was so treacherously small that I could feel Stanislav's warm, uneven breath on my skin, as if he had just run a half-marathon. Low in my belly, a pull answered each new exhale, accompanied by heat flooding my cheeks. They burned so much I knew I must be flushed, and the awareness made me self-conscious—but I didn't get up. Not yet, not when everything had just shifted into place.