The waitress stood with an expression of sheer boredom, hands folded neatly in front of her. I screamed at the top of my lungs, my voice piercing the silence, echoing through the familiar yet strangely alien forest. But then again, could anyone really distinguish one Siberian forest from another? I doubted it.
I only stopped when my throat felt raw and dry, the cords vibrating under tension. I tried to scream again, but a coughing fit doubled me over in pain.
"Are you done?" The waitress, Galina, lifted the hem of her dark blue coat and crouched down so our eyes were level. She kept a careful distance—close enough to speak, too far to reach her hand if I wanted to.
I nodded, still coughing.
"Then listen," her voice softened, almost hypnotically soothing. "Listen very carefully. You want to sleep. Very much. There's nothing to fear. Nothing is going to hurt you. You're safe."
I realized I did want to sleep. The forest no longer seemed menacing, nor did the fact that I'd been kidnapped. My throat eased, the ache fading. Even Gleb and Galina appeared friendly. And why had I been so frightened? I was safe.
"Your eyelids are growing heavy. Soon you'll drift into a sweet, gentle dream…"
Blinking grew difficult. I yawned, long and unashamed, letting the lull of her voice wash over me. Galina's words felt like a lullaby. What a remarkable woman. It was a shame I hadn't tried the pizza—no doubt it had been perfect. No wonder she worked at the café.
"You…" Galina began, but a sudden gust of wind brushed across my nose, and she vanished. Drowsiness evaporated instantly. I rubbed my eyes. Sleep, in the middle of the street? Ridiculous. Then the reality of the kidnapping crashed back. Kidnapped! Oh God, some strong man had taken me in broad daylight, and I had almost fallen asleep? Madness.
Fear ignited a surge of energy. I jumped to my feet, scanning the chaos around me. Colors blurred and twisted—a shimmering, multicolored haze jittering across the air. Was it real, or just a hallucination? A rag pressed to my face? A drug?
Gleb's gaze followed the haze as closely as mine. Good—so I wasn't hallucinating alone.
But his stance was strange. Legs spread wide, back slightly arched, arms out like a wrestler's. Fists clenched, eyes fixed on the quivering mist.
Then, with a scream, a body burst from the haze, tumbling violently against a massive truck wheel. Galina landed on her back for a moment before springing upright. Gleb mirrored her, back-to-back, ready for battle.
And then something impossible: they both hissed, mouths wide open. I thought I saw fangs curling inward from their upper jaws. Such teeth shouldn't exist.
"Asya, lie down!" someone shouted behind me. Before I could turn, a hand slammed onto my shoulder, pushing me down. I stumbled, but before I hit the ground, arms caught me under the knees and waist. The world spun like a carousel, and I was pressed against my savior's chest.
In a blink, the forest vanished, replaced by a grand room with soaring ceilings and vast windows, reminiscent of St. Petersburg halls. I blinked again and realized I was lying on a soft velvet couch, deep burgundy, sumptuous beneath me. The room was vast—where to look first? The endless bookshelves, each spine perfectly aligned, or the glossy black grand piano dominating the center? I must have blacked out. No other explanation could account for such a sudden change.
"Are you okay?" A familiar voice. I turned and froze. Stanislav Smirnov stood before me.
I couldn't blink. I could only stare, trying to reconcile the impossible. Kidnapped, trapped in a truck, chased by a resourceful waitress and a driver—and now here I was, on a couch older than my grandmother, staring at Stas.
"How did I…" I began, but the hall doors opened, and Viola entered, moving with confident purpose straight toward the couch.
"Did she get bitten? Did you check?" she demanded, addressing Stanislav. He shook his head. Viola, unhesitating, grabbed my hand, rolled my sleeves up to my elbows, and examined me meticulously. She tied my hair back, inspected my neck, yanked off the plaster, checked my back, even tried to peek under my shirt—but I slapped her hand away.
"Hey! Stop!" I exclaimed. I wasn't used to anyone touching me without permission. Viola and I weren't friends—barely acquaintances—where did she get the audacity? I'd never even changed in the gym locker room without privacy!
She ignored me, finishing her inspection. "It's clean," she declared without looking at me. As she left, she added, "I'll bring Arthur. We'll wipe her memory quickly and be done."
Stanislav's gaze lingered on me. "Who put you and Max onto the turncoats?"
"Karimov. Call him—have him pick up the girl, fast."
Viola's departure left the doors slamming shut behind her. Amazingly, she hadn't touched them. Perhaps the mansion only looked old, hiding modern tech that allowed doors to open and close automatically.
Stanislav sank into an armchair opposite, his posture relaxed, yet his gaze heavy with the weight of the world. "You and Karimov Jr.? Really?"
"Want to explain instead? My personal life isn't exactly riveting."
"No," he replied promptly, and we held each other's gaze, testing silently.
I straightened, feet touching the floor. "You'll have to, if you want the details."
He tilted his head, weighing, then said simply, "You've been kidnapped."
I smiled. "Thanks. I knew that. Can you tell me more?"
Stanislav licked his lips. His foot tapped a rhythm I didn't recognize. God alone knew what he was thinking.
"Oh, for God's sake," he waved, "you won't remember anyway. Let me have some fun. You were kidnapped by… turned vampires—for fun. We've been tracking them and your father for a while, but the scheme eluded everyone. Thanks to Karimov's involvement—personal issues aside—we got a lead. Max and Viola, excellent hunters, caught up with the van before the others could cover their tracks."
I stopped breathing. Nonsense. Pure nonsense.
"Wait… you're seriously saying I was abducted by vampires?"
He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips, dimples deepening. Perfectly absurd.
"Yes. Absolutely." Leaning back, he stroked his chin thoughtfully, amused by my reaction. He looked like a man enjoying a private comedy show.
"Fine," I said, "let's say I believe you."
Stanislav threw his head back and laughed, uncontrollable, as if he couldn't bear to look at me. Arrogant. Infuriating. I felt trapped in this museum-like mansion, unable to converse normally. I waited for him to calm down.
"Don't act like this happens every day. Maybe it's normal for you, but not for me. Show some humanity and explain properly. I won't ask more."