I could hardly believe that the Smirnov family spent their days rescuing damsels from kidnappers. My incredulous expression—or perhaps the incredulity in my voice—must have betrayed me, because Stas's gaze sharpened with a new, teasing mockery. Yet this time, he did not laugh. He sank deeper into his chair, legs sprawled wide, exuding a casual authority.
"Alright," he said slowly, his playful smirk fading, "I'll explain—clearly, and without interruptions." His voice shifted, assuming a weight and precision that demanded attention. "My family belongs to an ancient vampire clan. By tradition and right, we protect both our territory and the people who inhabit it. Our lineage allows us to remain in one place for centuries, unlike other vampires who are forced to wander. Not all vampires have such privileges.
"The ones who kidnapped you are turned vampires. I won't bore you with endless details, but the crucial point is that they trespassed into our territory without permission. We do not know who turned them, or from whence they came. And now, it seems unlikely we ever will." He paused, exhaling a long, pained sigh, as if the thought itself was heavy with regret.
"Their hunger is… different from ours. One drop of blood can unbalance them. Hunger is a constant, gnawing torment they cannot quell. In desperation, they cross every moral line, eventually resorting to radical measures. Gleb and Galina acted together, preying on girls in cafes. You… became one of their victims. Karimov alerted us in time. Viola and Maxim arrived swiftly. Max's tracking skills are unparalleled, and the twins arrived just in time. Viola brought you here, while Max handled the rest."
I listened, mouth agape, my mind struggling to catch up. Vampires? Again? Did he really expect me to swallow this absurd tale? Vampires were nothing more than the relics of childhood nightmares—romanticized creatures meant to scare children into caution. They belonged to storybooks, not reality. The world was too logical, too ordered for creatures that thrived on superstition.
"Why keep feeding me these fairy tales with Nikita? He doesn't believe a word of it either, does he?" I asked.
Stas's lips twitched, betraying his hesitation.
"But he himself…"
He didn't finish. The doors swung open once more, and Viola stepped inside. Behind her loomed Arthur, the sheer scale of him astonishing. He was immense, his strength evident in the effortless bulk of his arms. I realized, with a pang of awe, that he could lift both me and this sofa with ease, yet his eyes—kind and warm, lined with the faint wrinkles of a life touched by laughter—belied any threat. For a moment, it was hard to believe we were the same age.
"Hello, Asya," Arthur said gently, crouching to meet my gaze. "How's your head? Any pain?"
"No, it's fine. Thank you," I croaked, hoarse from disbelief.
Viola positioned herself beside Eduard's chair, her expression tight with disapproval.
"I heard everything. Why did you tell her?" she demanded.
Stas shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"What difference does it make?" he replied. "She won't remember anyway."
"But you wanted her to remember, didn't you?" Viola's voice cut like steel.
Arthur raised his hands toward his head, hesitating as though seeking my permission. I gave a subtle nod, and only then did his cool palms settle against my temples. He closed his eyes, lips trembling. Seconds stretched. A strange vibration coursed through my skull, traveling down my neck with a tickling, feather-light sensation. I couldn't help it—I laughed. Arthur jerked his hands back, struggling to swallow.
"No, it's not working," he muttered.
Viola inhaled sharply, gathering her resolve, and then erupted: "Idiot! Your carelessness has put us all in danger!"
Stas's lips formed a thin line, yet relief gleamed in his eyes. He answered her quietly, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on me. I felt foolish, trapped in a scene that teetered between absurdity and menace. Was this some elaborate joke? A test of credulity?
"Listen," I said sharply, addressing the room at large. "Enough. I won't believe any of this vampire nonsense. I don't know what game you're playing, but leave me out of it. Just tell me—can we call a taxi from… wherever we are? If you don't want to explain, fine. It doesn't matter anymore."
I felt irritation flare. Just a hidden camera was missing—broadcasting my disbelief to the world for laughs. They'd misjudged me completely.
Silence. The Smirnov family exchanged glances, hesitating, as if passing responsibility like a hot potato, each unwilling to be the last to hold it. I rose from the sofa, ready to escape the pretense, and no one moved to stop me.
"Fine. Whatever you want," I muttered, fastening my jacket. I approached the door, expecting the usual magical opening, but it remained stubbornly shut. Cautiously, I stepped back a meter and waved my hand above my head—still nothing.
"What are you doing?" Viola asked, her face a mask of indifference.
"Trying to leave. Is the sensor upstairs?" I replied, smirking.
"What sensor?" She sighed, clearly tired of the question.
"The one that opens the door, of course," I said, teasing.
"Oh, that one." Viola raised a hand lazily. Instantly, the doors swung open with a thunderous crash, colliding with the wall.
"At your service."