Although Denis was managing the store alone today, he moved with focus, not forgetting to take care of his guests. As soon as we came in, Drozdov seated me in a display folding chair meant for outdoor leisure and handed me a cup of tea filled to the brim, carrying a sharp aroma of bergamot. With pleasure, I wrapped both hands around the vessel, letting my fingertips thaw after the cold outside.
The guys each took a shovel and went to clear the snow-covered car. There were no other customers at this hour besides me, and I sat back in the chair, continuing to blame myself for what had happened. I wished I knew how Stas had taken the touch that had made him, in a moment of foolishness, crash into the snowbank. I could only guess what emotions had swept over him at that moment. After all, Stanislav had a girlfriend, and I knew that perfectly well. The bitter taste of the tea underscored the aftertaste already lingering on my tongue, making the situation worse.
I could tell myself all I wanted that the gesture had been purely friendly, deceiving myself and others, but deep down, I already knew the truth — and I didn't like it.
There were several reasons that made me think worse of myself. My relationship with Tanya balanced on a thin edge — it was hard to call us friends, but still possible. Yet it seemed easier to justify myself if I thought of Rostova as just another classmate, someone to whom I owed no bond of friendship. And besides, she had already been so eager to see me as a rival that it was irritating. Every jab she made, like a painfully sharp needle, pierced under my skin. It used to anger me that Tanya was creating a problem out of nothing, but now I began to wonder — was it really out of nothing?
On the other hand, putting myself in Tanya's place made me feel vile. I could easily picture the image of a girl who, from the shadows, pulled someone else's beloved toward herself, agreeing to any terms just to avoid being left out and to get the desired attention. I had always condemned women who so easily broke the unspoken sisterhood by intruding into someone else's relationship — not to mention their family — through the back door, stirring up a fire that turned a couple's memories into fragile ashes, destroying a union through the interference of a third wheel.
The mere thought of how easily and carelessly I had reached toward Stas in the car poisoned me. More than anything, I didn't want to become like those I had never even met but had judged from afar.
A saving thought came to me with the last sip of tea. I couldn't really have feelings for Stanislav, could I? He was one person, and I was another. Even on the level of what we were, something told me our relationship couldn't exist without the constant shadow of danger — the threat of sudden turning or of sharp, elongated fangs. Spending most of my time with Stas at the hospital, I had never once asked myself when or where he managed to get blood, afraid to know the truth.
Every part of my being should have been calling for the destruction of those like Stanislav and his family — or so I thought. Could the wolf inside feel disgust only toward the weak-blooded while remaining friendly toward the born vampires? I didn't know the real answer, nor was I sure that, after all the changes to my spirit, I was supposed to act and feel like others of my kind.
I could easily imagine my father's face when my relationship with Nikita inevitably became too obvious to hide. I remembered what Maria had told me yesterday and regretted not asking, casually in the middle of the conversation, whether relationships between wolves and vampires were considered just as shameful as the love my mother and father had shared. All the best questions, unfortunately, come too late. And besides, yesterday all I'd wanted after all the stress was silence.
I still couldn't bring myself to call Maria and tell her what had happened to Kostya, putting off that conversation as much as possible. I wasn't ready to see her. I wasn't ready to hear her. I needed strength to patch the hole in my chest after her betrayal — after all the omissions she had fed me all these years. Something told me that all the decisions about my future had been made by her alone, while my father had merely agreed to the little she was willing to let him in on.
At least my parents had something in common besides me: they both preferred to act without considering anyone else's opinion, thinking they knew best.
I felt so much, and at the same time — nothing at all, unable to separate one emotion from another. Fear, pain, love, and anxiety fought inside me, flaring even brighter just to make me look at them. But the truth was that a person can't feel everything all at once.
Maybe my heart, wounded by two betrayals in a row, simply wanted to patch at least one of the holes as quickly as possible — and decided to start with the one Nikita's lies had left? What if I was clinging to any sign of kindness just to feel warmth again? To forget everything. To forget the abyss of blue eyes that deceptively pulled me into the trap of revenge hidden behind a façade of false love. A vendetta for an evil in which my hands were clean.
How nice it had been not to run into Nik in the city, and how damn unfortunate that I had seen him again yesterday. That must have been what reopened the wound.
After thinking about everything a little longer, I didn't notice how time passed, and the guys came back from outside, carrying shovels over their shoulders, the edges still holding remnants of clinging snow that would soon melt into a dirty puddle in the corner where Stas and Denis had carelessly placed them.
"Well, that's it. Now we can get out without any problems," Stanislav wiped the drops of snow from his forehead with the edge of his sleeve.
"Just don't accidentally back into the snowbank across the street," Denis said, giving Stas a friendly punch on the shoulder, joking.
"Or maybe I'll do it on purpose, just to hear you groan like an old man again."
"No way! If you drive into it a second time, you'll be digging yourself."
"Fair enough," Stas said, turning his gaze to me. "How about you? Warmed up?"
I nodded silently, staring at the honey-colored irises of his eyes. I tried to listen to myself and understand what I truly felt for Stanislav and, most importantly, what this discovery would cost me. But the inner talking bird was silent. It had abandoned me to fate, forcing me to make decisions carefully, searching for the perfect balance between the scales of illusion. On one side, stone after stone fell as guilt, multiplying the already numerous "buts," while on the other side lay only a light feather of momentary pleasure from a touch.
This wouldn't do, no. Too bad I couldn't go home before Vladimir called. Though if the price for an unthinking gesture turned into the sharp sting of shame next to Stas, it would be well deserved. I could endure it. Sooner or later, when I could finally listen to myself and figure out what I truly wanted, the situation would become clearer. More precisely, my attitude toward it. Mom always said there are no difficult situations, only the weight, the meaning we give them.
Denis left us alone, turning into a narrow corridor leading to the garden. I thought it would be interesting to see how the inner courtyard had changed with winter's arrival and how surprisingly contrasting the lush blooms in the greenhouse must look. Or maybe the greenhouse also experienced a lull during winter? I didn't know for sure and thought it would be nice to find out when Drozdov returned.
In fact, I wanted to talk to him about more than that. As I already knew, unlike me, Denis had gained the power of a werewolf and handled natural instincts calmly. Seeing how easily he interacted with Stas, I wondered how he managed to coexist peacefully with those considered enemies by wolves. Kostya had said that even the presence of vampires stirred youthful blood, yet Denis showed no sign of it—either expertly controlling himself or truly feeling no hostility toward a natural enemy.
I, on the other hand, felt drawn to vampires. My family's life had become closely intertwined with the Smirnovs, and now I felt something particularly warm toward Stas. Especially after yesterday. I had witnessed such a vivid family drama that no one could keep their mask on. Despite nature, we all remained beings with our own feelings, pain, and inner problems. I still needed to understand what exactly caused the warm feeling toward Stas, but I already clearly realized that if there was a vampire who sparked a storm of negative emotions inside me, his name had long been burning on the tip of my tongue—Vladimir. I felt undoubtedly friendly feelings toward Diana, noticing every time how carefully she treated me, as if I were part of the family. When a stranger treats you not merely as an equal but as someone long known and dear, it inevitably draws you in, warming relations. It makes you risk opening up, reaching out, accepting the risks that it may all be nothing but a pitiful pretense. But the game is worth the candle.
"What's it like," I began aloud, trying briefly to distract myself from thoughts of werewolves and vampires, "to be an adult?"
"I didn't really notice much of a difference. Except I could get a driver's license and drive alone. Otherwise, the restrictions at home are the same, and I don't drink. Not much excitement."
"And in terms of how you feel?"
Stanislav looked up at the ceiling, as if listening to his sensations, but soon shrugged carelessly.
"Nothing."
"Really nothing?"
"And here's the order!" Denis returned, lighting up the room with a smile, holding a large bouquet with both hands, sprinkled with tiny pale blue flowers, each glowing with small yellow spots at the center. Inside every bloom, a tiny sun seemed to long to give warmth to anyone who looked upon it.
"How beautiful!" I said aloud, and immediately panic filled my head: could it really be for me?
"Pack it carefully so it doesn't freeze on the way. I want to lay the forget-me-nots while they're still beautiful and fresh."
"I see. For your mother, then," Denis carried the bouquet to the counter, pulled out a roll of thick clear polyethylene, and began creating a dome around the arrangement to preserve the warmth of the out-of-season plant as long as possible. If Denis and his mother managed to sell forget-me-nots in the middle of winter, the greenhouse must be as green as in September. I doubted that such flowers could be made to bloom artificially at the end of November, but apparently the Drozdov family had their secrets, envied by any other flower shop. I had never seen forget-me-nots for sale myself, except maybe in summer from grandmothers selling by the underground passages.
More than the flowers themselves, I was surprised by who they were for. I wished I knew how things had ended yesterday, since Stas ordered the flowers for Olga. I hoped she felt better. Yesterday, the woman looked too ill and had thoroughly frightened her household, who had thought for a long time that mother had simply gone off somewhere unknown. I felt the guys had poorly received the news that Vladimir had restored Olga's human form. I wished I knew how he had done it.
I thought it would be rude to voice all my questions with Denis present, not knowing how deeply he was involved in the Smirnov family affairs, so I remained silent, smirking at how easily I had been ready to believe that after what happened in the car, I'd get a bouquet with a bright ribbon and a declaration of love from Stas as well. And why did such silly thoughts even enter my head? Nothing foreshadowed such a turn of events, yet I had happily floated somewhere in the clouds, dreaming of a romantic scenario. Perhaps the very idea of pure, tender love was more appealing than a relationship with a specific person. I felt as if I were in love with the idea of love, not with my friend.
It was enough to realize it, and the enchantment dispersed as if it had never existed. Whether it would last long or not remained a mystery. Sometimes it's so hard to tell where sincerity hides and where convenient self-deception masks the real motives, the acknowledgment of which we haven't yet allowed ourselves.
"You've gone a bit quiet," Stas observed, worry etched on his face as he studied mine. "Don't worry, Kostya will be fine."
Denis immediately joined the conversation:
"Did something happen to uncle?"
"The doctor says it's nothing for werewolves. He lost his temper but didn't let the spirit out," I replied.
Denis whistled and chided me:
"I don't know what happened between you, but you should be more careful with your old man. We still have a long way to go to reach your father's level of self-control, and if he's gone, there won't be anyone to teach us."
Stas gave Denis a solid flick on the head.
"Don't scare Asya," he said.
"I'm not scaring her," Denis pouted like a hurt child, his already plump lips pushed out and his neck stretching demonstratively as if the blow was still painfully reverberating through his body. "I'm just saying it like it is. Not many people have this skill, and there's hardly anyone to learn from. I'm still waiting for uncle to find time to train me. The skill is very useful! One moment — and instead of turning into a beast, you just drop dead. No need to guess later how many you hurt, how many you wounded, maybe even… well, you get it."
"You don't seem like someone with self-control issues," I said.
Denis smiled, flattered, but an unspoken sadness and fear lingered in his eyes. He must have already lost control once and regretted it deeply.
"I'm glad to hear that, but in reality, I'm no less dangerous than you," he said.
"I barely have any idea what you're capable of," I admitted.
"Really?" Stas interrupted, having dealt with the consequences more than once over the past weeks. "I could give you a couple of examples. Easily."
I rolled my eyes in exhaustion. There was already enough tension to raise alarm, and I so desperately wanted to relax, even briefly. To exhale and feel normal. But instead, I wandered among the living like a bomb with a delayed timer, one to which a clumsy amateur forgot to attach the display, leaving no one knowing when it would explode.
"Let's not, okay? Not today. My head's full enough already."
The guys exchanged guilty glances and stopped pressing. Denis handed Stas a wrapped bouquet. We said a quick goodbye and then returned to the car.
The interior had cooled considerably, and as soon as my back touched the seat, my teeth chattered from the cold. Stas started the engine and turned on the seat heaters, murmuring reassuringly that it would soon get more comfortable. When the car merged onto an unfamiliar highway, I started the conversation first.
One of Stas's advantages was his reticence. It was easy to be silent with him, which I rarely found comfortable with other people, yet endless chatter like Tatiana's constant flow of new gossip hardly resonated with me either. I suppose it depends primarily on the person you're with and their attitude toward you. I was sure that even if Stas didn't see me as someone special, he still protected and empathized with me like a true friend.