Since We Are Apart

Chapter 2.1 The Kennel

The road wound through the winter forest. Bare tree branches gave way to lush ones, topped with thick layers of snow. I pressed my forehead against the glass, trying to make out the tops of the fir trees, but they were so tall that I couldn’t see anything.

Soon the car stopped by a striped barrier, and Kostya started patting his pockets searching for his phone. With the arrival of cold weather in Ksertone, his shiny leather jacket had been replaced by a dark blue down jacket with a large hood trimmed with fur. Dad pulled the zipper on the chest pocket and took out his smartphone, then swiped the screen to unlock it, but his fingertips had already frozen. Despite the heater inside the car, it was quite chilly, and I didn’t even want to take off my outerwear. Kostya blew on his hands noisily several times to warm them up and tried unlocking the phone again. On the third try, he succeeded. Methodically, Kostya tapped different parts of the screen, then brought the phone to his ear. I could hear long ringing tones, which soon turned to silence.

“I’ve arrived. Send someone to raise the barrier,” said my father into the void, and I didn’t hear any reply. How strange.

Dad put the phone away and started pulling on his gloves.

“Whatever happens, stick close,” Kostya tucked the edge of his glove under the cuff’s elastic so no wind would get in. “And don’t go into the house under any circumstances. Understand?”

Dad’s words scared me. I wanted to ask a thousand and one questions about why I shouldn’t go inside the Karimov house. Weren’t we here to talk to Nick’s parents, who, as far as I knew, were still human? What did Dad want to show me, and where, if not inside the house? Before I could voice even one of my many questions, Kostya raised his hand in warning, asking me to wait.

“Nick’s parents don’t exactly welcome us right now, though they know full well their son got involved with Galina and managed to cause a lot of trouble. Whatever harm he did, Nikita is their favorite son, and you’re the girl because of whom he disappeared without a trace. It’s best not to stir the wounds of grieving parents unnecessarily.”

“Then why did we even come?” The puzzle didn’t add up in my mind. “My very presence here will be an obvious reminder.”

“They’ll stay inside the house. That’s the deal.”

“Dad, you’re acting selfish. What am I supposed to see if we can’t even wait for Nick to come back?”

“Where did you get the idea that he’ll come back?” Dad turned to me so sharply that I wanted to sink into the seat just to put some distance between us. Kostya looked at me intently, studying my face like a bloodhound sniffing out its prey.

“His parents are all he has left. He will come back,” and I repeated, trying to convince myself first and foremost that it would happen: “He will definitely come back.”

“Has Nikita come to see you?” Kostya’s voice sounded harsh, as if I’d already done something wrong.

“No. Of course not!” I repeated louder so Dad would have no doubts. “And why would he?”

On the road beyond the barrier appeared a tall figure. The stranger’s head was covered by a hood thrown over it, and the lower part of his face was hidden by a bulky knitted scarf striped blue and green. Coming right up to the barrier, the man waved at Kostya to come closer. From his pocket, the stranger pulled out a huge bunch of keys and began rummaging through them until he found the right one.

“Well, how is it?” Kostya drove closer to the barrier, and the stranger, as if on purpose, turned his back to us, so I couldn’t see his face. “You were together, lovebirds, youth.”

Hearing the last phrase, I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

“Dad, nobody talks like that anymore.”

“I do,” Kostya chuckled.

The barrier rose, Dad slowly drove forward, and after a few meters, he slowed down, waiting for the stranger to lower it again and lock it.

“There was no love. Nick was just playing with my feelings to trick his mother into revenge.”

“Do you really think so?” Kostya asked.

And I thought about it.

That our relationship with Karimov was just a convenient trick for him, I understood in the hospital, replaying memories in my head. Vladimir had explained the duality of how I remembered events and what they actually were, as part of awakening a family legacy. To me, it sounded dubious.

The idea that I finally took off rose-colored glasses and gained a sober view of what was happening seemed much more pleasant. Falling in love with Nick poisoned me like vampire venom. It was enough to recall his face under the bright moonlight in the forest for the bite on my skin to sting. Only a raised scar remained on my skin, but as soon as I started to forget, the old wound flared up with heat as if it had never healed. I believed that as long as Nick stayed away from me, the bond between us weakened and new facets of the past opened.

I never wanted to become a vampire and, after hearing Galina’s story, would hardly ever agree to it. That thought, like an anchor, dispelled my attempts to justify Nick or soften the realization that Karimov really manipulated me. I simply couldn’t accept the offer to become like him. But I did accept it. I remembered how sharply everything inside me turned at Nikita’s words. As soon as Nick touched me and spoke tenderly about his feelings and thoughts, I easily caught his ideas and locked them inside me. Like a puppet, I obeyed the puppeteer’s movements even when my whole being screamed to run.

I wasn’t ready to reveal to my father the inner storm of disappointment, hatred, and anger aimed at one very specific person, so I shrugged and chose a more suitable explanation.

“After what Dr. Smirnov told me about vampire abilities, it’s easy to believe. If Nick really loved me, he wouldn’t have run away like a coward. And since he ran away, it’s almost an admission of all the crap he did.”

Kostya looked at me with wide, outraged eyes.

“What kind of words are those?”

“Sorry,” I said. I had never cursed in front of Kostya before. “It just slipped out.”

Kostya clicked his tongue disapprovingly but didn’t scold me. After a short pause, Dad wanted to say something else, and I braced myself for a lecture, but the back door of the car opened, and the stranger quickly slipped inside, sniffing after the cold. Kostya’s attention shifted to the new passenger.

“Denis!” Dad snapped, frowning. “Who’s going to shake the snow off outside? The mats will be soaked.”

“Sorry, Uncle Kostya,” the stranger lowered his hood, and I was surprised to see it was Drozdov. He hurried to stick his feet out of the car and tapped his heels hard on the threshold. When he finished, he leaned back in the seat with visible pleasure, as if he was very tired. Noticing I was watching him, Denis smiled broadly, showing a perfect row of teeth that looked dazzlingly white against his slightly tanned skin.

“Hi! You look good for someone who just got out of the hospital,” Denis winked playfully, and Kostya grunted disapprovingly. He must have seen it in the rearview mirror.

“Thanks,” I said briefly and froze, realizing Denis had grown into a real man in just a month. If we had met on the street, I wouldn’t have recognized him: he had noticeably gained broad shoulders and height.

“You’re growing by leaps and bounds. How old are you now?”

“I turned sixteen on the twenty-second,” he answered proudly, and I smiled, thinking the age gap between us had temporarily shrunk. Until the end of December, I would still be seventeen. Now we could be considered peers, since a year is a trivial difference compared to two. At least, that’s how I reasoned when talking to my mom about classmates in eighth grade, and Mom just laughed without really explaining. Maria said girls start changing earlier than boys, but I never understood what those changes were. None of the guys I knew changed so much in a month like Denis. Although maybe we just saw each other too rarely, so I never noticed the small changes one by one, instead getting a whole bouquet all at once. It was scary to think what Denis would be like next time. Jokes aside, at his growth rate, in a year the old man with a cane coming out of the fishing shop might be the only person I’d recognize by his smile alone.

I vividly imagined how black hair would be replaced by silver strands shimmering in the moonlight, how wrinkles would creep into the corners of his eyes. For some reason, I thought age would suit Denis, and a pleasant warmth spread through me at that thought. How strange.

"I’m actually waiting for you to buckle up," my father’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

"It’s just a short drive," Denis protested, but Kostya remained firm.

"Denis," my father said sternly, and from the back seat I heard the characteristic click of the seatbelt.

The car moved and slowly rolled along the ruts left by the previous driver. Snow crunched under the wheels, compacting more and more. We entered a spacious clearing surrounded on all sides by fluffy fir trees. Their tops were covered in white snow, while the lush skirts of branches below remained green. To the right of the entrance, I noticed a two-story house. The facade either imitated wood or really was made of it—I could never visually tell the difference, so I always had to guess without knowing for sure. The lights on the first floor were on, and through a large window facing the inner yard, I could see the kitchen. A long table made of solid wood stood right opposite the window, and Galina’s voice echoed in my mind. This must have been where the vampire woman watched Nik. My gaze involuntarily skimmed the chairs. I wondered which one Nikita had sat in that ill-fated day when Galina decided to storm into his life and ruin everything. I wondered if things between us could have turned out differently if she hadn’t found Nik then.

The car turned, making its way deeper into the grounds. The Karimovs’ house disappeared from sight, but the sad thoughts it evoked did not fade. I kept playing the worst game possible: imagining how our lives might have unfolded if some events had been erased from the fabric of existence, and others, on the contrary, had taken their place like perfect puzzle pieces, giving the whole picture a different meaning. How sweet that illusion was, and yet how painfully tormenting at the same time, but I couldn’t make myself stop. Hiding among the soft clouds of a castle in the air—even if it would never be mine—was far more pleasant than plunging headfirst into the ugly reality full of disappointment.

"Asya, look," my father briefly touched my shoulder, and that was enough to make me turn.

We were approaching a building with plain light-colored walls. Under the overhanging edge of the tiled roof, rectangular windows stretched horizontally. They were evenly spaced across the entire width of the wall, and because of the snow and sparse street lighting, it seemed as if the building stretched deep into the forest. It took effort to realize there was also a light source inside; otherwise, I couldn’t explain how I could make out the outlines of wooden supports through the window glass.

Already approaching, I tried to listen. It was a good chance to test how well Dr. Smirnov’s treatment worked. To my disappointment, even from outside I began to hear a heavy knocking, repeating cyclically and growing louder as the car neared the building, as if someone inside was hammering. I wanted to ask Kostya if he heard it too but stopped myself in time. The fewer reasons I gave my father to think the wolf inside me was trying to take over, the easier it would be to continue living my normal life.

"What’s that? A stable?"

"For now, it’s just a construction site that never seems to end," Denis answered instead of Kostya, as if nothing was wrong, and began loudly exhaling hot breath onto his palms, trying to warm his hands.

I rolled my eyes.

"And what is the construction supposed to become when it’s finished?"

"A kennel," my father cut in with a tone that didn’t bode well.

The answer surprised me because it was much easier to imagine a stable on private grounds than a kennel. And what kind of word is “kennel” anyway? What were the Karimovs planning to do with it?

I realized I had heard conversations about the construction before—from classmates in the cafeteria and also from Nikita when he gave me a ride home. Back then, I worried the bike would dirty the entire trunk, but Nik just waved it off, blaming the dirt on the building materials. It never occurred to me to ask him for more details, so now a thousand questions crowded my mind about why Nik’s parents decided to build exactly that.

"Is it some kind of charity?" I asked naively. "Are they planning to start a shelter or something like that?"

My father’s face twisted as if the image in his head displeased him. His lips twitched slightly from time to time, and it seemed like he was about to explain, but he kept silent, as if unable to find the right words.

"I wouldn’t call it charity, it’s a deal between two clans where everyone gets what they want," Denis interrupted, and Kostya threw an irritated glance at him through the rearview mirror.

"Are Nik’s parents really like us?"

"No," Denis said. "They’re just people."

"People," my father chimed in, "who really wanted to protect their child. Even if that child is a nasty bloodsucker."

"Don’t call him that," the words slipped out of my mouth on their own, and I realized it too late.

I defended Nik even after all the evil he was ready to cause my family, and I was ashamed of it. Logically, I understood: Nikita was my enemy, and there was no excuse for how he was ready to treat me—how he deceived me and manipulated my feelings. I couldn’t understand why, alongside justified anger, a small island of compassion remained inside me. And I couldn’t forgive myself for that compassion, fearing it was a foreign seed. The fear that I couldn’t clearly distinguish where the true feelings ended and where those I was made to feel began, pressed on me relentlessly, forcing me to double-check every thought.

The car suddenly stopped at the building, and Kostya turned to me.

"If Nikita had succeeded that night, we wouldn’t be talking now. Low blood is low blood," his cold gaze sent a chill down my spine. The worst part was that I didn’t know for sure why we wouldn’t be talking anymore. Two possibilities raced through my mind. I clearly understood I might not have survived the turning, and even if I had, would Kostya have accepted me changed, not like him? A natural enemy, whom werewolves must destroy when bloodsuckers cross the line, breaking the balance and the agreed hunting territories, putting both our kinds at risk. My father’s attitude toward the Smirnovs was completely different.

The assumptions settled into my subconscious until better times. Kostya opened the car door and stepped outside, showing by his whole demeanor that he wasn’t ready to talk about this any further.

“He's tough on you,” Denis whispered.

“Dad hasn’t been himself lately.”

“Has this never happened before?”

I shrugged, recalling all the confrontations with Kostya over the past few months. Even though he was overly protective of me, he had remained gentle during normal conversations. Now his nerves seemed stretched tight like a string, making him react quickly and sharply, as if that could make me change my mind and accept my new fate.

“I wasn’t one of you before.”

“That’s not true. Your turning was only a matter of time, like most of us.”

“Not everyone wakes the wolf inside.” Denis snorted.

“Do you even know whose blood flows in you?”

“Well, yeah,” I pointed toward Kostya, who was on the phone by the entrance to the building. “His.”

“That’s obvious. But have you heard anything about your grandfather?”

“No. Does it even matter?” I unbuckled my seatbelt and sat so I could see Denis. “Grandma barely mentioned him, and neither did Dad. Seems like he died before I was born or something.”

Denis nodded with a knowing look, as if he had access to some secret knowledge that naive students had to earn before learning.

“Knowing your roots is important,” he said mysteriously and smiled a beautiful, snowy-white smile, making me even more curious. But instead of explaining, he betrayed me by falling silent. What a bastard.

“You said ‘A,’ now say ‘B.’”

“His name was Svetozar,” Denis came closer and whispered quietly. “Your grandfather was the last alpha of the Kserton pack.”

I frowned. Quite the name!