Since We Are Apart

Chapter 2.3 The Kennel

"Are you transporting people? In that?"

A thousand and one fragmented theories rushed through my mind after Denis’s words. Could it be that those who try to hold the wolf inside are simply locked away by the pack, hidden from strangers’ eyes? But why? Is their struggle so difficult that they spend their whole lives focusing only on staying human? What nonsense. It just can’t be. But what if these people go insane trying to resist a nature that decided their fate long ago?

We got out of my father’s car and looked at a large van, a vehicle whose place had long been promised to the junkyard: even in the dim light, I could see abundant rust traces along the edges of the hood. The headlights’ glass had fogged with age, making the light seem yellower than usual, as if someone had applied a filter in a photo editor. The engine hummed, periodically cutting out and forcing itself to keep running.

"They’re no longer human. Nor are they werewolves," Denis managed to say before father came out of the building.

Kostya approached the driver’s cabin and exchanged a few words with the delivery man, who then handed a bunch of keys to father through the open window. Taking them, Kostya went to unload the van, signaling with a hand to two strangers who immediately followed him, pushing heavy carts with massive wheels along the rutted track next to my father’s car. I intended to follow them and see those beasts mentioned, but Denis grabbed my elbow:

"It’s better not to get too close. At least for you."

"Why shouldn’t I?"

"Your scent," Denis tapped the tip of his nose lightly with his index finger. "It’s too human. The dogs will smell you anyway and be restless after the long trip, so better not to create dangerous situations."

Kostya pulled the cargo door, which creaked open. The men bustled, talking quietly among themselves. They worked smoothly, as far as I could tell. Two burly men pulled out a thick metal plate and fixed it tightly to the base of the van’s cargo compartment. Soon, massive cages started being lowered down onto it. It was too dark behind them to see who was inside, but judging by a warning growl, I suspected it was definitely not Chihuahuas they brought.

The men unloaded the cages in pairs onto cart platforms—there was simply no more room. When the first one passed by us, I caught a glimpse of the beasts inside. Those monsters could hardly be called dogs. Just the size of their paws was impressive! If I met such a creature live on the street, I’d instinctively keep to the roadside. The dogs were wolf-sized, but their coloring seemed unnatural, as if bred for domestication by crossing with more tractable animals. But their size wasn’t as frightening as their eyes: almost human, as if trying to look into your soul, to cry out for help when reason has long forgotten how to form words. A brown dog looked straight at me with gray, almost glassy, tear-like eyes and softly howled. I don’t know why, but I stepped closer to the creature, and it instantly changed. In the blink of an eye, the beast lunged to the cage’s edge, closing the distance between us and baring long predatory teeth that seemed far larger than those I’d seen on domestic dogs. A guttural growl rumbled from its mouth as saliva dripped.

"Quiet, I said!" Kostya commanded authoritatively, and the beast pressed its ears back to its head. It whimpered quietly and retreated, trying to keep as low to the ground as possible.

"She’s my daughter," father said softly, and the dog glanced briefly in my direction as if it understood, making me uneasy.

What if the dog really understood father? A stupid, impossible thought—and at the same time, it felt so true.

I had read that when convincing my mother to get a cat, people tend to imagine animals’ behaviors as human traits, but that it’s just an illusion. A sweet, pleasant illusion that gave owners new emotions. It’s much easier to vent anger on a dog that chewed expensive new shoes, thinking it’s a cunning revenge plan for a not tasty enough breakfast, than to understand why the pet is stressed. We didn’t just speak different languages but measured each other’s actions by our own familiar, imposed rules, never asking if the dog even knew those rules.

Even when I summoned the necessary memories and knowledge, I still had the false feeling of a dialogue between Kostya and that dog. To avoid misunderstanding again, I moved away toward the building’s wall and kept watching the men unload one cage after another. Identical cages passed me and disappeared behind the kennel’s open door.

Kostya supported the last cage from the side, and entering the building, he closed the door firmly behind him, strictly ordering Denis and me not to enter until he called.

"Beautiful, aren’t they?" Denis asked cautiously when we were alone again.

"Beautiful," I echoed automatically. "And creepy at the same time. Each has such a clever look, almost human."

Drozdov nodded and went quiet again, hiding his cold-red nose in his jacket collar. He exhaled loudly, trying to warm his face with warm breath.

"Denis," I called him, feeling the silence grow thick with unsaid things. "Why do werewolves need dogs?"

He was silent, staring at one point. The answer couldn’t be simple, or my friend would have explained everything long ago. At least he would have tried.

But Denis stayed silent, either hoping Kostya’s voice would soon come from behind the wall, or choosing the right words. Or maybe there was nothing to explain, and I simply wasn’t smart enough to connect the dots?

"Why do you think those were dogs?"

"Denis, you yourself said this is a kennel," I nodded toward the building.

"I did."

"If this is called a kennel—and without a doubt, about fifteen cages just passed me with either strays or very poorly groomed malamutes—and the house appeared here by some agreement with the Karimov family, then my question seems logical. Doesn’t it?"

Denis leaned back against the wall, spreading his legs wide for better support. He looked tired, and my questions clearly annoyed him, but Drozdov had nowhere to escape.

"You saw what you wanted to see, not what it really was."

"And what really was it?"

Denis looked at me with a weary gaze. Each question broke his resolve more.

"Something that will make you think."

Another evasive answer.

"Think about what?"

"About everything," Denis smirked, and the last crumbs of my patience vanished along with the steam from his warm breath.

"It’s strange you didn’t notice how similar your eyes are."

My jaw clenched painfully with anger, and I wanted to find somewhere to direct it, so I thought of nothing better than to return the gift to its giver: I turned to Denis and gave his shoulder a good slap with my open palm.

"Why do I have to pry everything out of you today?"

"Because I’m not the one who should be telling you everything!" Drozdov yelled back and rubbed the sore spot.

My palm tingled pleasantly but brought no relief. On the contrary, I got angrier, and his silence made me want to hit again.

The jacket felt hot. The scarf pressed unpleasantly against my throat. I only noticed it now, and it started to feel harder to breathe. The fabric that had felt pleasant just moments ago now felt rough and uncomfortable. Wanting to free myself, I began to unwrap the scarf, but when that didn’t help either, I pulled down the zipper and unzipped the jacket to my chest.

"Hey, are you okay?"

I only nodded and tried to focus on my breathing. I felt myself sinking down toward the cold, saving snow, but something felt wrong here.

"Doesn’t look like it," Denis stepped away from the wall, came up to me, and placed his hands on my shoulders. Their heavy weight held me down, and that only made things worse.

"Whoa, what’s with the hands?" Denis whistled. "And you said the doctor’s treatment was helping."

"What?" I gasped out on my last breath.

"You’re about to lose it."

"What?"

From behind the wall came the many-voiced howl of a tight chorus. The dogs’ voices rang in my head.

Waves of shivers rolled over my body, growing stronger and stronger. My legs trembled, and I felt how hard it was to stand, so I leaned against the wall — but that didn’t help: I kept being pulled down toward the ground.

"Konstantin!" Denis called loudly, but there was no answer.

I stared at him with wide-open eyes, afraid that if I blinked, Denis would disappear and I’d be left alone with the unknown. I was angry at him. Very angry, and I couldn’t do anything about it. It seemed like I should be overwhelmed with fear, but more clearly I felt bitter resentment because Denis knew more than I did, yet avoided direct answers to the questions I desperately needed answered.

"Konstantin!" Denis tried again, but his voice drowned in the piercing howl of the dogs. The beasts seemed to sense what was happening on the other side of the wall.

"Will it hurt?" I could only manage to ask, not really expecting Denis to answer. He looked me straight in the eyes with a new, compassionate look.

Denis understood what I was going through, but he didn’t try to help. He simply did nothing. If I were in his place, I would have thought of something. I would talk and talk until my mouth was tired, just to find a few comforting words. I would show by example that it wasn’t so scary. I would finally answer the troubling questions directly. But no, instead he just stood there and looked at me, and because of the trembling, it seemed like before me stood a helpless doll, shaking its head like a car toy on every bump.

I wanted to scream. To tell him everything I thought about him as a person, but just then Denis grabbed me firmly by the shoulders and pulled me close, which only fueled my outrage.

"Let go," I tried to break free from his unwanted embrace, but my body felt pierced. Movement was frozen — not by the strong hands holding me below the shoulders, but by something else inside me.

"Quiet, Asya," Denis slowly ran his palm through my hair, chasing away the tremors. "Quiet."

That angered me so much I clenched my jaw painfully. His hand’s rough grip caught every hair, and I felt ready to tear into a thousand tiny pieces just to make it stop — but Denis kept going.

I wanted to say nasty things to him. I wanted to hurt him, just to make him leave me. A stupid, clueless boy playing the owner of secret knowledge one moment, the hero the next.

"I know you’re angry right now. Very angry. But you need to calm down," he said softly, as if I were speaking out loud.

"You don’t know s**t," I snapped back, but he continued slowly moving his hand, and those touches seemed softer, more measured.

"That’s not you talking," Denis pressed his head against mine, giving me even more tenderness, and then I caught the scent from his skin.

Notes of bergamot with sweet, freshly brewed tea-like mint reminded me of happy days from childhood when Kostya left me at the Drozdovs’ house under the watchful eye of Uncle Dima. During the afternoon quiet hour, only Denis and I were allowed to stay in the kitchen and quietly play chess while the other kids slept. Uncle would settle nearby and start reading the newspaper, always brewing a thermos of bergamot tea and treating us. At the bottom of the glass, he always put a few leaves of sweet mint, which I now realize was probably grown by Dmitry’s wife in the backyard of their family store.

I looked into the dark forest but saw only fragments of memories of a peaceful, happy time when my only problem was beating Denis at chess. Yet when I returned to the city, I barely recognized him. Memory is an unreliable storyteller that loves to erase even those moments capable of warming the soul in the middle of a cold winter.

Denis always won when we played. He thoughtfully studied the pieces on the board before making a move, and I tried to distract him by asking about the other kids or endlessly telling stories about mom and dad. Sometimes made-up stories.

As a child, I was quite the chatterbox and took advantage of every moment I could. Everything changed only in school, when classmates started to avoid me, seeing my desire to chat as annoying and boring. Most avoided me, and local bullies, like predators, only waited for the weakest member of the pack to stray away so they could finally strike. That’s why I learned not to say unnecessary things to strangers. Luckily, things were different in Xerton. Here, I was loved. Here, people helped me.

Thinking about the kids made me feel warmer and calmer inside. I wasn’t alone. Denis’s embrace stopped pressing down, and his closeness stopped irritating me. He was a friend who, despite the years gone by, was here again, while I kept pushing him away because he didn’t give the answers I needed.

"Why couldn’t you just tell me everything?" I finally said more calmly, lifting the weight off my heart.

"Do I have the right? Asya, I’m not part of your family," I wanted to wrap my arms around Denis’s waist and dissolve into the soothing softness of his jacket. "I’m just an outsider watching everything from the sidelines. Father has to explain why you were brought here."

"It would be easier to talk about everything with a peer than with dad."

The dogs’ howl quieted.

Denis’s hand slid once again over my head, then down to my shoulder. He hugged me and slowly rocked side to side, as if soothing me. Moving in rhythm with him, I realized the trembling had receded and closed my eyes, enjoying the calm that came over me.

"Answer me at least something. It’s important for me. Really."

Denis took a slow breath and exhaled deeply, and it seemed to me he was about to give in. All I had to do was push a little more.

"Please," I added and hoped that would be enough.

"Alright," he finally said, and I felt encouraged. "But I’ll answer only one question."

One question was better than none. It needed to be chosen wisely, and I didn’t know what bothered me more.

"Why do werewolves need a dog kennel?"

Denis was silent, and inside me doubt grew that I’d get an answer — when suddenly Drozdov finally spoke:

"The kennel is needed by werewolves to care for those who can no longer be human."

I immediately opened my eyes again, unable to believe what I heard, and pulled away. This time Denis didn’t try to hold me back.

"Most of them, like you," he continued, "have decided never to give the beast inside them free rein. Unlike vampires, werewolves don’t draw their strength from the natural power of the earth, as witches originally intended. Our connection to ancestral heritage is established through the spirits of the first werewolves. Those who forge a bond with one of them become connected forever. Sooner or later, you get used to each other. Learn to live together, like me and my she-wolf. But not everyone is ready even to try. Many, like you, try to suppress the beast inside and pay the price."

Denis paused, giving me time to digest what I’d heard, but I couldn’t find words. Learning that all my hopes were no sturdier than a house of cards was a real trial. The sick feeling of illusion of choice hit my mood hard, urging me to give up and stop trying to change anything: a normal life and, even more so, college admission were out of the question while I was like this.

But at the same time, I caught myself thinking that Kostya somehow managed to live an ordinary life. He got trained in a profession, found a job, and even started a family. I was living proof that father managed to combine two very different sides of his life. However, the problem was as obvious as my existence: Kostya was not flawless.

He had only a daughter from the family, and his work multiplied problems, forcing father to keep a fragile distance between ordinary townsfolk and the other side of Xerton.

Was father really happy choosing the path of least resistance to the beast, I didn’t know, but I had reasons to think otherwise. Whenever I thought of father, the kennel door creaked open, and Kostya, critically studying my frightened face, cast a furious glance at Denis.

“What did you tell her?”

“What I had to,” he answered shyly, then looked away at the snow beneath his feet. “You know Asya yourselves. You can’t just get rid of her easily, and you were fumbling there for so long.”

“If you wanted to get rid of her quickly, you could’ve come and helped.”

“Sure,” Denis said mockingly. “And Asya, of course, would’ve happily stayed in the car and not followed us.”

“Fair enough,” father sighed heavily and pushed the door open wider. “Come in.”

Denis quickly passed by father and disappeared into the darkness of the room. I was afraid to step over the threshold and froze in the doorway. Father noticed my hesitation and tried to encourage me in his usual way: he gave a slight smile and nodded silently.

I moved deeper into the room, stepping softly from heel to toe. The main light source was at the very end. A lamp hung over the area outlined by a fence made of thick boards reaching up to Denis’s waist. I suspected this was where they released the new wards.

Inside it was warm and smelled of damp hay, stacked in cubes along the wall to my right. There was no furniture and almost no belongings, making the space seem deceptively empty. Kostya walked behind me, letting me look around, but honestly, I knew the most important part awaited me at the end. With each step, I approached it relentlessly, utterly unprepared to face a new reality. It was one thing to look at animals in cages, another to know they once differed from me in no way.

I only had a few steps left to catch up with Denis, but I hesitated. From this distance, I could fully see a pair of dogs, which because of their coloring, I would easily mistake for typical huskies if I met them on the street. One curled up by the wall, the other lay nearby. The moment I noticed them, one dog with brownish fur lifted its head and looked our way. Its gaze was so piercing that I felt uneasy. Some silent recognition shone in its gray eyes, and I realized it was the same dog that had attacked me earlier.

Denis held out his open palm in expectation, but I was afraid to come too close again and provoke the beasts.

“There’s nothing left to fear, go on. They won’t reach you,” Kostya encouraged me, but the fence didn’t inspire trust. “You could easily slip your head between the boards.”

“There’s a metal mesh ahead,” Denis said, and then I looked closer. The mesh with large cells indeed ran around the entire perimeter of the fence, making it harder for the dogs either to escape or approach if there was a stranger inside. Only then did I place my hand in Denis’s, and he squeezed it encouragingly, giving me courage.

“They’re so huge,” I said, looking at the dogs, trying not to meet anyone else’s gaze just in case. “Are you sure they’ll never be able to become human again?”

Kostya leaned over the fence, and I looked at him in horror, worried this gesture might be very dangerous, but father didn’t even raise an eyebrow. His posture radiated strength and confidence, as if he had long since accepted the danger hanging over his head and met it in a matter-of-fact, almost cynical way.

“See that one by the wall, the one that attacked you outside? Meet him — your grandfather, Svetozar.”

“But grandmother said that…”

“That he died, yes,” father finished for me. “In our families, they always tell the uninitiated that. It’s easier. For everyone.”

“If I’m almost eighteen, and grandpa supposedly ‘died’ before I was born, then he’s been living in this form all that time? About twenty years?”

Kostya nodded.

“About that, yes. Probably even a bit more. Your mother was finishing her first year when it happened. Our romance was just beginning despite all the restrictions. We were as careful as we could be, trying not to get caught, stealing kisses in the shadows of trees and at friends’ house parties. Only a few close people knew, like your mother’s friends back then, but the news still reached the family. That’s when the trouble started.”

Denis squeezed my hand harder, as if he knew well how the story would end and was urging me to find strength to listen until the end.

“Understand, those were troubled times. Werewolves were equated with parasites along with weak-blooded vampires. Just by existing, creatures like us drained the earth’s strength, slowly drying up magic reserves, and gave nothing back. But we couldn’t do anything about it, because we were never sorcerers. We simply didn’t know how to bend the environment to our will and make it change. Witches were another matter. Your grandfather somehow found out about me and your mother but didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to separate us or have a serious talk, although, to be honest, that would be expected from your father — he had a harsh character. Only your grandmother could tolerate him; he constantly clashed with me, but that’s another story.”

I clearly understood how my parents’ relationship ended. Expecting a happy ending from Kostya’s story was foolish, yet a faint hope that at least back then, long ago, my parents had touched happiness encouraged me.

“Your grandfather risked everything, including his life, just so that your mother and I would have a chance,” Kostya smiled painfully. “Just so you’d have a chance. He achieved the impossible: with the local coven’s support, he performed a ritual to detach our entire lineage from the main source of magic, stopping the witches’ hunt for the pack. He thought that with magic gone, the wolf’s essence would disappear too, but he was wrong. Your grandfather was an alpha, the strongest. He spent not only all his accumulated power but also tricked others into attending the ritual, disguising the event as a summer solstice sabbath. The changes didn’t happen immediately: magic gradually returned to the world, making us mortal, more fragile. We still age slower, and many diseases bypass us, but these aren’t the peaks once available to werewolves. Your grandfather believed no one among us would have to shift again and that we’d live an ordinary, normal life by his standards.”

The brown dog sat down and attentively watched father.

“He stopped shifting. He betrayed himself and convinced others that with time, the power would fade away. Others habitually followed him as their leader, taking example.” Kostya stretched his arm forward and gestured broadly at the entire enclosure. “And this is where it brought them. They turned away from their nature. Betrayed it, tried to suppress it, but it turned out that the more we choke the beast inside us, the fiercer it fights to break free. Almost all the dogs you see now have lived in this form for about twenty years and remind others why denying fate is pointless.”

“You can’t subdue a beast that was born to tame you,” Denis echoed as father finished.

I silently looked at the animals, unsure how to call them now: dogs, werewolves, or former humans — and wondered how much humanity they had left after twenty years. Was my grandfather still really my grandfather? Kostya had his own, strange approach to these creatures, more like the relationship between owner and dog. I wanted to remember if Svetozar’s gaze changed when father said I was his granddaughter, but I was too scared to even notice. Now there was no way to know, no clues to understand how sane Svetozar remained.

Denis began stroking my hand with his thumb, distracting me from heavy thoughts.

“How are you?” he asked softly, and I shook my head.

“I don’t know. Just don’t know. It’s too much.”

“But now you know why I don’t like Dr. Smirnov’s idea. If this treatment fails, if nothing works, you’ll end up here,” father knocked on the fence, and the dogs grew restless.

“Now, quiet!”

Kostya’s expression seemed forced to me. I saw how stubbornly he tried to stay serious, not show any triumph. Kostya achieved his goal. I was scared. Terrifyingly scared.

“That’s enough for today,” I let go of Denis’s hand and headed for the exit, unwilling to spend another minute in this place, feeling utterly helpless. “Dad, take me home.”

Kostya drove me away without questions. Only at home did he cautiously say, “Want to talk about it?” — and that was it. I didn’t want to talk, and about what? Werewolf-ism was part of Kostya’s life, for which he already had the keys. I was trying to understand how not to kill my friends.

The longer I dwelled on my thoughts, the more inevitable the shifting seemed. My phone buzzed while I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. A message from Dasha with homework appeared on the screen. I swiped to unlock and typed a mechanical “thanks” in reply. Was there any point in good grades now? In getting into university? My whole life suddenly started to c***k apart. As long as the unpredictable monster inside me stood guard, waiting for the moment I’d lose control — there was no future to speak of.

Sad thoughts made an already difficult day darker than the previous one. In the next room, Kostya listened to the evening news so quietly that even with my sharp hearing, the words blended into a single mumble. Colorless, without any shades. A gloomy, gray recital matching the day.