THE DEVIL’S ON CALL

Hysteria And Vigils

The faint, suffocating smell of spent gunpowder and damp, frozen earth clung to Zoya like a second skin as she ran breathlessly through the shadows. She was back inside the labyrinthine depths of the woods. The grey mist was thicker now, a pale shroud weaving between the trunks like grasping fingers. She sharply turned her head over her shoulder, her heels slipping on the slick pine needles as she desperately tried to verify that she was putting a safe, permanent distance between her frame and whoever was tracking her footsteps.

Nothing. Only the eerie, dead silence of the timber.

The moment she pivoted back to face the trail, her body violently collided with a massive, unyielding human frame. The sheer momentum of the impact sent a shockwave through her ribs, making her stumble backward into the brush as she scrambled for balance.

"What are you running from, ptichka?"

The voice was a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated with a dangerous, familiar amusement. It was Ivan. He strode leisurely toward her from the fog, his bare chest slick with sweat, the dark curls on his forehead dripping with rain. Zoya took three frantic steps backward into the briars, her head shaking in a state of absolute, paralyzed confusion.

"Ivan...?" Her voice came out as a broken whisper, her hands rising defensively to maintain a safe physical threshold between them. "Why are you out here? What are you doing?"

"To keep you from running too far, dushka."

Another voice…flat, freezing, and entirely devoid of human empathy sliced through the mist directly behind her left shoulder. She knew it was Lev. He was chasing her. He was holding the heavy black Glock, his fingers wrapped tightly around the polymer grip. Zoya slowly shifted her weight, maintaining a rigid side profile against the trunk of a birch tree, her eyes darting violently back and forth to ensure both brothers remained within her line of sight.

"Please," she whimpered, her chest heaving as the air turned to ice in her lungs. "Please just let me go."

They didn't offer a syllable of response. They simply stood on opposite sides of the clearing, their massive silhouettes towering over her like twin monuments of execution. Zoya backed up further, her spine scraping against the bark as she attempted to circle around a wide tree trunk to break their line of fire. For a brief, deceptive moment, both of them disappeared from her view behind the timber. But the exact micro second she cleared the wood, they were standing shoulder to shoulder, their faces identical masks of pure malice.

It was as if her panicked mind were playing cruel, structural tricks on her sanity. She was standing directly in front of them, entirely cornered.

Lev slowly lifted the barrel of his weapon, lining up the iron sights directly with the center of her forehead. "You wanna leave this place so badly, Zoya? Fine. Do it in a body bag."

The final image her conscious brain could register through the blur of her tears was the twin flash of their sinister, identical smiles. Then, a deafening explosion rang out through the trees.

Zoya jolted awake with a sharp, ragged gasp, her upper body violently snapping upright in the center of the mattress. Her fingers clawed frantically at the silk sheets, her chest rising and falling in short, desperate wheezes as her eyes darted wildly around the dark parameters of the bedroom. She scanned every corner, every shadow beneath the heavy drapes, searching for the physical trace of a threat for the cold steel of a barrel or the silhouette of a twin waiting in the dark.

Nothing. The room was perfectly silent, bathed in the muted amber glow of the security lights outside the window.

She was out of the woods. She was back inside her private quarters.

A heavy, trembling sigh escaped her lips as she slowly collapsed back onto the pillows, her hands flying to her face to wipe away the cold, thick layer of sweat that enveloped her skin. She had never imagined a reality where she would feel a profound sense of gratitude to be locked inside the walls of her captors' estate. But right now, the structural certainty of the wood and plaster felt like a sanctuary compared to the lawless horror of the forest.

She curled her body into a tight, defensive ball, pulling her knees up to her chest as her mind drifted involuntarily to the calculated madness of the morning. Lev had hunted her. He had chased her across the damp earth like an animal, discharged a weapon at her, mocked her primal instinct to survive, and stripped away every single layer of her composure until she had willingly dropped into the mud and accepted the dark finality of death.

She squeezed her eyes shut, a bitter wave of self loathing rising in her throat. Had she truly fallen so far? Had her identity been so thoroughly fractured by these men that she was willing to simply give up and let a bullet take her? Or was it exactly what Lev had deduced during his cold lecture…a chemical reaction from her weaker self, a subconscious admission that she was completely, utterly dying to let go of the control she had maintained her entire life?

Her thoughts drifted to the aftermath in the clearing. how he had pinned her against the bark, how his thumbs had mapped the skin of her throat, and how she had responded to his mouth with a volatile, desperate strength. She forced herself to categorize that reaction as a standard psychological dilemma. She was weak, she was physically compromised, and her mind was operating under the influence of a severe, calculated psychological warfare designed to cloud her judgment.

Yes, she reasoned fiercely with herself in the dark, her jaw tightening. That was the only logical explanation. It was shock. Nothing more.

Despite her rationalizations, the mental exhaustion remained a physical weight behind her temples. Her body had recovered a fraction of its motor function after her collapse, but her psyche felt like a shattered glass pane. Wanting to wash away the residual scent of carbon ash and pine needles, she slowly got out of bed and walked into the pristine marble bathroom. She stripped off her soiled garments, stepping into the glass shower enclosure and turning the handle until the water ran scalding hot against her skin.

She kept the shower short, intentionally keeping her mind blank. Once dry, she threw on a pair of loose grey sweatpants and a simple white cotton shirt that hugged the contour of her frame. It was already completely pitch black outside her window, the digital clock on the nightstand indicating it was long past dinner.

Not wanting to remain isolated with the terrifying echoes of her own thoughts, Zoya decided to venture out into the house.

The moment her fingers touched the brass handle of her bedroom door, a real psychological mind teaser hit her system. What if she ran into Ivan? Or worse... what if she encountered the other one? She knew with absolute certainty that she did not possess the mental capacity or the emotional armor required to look Lev Starkov in the eye after what he had subjected her to today. In truth, she didn't want to see either of them. She paused, her hand freezing on the metal as she contemplated retreating back to the safety of the mattress. But her logical brain pushed back; she rarely, if ever, ran into the twins in the communal spaces at this hour of the night.

She cracked the door open, peeking out into the long eastern hallway. It was entirely empty. She found the detail strange, her paranoia flaring instantly…usually, there were at least two heavily armed guards stationed near the corridor junction by this time of the evening. Why clear the halls now?

Suppressing the rising panic, she closed her door softly behind her and silently navigated the polished floorboards, making her way toward the grand kitchen in the western wing, hoping to find the comforting, grounded presence of Silvia or Rowena.

When she reached the heavy swinging doors of the kitchen, she halted, leaning her ear against the wood to listen carefully. The only sounds filtering through the timber were the familiar, rhythmic clinking of silver cutlery and the low scraping of copper pots against the stove.

She pushed the door open slowly, stepping over the threshold.

Silvia was standing near the far counter, frantically setting aside a collection of heavy silverware as if she were searching for a misplaced utensil, while Rowena stood leaned against the marble kitchen island, quietly watching her progress. Rowena, with her sharp posture and elegant features, looked barely five years older than Zoya carrying the effortless, sharp confidence of a woman who had navigated this world just a little longer. The exact moment the door creaked, both women snapped their heads toward the entrance, their expressions freezing as if they were looking at a ghost.

Zoya forced a small, compliant smile onto her lips, crossing the tiled floor to take a seat on one of the leather barstools directly opposite Rowena.

"Oh, honey..." Rowena said, her striking features instantly softening as she returned the smile. But her eyes carried a pitiful, heavy look of concern that made Zoya’s stomach tighten. She reached across the marble island, her warm, manicured fingers gently touching the back of Zoya’s hand. "Are you feeling any better?"

Zoya nodded her head slowly, her eyes remaining fixed on the counter. "Yeah... I'm okay. Just a little tired."

She wasn't entirely sure how much information the twins had shared with the household staff regarding the events in the woods, so she maintained her mask of calm contempt. Even the other night, after Ivan had violently threatened her brother’s life in the backseat of the sports car, she hadn't been able to bring herself to confide in Rowena, despite her asking countless times what was wrong.

"Well, it's a good thing you're awake," Silvia chirped from the stove, her voice breaking the heavy tension as she set down a dish. "I was just about to come down the hall to check up on you. You seemed absolutely exhausted from your fall earlier today... and all that wet mud on your jacket wasn't helping matters. It's a very good thing Lev was out there to carry you back to the house."

Zoya’s fingers froze against the marble. A fall. She let out a very quiet, bitter breath through her nose. He told them she fell. The same hypocritical bastard who had pinned her against a tree after he barked about how much he absolutely despised liars, pretenders, and deceivers... and the best narrative his brilliant mind could engineer for the household was that she had taken a clumsy spill in the dirt. What an absolute hypocrite.

Before her thoughts could spiral into fresh anger, a heavy ceramic bowl of steaming chicken soup landed directly in front of her.

"Eat up, doctor," Silvia said softly, patting her shoulder with a maternal warmth before returning to her chores at the sink. "You need the nutrients."

"Thank you," Zoya whispered, picking up the silver spoon. She could feel Rowena's intense, unblinking gaze tracking her movements as she took her first bite, the heavy silence making her feel profoundly uneasy. Why is she being so quiet? Desperate to break the tension with small talk, Zoya cleared her throat. "So... were you able to go down to the farmers market today, just like you wanted?"

"Oh, yeah, absolutely," Rowena answered, her tone instantly shifting into a bright, chirpy register as if she had been dying for an opening to speak. "I stopped by the main galleria mall afterward too. I actually picked up a few things for you, Zoya just remind me to grab the bags from my room later."

"Oh, Rowena, you really shouldn't have," Zoya said, placing her spoon down for a moment. The hot broth tasted incredibly spicy and warm against her throat, radiating a comfort she hadn't realized her body was craving.

"Oh, please, don't start. At least next time those boys decide to drag you out of this house, you'll have something decent and elegant to wear," Rowena retorted with a sharp, amused chuckle. "And speaking of going out... I actually ran into a few ladies I know at the boutique mall. Old acquaintances, really…because I certainly wouldn't call those little vipers my friends. They were absolutely dying to find out the identity of the little lady who accompanied Ivan Starkov to his underground fight the other night."

Zoya, who had been about to lift another spoonful of broth to her lips, froze completely midway through the motion. Her mind instantly flashed back to the subterranean VIP lounge. the nasty, elitist stares those wealthy women had directed at her black dress. She prayed to God it wasn't that specific circle.

"They sounded incredibly sour about the whole situation," Rowena continued, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "It was honestly the absolute highlight of my day."

"And... what exactly did you tell them?" Zoya asked, her voice tight as she carefully placed her spoon back into the bowl, hoping against hope that Rowena had simply told them she was a hired medical professional.

"Hmmm, I just feigned absolute ignorance," Rowena said with a wicked wink. "It's always best to keep those snakes guessing."

Zoya shook her head in silent frustration, her eyes dropping back to her food. Seriously, her list of operational problems was piling up with every single hour of the day. Now she had to worry about high society gossip in Saint Petersburg.

Rowena kept going, seamlessly transitioning into a string of random, lighthearted topics, and Zoya merely nodded along or listened intently, grateful for the distraction. After a few minutes, Rowena grabbed a bottle of water and gestured toward the glass French doors. "Let's catch a breath of air. It's suffocatingly hot by this stove." Zoya followed her out onto the small stone porch at the side of the main building, which overlooked the sweeping, dark expanse of the rear gardens.

Zoya could tell that Rowena was intentionally trying to keep her mind off whatever trauma had occurred in the woods; she was talking at a much faster pace than usual, her gestures wide and expressive. Honestly, Zoya sincerely appreciated the effort. It felt like a normal conversation with a peer, a rare luxury in this house.

"So... next time your hair is completely tangled up from the humidity and you don't have a straightener handy," Rowena explained, leaning against the iron railing, "you just take a pair of metal tongs, place them directly over the gas stove for ten seconds, and slide them down the strands."

Zoya let out a genuine, breathless laugh at the sheer absurdity of the domestic hack. "Come on, Rowena... that's literally all I did during my first year of college. And I ended up with such severe hair damage I had to cut four inches off my hair."

They both chuckled, the sound soft against the quiet night air.

"Well..." Rowena sighed, a fond expression crossing her face. "A girl has got to do what a girl has got to do to survive. So, what was medical college actually like for you, anyway? Mine was just boys, booze, frats, and a business degree I never use. I got the full experience, but it wasn't a real stepping stone. Unlike you... a whole medical degree."

Zoya’s smile softened, her gaze drifting toward the dark treeline in the distance. "It was hard. It was so incredibly hard. Some days, I genuinely swore to myself that I couldn't go on for another twenty four hours. I don't think I experienced a single easy day during my entire enrollment... and now, after everything, it's all just an empty name on a piece of paper. Doctor Zoya Rosvitch. Even when I finally had my license in my hands, it didn't really change the trajectory of anything."

She let out a long, ragged sigh, folding her arms tightly across her chest as the biting cold of the night air began to penetrate the fabric of her thin white shirt. Rowena noticed the slight shiver immediately, straightening her posture.

"Wait right here, honey," Rowena said quickly, turning toward the glass doors. "I’ll go run up to the wing and grab you a warm blanket, and I'll bring down those dresses I bought for you while I'm at it. Then you can sit down and tell me more about your residency."

Before Zoya could even raise a hand to protest, Rowena had already darted back inside the house, her footsteps fading into the corridor.

Zoya stood completely alone on the dark porch, her eyes fixed on the empty garden. Her thoughts began to drift back into that dangerous, heavy loop. Had she truly never lived a single day for herself? Even now, just listening to Rowena recount her youth, Zoya realized she hadn't even allowed herself the standard college experience. Her entire youth had been a transactional grind to ensure Leo's safety.

A heavy, thick woolen blanket was suddenly, smoothly draped over her shoulders from behind.

Zoya accepted the sudden rush of warmth with a small, grateful smile, her hands rising to clutch the fabric. "Thanks, Ro," she murmured, turning her head to face her companion.

The words died in her throat.

It wasn't Rowena standing behind her in the shadows. It was Ivan.

Zoya’s heart took a violent, erratic leap against her ribs. She hadn't interacted with him face to face since that terrifying, suffocating night. She had caught fleeting glimpses of his towering silhouette across the courtyard over the past three days, but she had systematically kept her distance, silently thanking the universe that he hadn't made any move to approach her clinic. Even now, looking at the fresh purple bruising along his jawline and the small bandage on his brow, she couldn't bear to look him in the eye.

She immediately shifted her weight, attempting to swiftly move around his massive shoulder to pass through the narrow space between his frame and the glass door.

But Ivan didn't allow it. He shifted his weight smoothly in tandem with her movement, his broad chest completely blocking her path of escape, his dark, rich scent of leather and expensive cologne instantly invading her personal space.

"Zoya," he called out. His voice was uncharacteristically low, dropping into a gentle, quiet register that seemed to float softly on the night breeze.

She halted her advance, her posture locking into a rigid, defensive stance as she deliberately stared at the brass buttons of his jacket, refusing to raise her eyes to his face. "Let me pass, Ivan."

Ivan didn't move an inch. He stood towering over her, his eyes tracking the pale lines of her face, noting the slight tremor in her hands where they clutched the blanket. He jammed his hands deep into his pockets, his shoulders dropping slightly as he looked down at her.

"I saw Lev bring you back from the northern grove," he said, his voice completely devoid of its usual manic, performative edge. It was a strange, quiet tone…as if he were trying to gauge the structural integrity of his possession without letting his brutal nature slip through the cracks. "You looked like s**t, doc. You’ve been asleep for hours . Are you... functioning?"

Zoya let out a sharp, sarcastic breath through her nose, her knuckles turning white against the wool of the blanket. She finally raised her chin, her eyes flashing with a raw, volatile venom as she looked directly into his striking blue gaze.

"I’m doing just fine, Ivan," she spat, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to sound detached. "In fact, you and your psychotic brother should be absolutely thrilled. You got exactly what you wanted today, didn't you? You broke me. He chased me down like an animal until I begged for a bullet. So congratulations to the both of you. You won your little game."

Ivan’s jaw tightened, a dark, unreadable emotion flashing across his features at her words. He took a half step closer, his massive frame casting a long shadow over her face. "It wasn't a f*****g game, Zoya. If it were a game, you would have known the parameters." He reached out, his long fingers hovering bare inches away from her shoulder as if he wanted to touch the fabric of the blanket, before he slowly dropped his hand back to his side. "Lev may operate on a darker frequency. But I told you we’re not so different ."

"Go to hell," Zoya snapped, her chest heaving as the sheer exhaustion of the day began to mix with a fresh wave of panic. She moved to push past his left flank, her shoulder brushing against his chest. "I’m going inside."

Ivan didn't grab her wrist this time. He let her step past his frame, but as Zoya reached for the handle of the glass door, her eyes instinctively drifted upward toward the second floor stone balcony that overhung the western wing of the estate.

She froze completely, her breath catching in her throat.

Standing directly under the dim exterior security light on the upper terrace, his hands gripping the stone balustrade, was Lev.

He was dressed in a dark silk shirt, his broad shoulders squared as he stood motionless in the cold night air, his icy, unblinking grey eyes pinned directly down on her silhouette. He was simply watching her. Watching her interaction with Ivan. Zoya felt a terrifying, sickening surge of realization wash over her entire body…he had been standing up there the whole time.

Without casting a final look at Ivan, Zoya violently threw the glass door open and ripped herself away from the porch, running blindly back into the house, her mind spinning into a dark, inescapable void as she fled toward the shadows of the eastern corridor.

When she reached her bedroom, she slammed the door shut, locking it with a frantic, metallic turn of the key. She didn't turn on the lights. She simply collapsed back against the wood, sliding down until her knees hit her chest, her hands tangled in her hair.

She stayed awake.

For hours, as the clock ticked relentlessly toward the early morning, Zoya stared into the dark canopy above her bed, her mind a chaotic, hyper vigilant prison. Every creak of the old estate timbers, every rattle of the wind against the glass, sounded exactly like a heavy footstep approaching her door. Her body remained trapped in a high voltage loop of adrenaline, her heart racing so fast her chest actively ached.

She couldn't shut her eyes because every time she did, she saw the iron sights of Lev’s gun. But what truly kept her awake…what truly terrified her to her core was the memory of the kiss. She lay there, shivering beneath the sheets, wrestling with the horrifying realization that her body had turned docile, responsive, and entirely hyper aware under the touch of both brothers. She was caught between two maniacs, and as the first pale light of dawn began to bleed through her drapes, she knew she hadn't slept a single second. Her mind was entirely awake, and entirely trapped.