The moment he spotted me, the driver eased off the gas, the car swerved onto the shoulder, and rolled to a stop. The window slid down with a soft hum, revealing Stas's face behind dark sunglasses.
I halted and stared at him with an unspoken question—as if asking why he hadn't just driven on.
"The spa's the other way," he said, one hand still resting on the wheel, the other pointing down the road.
"I know. Thanks."
My clipped answer seemed to throw him off. After a pause, he asked,
"Need a lift?"
I shook my head.
"How far's the bus stop from here?"
He frowned. "Why would you need the bus?"
I clicked my tongue at the absurdity.
"To get on a bus, obviously."
"And go where?"
"The store."
"What, Arthur already demolished all the chips and snacks in the rooms?"
My eyebrows shot up. "How do you—"
"Diana told me you all watched movies last night."
"So she did wake up…" I muttered, frustrated. I should have nudged the others harder. Then Diana and I could've taken the car, grabbed the hair dye, and been back already.
"Well, 'woke up' is putting it strongly. The whole family's set on lazing around and recharging today—everyone except me."
"And what are your plans?"
Stas only shrugged, that suspicious half-smile tugging at his lips as he looked back at the road.
"Probably the same as yours."
"Oh, so you're planning to walk another mile or two through dead zones, hunting for some godforsaken bus stop, waste at least an hour getting to the nearest supermarket, buy hair dye, then try to save your friend from humiliation—or, worse, make it even messier?"
"Let's hear more about the 'saving' part."
I sighed wearily.
"Dasha decided to bleach her hair before prom and turned herself into a bright yellow chick."
"Ouch." Stas winced. "She dyed it herself? Before prom?"
"Let's be grateful she dyed it and didn't chop it all off."
"Thank you, Dasha," he chuckled. "Now come on, get in."
He leaned across the seat and pushed the passenger door open. I took a step forward, knowing I'd get to the store much faster in his car, but felt that old resistance rise inside me. What if he brought us up?
The knowledge I craved like air.
The knowledge that could shatter me again—or save me.
"So… do you actually know where the bus stop is?" I asked, still hesitating.
Stas gave me a frown from under his glasses.
"No. And why would I?" He tapped the steering wheel. "Just get in. I'll take you wherever you need to go."
"Even if it's just the bus stop?"
He let out a heavy sigh, his voice weary.
"What is it with you and that bus? I can drive you straight to the supermarket and back."
"No. The stop will do."
"Don't be childish."
"I'm not being childish!" My voice spiked louder than intended. At least I hadn't stomped my foot—that would've been just like me.
'Oh, really?'
Of course. Kaandor chose this moment to show up. The dark companion lounged lazily on the sedan's hood, his horned head propped on one clawed hand while the other examined his talon-like nails, sharp as thorns, as though admiring a fresh manicure. For all I knew, somewhere beyond the tangible realm of Ksertoni there really was a salon he liked to disappear into. That would explain, if not all his vanishings, then at least half.
"You're just being stubborn," he drawled, "and refusing to let anyone help you."
I opened my mouth to deliver a ready retort, but Stas wagged a finger at me, as if to scold.
"And don't start again with that tired speech about boundaries, independence, and how everyone's always deciding things for you."
"Because they are!"
"For God's sake, why are you always like this?" He gestured at me from head to toe, and I instinctively took a step back. "Think about it—this isn't about helping you. I'm trying to help Dasha. And probably Violetta too, who's stuck comforting her."
"And what makes you so sure?"
"Because if Violetta weren't busy drying Dasha's tears, her car would've already flown past us on its way to buy dye, and zipped back again before we finished this conversation."
I scowled, knowing he was right, but damn it, how I didn't want to get in that car. Clenching my jaw, I repeated to myself—over and over—that this wasn't for me, it was for Dasha. Then I circled the sedan and slid into the seat beside Stas. The moment I slammed the door, the car lurched forward.
"Hey!" I exclaimed. "I didn't even buckle up yet!"
Stas waved me off, eyes fixed on the road as he searched for a spot to turn around.
"As if you really need a seatbelt." A satisfied grin spread across his face, that familiar dimple appearing on his cheek. "Not a single werewolf has ever died in a car accident. And a vampire? Even less likely."
Fixing Stas with a steady stare, I yanked the seatbelt out as far as it would go—making sure he saw exactly what I meant to do—and clicked it into place.
"If you want me to ride back from the supermarket with you, buckle up. Now."
"Yes, ma'am," he replied with mock gravity, but within seconds he broke and laughed out loud.
The car swerved briefly onto the shoulder, and only when Stas finally obeyed did we move off again.
"Type the store's address into the nav," he said, tapping the on-screen keyboard.
My fingers flew obediently across the glass. A moment later the display shifted to a map, a thick green line tracing our route ahead.
"Says we'll be there in thirty minutes."
"Great."
All the while we wound our way along the monotonous road, forest crowding in on both sides. Not a single car had passed us. Near the edge of the woods, Stas slowed, checking for oncoming traffic before merging onto a new road without trouble. Occasionally a sign pointed toward a hamlet or garden community, hints of life that—like before—remained purely theoretical. Not one vehicle had zipped by, not one human presence. Realizing we'd been the only ones on this road for ten minutes prickled at my already frayed nerves.
"Maybe we should turn on the radio," I offered, hoping to break the oppressive silence pressing harder on my chest.
"Maybe," Stas said. "Or we could talk."
"About what?"
He lifted one hand from the wheel in an open gesture.
"You pick the topic."
"Any topic?"
He nodded, and I felt the walls of the trap already starting to close.
"Where did you go with your dad yesterday?"
His eyebrows shot up.
"Wow. So you'd rather know where I went with my father than talk about what happened between us?"
"I didn't say that."
"I've left plenty unsaid too, you know. Never stopped you from tossing a few accusations my way."
"I just know you well."
He bit at the edge of his lip, eyes on the road, as if weighing whether that was true.
"Do you? Then tell me this: how am I doing?"
The question blindsided me.
"How… how are you doing?"
"Yeah. Since you know me so well, go ahead."
I looked down, at a loss for what he wanted to hear.
"F-fine?" I stammered for the first time in my life, heat rushing to my cheeks at the awkwardness of it.
Stas snorted, gripping the wheel tighter.
"All right," he said, sparing me further torment. "Forget it. My dad just decided to give me an early birthday present since he won't be around today."
"When's your birthday?"
"You tell me, Miss 'I Just Know You So Well.'"
"Don't tell me it's today."
"As you wish," he said, that familiar smug smile creeping back across his face. "I won't."
"It really is today?"
"You told me not to say."
I lost it and began smacking his shoulder until he yelped.
"Hey! Easy! I'm driving here." His words sounded serious, but the smile still clung to his lips.
"Sorry." I folded my arms across my chest and slumped back, forcing myself not to do anything else stupid.
Could it really be his birthday? Uncertain, I decided to leave the question alone before I made things worse, and planned to check with Diana later. Because even if I couldn't count on anything big or serious with Stas, he was still precious to me, still close. Yet I kept shoving him away, terrified of getting burned again.
Some part of me regretted what had happened between us—not the way you regret letting a monster out of its cage in the shower and mauling someone, but the way you regret taking a bite of an impossibly juicy burger dripping with sauce and melted cheese only to have it snatched away, told never to touch it again.
Once you've tasted Stas, walking away is hellishly hard. Even now I couldn't stop watching his lips, noting the how and why of each smile, memorizing those dimples as omens of a laugh about to break free. All he'd have to do is ask, and I'd run straight into his arms without a second thought, whispering to myself that every chance might be the last.
I couldn't get enough of him—like a drowning girl gasping for air.
He was my own personal strain of wolfsbane. And the only way to save myself was to stretch the distance between us into hundreds of miles—at least in my mind.
I couldn't bring myself to believe in mutual feelings, not even after what had happened yesterday. And still, even if my heart whispered that there was a chance, my reason knew better: Stas would never stay in Xerton. And if he got into Moscow, he certainly wouldn't come back. At first, he'd promise to visit on every holiday, every birthday, every school break. The first year, that would be easy—before the specialized classes and internships began. But then his free time would shrink to almost nothing, and Moscow would call to him with its opportunities, its people, its discoveries.
Stas loved art, especially painting. He'd find himself surrounded by exhibitions and events, a whole world opening before him. Life itself, like a wild current, would sweep him away, carrying him into an endless ocean of possibilities, tossing him on its waves and promising that just beyond the horizon, land was sure to appear. And Stas—eager, unguarded—would let himself be deceived, watching gladly to see where the current would take him.
I would rejoice for him later, many years from now, when we might cross paths again by chance, and he would not have aged a day. My own life would remain bound forever to my mother, my father, to Xerton and its inhabitants: guarding the dreams of some, keeping the secrets of others. That choice did not weigh me down. Duty, in its own way, filled me with purpose. But the thought of losing Stas poisoned what light still lingered inside me, leaving behind nothing but bitterness.
I should crush my heart beneath my heel. Push him away harder. But that wretched fear of learning the truth—of knowing for certain—kept me sitting here in the car, afraid of where the conversation might lead.
I longed for answers. And yet ignorance, sly as ever, kept placing commas at the ends of sentences, as if hinting that our lives were not yet fixed, and so, not entirely hopeless.
"We went to the notary," Stas spoke again. "My father signed the house over to me."
"Generous of him," I said.
"And rather strange, don't you think? For someone who lives forever, giving up the family estate is… odd. Not that I'm ungrateful or anything." He pressed harder on the gas as we merged onto the highway. "I just didn't expect it."
The speed pressed me back against my seat.
"Could you drive a little slower?"
"What for?" He waved a hand over the dashboard. "There's hardly anyone around. Summer roads are emptier than my stomach right now."
"We could grab a bite on the way," I suggested, realizing I hadn't eaten anything substantial myself. Nuts and chips from last night hardly counted.
"Aren't we in a hurry?"
"Of course we are. But the supermarket sells food, doesn't it?"
"And what exactly are we supposed to cook with it, on the road?"
I smirked.
"How about a milkshake? A banana? Don't tell me that's not food. One just needs a shake, the other—just peel the skin."
Stas nodded in rhythm with the quiet music that had been playing all this time.
"Not bad. But that's all cold. I want something hot."
"Come on, there's barely any time left before lunch at the spa."
"If we make it back in time," he said dryly. "Which we won't, if we keep crawling like snails."
"All right. I won't ask you to slow down anymore. You win."