Chapter 5
Devon
He looked at me, and the rest of the room evaporated. I’d seen him before, somewhere deep in my mind or my dreams.
He spoke directly to me. “What are you?”
I blinked. “Uh—” My cheeks burned. Did he think I was a boy? Was it the sweatshirt? “I’m a woman.”
Yuri smothered a cough. Amara’s lips flattened.
The man tilted his head. “You walked in here without fear. Why?”
The question floored me. The answer was simple, but also not: “Oh, there was fear. I was silly with it. It was better in here than it was outside,” I said. “Someone was chasing me.”
He nodded, like that made sense. “And you have no idea where you are.”
I shook my head.
“Fascinating,” He straightened and turned to Amara. “Leave us.”
“But, Sovereign…” She stopped when his eyes flashed, cold and hard as frost on a corpse.
“I said, leave.”
Amara was out the door in three steps, heels barely clicking, composure cracked at the edges. Yuri remained silent and watchful.
The man returned his attention to me. “What is your name?”
I swallowed hard. “Devon Wade.”
“Devon,” he repeated, trying it out, the v softening into something almost gentle. “I am Kazimir Kozlov. This is my house. You have trespassed.”
His voice was low, not a threat, just an ancient statement of fact. It should have terrified me. Instead, I felt a weird relief, like the rules were suddenly clear.
“Sorry,” I said, and meant it. “I didn’t know.”
“That is by design.” He studied me a moment longer, then extended his hand. I stared at it, unsure if I was supposed to shake it or kiss his ring, or what. In the end, I just let him help me up; my body lighter than I remembered.
The moment his hand touched mine, something inside me filled with warmth. I gasped, and he frowned as if he’d felt it too.
He didn’t let go. Instead, he held my hand in both of his, turning it palm up, tracing the lines with a strange delicacy. “Your blood is old,” he said. “Older than you know.”
I tugged my hand back, uncomfortable but also unwilling to break the contact. “I don’t remember anything before six months ago,” I said. “Hospital said head injury, but they didn’t find anything definitive.”
Kazimir absorbed this, then glanced at Yuri, who shrugged as if to say, “Hell if I know, boss.”
He looked back at me, expression unreadable. “Come upstairs. We will speak in private.”
My gut told me not to, but my feet disagreed.
I followed him up the wide, carpeted staircase, my sneakers making pitiful noises in the hush.
At the top was a hallway lined with odd tapestries.
We passed two women in tight leather dresses, laughing with their heads tipped together, and they stopped dead when they saw us, their laughter strangled.
They both inclined their heads and muttered, “Sovereign.” Then, as we continued I also heard one of them say, “He is so fucking hot,” and the other hissed, “Shut up, he’ll hear you,” and he definitely did.
At the end of the hall, Kazimir opened a door to a conference room. Everything in it was dark: a table of obsidian glass, eight black leather chairs, a single silver tray in the center holding a pitcher of water and a stack of perfectly aligned glasses.
He gestured for me to sit. I did, and immediately noticed my reflection in the tabletop. Compared to him, I was a smudged charcoal drawing. He sat across from me, hands folded, posture both predatory and elegant.
Yuri entered last, closing the door. He stayed standing, guarding the entrance.
Kazimir started with the basics. “Do you have identification?”
“No. Without a birth certificate, that’s pretty impossible.”
“Friends? Family?”
“None,” I swallowed. “The hospital checked for missing persons. If I had family, they don’t care that I disappeared.”
He nodded, as if this confirmed his suspicions. “Any unusual abilities?”
I laughed, a short snort. “Umm… I can do the shit out of math. I think I maybe went to college or something. I could be an accountant.”
He almost smiled, then leaned forward. “Was thinking of other types of abilities. Why did you choose my club?”
“I didn’t know it was a club,” I said. “I was just running.”
He looked at me, then at the table, then back at me, as if comparing the two. “I wish to ask you questions. Will you answer honestly?”
I nodded, though my mouth was dry.
He poured water from the pitcher and slid it across to me. “Drink.”
I drank. It was ice cold, sweeter than any water I’d ever had.
Kazimir spoke. “Do you dream?”
I flinched. “Sometimes.”
“What of?”
“Nothing real,” I said. “Weird stuff. Light. Falling. Sometimes flying, I guess.” I looked up. “That’s stupid.”
“Not at all,” he said, as if flying were the most natural thing in the world. “Do you have scars?”
I went cold. “Yeah.”
“Show me.”
I hesitated. “Just a few,” I told him. “The worst are on my back. Two long scars between my shoulder blades. No offense, but I’m not stripping for strangers.” He didn’t press, only nodded as if he’d known already.
Yuri, who’d been silent, spoke up. “She fought like an animal. When Amara tried to remove her.”
Kazimir’s eyes flickered. “Interesting.”
There was a lull. I was exhausted, but the caffeine of terror and confusion kept me upright.
I couldn’t stop staring at Kazimir. He was so beautiful it was almost grotesque; the symmetry of his features hurt to look at. His suit was cut to perfection, but I could see a dusting of scars peeking from his cuff—evidence of damage and of survival.
He caught me staring, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “You have questions for me.”
It wasn’t a question.
I swallowed. “What kind of club is this?”
“A place for the unusual,” he said. “Sanctuary. Court. Market. It is all these things.”
He almost smiled, the corners of his mouth twitching, then returned to business. “Tell me about the man who followed you.”
I told him how I was a waitress at Margie’s Diner and how he’d been my last customer of the night.
I described him: rough face, greasy trucker hat, the way he’d stared at me from the booth in the diner for hours before following me when my shift ended.
Kazimir’s face grew harder the longer I talked, eyes narrowed as if he could see the man in his mind.
“Did he speak to you?”
“He said a few things. Stupid stuff. Called me sweetheart over and over.” My hands were tight on the table. “He drank his weight in coffee.”
“You feel he is still out there?”
I nodded, then felt ridiculous for it. “Yeah. I think he may have been around before.”
Kazimir drummed his fingers on the table, a sound barely audible but hypnotic. “Would you recognize him again?”
“In a heartbeat.”
The door swung open, and a woman entered, carrying a tray. She was shorter than Amara, with a wild mess of copper hair and a patchwork of tattoos on her arms. She set the tray between us with the efficiency of someone used to serving people way scarier than me.
On it: a steak, mashed potatoes with a lake of gravy, bacon-wrapped asparagus, and a glass of water beaded with condensation. There were real forks and knives, clearly of high quality.
Kazimir gestured at the plate. “You look hungry. Eat.”
I hesitated, then took a forkful of potatoes. They were so good I almost moaned.
He watched me, but not in a cruel way. There was a strange patience to it. “Nobody comes to me with a need and leaves the same.”
I swallowed, almost choked, then laughed. “So this is like the Salvation Army? Do I get toys at Christmas too?”
“A full belly is the best I can do.”
I dug in. When I tried to cut the steak, my hands shook. Kazimir noticed, picked up the knife, and with quick efficiency had the meat divided into perfect, bite-sized pieces.
I should have been humiliated. Instead, I felt cared for in a way that made my throat tight.
“I’m not usually this pathetic,” I mumbled, spearing a piece.
He shrugged, as if he’d seen worse. “You are malnourished. No shame.”
I nodded. “Guess I’m lucky you don’t run a salad bar.”
He smiled for real that time, sharp and surprising.
Yuri watched everything from his post, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere—already tracking my mysterious stalker, or maybe weighing the threat I posed to Kazimir’s club.
I finished half the steak before I slowed. I’d never eaten anything so good, and it made my eyes water.
Kazimir poured more water into my glass. “Where do you sleep?”
“Efficiency apartment,” I said. “Month-to-month. No lease.” I shrugged. “It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.”
“You are alone there?”
I nodded, then frowned. “Is that relevant?”
“Everything is relevant,” he said, but gently. “You are not safe, Devon. You were followed tonight. I bet you have been followed before.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Probably. But nothing bad’s happened. I mean, until now.”
He shook his head. “You do not understand this city. It is not safe for people like you.”
I bristled. “People like me?”
He considered his words, as if weighing them on a hidden scale. “You are different. You know this.”
I looked down at the table. “I used to hope it was temporary. The amnesia, the weird feelings. But I’m starting to think I’m stuck.”
“You are not stuck,” Kazimir said. “You are… found.”
I nodded as a knot formed in my throat.
We fell into silence, but it was less awkward now. I ate the rest of the steak, mashed potatoes, and all the bacon. I left the asparagus. Kazimir raised an eyebrow.
“Why not the green?”
“It makes my pee stinky,” I said, deadpan.
He laughed, a sound so sudden and genuine that Yuri cracked a smile from across the room.
I sat back, full for the first time in months. I felt warm, and for a second, I forgot that I was in the weirdest situation I’d been in since I could remember. And that was saying something.
Kazimir stood, signaling that the interrogation—or whatever this was—was over. “Yuri will drive you home. You will not be followed.”
I looked at him, and for the first time, I wanted to ask him if I could stay.
Instead, I just said, “Thank you. For the food. And the weirdest night of my life.”
He nodded, then left, his presence lingering like a scent.
Yuri offered his arm. I didn’t take it, but I walked beside him, feeling steadier than I had in ages. I glanced back once, hoping for another glimpse of Kazimir.
But he was already gone, vanished like a dream at sunrise.
The drive back to my apartment was silent, but not in a hostile way.
Yuri piloted the car—black, of course, and so smooth it felt like floating on air.
City lights rolled by, neon and off-yellow against the tinted windows.
I kept waiting for him to turn on the radio or fill the quiet, but he didn’t seem the type to make small talk for its own sake.
He parked a block from my building; he clearly didn’t want to advertise a car like this in my neighborhood. I respected the move.
“I can walk from here,” I said, hand on the door.
Yuri looked at me, those dark eyes catching the streetlamp glow. “I am to escort you to your door.”
“Really?” I tried not to laugh, but the idea of this massive, silent man trailing me up two flights of stairs was so absurd it was almost comforting. “Okay.”
The block was half-lit and smelled like wet cardboard, but tonight it felt almost safe. Nobody lurked on the stoop or hovered under the busted streetlight. Even my usual paranoia was dialed down to a low buzz. Yuri walked at my shoulder, scanning every window and shadow. We didn’t talk.
The inside of my building was all chipped tile and secondhand cigarette smoke. On the second floor, my apartment door—a sheet of old plywood with three deadbolts—waited like a question mark. I fumbled with the keys.
Yuri peered at the door, then the bolts. “Not secure.”
“It’s fine,” I said, letting myself in. I tried to close the door behind me, but he stopped it with one finger. His face was as neutral as always, but I could tell he was debating something.
“Do not open for anyone but me or Kazimir,” he said.
I nodded, then, on a weird impulse, stuck my hand out. “Thanks.”
He shook it, his grip so gentle it was almost funny, then left, footsteps whisper-quiet on the cracked tile.
Inside, my apartment was exactly as I’d left it: a single room, futon folded into couch mode, tiny kitchenette stacked with plates. My possessions fit into a backpack. I’d made a game of keeping everything spotless, like I could fool myself into thinking the place was temporary.
I locked all three deadbolts, turned on my lamp, and collapsed onto the futon.
The hunger was gone, replaced by a new kind of ache. Not fear, not even curiosity. Longing, maybe. I wanted—needed—to understand what had happened at Obsidian, and why Kazimir’s voice and hands still haunted my skin.
I peeled off my hoodie and checked my arms for bruises, then turned around and checked my back in the cracked mirror over the sink. The scars between my shoulder blades were still there, angry and red against pale skin. I ran my finger down one, shivered, then let the hoodie fall to the floor.
I remembered how Kazimir had looked at me—not just at my face, but like he could see through bone and memory and into whatever secret was curled at the center of me. I’d never met anyone who made me want to be seen.
I grabbed my notebook, the one the hospital shrink had suggested I keep, and wrote a single line: What am I?
Then I lay down, closed my eyes, and replayed every detail—the velvet foyer, Amara’s disgust, Yuri’s silence, the steak, and most of all Kazimir’s cold, beautiful eyes—until I drifted into sleep.
Even in my dreams, I couldn’t stop running toward him.