Chapter 7
SEVEN
NATALIE
I climb the staircase, oftentimes slowing down when Sergei struggles to keep up.
Daylight peeks through the cracks in the doorframe, proving difficult to look at directly without wincing.
He’s leading me upstairs to meet the alpha Nik warned me about.
The true monster of the Vostik pack. Sure, I might be able to overpower Sergei, but there’s no telling how many more werewolves might be waiting for me.
To be quite honest, I’m surprised it isn’t Viktor taking me to meet his father by my throat.
Instead, they sent the one that can barely manage a flight of steps.
Part of me, the less captive part, sort of feels sorry for him.
“Do not—” Sergei starts and pauses, catching his breath. “Do not look him in the eyes. Alpha will take as challenge.” How many other prisoners has he told this to? More importantly, how many others actually listened?
“Anything else I should know if I want to stay alive?” I ask, peering at Sergei near the final step.
“Da. Don’t make sudden movements.”
Great. Just fucking great. This is sounding less and less like a meeting with Nik’s father, and more of being trapped in a cage with a Bengal tiger. No sudden movements. Don’t look him in the eyes. What next? If he stands do I drop to my knees and play dead in the fetal position?
Sergei limps passed me and opens the door, letting it swing slowly until daybreak fills the staircase.
It’s bright, blinding even, and it takes a moment longer than I would’ve thought for the Vostik home to come into view fully.
The floors, much like the ones in Nikolai’s loft, are shiny enough to reflect the ceiling lined with crown molding and the chandelier set above high-end furniture.
The windows in the study, flanked by parted maroon curtains, take in sunlight by the mouthful.
There are no signs of this home belonging to a pack of blood-thirsty monsters.
Just a room beaming with family money. Bookshelves line the right side of the room, and on the left, a row of portraits.
None of the men are recognizable at first glance. None except the last one. Nikolai.
The alpha line. Five portraits. Five Vostik alphas, each sharing the same stoic expression.
I remember Nik talking about the first werewolf in the line.
The first of their kind really. Viktor. He isn’t a large man like the Viktor I know.
This Viktor Vostik is scrawny, frail almost, and wearing clothes that seem a size or two larger than they should be.
From the next pack leader to the end of the line, the more intense their eyes become, Nik’s being the brightest and most alluring.
The artist managed to capture the gaze I was drawn to night after night in LA perfectly, but everything else about this painted Nikolai is …
different. His hair is cut short, roughly resembling his father’s crewcut style.
The bearded jaw I had caressed so many times when he kissed me is free of facial hair and leaves its sharpness on full display.
Everything about him is nothing like the Nikolai I met at Club Volk, and alternating glances between him and his father, their similarity is uncanny.
“Dis way,” Sergei says, gesturing to the door opposite the cellar.
I don’t argue. I don’t even try to fight it. I simply walk behind him giving Nikolai Vostik, the man I hardly recognize, one last glance.
“Where are the other …” I trail off.
“Patrol.” Sergei takes the next right and stops at the foot of a spiral staircase, seemingly preparing himself for the climb. His features harden as he stares up at the flight like it’s some unscalable mountain. With a stiff breath, he eases onto the first step and pain twists his face.
“Let me help you,” I say and hook my arm into his, helping him stand from his slouched and tortured stature.
He flinches at my touch and turns to me, his expression half-puzzled, half something I can’t quite figure out.
Terrified? Of me? It has to be the first time any werewolf feared a human.
Being the obvious runt of the litter has definitely done a number on Sergei, and if I had to guess, the reason he needs my help now.
“If … if they see you helping me they will—”
I lift my finger to my mouth and silence him. “We won’t let them see,” I whisper. “It’ll be our secret.”
The beginnings of a smile form on his small face, only a slight twitch at one corner of his mouth.
Then, he nods and stares up at the flight once more.
We take each step in unison, and I allow him enough time to catch his breath when the staircase seems to take its toll.
How they expect Sergei to do this alone is nothing short of cruel.
When we reach the top, he releases me and doubles over, placing both hands on his knees.
“Can I ask—” I start, still the same whisper I used before. “What happened to your leg?”
“Punishment from alpha’s son.” Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who mutilated him. Viktor.
“Why didn’t it heal?” Guilt pangs in my stomach.
Guilt and disgust of the monster I met in that fucking club.
There was never remorse in his gray eyes, only cold, calculation.
He killed Courtney. Butchered her and grinned while doing it.
I can’t imagine his expression was any different when he marred Sergei.
“Some wounds too deep,” he says and wipes the sweat building at his furrowed brow.
He’s right, and Nikolai has the woven flesh on his chest to prove it. Some wounds are too deep for their werewolf bodies to forgive and rebuild. And this might be the most human trait about them.
We continue down a long stretch leading to a single room at the end of the corridor with double doors, one of them cracked open slightly.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand. I don’t have to ask to know who is waiting behind them.
My legs trudge forward numbingly on impulse.
Like I’m incapable of doing little else than following Sergei to what could be my final minutes.
Sergei gives me one last glance, then, he knocks a single time and waits.
“Vkhodit’,” a familiar voice says, and my stomach goes into a free fall, dragging all of my organs with it. I should’ve known the alpha wouldn’t be in there alone. Not when his son is so keen to take his place. Viktor is waiting for me, too.
Sergei opens the door and limps inside first. With a deep breath, I follow in behind him.
The room, much like the study above the cellar, is lined with book-filled shelves, each of them holding tiny symbols and letters I can’t make out etched on the spines.
There’s a single chair set in front of a large desk with thick claw marks in the polished wooden surface.
Behind it, resting in a plump leather chair as red as the VIP room at Volk, is someone glaring at me intently.
Vlad Vostik. Do not look him in eyes, Sergei had said, and of course, it’s the first fucking thing I do.
Vlad peers at me, a certain amount of curiosity in his diming red eyes.
His hair, the little remaining, sits in spider web strands on the top of his head while the rest is mostly unkempt on the sides.
The machine on his right weaves a long tube to the oxygen mask covering half of his face, leaving the wrinkles underneath to the imagination.
“Good morning, Natalia,” Viktor says from his left, large arms crossed and a far too pleased with himself expression leaving his fangs to rest on his lower lip. “Please, sit,” he instructs and waves to the chair opposite his father.
I scowl in his direction but ultimately do as I am told.
My heartbeat thunders in my chest but no amount of steady breathing seems to help.
To make matters worse, I know all three wolves in the room are picking up on it like it’s their favorite fucking song on the radio.
I sit, my posture as straight as my back will allow.
Vlad peels his mask to the side and air hisses out. “Are you afraid of him?” He flicks his eyes to Viktor.
I glance over at the behemoth, knowing to choose my words carefully.
Something about the alpha on the other end of this table tells me he won’t tolerate lying, and unfortunately for me, my heart is a dead giveaway.
But I don’t need to lie to answer this question.
I’ve had nothing but time down in the basement to consider it.
“No,” I state plainly. “No, I am not.”
They both tilt their heads, and I know exactly what they’re doing. Listening.
Vlad’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “Well, then.” He nods to his son, and despite Viktor snarling at me, he walks around the table toward the double doors. I don’t turn my head to watch him leave. No, I won’t give Viktor the satisfaction.
“Come, Sergei,” he says and rips open the door. “You can clean my fucking boots.”
This is when it takes everything within me not to turn around. To show compassion for the small wolf I helped up the steps. If anything … it might put a bigger target on his back. So I continue to stare forward, Vlad’s dim eyes meeting mine.
He removes the mask and another hiss of air flees it. “You know what we are?”
I nod and gnaw on my bottom lip.
“Say it,” he chokes out, his gravelly voice straining.
My body seizes, but I manage to choke out a single word. “Werewolves.”
“And Nikolai told you about us?”
I shake my head, forgetting to keep my sudden movements to myself.
He doesn’t react though, only hunches over the table further.
Any time Nikolai mentioned his father, he never once alluded to the fact he was this old.
This … weak. He only called him a true monster.
So why does everyone, even Sergei, fear the fragile wolf with trembling hands on the other end of this table?
“Nikolai didn’t tell me about your kind. I … stumbled into his loft during the full moon.”
Vlad chuckles, a mixture of laughter and wheezing breaths. The sound, while unintimidating, sends an unnatural chill down my spine. Now all of the hairs on my neck and arms stand, and my heart rate spikes to a new, terrifying level. “History repeats itself. Did he tell you about his mother?”
I shake my head again.
“Alina was a curious one as well.” A breath in and another hiss.
“Didn’t take long for her to figure out what I was, and like you, she did not fear the animal lurking inside our kind either.
She was useful to me in the beginning, of course.
Gifted me two sons. But I started to notice something.
” He breathes in again and holds the mask to the side.
“How her humanity was poisoning my heir. I couldn’t let it continue. ”
“Oh, god …”
A sinister smirk crawls from one side of his wrinkled mouth to the other, and his eyes, which were two dull drops of blood, start to glow bright and murderous.
“Don’t worry. You won’t live long enough to give him offspring.
” A deep hiss and Vlad Vostik drags his long nails across the oak table. “Viktor will make certain of that.”