Chapter Text
“Who else is there?” Dad asked skeptically. I covered the receiver and glanced at the only other person in the apartment with me desperately. He stopped moving.
“No one, dad.” I responded, trying to sound casual.
He sighed and chose to ignore it.
“I’m not paying for an apartment for you to mess around.” He reminded sternly. The man with me had since relocated to the kitchen but threw me a grin. “How was class today?”
“It was incredible, dad.” And it had been. We had dissected pigs in lab today and I had been anxious going into it. Something about my family, we tend to only face blood when we’re hurt or when we’ve hurt the thing bleeding. “The professor really likes me and he suggested I try and apply for a summer study with him.”
“That’s great to hear.” He sounded relieved. I knew that he had been anxious leading up to today as well. “So you think you’re starting to adjust a little better now? …Porsche? I told you, if you need us to come get you, we can. It’s not a problem.”
“I…I have to go.” The man beside me looked at me confused.
“Porsche…” Dad trailed off. “You need to talk to someone if you’re not feeling well about this. Your mother would probably like to hear from you? Maybe Sam, he’s in a closer field of study. Maybe he could help—“
“Dad it’s not about my studies.” I groaned.
“Your grandfather has tried calling you and says you ignore his calls.” He continued. “Maybe answer him? He can help you.”
“Dad, I don’t even know what’s wrong. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” I shivered and nodded towards the window. It was quickly shut. “It’s just a big adjustment, New York City and college.”
“How is the pack?”
“They’re fine. Oleksiy is very sweet, helpful. He’s taken Bran’s words to heart.”
“Everyone does.” Oleksiy was an old wolf, Ukrainian and probably from the Byzantine era. He never divulged just how old he was. The only reason I doubted my assessment was because Bran had implied he was younger than I’d assumed. “No one is bothering you? You’re eating?”
“I’ve still felt nauseous.” I admitted. “I’ve been eating though.” Truth be told, whatever was cooking in the kitchen was making me feel like throwing up.
“You’re too young to behave like this.” I knew he was worried, it didn’t even need to show in his voice. Wolves needed to eat, a lot. We metabolize much faster than the average person. Mix that with the general idea that we’re predators and not eating could mean someone goes missing somewhere.
Self control is especially tough in a city like New York.
“Tell mom and Bran that I’m fine.” I sat down on the couch and laid my head back. “I don’t need a visit. I’m just trying to make myself at home here.”
“It’s already the end of September.” Dad said cautiously. “Maybe you need to transfer?”
“I’m really ok.” I promised. “I’ll call you if I need something, ok?”
“I love you.” My dad said his goodbye.
“I love you, too.” And I hung up. I stretched up and again laid my head back, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. The only visitor I had made his way over to me slowly, a little too quietly.
“Ready for dinner?” It was Bohdan’s voice from behind me.
“Mmmm,” I yawned.
“Maybe for bed?” He chuckled. I opened my eyes to be met with green ones. “I won’t stay tonight. I know you have to wake up early for class.”
“Thanks.” I closed my eyes again and felt lips press against my forehead. Bo was second in the East Hudson pack based out of Ukrainian Village. He was a little older than my father in that Bohdan was in WWII, I think. He wasn’t old, then, but he wasn’t young either and he was more than aware that what we were doing was a little too dangerous.
It was probably my fault, I’d not stopped it.
“What’s wrong, Vasilisochka?” He hadn’t moved from the spot behind the couch.
“I have a headache.” I sighed, “And I still feel very nauseated.”
He made a discontent noise. I knew my answer had been upsetting him over the past few days.
“Have you talked to a doctor?”
“Everyone is so quick to say I’m not ok.” I groaned and looked up to watch him walk into the kitchen and grab plates. Charles had helped find me a nice apartment, I found out that there had been some arguments about where I was going to live before I came here. Bran and my father had disputed who would pay for my housing, Bran’s argument being that he could just buy me the whole building and then I can make money for the rest of my life off of it. My father’s argument had been that, while that was very nice of him, I was still his daughter and I really only needed an apartment.
Charles had played the double agent, hunting for an apartment for both of them. He stealthily—I really think this was Anna and my mother’s doing—used both of their money to buy the whole building and the rest to furnish my apartment. In the end, both had met halfway rather begrudgingly but the deed had already been done.
Bohdan just shrugged at my overly-aggressive response and stirred the pot. The kitchen itself was a cliche, everything was white and it had a window to the fire escape where I’d placed a few potted flowers. They were dying, but they were there.
His dirty-blonde hair looked much more red in the sunlight that was disappearing behind him when he turned his head to look at something.
“Who’s Ben?” My iPad was charging in the kitchen and the message must have reached it before reaching the phone beside me.
Bran had texted and he’d asked if I had spoken to the blonde-haired man back home. The man that had actively sought to avoid me the majority of my senior year.
“He’s a wolf from my father’s pack and a friend.” I shrugged, trying not to come off in any way as being hurt by Bran’s message. Bo’s eyes searched mine for a moment and I obediently looked away after a few seconds.
The problem with werewolves was that you were dealing with two separate sets of instincts. Bohdan’s wolf was much less likely to be jealous, we weren’t mates and it was a complicated situation I was trying not to overthink. Bohdan himself was more likely to be jealous.
I hadn’t seen how these relationships ended, but I knew they were often difficult and they would more often than not end. My guess was they end badly.
“Is there a reason you need to reach him?”
“What’s for dinner?” I got up, ignoring Bran’s text and pushing past him in the small kitchen.
I almost threw up, I couldn’t even think about eating. Maybe I would have to call Sam, much to my distaste. I hadn’t even responded to texts from his daughter and she would be hurt to know I reached out to her dad.
“Porsche,” I wanted to tell him to just go away, but he had cooked so I couldn’t complain. “Porsche Vasilisa Hauptman.” I froze. “What is wrong?”
“Can we just eat?” I whispered. I tried not to jump at the feeling of his hand on my shoulder. “And you know you don’t get to try that with me.”
“My apologies, I forget.” I didn’t like when he tried that. This pack was a little too eager to pull rank and quick to forget it wouldn’t work unless I let it. It make me feel sticky when the magic ran over me.
I ignored him and sat at the table. Besides dad, the only other person from home I had spoken to had been my half-sister, Jesse. I had already known what I was doing was stupid and I obviously hadn’t changed the situation at all, but I needed to hear it from someone else. She would keep a secret unless she absolutely couldn’t.
“Do you want chamomile?” Bo reached for a mug. I hadn’t even heard the teapot go, my senses were getting dull from restlessness. “To settle your stomach?”
“Yes, please.” I sighed, taking a seat at the tiny kitchen table. I took the mug as it was slid to me and blew on it before taking a sip. “You put sugar in this?”
“You need to keep up your blood sugar somehow.” He reminded gently, taking the only other seat across from me. “The full moon is soon, little Vasya.”
This pack often chose to call me by my middle name, which surprised me at first. Much of the pack was of Ukrainian descent and my middle name was Russian. Vasilisa Mikulichna was a bogatyr and a woman. My understanding was that my mother had wanted to give me something of my father’s heritage since he chose Porsche. Vasilisa came to the court of Prince Vladimir dressed as a man in order to save her husband. The other option had been to name me after Princess Nastasya of Lithuania. My mother’s first problem had been the “of Lithuania” but an afterthought was the fact she was killed by her own husband in some sort of accident.
My mother didn’t want to name me with a fate, she isn’t superstitious to my knowledge but someone seemed to have pushed her into that one.
“You didn’t need ‘little,’” I mumbled, taking another sip. He looked up at me from his cup and I knew he was smiling from his dimples. “It’s already a diminutive, you didn’t need to double that.”
“You are little.”
“And Vasilisa was a warrior.” I reminded with a raised eyebrow.
“And your father is fourth in the country, your grandfather is the Marrok, you call his sons by uncle. You were raised to be a warrior.” It was then I realized he had slipped a plate in front of me as he had sat down. “But you don’t eat like one.”
“You speak like you are far older than you are.” I rolled my eyes. To appease him and everyone else, I picked up my fork and moved things around.
He just laughed.