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“And Grigoriy woke when I was attacked,” Mirdza says. “The first thing he remembers is feeling a pull toward me.”

“I saved her when she was tossed off that train,” Grigoriy says.

“That makes sense. That’s why I was able to find you in the woods,” Alexei says.

“Umm, think again,” I say. “I had been caught a week or more before, electrocuted, and then tied up for days. Where were you then?”

“That’s when I woke up,” Alexei says. “I felt a terrible pain, and then I rose from the darkness that had consumed me.”

“You’re saying that my being caught by Leonid is what woke you?”

“Leonid?” Aleksandr asks.

“Leonid Ivanovich?” Alexei asks. “Is that who caught you?” He’s sitting up straighter.

I look around the car slowly. Mirdza and Kris look confused, like I feel. The men all look alert and cautious. I nod slowly. “That’s what he said his name was.”

“He takes great care with his appearance,” Aleksandr says.

“Is that your way of saying he’s gorgeous?” I ask.

Alexei scowls.

It’s actually kind of funny to say he’s beautiful in this group. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this many handsome men in one place. Even good-looking men usually have one feature that’s too prominent. A jaw that’s weak. A nose that’s too large. Acne. A wide mouth. Close-set eyes. But as I look around this car, I’m struck by their bizarrely impressive and perfect looks.

Aleksandr looks like the mysterious lord who broods while living on a massive and dark manor. He’s all stark lines and sharp cuts. His black hair still brushes his perfectly defined brow, even from the rearview mirror.

Grigoriy’s an interesting contrast. He’s not as carefully refined, but there’s a magnetism to his brutal strength. His brown hair’s rich, his eyes bright, and he looks like the horse that’s about to explode out of the chute, ready to hammer the other competitors. Shiny, intense, and explosive. His face is almost square—his eyes bold and his frame blocky—and yet somehow still perfectly proportioned.

Then there’s Alexei, the painfully beautiful one. As pretty as Leonid, but without the sadism that radiated from that lunatic like strobe lights from a disco ball. With his light and bright coloring, he looks like a young Travis Fimmel—the man who played the king in Vikings.

Whereas Leonid looks like an evil Paul Walker.

They’re like two sides of the same coin. I wonder whether they’d be upset if I said that. I decide to keep quiet about my comparisons for now. “Who is he?”

Aleksandr turns down a long drive and clicks a button. The massive iron gate in front of us opens, and we’re headed for one of the largest homes I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure why the technology surprised me. Maybe because he said wards.

Even so, I’m a little relieved to see some familiar, twenty-first century inventions.

“We’re home,” Aleks says. “I think we should go inside, get you a shower, eat, and then we can really talk.”

10

It’s been more than two weeks since I’ve worn clothes that fit. I’m not sure I’ve ever appreciated Kristiana being my size more than I do today.

And I got a lot of amazing hand-me-downs over the years.

After a much-needed shower and hair detangling, I’m clean and I don’t smell, and it’s time to find something to wear. Kristiana to the rescue.

“That looks better on you than it does on me.” Kris is frowning.

I roll my eyes.

“That’s because now that you’re happy, you’re eating more.” Mirdza coughs, hiding behind her hand.

Kris kicks her boot, but not very hard. “Rude.”

“I recognize it, because. . .” Mirdza trails off.