Her eyes sparkled, astonishingly blue and faintly slanted, with a fringe of thick lashes. Cat’s strong features and high cheekbones made her look more like a goddess of old than a werewolf.
Of course, there was probably someplace where the goddess of old was a werewolf.…
The Rusakovas were at once strong and beautiful: an elegance and brutality blended in their features.
Once I’d seen what they became—what they truly were—it was impossible not to see some shadow of the beast slinking within their eyes, some hint of it hiding in the glint of their smiles.
“Privyet,” Cat greeted me. “I did not realize you were seeing a psychiatrist until your sister told me,” she admitted, the faint rol of her first language softly coloring her words.
Nice. I’d have to have a little chat with Annabel e Lee later. Sometimes she was far too helpful. Just not to me.
“Does Pietr know?”
I shook my head. It was one thing I hadn’t found a way to tel him. It was far easier to talk about school and books than admit to seeing a psychiatrist about serious issues.
“Considering circumstances, I agree it is wise.” She smiled, and I repressed a shiver. That beautiful grin turned into a devil’s nest of fangs when she wanted. “You have seen a lot of horrible things recently.”
I paused by a potted plant that looked like it needed water—or proper burial. “But?”
“But what?”
“I love talking with you, Cat, but why are you here?”
Cat tilted her head and peeked at me from the corners of her eyes. “It’s not often people outside our family know our truth, Jessie. It might make us nervous to hear the one who does know is talking.”
“I don’t want to make anyone nervous.” My palms grew damp. Nervous was not a descriptor I wanted applied to any member in a family of werewolves.
“That is why I chose to come,” Cat explained. “To get a better understanding before the boys find out.
You are very important to our family, Jessie. I am convinced of that.”
“Because I opened the matryoshka and found the pendant?”
“Da.”
I watched her, waiting. “And?”
She sighed. “And because of what your tea leaves said.” Shaking her head, her smile ghosted away. “I must ask you what—”
“Everything, Catherine. I told her absolutely everything.”
She stepped back, solemn. “The CIA?”
“Yes.”
“The Russian Mafia?”
“Yes.” Tears fil ed my eyes, threatening to spil .
“And werewolves. Jessie, you said you’d seen werewolves?”
“Yes!” I winced, closing my eyes and remembering the dreadful moment I’d seen in so many movies recently—the moment the werewolf changed and tore out a victim’s throat.
I held my breath.
Nothing happened.
I opened my eyes to find Catherine gazing at me with curiosity. Predators did that, though. Studied their prey.
“I’m sorry, Catherine. I had to say something … had to tel someone.…”
Her fingers twitched by her hip.
I shut my eyes again, ready as I could be for certain disemboweling. I’d gutlessly betrayed their family, in an attempt to save my sanity. I deserved no better.
“What are you doing?” Cat’s words rushed out; she stood so close now her breath was a warm breeze brushing across my face.
“Waiting.”
“For what?” she asked.
“Death?” I squeaked, peeling one eye open to watch her—the way I watched most werewolf films.
She laughed.
My heart throbbed against my ribs.
She grabbed me so fast I nearly peed myself. Holding me in a powerful hug, she whispered, “You are a strange, strange girl, Jessie Gil mansen.”
Says a werewolf.
“You should stop watching those awful horror movies.”
“How did you—? Of course. Annabel e Lee.”
“She is worried about you.”
“Ha.”
“We are not Hol ywood’s creations. You know that.”
“Rational y, yes.” Not Hol ywood’s creations, but rather the descendants of one of the USSR’s surprisingly successful scientific experiments from the earliest years of the Cold War.
Cat nodded. “Does the doctor believe what you said?”
“Not a word.”
“Excel ent.” She grinned her most wicked grin. “Now you can tel her the truth without repercussions.”
She stepped back, toying with her short, dark curls, glittering eyes fixed on me. “Might she medicate you?”
“Nope. She insists I embrace sanity without chemical assistance.”
“You are such a clever girl!” She threw her hands into the air. “Strange in your methods, but clever. Oh.”
She pinched her ear. “Your father is coming. He should not see me here.”
“Cat!” I cal ed as she retreated down another hal way. “I need to talk to you about Pietr—”
She nodded. “I wil find you. Tonight. Listen for me.”
CHAPTER TWO
Sure enough, Dad was headed down the hal toward me. I shouldn’t have been surprised Cat knew, but it was stil odd—especial y knowing why and how she knew.
When the Rusakova children each turned thirteen, strange things happened to them—far stranger than the standard hair showing up in weird places that came with normal puberty. At thirteen their ability to hear intensified. At fourteen, their sense of smel sharpened exponential y. When they turned fifteen their strength and agility increased, and sixteen was a year their bodies tried to catch up with the mutations rioting through their systems.
Then about a week ago, the twins, Pietr and Cat, turned seventeen. To say that turning seventeen had changed them would be an understatement of the oddest sort.
None of our lives had been the same since.
“Oh, Jessie!” Dad exclaimed, snapping his cel phone shut. Seeing my eyes pink with unshed tears, he wrapped me in a hug, lifting me and squeezing the air out of my lungs in one long sigh. “The first few times wil probably be toughest,” he said, setting me down.
He smoothed my hair back from my face. “Let’s go now. You look tired.” Putting his hand flat on my back, he steered me down the hal and out the building.