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I have no business comparing myself to women who look as though they have personal stylists and skin-care routines involving substances harvested from endangered plants.

I close the photograph. Then open it again. The blonde is very beautiful. I look down at my own reflection in the dark phone screen.

My hair is a mess.

There is a yellowing bruise along my cheek.

I have a bandage near my temple and a hospital-issued wristband I keep forgetting to remove. I look like I have been involved in a minor industrial accident.

Which, technically, I have.

“Are you okay?” Anya asks.

I lock the phone. “Perfectly.”

She looks suspicious.

I have noticed that children in this family are extremely difficult to lie to. “Just checking something,” I add.

Viktor glances at me. “What were you checking?”

“Whether your brother is secretly a vampire.”

He laughs. “And?”

“Inconclusive. He has the house for it.”

Viktor's smile widens. “Don't tell him that. He'll take it as a compliment.”

I look out the window before he can ask anything else.

The city has given way to quieter roads and larger properties, and soon the familiar stone pillars appear ahead.

The gates open. The SUV rolls through. And the house comes into view. Even in daylight, it is absurd.

The pale stone façade rises above the gardens, with tall windows reflecting the afternoon sun and the fountain spraying water into the circular courtyard. Men are stationed near the entrance and along the drive, although they are discreet enough that I might almost mistake them for ordinary staff if I hadn't seen the earpieces.

Anya presses closer to the window. “We're home!” She turns toward me. “Galina will make you something nice, and you can see my room, and maybe we can have cake if Papa says yes.”

“I'm beginning to think cake is the foundation of this family's emotional support system,” I say.

Viktor smiles. “You're not entirely wrong.”

The SUV stops.

Kirill opens my door and helps me out, carefully avoiding my injured side.

I thank him, and he gives me the same grave nod he seems to reserve for all situations, including jokes, medical emergencies, and apparently transporting women who have made poor decisions.

Anya is already halfway up the steps. “I'm going to ask Galina to fix Elle's room!” she calls.

“Anya, slow down,” Viktor says.

She doesn’t.

I watch her disappear through the front doors. Then I look toward the courtyard.

And see Nikolai.