Mila never thought she would look back at her life in Serbia and think she was better off back then.

On that February morning, as she lay bloody and shivering in the backseat of a car in the middle of nowhere, hungry and literally bitten in the most unpleasant way, she felt she reached a new level of misery.

They were driving for hours, insanely fast. She didn't dare to ask where. The driver's name was Nachin. He was Kiril's Beta and apparently, he deemed her worthy of knowing his name. Those were however the only pieces of information he shared. He didn't want to tell her where they were going regardless of how many times she asked.  

Kiril was delirious and burning with fever in the backseat beside her. He was still not wearing any clothes, just a blanket that Nachin threw over him, so the situation was also factually quite uncomfortable. As if it was not enough that it creeped the living hell out of her when he literally drank her blood. The wound had closed amazingly fast, she noticed. Kiril must have been right that there was indeed something about Erik's blood.

She wondered again what he was doing, if he was angry or if he even cared. Technically she wasn't his problem anymore. He could just mind his own business and let Kiril do with her what he pleased. She also had to acknowledge that the first kidnapping was more like a visit to the spa compared to the second and Erik's behavior despite having been annoying was considerate and gentle compared to the silver-haired beast. 

The box was still in her lap. Apparently, it burned everyone that touched it except her. Whatever was in there was important to both of them. She opened the lid carefully, trying to not make any sounds. Elegantly forged silver glimmered in the sunlight. A weapon, of course, a dagger made of solid silver with various symbols engraved into the blade laid there like a riddle brimming with power.
Even for someone as ignorant to magic as Mila, it oozed energy. Something told her, that was a weapon to kill mystical creatures with... And she could stab Kiril straight in the heart with it, as he was laying there delirious.

What had she become? Horror and fear creased her brows. She was not a murderer; she was only a poor girl from Serbia trying to make some money in England. That had been a trip to hell and damnation if a few months later she had sunken so low to contemplate taking someone's life, regardless of who it was.

Everything was a nightmare she prayed to finally wake up from but there was no dawn in sight, only endless darkness.

"Take your hand off the dagger and close the box," said Kiril calmly, but his voice was vibrating with authority. "I can still snap your neck in seconds, so don't even think about doing anything."

Mila closed the box frightened. She looked at him. He was pale but not death pale anymore.

"Where are we going?"

"Home."

"Where is home? No home of mine for sure."

"Russia."

"Now you got this stupid thing; you don't need me anymore," spat Mila looking at the box. 

"I decide that, not you."

"I see you are feeling better," muttered Mila annoyed.

The driver turned his head and said something to Kiril in a language that was not Russian. Serbian is similar to Russian but you need to concentrate a bit to understand it. It seemed Nachin was quite observant. He noticed she could understand and didn't want her to. 

"We will stop in two hours after we cross the border to Russia," said Kiril. 

"Great. I have to pee," answered Mila sarcastically.

"And shower. You look awful."

"You literally bit my arm. I am not sure what kind of freak you are, but stay the hell away from me."

"The practical type. Erik's blood tastes awful to me but his mother's witch genes make it indeed healing. Ah, there is so much potential gone to waste when you look at him. He could easily rule the world, but he is too busy mourning a crazy bitch and babysitting a human liability. I must admit Erik intrigues me too."

Mila didn't say anything. Kiril was beyond weird beginning with the fact that he still didn't have clothes on.

"Would you like to touch me, or why exactly are you staring at me like that?"

"You are naked and covered in gore..." said Mila rolling her eyes."But you seem to feel better. What's next on the menu?" she continued.

Mila didn't manage to finish her sentence because Nachin steered very abruptly to the right and left the road to enter the woods.

That caused Mila to tumble over Kiril, dangerously close.

"Юу болоод байна?/ What is happening?" hissed Kiril.

"Зарим луйварчид эрдэнэт ижийг барьж авах гэж байгаа байх./ Some rogues trying to capture the precious doe, I guess."

Their language was very strange. A tiny bit like Russian but only a bit. 

"Get off me," said Kiril to Mila with glittering eyes.

"What's happening? Am I again in danger to die?"

"You always are. Get used to it. We got company."

The car stopped and Kiril and Nachin got out. Nachin took his wolf form right away.

Five other wolves were approaching. That couldn't be good. Whoever won this fight would probably either want to kill or enslave her.

Three of them leaped towards Kiril. He tossed two of them away almost effortlessly. The third that seemed to be their leader sank his fangs into his arm and tore.

He said something to it in Russian. Mila was so distracted by the scene that it dawned on her only then that nobody was paying attention to her. Energized, she got out of the car and ran into the woods.

The last time she fled into the woods it had quite a crappy outcome, but it seemed the best way at the given moment.

Hopefully, Kiril would be distracted long enough for her to get far away. She had to get back to the road and try to hitchhike. Her adrenaline-fuzed brain didn't fabricate a different idea. 

There were patches of snow and ice on the ground and the high heels were less than adequate for running. Her feet hurt, her hands were frozen and she was afraid to even look back. Hurt and in a torn dress she nurtured the hope that somebody would take pity on her and stop.

After twenty minutes she couldn't decide if taking the shoes off would be better or worse. Those things were not made for running. Likely Kiril chose them on purpose.

Another fifteen minutes later she arrived at the main road. Nobody reached her so far. She walked into the middle of the road. Her red dress would be enough for the cars to see her and hopefully stop... she hoped. 

Only a few minutes later, a black Opel pulled over with creaking wheels. A middle-aged man exited the car cursing at her in probably... Ukrainian.

"Помозите ми!/ Help me!" said Mila in Serbian, hoping that the resemblance between the languages would be enough for them to understand.

The man continued shouting until a plump woman exited the car and screamed at him.

"Замовкни, Іване! Хіба ви не бачите, що вона постраждала?/ Shut up, Miroslav! Don't you see that she is hurt? What happened to you, girl?" she said in broken English.

"Help me! I need to get away from here," said Mila sobbing.

"Get in the car, girl," said the woman.

Mila didn't need to hear that twice. They drove away and she could breathe out for the first time in days.

"Where to bring you?" said the woman, between constant bickering in Ukrainian with her husband.

"I...I don't know," said Mila. She truly didn't.

"Don't you have mother, father?" asked the woman.

"In Serbia." Mila sighed, knowing there was no other place where she could go.

The woman seemed moved. Her eyes were almost teary. She asked if she wanted to sleep at their house for a night. Mila would have loved that, would have loved a shower, a bed, and some food, but the image of Kiril showing up and slitting their throats was not something she wanted to burden her consciousness with so she asked them to bring her to the train station in the next town.

The woman gave her a jacket, and a sandwich and wished her good luck, ignoring her husband's protests. It was a welcome mercy; like this, she could cover the much too fancy dress that would attract unwanted attention.

With no money and not having eaten for solid twenty-four hours, stained with her and Kiril's blood she felt beyond pitiful. She sat on a dirty train station bank and ate the sandwich whispering silent thanks, then she searched for a train to Serbia.

She had no money whatsoever but if you grow up poor in Eastern Europe, avoiding ticket checks on trains is something you learn quite often. 

Before the train took off, she crept into the dirtiest toilet she had ever seen, blocked the door, and started sobbing till she fell asleep with her head over her arms leaning on the basin. When she woke up it was several hours later. A person, likely the conductor, was hammering at the toilet door. They had reached the Romanian border control. Just then it dawned on her that she had no papers. 

How did Kiril manage for us to cross so many borders without anybody caring or even asking?  I might get arrested. What in the name of Christ can I say if they ask me how I got to Ukraine?

She whispered a prayer not knowing exactly to whom and closed her eyes. The knocking stopped. The person went away and the train started moving.

After an hour she opened the door. It was nighttime. Everything was dark. The moon was only a tiny slice in the endless dark sky. That was the thing Erik and Kiril were praying to, well, if they ever prayed, but that was the thing that made them what they were. Was their God better than hers? Were there more of them? She shook her head. She didn't want to think about the last days, rather months, anymore because she didn't want to aliment the madness that was budding in her head. The train was approaching Serbia, and she was approaching the only life she knew, a life that was foreign to the alluring yet painful touch of magic. That if she managed to pass the Serbian border.

It was cold and she was hungry. She laid down on the seats in an empty cabin and tried to fall asleep again. Her reality was too frightening and painful to want to stay awake. She defiled Erik's dead girlfriend's grave. He was probably furious with her. If Kiril didn't snap her neck, Erik probably would if they ever met again. At the end of the day she had touched and disrespected something very important to him. 
Among sobs, sighs, and vivid dreams, Mila couldn't help wondering how Katharina had been in real life, if anything like her crazy ghost that gave her the bruise across the face that was still aching. 

She must have been amazing because Erik loved her... Yes. Amazing, noble, and beautiful, in other words: nothing like me.

Hours passed, and the fear crept up on her again. They were close to the border with Serbia. She couldn't rely on her luck from the last time and she could not afford to get arrested, because there wouldn't be anybody to bail her out. 

Full of resolution alimented by despair she got off the train at the last stop before crossing the border, walked into town, and into the police station. A bored, sleepy policeman asked her what she wanted in very bad English. She explained as credible as she could that she went partying in town and got robbed. It seemed believable and he didn't question further. The policeman looked annoyed and gave her some forms to fill out and a phone to call her parents so that they can confirm her identity.

Her heart was beating wildly against her chest while the phone was ringing. The one that picked up was her mother. She noticed right away that Mila was lying to the policeman and played along. If Petra was something, that was shrewd. She exhaled when the policeman nodded and hung up. What her mother did, was a welcome mercy she knew she will have to pay for at some point.

The man stood up from the office chair, yawned, and signaled her to follow him to the car. Their drove in silence over the border to the parents' house. 

"Have to accompany to door, but not do. Wife waiting," said the policeman and bid her farewell. 

Mila nodded in approval. Secretly she was grateful that he didn't come up, she preferred no witnesses to the humiliation that would follow. It was nine in the evening. She looked at the shabby apartment building and sighed.

Trembling, she climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. Her hand was shaking when knocking. It was obvious she didn't want to be there, but there was no other place for her to go. She had failed in accomplishing the Western dream. More than that, it had ended in a Western nightmare.

After a few knocks, her father opened the door. He was sober for a change.

"Мила, шта радиш овде и шта ти се догодило? Ниси одговарао на наше позиве, били смо забринути,/ Mila, what are doing here and what happened to you? You didn't answer our calls; we were concerned." His arms wrapped around her and Mila leaned into an embrace she didn't expect but welcomed.

It felt so good. She had missed her father, her sober father.

"Где је мајка?/ Where is mother?"

The question got answered when Petra came out of the kitchen.

"Види, незахвална кучка се вратила? Где си био? Брбљање около? Јер сигурно нисте радили нити вам је било стало до породице. Три месеца и без позива и без икаквог новца и сада нам долазите на врата изгледајући као скитница која тражи сажаљење.
Где си био, ха?/
Look, the ungrateful bitch is back. Where have you been? Whoring around? Because you certainly were not working nor did you care about your family. Three months and no call and no money whatsoever and now you come at our door looking like a tramp asking for pity.
Where have you been, huh?"

Mila just started crying. She was not sure why her mother's words hurt her so much. She had always been like this, but now after she went through almost literal hell the last thing she wanted was to come home to that.

"Очекујем да се сутра запослите и вратите нам све непријатности/ I expect you to get a job tomorrow and pay us back for all the inconveniences," said Petra and went away.

Welcome to my old life with extra misery Choco sprinkles on top. 

At least her mother didn't care that much for the answer and went away before having to confess where she actually had been.

She opened the fridge. It was empty of course.

After a short shower with lukewarm water, as showers in her parents' house always were, she fell into a dreamless sleep. Life was no walk in the park and no rainbow was visible on her horizons but what beat misery in the end was exhaustion.

It was around eight when Mila woke from a heavy sleep. She washed, put some old clothes on, and walked into the kitchen. Petra was sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette. Her mother's deep green eyes, the same color as her own, scanned her from head to toe.

"Here, have some coffee," she said and put a mug into her hand. 

Mila sat down, suspicious. She sipped at the coffee trying to ignore her hunger.

"What did you actually do?" asked Petra, looking at her intrigued.

"Look, I get that you are angry; I will talk to Miroslava to help me get a job at the hospital where she is working. I will not be a burden," said Mila wanting to cut the conversation short.

"The dress you were wearing when you came... it's Armani. The type of dress is worth nearly a thousand euros. Where did you get it from? That's not a dress you buy from a nurse's salary, most of all you that are stingy and have no sense of style," said Petra ignoring her last sentence completely.

"A mobster. I did an illegal job for the Russian mob and almost got caught. Happy now?" burst Mila out and stormed out of the apartment.

She knocked on her neighbor's door. It was the only place it occurred to her to turn to, the only person close by that had been kind to her. 

"Milena, my girl, you are back? I really hoped you would never return. What happened to your face? Come in, do you want something to eat?" Miroslava smiled and closed her into her arms. 

That was how Mila would have wished her mother to behave.

"I need a job, Slava," she said, sighing.

"That is no problem whatsoever, but the pay is shitty. Really now, my girl, why did you return?"

"The west didn't work out for me..."