After the talk with Miroslava and two bowls of soup, Mila felt much better, even a tiny bit hopeful.

All her life till that point she was taught and urged by the circumstances to be practical, responsible, and most of all submissive. So the first thing she did that morning was to proceed in finding another job, to appease her mother. If there was anyway no hope of getting out of Serbia, she had to try to at least make her stay less horrible.

The shifts at the hospital were going to change constantly so the second job had to be flexible. She considered waitressing but settled in the end on an occasional bartending gig at a small bar in their neighborhood. It was an ugly, stinking, sad place, full of drunk middle age man but she didn't have the luxury of a choice.

When she returned home, the clothes and shoes she came with were gone. Hopefully the money Petra got for them would satisfy her.

"Papa? Are you home?"

"No, he isn't. He went off to get drunk again. Did you get a job?" asked Petra coming from the living room, eying her up and down.

"Yeah."

"Good. Bills are overdue and your useless father is drinking the money away as usual."

"Why don't you try being nicer to him? He is miserable, that's why he gets drunk so often."

"Don't you dare lecture me, you little brat. It's your fault that our life is how it is now. You had one chance to make it right but managed to ruin that too. I should have aborted you," said Petra, angry.

"Yes, you should have! I would have preferred that too because my life with you is miserable and hopeless," screamed Mila back and went out on the streets, slamming the door. It was a mild night at the beginning of March but her hands were still freezing, but she was so furious she was ignoring the feeling. It was a miracle that she didn't get sick after her journey from Ukraine. Maybe Erik's blood had indeed changed something in her.

The only thing assuring her of her sanity and that the past months had not been a fever dream was the mark on her abdomen, extending majestically in red ink lines over the unfamiliar smooth skin. A solitary streetlight was raining dim light over her sitting on a broken bench, as light as dim as her melancholic thoughts. Their time together had been strange but she also felt cared for more than she ever had in her life.

Despite everything, the trip to magic wonderland was over. She was back in the real world and it felt more sad and lonely than ever before. It was a familiar, not life-threatening type of misery, but this familiar awfulness was blended together with soul-crushing hopelessness.

I am sorry, Erik. I hope you are well... You were not such a bad person after all.

Mila got up, sighed, and went into the neighborhood bar to search for her father.

The air was sticky in there. A bunch of sweaty, sad, middle-aged men were drinking beer and cheap vodka from dirty gasses. Their gazes were lingering on her, making her uneasy. Maybe a job at a bad was a bad idea after all.

"Hey sweety, what are you doing in here? Wanna share a drink?" said a man at a table near the entrance, wiking at her.

"No thanks," Mila answered meekly avoiding eye contact.

"How about one with me? Forget that old fart," said a slightly younger one.

That was strange. All the previous times when she came into that bar to get her father, nobody paid her any attention. That felt like a particularly shitty day.

In the end, she spotted her father at a table in a corner. He was sitting alone and already reeking of a lot of alcohol.

"Papa, let's go home. You had enough."

"What? What do you want here? I want to have a drink with my buddies here." He brushed away the hand she put on his shoulder and swallowed another glass of sticking spirits.

"You had more than one and we need the money. Let's go." Rodavan frowned and slapped her hand away from his shoulder.

"You don't tell me what to do. You are a whore like your mother. You went away and returned dressed like a slut after hanging out with some gangsters. Did you have fun when they passed you around?"

It was plain hate in his eyes and Mila felt like sobbing again.

"No, I didn't, daddy. Let's go." Her voice was trembling. " We can talk about it tomorrow when you are sober," she says tugging at his arm again.

"Let go of me and go away," he screamed, striking her across the face in the same spot that has been bruised by Katharina. It felt like sharp hail stones.

Mortified and humiliated, Mila gave up and exited the bar. She knocked once again at her neighbor's door, sad and exhausted.

"Did Rodavan get drunk again?" asked Miroslava sympathetic.

"Yes." Mila's voice was lacking inflections.

"Come in. You can sleep here tonight."

"You are a saint," said Mila.

"Do you want some food?"

Mila just hugged her in response.

"How are your kids?" asked Mila while they were sitting at the kitchen table.

"They are both well. Ana has a job in Belgrad now; she is doing good and Vlad will graduate this year. I am very proud of them." Mila was happy to hear that, but couldn't help feeling a pang of envy. How different her life would have been with a mother like Slava.

"You are a great mother," said Mila, and meant it. Miroslava was a widow and raised her children alone.

"And you are a great kid, Mila," said Miroslava kissing her on the forehead before going to sleep.

The night passed dreamless, though she thought about Erik before going to sleep. She thought about his touch and his past and the strange feelings she had for him because there were definitely feelings even if not right forward ones.

At dawn, she woke up to Miroslava's voice. They both had an early shift at the hospital.
The day went on well, no difficult patients, just long and tiring. That was how all her days were going to be, pure duty, no joy but the familiar struggle didn't let her focus on tormenting thoughts.

"You did good, girl," said Miroslava in the changing room, while Mila was preparing to go home.

"Thanks," answered Mila smiling, breathing in the praise of somebody that she truly respected after a long workday.

"Somebody is here to see you," said the woman.

"Who? Petra or dad?"

"Neither. A man." Mila's eyes shot up. That couldn't be.

"Where?" Her voice was almost trembling.

"Emergency entry. He doesn't seem to be from here. Looks and acts foreign."

Mila stood up abruptly and hurried over to the emergency entry. If it was Kiril he would come after her anyway, wherever she was; it was better to prevent collateral damages.

The silver moonlight was grazing the margins of Erik's silhouette. He was wearing a white shirt that seemed to shine like an angel's hallow. There wasn't one line out of place neither in his attire nor on his stern, beautiful face.

"Erik," she said wrapping her arms around him, ignoring his glacial expression. He smelled like pines and myths become flesh. "Erik, I am so sorry I left the way I did. Despite everything you have never been cruel to me and I..." Her words drowned in hiccups.

Erik's expression shifted from frowning to something ambiguous but he didn't move. There was a minimal twitch in his shoulder but he didn't move.

"I... I need a drop of happiness," said Mila and went on her toes to graze his lips with hers but his were only motionless marble. A beautiful statue that didn't move, or cared, only looked at her in disdain. She understood the reluctance, but at the same time, the rejection stung terribly.

"Sorry. I am pathetic. I know. It's just..." Mila distanced herself and turned away so that he wouldn't see the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Ah, damn it..." She heard him whisper and felt his hands on her wrist, pulling her into an unexpected hug. All the warmth of the universe was immersing through her skin to her battered soul. It felt like belonging.

The tears started rolling incontrollable, and the sobs spilled out of her chest. Erik just stood there stroking her hair. The same man that could turn into a beast and kill without blinking was there holding her in the softest way possible.

"It's okay. Everything will be fine," he said, brushing over the bruise on her face.

"Why did you come?" After a while she dared asked the dreaded question that nonetheless needed to be asked.

"What did you do, Mila? The aftermath will be horrible," said Erik, ignoring her question.

"I ... didn't mean to; he made me do it."

"Did he hurt you?" Erik looked angry when he said that, but unlike usual, his eyes did not light up. Mila thanked heaven for that and wondered.

"I have to sign out of my shift; I can tell you afterward everything."

Mila turned around to see Miroslava watching them.

"Не. Сад ћете отићи с њим и никада се нећете вратити/ No. You will go away with him now, and never return," said the woman looking at Mila.

"Make sure she never returns here," she said to Erik in heavily accented English.

Erik took her hand and lead her out of the hospital. Five bodyguards were aligned on each side of his car.

"Oh wow, that's a display of force."

"It's new moon." It was the only thing he said.

Mila got in the backseat of the car without asking questions. Erik was only a few centimeters away from her. She would have wanted to touch him, let her head fall on his chest, and feel his warmth again but she was paralyzed with shame, fear, and shyness.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere where I can take care of your injuries. You look terribly pale."

"Okay." Mila's voice was a whisper. She didn't care; she was grateful to be by his side.

"No protests?" asked Erik smirking.

In that brief moment, she worshiped that smirk.

"No. I trust you. You never hurt me, unlike many other people in my life."

"It was a pain to find a good place here." It didn't sound like Erik was in the mood to discuss feelings so Mila nodded in silence.

They were drawing out of town.

"The middle of nowhere again?" asked Mila.

"Well, when you are compelled to turn into a wolf on occasions you gain an appreciation for remote places."

"Fair enough."

"Let's get you cleaned up and afterward we can have dinner in town." He sounded serene but cold.

Mila didn't know if it was the blood magic or the contrast between Erik and her own misery but she was dying to be near him, longing to touch him like never before and he, he looked like wanting anything but that, shunning her touch and her proximity.

"Where is Michael?"

"In Ukraine with Yelena. Kiril wounded her pretty badly in their last encounter. She was very brave and foolish..."

"I am sorry to hear that," said Mila thinking that it was most probably her fault.

"Of course..." His tone was slightly spiteful.

"I am really sorry, Erik. This is all my fault."

"It is." He was resenting her and made no effort to hide it.

"I was wrong. I never wanted anybody to get hurt; I just wanted to be free." All the things he said made her feel deep, self clothing guilt, a kind she was very familiar with.

"People almost died because of your behavior. Was it so hard to trust me?" Erik was angry, obviously, and openly angry. for the first time since he arrived, he didn't try to control his tone anymore.

"It is. I don't know how to trust people. I have never been taught and you told me only half-truths."

"Well, that makes two of us. Are you up for a wild ride?" said Erik laughing sarcastically.

The silence afterward was suffocating.

"Mila, I have put my selfish wishes and your safety above my duty and my pack and it was wrong. Kiril has the relic now. That dagger throws our power off balance and it's a big problem. I came for you because I plan on doing the same thing as he did. He will not expect it, but we are going to retrieve his relic." His voice in the darkness felt like a rock thrown in a motionless lake, creating a lot of circles.

"So you came to... use me as he did?"

Mila felt conflicted. What was she expecting? She was angry with herself for her half-hour of romantic expectations. However...

"Fine. I will help you but I want out of Serbia. And I have one other condition. No lies and no half-truths anymore. I want to know what I am dealing with. Always."

"Ok. Agreed."

Erik seemed determined, serious, and not one bit affectionate. The driver turned the engine off and parked the car in front of a villa on the outskirts of Belgrade.

"Ok, shower. Angel packed some clothes for you."

He lead her to a room in the house and disappeared.

While the water droplets were soaking in Mila's skin and hair she was thinking about her perspectives. Erik didn't seem to want her anymore. Maybe he never did, but it seemed so genuine to her. She managed to ruin it before noticing she might want that too. That was her damn luck. She decided to help him and make things right; recover that damn dagger as a way to pay her debt to him. It was the right thing to do, and afterward, she would get in control of her life; she would go back to England or another country and work her way up. Maybe he would have pity and leave her some cash for services or maybe she would die in the process, but for the time being he was stuck with her.

Angel had packed her a whole suitcase. The clothes were all new and way more stylish than anything she ever possessed.

Erik said they were going to have dinner in town. It sounded like a date. Of course, it wasn't a date, but she felt like a schoolgirl all of a sudden. She felt stupid. She felt stupid when she chose to wear a dress, a pretty, sheer, slightly translucent nude-colored dress. She felt stupid when she braided her hair or when she put makeup on for the first time in months. She felt stupid but did it anyway not being certain why ...