Lilith struck — and Lelya missed the block.

  Not because she was too slow. She would have caught it if her mind had been on the fight. But she was thinking about the way Bogumir had watched her during yesterday's briefing — silent, without his usual barbs, and something in his eyes she hadn't noticed before.

  Lilith's fist slammed into her shoulder. Lelya flew back against the wall, rolled, sprang to her feet — but the moment was gone.

  "You're not here," Lilith said, lowering her hands.

  "I'm here."

  "Your body's here. Your head is somewhere else." Lilith sat down on the bench. "What happened?"

  Lelya sat beside her. Her shoulder throbbed — there would be a bruise tomorrow.

  "Bogumir."

  "Your bodyguard? He's always annoyed you. What changed?"

  Lelya rubbed her shoulder, searching for the right words.

  "He used to just annoy me. Cocky, arrogant. But now I catch myself waiting for his comments. Wondering what he'll say. Noticing when he looks at me."

  "And that pisses you off," Lilith clarified.

  "Exactly. I've got work to do, the Citadel is cooking up something nasty, and I'm thinking about the way he looks at me. He's five hundred years old. What could he possibly see in me?"

  Lilith stood and headed for the door.

  "Irritation and interest are different things. What you're describing sounds more like the second."

  She left, leaving Lelya alone in the training hall. Lelya stood there, gazing at the sunset sky beyond the window, and thought: irritation is when you want someone to disappear. And she didn't want Bogumir to disappear.

  The next day, after three hours of negotiations with a delegation from the Coastal Union, they stepped into the corridor. Lelya felt the tension in her shoulders — the strain of diplomatic smiles.

  "Not bad," Bogumir said once they were alone. "With the bit about insurance levies, the ambassador nearly choked on his tea."

  Lelya smirked.

  "But then you gave ground," he added. "When he started pressing on emotions. The story about starving fishermen. You softened."

  "I showed understanding. Those are different things."

  "You showed that you can be pushed if someone pushes the right way. He'll remember that."

  Lelya stopped.

  "Are you always like this? So sure you're right?"

  "Sometimes I doubt. But not when it comes to survival."

  They walked on. Staff members passed by, nodding to Lelya, sliding indifferent glances over Bogumir.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  "You know what surprises me?" Lelya said. "You're five hundred years old. You could live anywhere. And here you are, guarding a minister."

  "I thought that too, the first week — just a job. Then I realized I was wrong." Bogumir stopped by a window. "Most people in your position would play a role. Important minister, serious politician. But you get angry in meetings, argue with Varvara, eat sandwiches right over your documents."

  "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

  "A statement of fact." He turned to her. "I like it. Didn't understand that right away, but I do."

  Lelya didn't know what to say. He was looking at her directly, without his usual irony, and she suddenly felt exposed.

  "We should go," she said.

  They walked on. In silence, side by side, almost brushing shoulders. Something had shifted — the air between them had grown denser, warmer.

  It was dangerous. And for some reason, she didn't care.

  They left the building through the side entrance.

  The evening was cold — the first frosts of autumn. Lelya shivered, pulling her cardigan tighter. Twenty meters to the car across the inner courtyard, lit by scattered lampposts.

  Bogumir walked beside her, half a step ahead. The usual position — between her and any potential threat.

  There was no threat. The courtyard was empty. Just their footsteps on asphalt, just shadows from the lampposts, just cold wind carrying the smell of fallen leaves.

  And then everything changed.

  Lelya saw movement to the right — a shadow peeling away from the wall. Then to the left — another. And directly ahead — a third, stepping from the darkness into the circle of light.

  Three of them. In black, faces masked. In their hands — short curved blades she recognized instantly.

  Takenaks.

  Bogumir reacted first.

  He shoved Lelya aside — hard enough that she slammed against the wall and barely kept her feet. She saw his pupils dilate sharply, spreading beyond the iris until his eyes were entirely black. His lips parted slightly, revealing elongated fangs, and in the same instant he launched himself forward at the nearest attacker.

  Lelya watched it as though in slow motion. Bogumir caught the arm holding the takenaks, twisted — a crack, a scream, the blade clattering on asphalt. But the second was already there, striking from the side, aiming for the neck.

  Bogumir dodged. Almost dodged. The blade grazed his side, leaving a long red line across his shirt.

  Lelya rushed toward them. Months of training with Lilith — strikes, blocks, falls — kicked in on autopilot. She shifted into a lynx mid-leap, crashed into the third attacker, and knocked him off his feet. Her teeth clamped on his arm — he screamed, dropped the takenaks.

  "Lelya, get back!" Bogumir's voice cut through the noise.

  She sprang away, shifted back. Two attackers were still standing — one with a dislocated arm, the other swaying, but both ready to fight.

  And then security came running around the corner — four of them, weapons drawn.

  The attackers exchanged glances. A split second — and they bolted in different directions. One guard fired — missed. Two gave chase. The third ran to Lelya.

  "Minister, are you hurt?"

  "We're fine." She waved him off. "Bogumir!"

  He stood braced against the wall. His left hand pressed over his right side — blood seeping between his fingers. A lot of blood.

  Lelya ran to him.

  "Let me see."

  "It's nothing."

  "Let me see!"

  He moved his hand. The wound was long — from ribs to hip. Deep. For a mage, it would have been lethal. But he was a vampire.

  "Takenaks," he said, wincing. "Hurts like an ordinary knife. But that's all it does."

  "You need a doctor."

  "I do." He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "But first — somewhere safe. They might come back."

  The guards were already cordoning off the courtyard. One of the attackers lay motionless — the one Lelya had knocked down. The other two had escaped.

  "Call the medics," Lelya shouted. "And Svarog. Now."

  The next hour was chaos. Medics. Interrogations. Svarog with his stony face, examining the scene. Radimir, who arrived white as a sheet.

  Lelya answered questions on autopilot, not thinking. Three attackers. Takenaks. Professionals who had been waiting specifically for her. If not for Bogumir, she would be dead. One scratch — and it would have been over.

  One attacker was dead — broken neck when she'd knocked him down in lynx form. Two had gotten away. The dead one carried no documents, nothing that pointed to whoever sent them.

  "Takenaks are rare weapons," Svarog said. "The Citadel controls them. But they're also on the black market. Expensive, but available."

  "It's the Citadel," Lelya said.

  "Maybe. Or maybe someone who wants us to think so."

  She wanted to argue, but she was exhausted. Her head was pounding, her hands shaking — the adrenaline draining away, leaving emptiness.

  "Where's Bogumir?"

  "In the med bay. The wound is serious, but not critical for a vampire. He'll be back on his feet in a few days."

  "I want to see him."

  Svarog looked at her — long, searching.

  "Go," he said at last. "We'll finish the debriefing tomorrow."