My mind screamed. Impossible. Unthinkable.The words ricocheted inside my skull like trapped animals, hurling themselves against iron bars, desperate to break through—to convince me that it had truly happened, that my eyes had not deceived me. But how could it be real? How could a single man lift a bus off the ground and toss it over me as if it were a basketball?
I couldn't breathe. My entire body trembled, my stomach twisting into a vile knot. Bent over, I stared at the safe, dull gray expanse of asphalt beneath my feet, terrified that if I spoke—or screamed—the horror would finally swallow me whole.
That wasn't possible. No surge of adrenaline could grant a human being that kind of strength. And Ildar hadn't even strained his back. I let out a nervous, hysterical chuckle at my own stupid thought. He hadn't seemed surprised by what he'd done either. Now he moved among the shaken elderly passengers as though nothing extraordinary had occurred—people who, like me, were utterly incapable of explaining what they'd just witnessed.
And that girl—Yesenia. She had seen it too. She had seen what Ildar did. And yet she didn't even flinch. Instead, she stood calmly beside me, soothing me as if everything were perfectly normal. What the hell was wrong with that pair?
I could have accepted the only rational explanation—that I was hallucinating. After all, a damn bus full of pensioners had nearly turned me into a smear on the pavement. I would have clung to that comforting thought, caught my breath, and returned to my familiar, ordinary life—if not for one thing.
I had seen Ildar approach Lisa and offer her his wrist.Seen her teeth lengthen impossibly, like something straight out of a horror film.Seen blood splash against her lips when she bit down.And seen her drink it.
The girl I thought I knew. The girl I loved.
"Mark, darling, are you all right?" Lisa asked softly, and I had no answer for her. I wanted to know what the hell had just happened. I wanted to demand explanations—keep demanding them until I heard something sane, something that belonged in reality.
But my hands shook, and nausea rolled through me in waves. Images from every vampire movie I'd ever seen spun through my head. Ironically, Lisa had always hated that kind of film. Could it be because she herself was one of them?
Nonsense. Vampires didn't exist. And people couldn't just fling a bus into the air for no reason. And yet…
Lisa had always been cold. Her fingertips had always struck me with a brief, icy chill whenever she touched me, but I'd learned to ignore it. I'd grown accustomed to her sleepless nights and her deathly pallor. She never complained about menstrual pain, never asked for help the way other girls did, and I'd assumed she was simply lucky—one of those women spared the worst of it.
Her snow-white hair and red eyes, hidden behind colored lenses, fit perfectly into the explanation of albinism. I believed her. Or perhaps I wanted to believe her, deliberately overlooking the flurry of warning signs waved before my eyes like crimson flags.
The stain on her clothes.That salty, metallic scent.
What if no one had ever splashed Lisa with paint after the event?What if they never had?
What if my girlfriend was a killer?