WHAT?
What?
Billi stared at Vasilisa. Then at Koshchey.
What?
Adeep, threatening growl rumbled in her throat as she stood and turned toward him. Koshchey backed away into the protective circle of his Bogatyrs.
“Do not try it, little Templar.”
Billi stepped forward. It really didn’t matter now, but she was still going to kill him. Koshchey pointed the pistol at her head. At this distance he could hardly miss.
“I will warn you only once.”
Billi had one weapon left-her dagger. She pulled it out and held it in her fist. If she died, she’d make sure she took him with her. The power racing through her meant she’d leap the few feet between them easily.
“BILLI.” A hand, wet and sticky, touched her arm, and she turned. “STEP AWAY.”
Vasilisa stood in the red snow. She was covered in blood and there was a burn hole in the center of her smock. She looked up at Billi and smiled, a guileless child’s smile. But the eyes were aged, not just a few years, but many, many thousands. They were black and as deep as eternity. Billi glanced at the Bogatyrs, then stepped away, retreating from the young girl who’d now become so much more. Baba Yaga had tried to consume Vasilisa, but instead Vasilisa had consumed her. All the Spring Children now inhabited the body of a nine-year-old. And so did all their powers.
Vasilisa stepped forward and faced Koshchey. “KOSHCHEY THE UNDYING,” she said in a chorus of countless souls.
Koshchey fired. His men fired. Bullets shattered against Vasilisa’s body as she held out her arms. Billi ducked behind a rusty car as the bullets rebounded off the invulnerable avatar. The gap between them filled with smoke and the stench of gunpowder. When Vasilisa lowered her arms, Koshchey was staring at her in mute horror.
Vasilisa looked to the surrounding Polenitsy. “COME, DAUGHTERS, FEED ON MANFLESH.”
“Wait!”
The command was clear and imperious. Ivan hobbled out of the rubble. His chest was a mess of tattered cloth and blood, and he dragged his leg as he walked.
“Ivan?” Billi blinked. He was alive. She reached for him, but his eyes were on Koshchey. Her heart trembled. Koshchey’s men outnumbered him-he would lose. Couldn’t he see that? Billi bit her lip and stopped. She wanted to run to him, help him, but this was not the time. He had a score to settle. All she could do was stand by and watch.
Vasilisa raised her hand, stopping the Polenitsy.
“TSAREVICH.” She acknowledged his presence and his right.
Smashed and battered as he was, there was almost demonic determination in Ivan’s eyes as he gazed at Koshchey. “We have unfinished business, you and I.”
Koshchey’s eyes narrowed. “A duel, perhaps? For what, Tsarevich?”
“If you win, then you go free.”
One of the Polenitsy shouted, but Vasilisa nodded in Ivan’s direction. “SO BE IT.”
Koshchey laughed. Hands on hips, he threw back his head and bellowed.
“You want to fight me? You can barely-”
The gun boomed once, and Koshchey fell. The thunder of the gunshot echoed across the city. Ivan stood, the big revolver perfectly still in his hand, the smoke whispering out of the long, shiny barrel.
“I want you dead,” he said. “And that is all I want.”
The Bogatyrs stared at the body of their leader. Then back at Ivan. They were a tight unit, but suddenly they looked lost and not a little frightened.
“Go now,” he ordered. He tossed the empty gun aside and cleaned the sweat from his forehead. The Bogatyrs, throwing their weapons away, fled.
Billi ran forward into his arms. “Thank God. I thought you were dead.”
“Me? Dead? Do you know who I am?” Ivan winced. “I am Tsarevich Ivan Alexeivich Romanov. It would take more than a couple of scratches to kill me.” He wobbled and would have fallen if Billi hadn’t hung on to him. “Not much more, though.”
One of the wolves howled. A woman climbed onto a wall and cried at the moon. The victorious Polenitsy gave full voice to their joy, and the city echoed with their feral calling. The sound trembled in Billi’s soul, and her ears pricked at the cries of celebrating beasts.
She sighed and stepped back from Ivan. She raised her head and stared at the moon. The brightness of it hurt her eyes, but she didn’t blink.
The Beast Within stepped out of its cage.
She pulled off the broken remains of her mail armor.
Ivan took hold of her arm. “No. Not after all this.” He shouted at the Templars. “Quickly!”
Billi twisted, but he wouldn’t let go. She stared at her coat, bloodstained and ripped. She drew her long sharp nails-talons now-peeling it off.
They had won. Her sisters.
Dimly, she watched her father run toward her, backpack slung over his shoulder. His blue eyes were open and fearful. Why?
“Billi, your dad’s coming, just hang on,” said a man, a man called Ivan.
No, he was the enemy. He smelled of blood and wolf and gun and smoke, the stench of civilization.
“Let me go,” Billi said. Oh, how ripe he looked.
“No.”
Billi snarled, and her tongue touched the needle-sharp row of fangs in her mouth, all the better for tearing out his throat. She smiled, smelling the fear dripping through his pores.
“You are not a beast, Billi.”
He did not flee as prey should. He stood facing her, daring her.
No. This was Ivan. He’d saved her life. Billi faltered.
The howls drowned out her thoughts, and Billi screamed. She collapsed, curling up as her body began to break its human mold. Arthur dropped beside her.
Human and beast fought for domination. Billi’s soul split in two, each eager to rule the other. Muscles flinched and jerked as the Beast Within tried to force its will over body and flesh.
I am not a beast.
No matter what she’d done, she’d not given into it.
Billi stared hard at Ivan, digging her nails into his skin, hanging on to him like she was drowning.
Arthur ripped open his backpack, and the stench made Billi want to vomit. The werewolf part recoiled and snarled as Arthur pasted the thick herbal poultices over her arm and side. Her blood boiled and her skin burned.
Then a stream of coolness began to spread through her. First Billi sweated, then shivered as the herbs did their work.
Billi slumped in Ivan’s arms and gave in to the comforting chill coursing through her veins.