Blood Lust

Chapter Three

It shouldn't be possible to be this cold.

In New York, the layered precautions I was ordered to take to keep warm made people's heads turn in suspended disbelief. Those looks have followed me to Yakutsk, Russia.

I don't know the language. I don't know where I am, or where I need to go to get to where I need to be. I'm not sure how to find a transport, or how to order a damn meal. I've managed the plane hopping well enough, but have failed significantly in efforts to sound out the Russian language adequately. But my final destination is here, in Yakutsk, which according to my instructions, is a two-day drive to where I will find Lyle, Elijah, whatever his name is.

The snow is coming down sideways outside. The flight had enough turbulence coming into the small airport that I considered saying prayers more than once. I never pray, but I considered it then. It only had one runway, and we had to brave the weather to make it across the tarmac.

Already wearing everything I own, I finally understood Akan's insistence on fur.

It's dark outside; although I'm nearly positive it's supposed to be day. The airport is nearly empty, no further flights in and out. There's no turning back for me.

I'm in Russia. I very well seem to be the only person here who speaks English.

I sit down, allowing myself a moment to think, to hopelessly plan.

God, I hope Akan is safe. I hope he lives so he can tell me what the fuck all of this is about. His words ring in my ears as I observe the crazy people that live in these kinds of conditions. Moroi must disappear.

I wonder how many vampires take refuge from humans here, near the very tip of the globe. I wonder if I'm in more danger here than in New York. It's those kinds of thoughts that have me hauling my bag onto my back, storming through the lobby with a mission. I'm passing the rest rooms when I hear a familiar word.

Louisiana.

My head snaps to the direction of the word, and the man speaking. Feeling a shift in my poor luck, I approach him, too preoccupied in the mind to not be direct.

"Are you American, by any chance?"

The man, noticeably a ginger beneath a fur cap, regards my face and then my style with horror. "Oh, poor child. Please tell me you have a coat."

I can't help but show my relief. "No, I don't. I was wond-"

"Where are you headed?"

"Oymyakon?" I hope I said it right.

His light brows fly up high on his face. "Are you a journalist? An explorer? Someone researching the mines?"

"No."

He chuckles, glancing at his companion who is at the desk, most likely arguing to get a flight out of here. "Then why the hell are you going there?"

"Family member lives there. It's my first time here."

"That much is obvious." He purses his lips, leaning in toward the man. His companion nods at whatever he says, and he holds out his arm toward the hallway. "All right, I'm guessing you need to find a shuttle to Oymyakon then."

"Yes. Do you know where it is?"

"The hotel we stayed at, the owners offer lifts, but for a price. Oymyakon is a two-day drive. It's going to cost you."

"I have the money."

"Do you have enough for a nice coat? A hat maybe?"

"I think so, yes."