In the corridor, it was dark, and I had darkened the windows, so I couldn't see even a silhouette.

I recognized her by the scent. Ordinary soap and her own fragrance.

She walked in and closed the door behind her, navigating confidently even in the darkness. She had been here many times and relied on the fact that I hadn't moved the furniture. She wasn't wrong.

"No," she replied. "Pour me a drink?"

Her scent awakened many memories I didn't really want to revisit.

I only had one glass. I poured it and handed it into the darkness. I felt a touch, her fingers briefly touching mine. From the sound her clothes made, she was wearing two layers, a thin nightshirt and a thick robe. Despite the owner's efforts, the hallways and rooms were cold.

She sat down, and I guessed she had crossed her legs. She had long legs, full thighs, and the insides were velvety. Her scent reached me more intensely. She definitely crossed her legs.

I heard her take a sip of whisky.

"Why did you come?"

If she didn't smell so good, if it wasn't night outside, and if we weren't alone, I probably wouldn't have understood that question.

"Because you asked for help."

"Why did you come?"

I reached for the bottle and took a sip. I prefer beer from a bottle, especially such good whisky from a glass. A person can't have everything.

"Because you asked for help. The pack is in trouble, maybe everyone is dying, maybe everyone is dead."

"You didn't care much about the pack. You were a cold nose, weren't you?"

Suddenly, I wasn't bothered by that decade-old derogatory nickname.

"I was, so what. I am. So what. We are of one blood."

"I've heard that somewhere before, yeah, I remember now - The Jungle Book."

I had read it many times and thought about it a lot.

"So, you came for the pack," she stated.

In life, there are crossroads where a person must choose. Important crossroads. There aren't many of them, and I've already been through a few. I had already passed the crossroads with Evelyn. But all it took was to stand up, open her robe, and place my palm on her hot velvety thighs.

I clasped the bottle with my fingers, squeezed it, and took a long sip.

"I never missed a single gathering," I said.

It was almost as if I were defending myself, and my own attitude angered me.

"And you always stood in the corner."

That was true. Pack gatherings were, in a way, orgies. Participation was voluntary, though.

Simply being there was enough for confirmation or renewal of membership in the pack.

"A cold nose, you've always been a cold nose."

I didn't protest.

"Occasionally, maybe a few times, you were not," she admitted.

I remained silent.

Despite many of the pack's customs rubbing me the wrong way, I was still a member. The collective memory, the experiences of the entire lineage of our ancestors, had somehow transferred to me as well. I knew we had to stand together, keep the predator within ourselves on a leash, and only let it loose in rare, carefully chosen opportunities.

"I came because you asked me to. To help the pack."

She finished her whisky, the glass clicked against the wooden table.

"I understand," she responded bluntly. "Do you like her?"

"Who?" I didn't understand.

"Well, her, Sobczak. Anneliese," she added when I still didn't get it.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

I contemplated it for a moment.

"There are plenty of women I like," I replied.

"You know what I mean. And you're horribly monogamous."

I knew what she meant.

"I'm a cold nose," I used her own derogatory term.

It was true, and I liked it that way. I moved in a predominantly male society, where one had to make an effort to meet women. And I hadn't made that effort in the last few years, or rather, a decade. It could even be said that I avoided women. The few fleeting encounters, whether short relationships or one-night stands, hadn't brought me anything I desired to repeat.

With Evelyn, it was different, damn different, and it took me a lot of effort to forget. Perhaps that's why I didn't desire other women later on.

"You still want me," she stated with satisfaction.

She could feel my excitement just as I could feel hers.

"No, it's just a physical reaction. I've already told you everything once."

"Why? Because you don't want to share me?"

It was true. I wanted her for myself and only for myself. I was willing to share everything I had, everything I was, with her. Later on, I hadn't found anyone similar, and I realized how rare that was. And I stopped searching.

"I didn't want to share. With anyone, not even with the pack," I used past tense.

The whisky smoothly slid down my throat, pleasantly warming my stomach. You can rely on whisky. Just like good weapons, good steel.

She stood up, and I heard the rustling of fabric.

"Close the door behind you," I asked her.

She didn't close it. It didn't surprise me.

At the door, a cold draft from the corridor enveloped me, along with the last whiff of her scent.

* * *

In the morning, I half-expected Evelyn to be gone, but she was sitting at the table engaged in a seemingly friendly conversation with Agnieszka. That was a positive sign.

A free Sunday awaited us, hopefully, we would survive it in one piece.

"How old can vampires be?" I asked Agnieszka after coffee.

I knew what a four-hundred-year-old bastard could do, but perhaps there were even older ones.

"The oldest from my clan that I've met fought against the Mongols in defense of the Vratislav Principality. Initially alongside Henry II the Pious, then in the retinue of Prince Wenceslas I."

I didn't have a clue about Henry II the Pious, but I could partially place Wenceslas I.

"That was sometime in the 13th century, right?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes, in the year 1241," she confirmed.

An almost eight-hundred-year-old vampire. I couldn't imagine it, couldn't fathom a life spanning periods when entire empires rose and fell.

"The Grand Master of our clan is even older. But I've never met him. I'm too low in the clan hierarchy for that. And perhaps too young; maybe I wouldn't understand him, and he wouldn't understand me."

I tried to understand what Agnieszka was telling me, but I was struggling.

"The oldest ones are no longer able to cope with the rapidly changing life around them. With new information technologies, with new laws, with applied democracy; with the fact that belief in God no longer determines people's behavior," she explained when she saw I wasn't catching on.

Gradually, I grasped what she was trying to convey.

"But what can an eight-hundred-year-old vampire do? Or even older?" I focused on what was essential to me.

Now Evelyn was listening attentively as well.

"It's individual," Agnieszka answered after a while.

She was probably revealing secrets for which one paid with their life.

"It's said that Matthias is not more than four hundred years old, yet he has killed a whole bunch of much older vampires. It seems unbelievable to me."

She had mentioned him before, Matthias Mayer, the vampire ruler of the Czech Republic and Slovakia. It didn't seem like I should be concerned about him. I waited for Agnieszka to get back to answering my question.

"But I know that some of us are capable of dodging a bullet from a pistol. This ability is called Visio in Extremis."

I wasn't well-versed in Latin, but I understood the meaning - seeing in extreme situations.

"They see the bullet fly and can then dodge it," she continued.

I kept my doubts to myself.

I'm very fast, and my muscles and reflexes surpass human ones. Once, as a form of relaxation during training, I watched a live broadcast from the Olympics where the world record in the hundred-meter dash fell, I think it was under nine and a half seconds. I went outside, wearing ordinary sneakers, on a trampled field with marked distances that we used for firearm training, and tried it. I easily beat the black guy who later won the big gold medal. But dodging a bullet - that was far beyond my capabilities. If I hadn't met the four-hundred-year-old chief of an Afghan village, I would have laughed at the idea. Now, I just couldn't believe it. Maybe it was different for vampires.

What I myself did very well, and what had saved my life many times, was the ability to react to the movements and position of the shooter. At the moment the bullet was flying, there wasn't much I could do about it, but I could make use of what preceded the shot. And vampires surely could too; I had to take that into account.

"Do you see the bullet flying from any type of weapon?" I wanted to know.

There are significant differences in the speed of projectiles, from subsonic bullets fired from revolvers to highly supersonic rounds from large-caliber rifles designed to destroy light armored vehicles.

Agnieszka just shrugged.

"From a pistol? A rifle?" she hesitated. "Sorry, I don't have this ability myself, so I don't know. Plus, I'm not too familiar with weapons."

I just nodded. Not everyone is a professional soldier. Still, I learned more than I had hoped for, and more than I liked.

In the evening, before going to sleep, I called Evelyn on the phone designated for regular communication. We didn't have the opportunity for a private conversation during the day, and I didn't want to disturb Agnieszka more than necessary.

"Has anything changed?" I asked her.

Only then did I realize that she could interpret my question in various ways.

"No, we're here for the pack, aren't we?" she replied dryly.

I agreed with her.