He turned away and vomited, spasms racking his body as he came to understand what he had done. He had been lulled, by Kyesha’s charm, by his own pity for each voordalak he had seen suffering some monstrous fate, and by Iuda’s guile. He had made the mistake of judging any of them by human standards. Kyesha could smile and smile and be a villain. The imprisoned voordalaki could suffer what they had and still it would not make up for the very first meal they ever took in their altered existence. And Iuda? Iuda had played him for a prostak, just like he always did. Iuda had summoned him down to the Crimea, and Aleksei had trotted there with willing obedience. What Iuda’s ultimate intent might be was as yet unclear, but for the moment it would be enough for him simply to toy with Aleksei.

There was nothing left for Aleksei’s stomach to yield. He turned back to the voordalak that still lurked in the shadows of the cave. The sun had not yet set, but the moon was already visible – almost full – in the east. Aleksei had not killed one of these creatures for many years, but before the night was out, he would. But there was much to be learned before that.

‘And when those seven have given all they can, your kin will starve to death anyway,’ he said. ‘Pointless, don’t you think?’

‘They may starve,’ the voordalak replied, ‘but they won’t die. They will weaken, become unable to move, unable to speak. If they conserve their energy, they may last a little longer. Eventually they’ll become insensible to what’s going on around them, perhaps indistinguishable to you from a rigid corpse. But dead? No. It is not a pleasant fate.’

‘One which you all willingly chose,’ muttered Aleksei.

‘True. And few do not learn to regret it.’

‘Do you regret it?’ asked Aleksei, clambering sideways across the slope before sitting back down. He felt the comforting hardness of his wooden sword, hidden under his greatcoat, as it pressed into his armpit.

‘Half an hour ago, I think I did. Now, I do not.’

The urge to kill rose in Aleksei, and he decided it was time to draw the conversation to a close. He asked the question head on.

‘What did Cain have in store for Tsar Aleksandr?’

‘To make him into one of us.’ It was said with a simple coldness.

‘There was the blood of a vampire in that wine?’

‘That was the rumour, but who other than Cain would know the truth?’

‘And how would it work?’ asked Aleksei. ‘Even if Aleksandr had drunk the wine, he was never bitten by a vampire. Doesn’t that have to happen first?’

The voordalak nodded thoughtfully. ‘I have always believed so,’ he said. ‘But there was one thing that Cain said in explanation of that.’

‘Which was?’

‘“It’s in the blood.”’ The creature shrugged its shoulders as it spoke.

‘“It’s in the blood”?’ Aleksei’s question accurately revealed his lack of understanding.

‘That’s what he said.’

‘Already in the blood?’ asked Aleksei. ‘Is that what he meant?’

‘I can only tell you what he said. You must trust me on that.’ He smiled, much as Aleksei might have sneered, at the idea of trust between them. ‘We’re like Androcles and the lion, you and I,’ he said, as if changing the subject.

‘I take it I’m Androcles,’ replied Aleksei. He doubted he would get more on the matter that interested him.

‘Exactly. And I am the beast towards whom you showed not fear, but mercy. The thorn in my paw was enslavement. You freed me of it. I should show you eternal gratitude.’

Aleksei considered. Theirs was a version of the tale that had never been told. Androcles finally faced the lion at the Roman games. Would it remember the benevolence shown it, and spare the gladiator, or revert to its animal state, and devour him? In no variant of the story had it been Androcles who saw the error of his ways, who realized that a lion cannot change its true nature, and that though it might spare the life of one man to whom it owed a debt, it would still prey on every other creature whose path it crossed and devour them without mercy. Aleksei would be the wise Androcles, who before the cheering crowd plunged his sword between the beast’s shoulderblades, ignoring the look of betrayal in its face and thinking only of the lives it had taken and the lives it would have taken if not stopped.

He reached beneath his coat and felt the handle of the wooden sword. The creature was weak and hungry; now was the time to strike.

‘And I do feel grateful,’ said the voordalak. Aleksei wondered if it had guessed his reasoning and was about to beg for mercy. ‘But I prefer a story from Aesop to that of Androcles.’ It stood and took a few paces towards Aleksei. The sun had now set, and there was no restriction on its movements. ‘You know the one, about the scorpion who begs a ride across a river on a frog’s back. The frog is afraid the scorpion will sting it, but the scorpion explains it would be a fool to do so, because it would drown too. And so they set off across the river, and of course the scorpion stings the frog and the frog begins to sink. And as they both face death the frog gasps, “Why? Why did you sting me when it means your own death?” The scorpion – itself drowning – makes a simple reply. “I’m a scorpion; it’s my nature.”’

‘I know the story,’ replied Aleksei, tensing himself for action.

‘Well,’ said the tattooed voordalak, ‘I am a vampire. And I’m hungry.’ It looked almost sad as it spoke. ‘It’s my nature.’

As the creature spoke, it launched itself at Aleksei. He was ready for it, and yet still he was too slow. He was getting old. He felt its weight push him backwards, and his head banged against the stony ground behind him. His hand was still inside his coat – as though he had become a portrait of Napoleon – grasping the sword but pinned there by his attacker’s weight. He felt the strange shape of the creature’s body pressed against his – the arcing leg, the hollow chest – but none of those deformities served to hinder it. Its teeth had suffered no malformation. Its mouth gaped wide open as its eyes gazed lasciviously at Aleksei’s throat.

Aleksei grunted as the wind was knocked out of him, but the creature chose to hear the sound as a question.

‘You ask why after what I’ve already told you? Well, why not? And there’s one thing you’ve forgotten, three-fingered man; we’re already across the river.’

Its hand descended and pushed Aleksei’s head to one side, stretching his neck in readiness. All Aleksei could see was the monster’s heart pumping faster, its blood blue through a thin membrane of skin which its deformed regrowth had created. He felt its hands squeeze tighter as its fangs descended, and saw the heart beat faster still. Despite everything that whirled through his mind, he tried to concentrate, to ensure that in death his thoughts were only of the things he loved. He saw in front of him a happy scene. He was at its centre. Cradled in his left arm was Tamara, too big to be held like that now, but still happy to be picked up by her father. On his right stood Domnikiia, her hand on his chest and her beaming smile directed towards the child they both loved; had together created.

The image was ripped in two, and Aleksei felt the weight pressing down on him relax. The voordalak had turned its head to see what attacked it, but it was too late. The heart stopped beating and the skin through which it had been visible was ruptured. Aleksei saw the tip of a wooden blade, much like his own, disappear back into the body above him with a slurp that faded in an instant as the creature’s flesh began to desiccate in a way with which Aleksei was entirely familiar and wished he had had the chance to see more often over the past weeks. He closed his eyes and mouth to stop the powdered decay of the vampire’s body from in any way infiltrating his. He listened for the sound of tumbling ashes to cease, but his consciousness was instead assailed by a voice that was inescapably recognizable.