blood &cradle

**Chapter 11: Blood & Cradle**

The nursery monitor hissed static at 3:17 a.m.

Ashley bolted upright, hand flying to the gun under her pillow before her brain registered the anomaly—not silence, but *whispering*. A man's voice, thick with Russian cadence, murmuring to her daughter.

*"Ty budesh' korolevoy."*

*You will be queen.*

She was at the crib in three strides, Glock raised. Empty. Only little Anya, blinking up with Viktor's storm-gray eyes, clutching a scrap of black fabric reeking of gunpowder.

Sasha's calling card.

**The Warning**

Viktor found Ashley in the vineyard at dawn, shredding grapevines with her bare hands. "She was *here*," Ashley seethed, flinging the fabric at him. "After everything—after *betrayal*—she dares—"

He caught her wrists, stilling the tremors. "Sasha doesn't make mistakes. She wanted us to know."

The satellite phone in his pocket buzzed. A coordinates ping—50 miles north. A single word:

*ПРИХОДИТЕ (Come).*

**The Ruins**

The abandoned church loomed, its steeple jagged against the twilight. Inside, Sasha lounged atop a crumbling altar, her prosthetic leg propped on a Bratva soldier's corpse.

"Took you long enough," she drawled, tossing Ashley a vodka bottle. "Drink. You'll need it."

Viktor's knife was at her throat before she blinked. "Talk."

Sasha rolled her eyes. "The Pakhan's dead, but his cult's alive. They believe Anya's blood can resurrect their 'saint'—some 16th-century warlord." She flicked a photo across the floor: a fresco of a shadowed figure holding a child. "They're coming. And they've got *help*."

Ashley's blood iced over. The figure in the fresco wore Dmitri's signet ring.

**The Bloodline Awakens**

Anya's fever spiked that night. Her tiny fists glowed faintly violet as she wailed, shattering every lightbulb in the house. Viktor swore, clutching her to his chest. "It's the Volkov gift. Dmitri could… *persuade* people. Make them see things."

Ashley gripped Anya's flickering hand. "You're saying my baby's a *mind-controller*?"

"I'm saying," Viktor gritted out, "we're not the only ones who'll kill for her."

**The Offer**

Sasha returned at moonrise, dragging a bound prisoner—a gaunt man with Anya's eyes.

"Meet Alexei," she said. "Dmitri's bastard son. The cult's new favorite puppet."

Alexei smiled, eerily serene. "She belongs with *family*."

Ashley's bullet grazed his temple. "Try again."

"They'll raze Argentina to get to her," Sasha warned. "But I know a place. A fortress even Bratva won't touch."

Viktor's grip tightened on Anya. "Where?"

Sasha bared her teeth. "Where all monsters go to hide. *Chernobyl.*"

**The Decision**

Ashley packed guns instead of baby clothes. Viktor burned their identities in the yard. Anya giggled at the flames, her tiny fingers sparking violet.

Sasha cocked her rifle. "One condition. I'm her godmother."

Viktor's laugh was dark. "Only if you live through the war."

Ashley kissed Anya's forehead, then Viktor's scars. "We run. We fight. But no more lies."

He pressed his brow to hers. "*Ya lyublyu tebya.*"

This time, she knew what it meant.