A/N: Here is Chapter Two. Not a whole lot to say, except... enjoy :D


The chill breeze bit at every part of pallid exposed skin and found its way under clothing to nip at frail arms and legs. In her haste, Anya had no time to snatch layers to pile on, leaving her defenseless to the onslaught of the cold. Gradually, her body became numb. The dress upon her body was fashioned for winter, but not for a Russian winter. The dress started out white at the shoulders and gradually bled into a sky blue, then a cerulean, then a navy, finally darkening to black at the hems. When the dress had first arrived from Germany, a gift from her father, it had been a beautiful dress that accented her eyes wonderfully. Now, the only thing that it accented was her tiny, frail frame and the scene from which she had just run. The priceless fabric was forever ruined: the dress held many tears now, as well as the blood drops splattered on nearly every inch.

Anya's mind wandered to thoughts of a jade dress that was similar to the one she wore now. Her legs were freezing and the build up of lactic acid in her muscles finally caused her to collapse. She crawled near to a tree, curling up in a ball behind it to shield herself from the wind as much as she could manage. Her father had bought the jade dress from the Germans not too long ago, as well, but it had quickly become her favourite. It was long and flowing, long enough that her mother had finally let her wear heels so the hems would not drag on the ground so much. Anya had dreams of dancing at balls with handsome men twirling her around the floor to a waltz…

Her dreams were rudely interrupted by an immense pressure upon her chest. She coughed and her eyes flew open, only to meet a pair of ice blue eyes. They did not belong to Adrian. She opened her mouth to scream, but a gloved hand quickly covered her mouth and cut off the noise. Anya had not run far enough.

Breathing hard, she finally allowed her eyes to take in just what was going on before her. In front of Anya crouched a rather large man, wearing mostly dark colours underneath of his black leather trench coat. His piercing blue eyes seemed to be able to look right through her, and his flaxen hair was about an inch long and untamed. He caught her looking at him, and a rather nasty smirk spread across his lips. "Stupid bitch… you didn't have to run, pet." He spoke in fluent, accented Russian with some archaic hints to the word choices. The voice that spoke was deeper than any man's voice she had heard before; were the situation not quite so perilous, she might have thought the voice to be rather alluring. "But no need to worry. The mortal executioners will never find you here."

Anya furrowed her brow at his choice in words and at her look, he loosened his hand's grip upon her mouth. "…you…you speak of mortals as if you are not one, sir." She stammered, due to both fear and the cold that had taken hold of her body. She also hoped that being slightly polite would do something in her favour.

"Ah, pet, well. I do not wish to place myself on the same level as say, you know, those men back in your home." The grin remained, and he finally removed his hand from her mouth completely, using it instead to pat her cheek. Anya whined quietly and started shivering uncontrollably as her body gave in to hypothermia. The blonde man in front of her watched for a few moments, before sighing heavily and rolling his eyes. "Alright, alright. I'll make it quick." Slowly, he bent down close to her, his own body also acting as a brief shield from the biting winds. Warm lips touched her neck, but it didn't relax Anya one bit. She started to kick and to thrash, doing anything that would injure the man and hopefully push him away.

One of her kicks fell on a sensitive spot of the man in front of her. He winced and his grip loosened for a fraction of a second, but that was all that Anya needed. She sprang up to her feet against the will of her body and started to run on frail limbs, the snow making it incredibly difficult. She didn't make it far. Before too long, a huge, warm body collided with hers and knocked them to the snow beneath her. The body pressed her smaller one into the snow, melting, and adding more chill to her poor body. The man sat up, blue eyes watching the frail woman underneath of him. Suddenly, he had better plans for the beautiful face. He took her by the arms, shifting them to hold both tiny wrists in one of his large hands. Free hand shifted around in his pocket before he withdrew a syringe, index finger and thumb plucking off the cap before he shifted his weight, pinning her further. "Relax, pet. Just a quick pain, and then you will feel quite warm. Promise." He winked before leaning down, aiming the needle for the place where neck and shoulder met. Anya started up her protests again in earnest, but he acted before she managed to gain any advantage.

Anya's movements stopped entirely as she felt a piercing pain near the side of her neck. Impulse wanted her to scream, but the noise wouldn't come out. As the blonde man pushed the liquid into her vein, Anya's shivering slowly started to subside and her will to fight drained. She closed her eyes slowly as the man sat up again, withdrawing the needle from her neck. "No, no, pet. You cannot leave me right now." Anya gasped as she felt a sharp pain against her cheek, and realized that the man had slapped her gently to keep her awake. "Don't worry, pet. You are not going to die. No, not yet. Maybe never." The man stood up and braced himself before leaning down and picking her up, unceremoniously slinging her over his shoulder. "This is only the beginning."

"…what are you talking about?" Anya murmured from her spot over his shoulder. Her body hung limp over the jacket, a rather odd tingling sensation spreading throughout her limbs. It was a struggle to merely stay awake, but the fight remaining in her told her that losing consciousness was not on the to-do list.

"Oh nothing, nothing. You will understand everything sooner or later." The hand holding her in place patted her back. "My name is Yevgeniy Mikhailvich Sergikov. And you are?"

At least in her state, common sense still reigned. She knew that it would be dangerous, and perhaps even deadly to use her real name in this situation. Cleverly, she already had this answer planned. She couldn't trust anyone. "…Anya Nikolaevna Zharkova."

"Well, Anya. You're coming home with me. We'll get you out of this awful cold and hopefully into new clothing and perhaps eat a meal, if you are a good little girl." He responded with another pat to her back. With their bodies so close, Anya felt his muscles tense beneath her. Suddenly, the world around her changed and she felt sick to her stomach. The air was different; there was no breeze, nor the crunch of snow as Yevgeniy continued to walk. Wherever they were, it was dark and Anya's eyes couldn't focus on a single thing. Yevgeniy noticed her silence and felt her uncomfortable shifting, glancing over to her, before forward again. "That's a side effect of teleportation the first couple of times."

The man leaned down and arms gently set Anya down on what felt like a mattress. "…teleportation?" The word baffled the young girl. She had heard stories of the sort of thing and read in newspapers of people that could 'blink' from one place to the next. Her father had told her that it was all speculation, and that there was no such thing as people with 'extraordinary powers'. Then again, her father did not believe in the domovoi… "…teleportation?" Her voice was weak and quiet, but in the silent room, the man easily heard her question.

"Yes, pet. Teleportation. It is much easier than walking, faster than driving, and also better for the environment." He answered with another wink and pat to her cheek. "Rest up here. There is a change of clothes there on the bed beside you, but you may not feel like doing much except for sleeping right away. When you wake up, we will get you some food before going to see my boss."

"…your boss?" Anya groggily shifted, crawling up onto the bed and towards a pillow, finally collapsing onto her side as she tried to get comfortable. The mattress and pillow felt as though they were filled with goose feathers, and the sheets felt rather stiff. Anya didn't care. The sheets held in her warmth and transferred it back into her body, slowly starting to bring warmth back into her body. The shivering returned after a few moments, but she knew that that was a good sign by now, knowing her body's reflexive reactions were kicking in again.

"Don't worry about it. You'll meet him soon." Yevgeniy shifted around, but Anya's eyes were closed and so she didn't see where he was going. Suddenly, a blanket was draped over her body. Her eyes opened and she still could not see in the dark room. By noise alone, she was able to hear Yevgeniy move away from her, and then the scooting of wood against wood made her think of a chair that he may have pulled out to sit in. "Sleep, pet. You'll feel better."

Anya remained quiet as though she were listening to the man. She didn't quite know what was going on; he had not really hurt her yet, but then again, he wasn't being too terribly kind about anything either. There was no doubt in her mind; she had been kidnapped. But was she going to be killed? Could she escape? …Or was this man going to turn out to be a kind, caring man that simply wanted to see a young girl nursed back to health, out of the reach of the Communist purges? She was afraid to sleep, but her eyes were trying so hard to droop shut and it was so tempting to give in to the temptation. Anya fought the feeling for as along as she could, in vain. A few moments after Yevgeniy's last words to her, she found herself dreaming.

-----

A girl with red hair ducked out of the way from a thrown snowball. She giggled and quickly bent down, hands coming together in the snow to create a small ball of it between them. Standing up with blue eyes locking on the young boy, the hand drew back before launching the snowball at the boy. The boy, unable to move fast enough with his legs buried in the snow, suddenly had that snowball splattering upon his coat sleeve. "Hah! I win!"

"No you don't!" He made his own snowball in retaliation and threw it, watching as the little white ball exploded on her stomach and caused her to drop the one she had been making. "I win!"

"Alright, alright. Fine, you win." The girl laughed as she brushed snow from her jacket, finally seeming to give in.

"Hey!" The boy pouted at his sister and then ran towards her, full speed. She didn't try to avoid the oncoming boy, instead holding her arms open and letting him tackle her over into the snow. Now it was a short game of wrestling, younger brother versus older sister.

"Come, children! It's time for dinner!" The two siblings stopped in their game, panting breaths the only sound for a moment. Rosy cheeks turned towards their home and the open door, spotting their father in the doorway. The daughter waved and then stood, leaning down to help her brother up before leading him towards the light and the warmth.

A blur of time, it seemed, before she found herself at the doors to the dining room, standing between her father and her brother. There was the sound of glasses breaking, but that was eclipsed by the sounds of shouting and screaming.

Now the red headed girl was running, fleeing, the screaming slowly growing distant. She carried the young boy in her arms and before too long, she could see a door in front of her. She knew she had to make it do that door, or else… or else what? Her feet kept running, carrying her closer to that door. All she had to do was make it to that door and everything would be alright; she would escape with her brother. They would be safe. They would live.

Finally, the door was in front of her. Quickly, she reached out and opened it, running through the open door to freedom. Or so she thought. To her horror, instead of the pure white snow that she should have been running through, she found herself in a small, dark, and cold cellar. Blue eyes fell on a horrifying scene before her: she was standing against the wall, brother in her arms much like he was now, next to her family. All were staring with pure terror in their eyes down the barrels of armed men, listening as one of them read their fates aloud. This time, she had to watch.

The man folded the paper and placed it back into his pocket. The hand dropped. She and her brother dropped to the floor, crawling together towards that darkened wall. She watched as she broke the covering over the hole, but now… now was the moment she looked up and over to see her oldest sister in the corner.

"Come on! Follow me!" In vain, she watched again as she motioned for her sister to follow her, but her sister would never move from that corner. The man came again, standing over her poor sister. The bayonet on the end of his gun pierced the thin body again and again, blood pooling, arms thrown up to shield her, uselessly. She was forced to look on as she sat frozen at the doorway, watching her sister's life drain out of her in the blood flowing from the wounds in her abdomen. She watched her sister die for a second time.

Now, she saw herself move into the hole. Blue eyes narrowed, trying to see through the smoke. This should have been where she called for her brother and he never came. This time, she would have to see what became of him.

A man that wasn't dressed at all like the others held her brother in his arms; he must have caught him when she was frozen by the sight of her sister's death. Why hadn't she bothered to turn around to make sure her brother was there before crawling off? The strange man closed his arms around her brother in a warm embrace. Then, he turned his head towards her, blue eyes locking with her own before he simply vanished from the room without a trace.

Eyes wide, she tried to comprehend what she thought had just happened. Had he really been there? Or was that man a simple figment of her imagination derived from her hope that her youngest brother had somehow managed to survive? The guns stopped firing and the smoke gradually started to thin. The body of her father was closest beside her feet. Bullets had pierced his body countless times and crimson stained his white jacket, before pooling onto the floor beneath him. Next to him lay one of her sisters, then her mother, and then her other sister. Her mother had tried to shield her children from the slaughter, but there were just too many men. Their pale dresses also lay in ruins, torn by bullets and stained by blood. Her mother's eyes were still open, vacant stare turned upward towards the ceiling, yet to the heavens. Her oldest sister's body still lay alone in the corner, mutilated. The sight would haunt her forever. While she had a slight idea of the end result, she could still push an imaginary image from her mind. But now that she had seen the real outcome, the image would forever haunt her mind, conscious and dreaming. The blood of her family still flowed slowly from their bodies, mingling together on the floor between their bodies. No one deserved this. No one.

Anya screamed in horror and frustration, in fear and pain. Why didn't she save them? Why did she live?

-----

Again, her mouth was covered by a large hand, though this time it was bare; no glove. Opening her blue eyes, Anya found herself sitting up with Yevgeniy beside her. Apparently, she had woke up screaming and he had come over to stop the noise. "Shh, pet. Just a dream."

Blue eyes shot towards his face, a fiery anger behind them. Unbound hands reached up and pulled his hand away from her mouth. "Just a dream?" Her tone was incredulous. How could he call what she had to witness, again, just a dream? "It was a nightmare, and yet it is reality! A horror! How is it 'just a dream'!" His blue eyes watched her face stoically. With no reaction from the man, emotion overtook her. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed and dropped her face into her hands. Finally, the emotions had caught up to her. She cried for the loss of her family, for her failure in trying to save them. She cried for their souls, their spirits, for their rest despite a tragic ending. No comfort came from Yevgeniy; not that she had ever seen any emotion on his face or in his eyes despite the cruel smirking. After several moments, Anya lifted her face from her hands, fingertips wiping at the tears on her cheeks. Blurry vision focused upon Yevgeniy as she let out a quiet sigh, but he still looked back at her with that blank stare.

"Hm. Well. No worries. It is understandable, I suppose." Again, that hand reached to pat her cheek before it was joined by the other on her shoulders, pushing her down gently. "You can't possibly sleep well with your current memories. I'll help. Just lie down and relax. Your sleep will come with no nightmares this time. Promise."

Anya's small body easily gave into the pushing. She had no desire to anger this man, rather fearful of any rage that those eyes could hold. They always said that the quiet ones were the worst ones to anger. Anya reached and pulled the blanket over her body again, eyes glancing to Yevgeniy suspiciously as she turned to her side, settling.

"Close your eyes, pet. The dreams won't come this time. I promised." His voice came from behind her, rather close. Again, Anya gave in, nodding and closing her eyes without hesitation. Yevgeniy reached over her, large hand falling onto her forehead gently. Anya was asleep in a matter of moments. She needed unhindered, recuperative sleep if she was going to survive past this night, and the memory of her family's murder would not allow that. A bit of coerced sleep never hurt anyone too badly, Yevgeniy figured.

He returned to his desk, but his eyes kept drifting up to the sleeping form of the girl. Her breathing remained slow and steady and she shifted only a few times during the few hours that he allowed her to sleep. The nightmare had not returned to haunt her unconsciousness. After a few hours in the assisted sleep, Yevgeniy stood and strode over to her sleeping form, one hand reaching out to shake her by the arm gently. "Come, pet. Time to meet Kazimir."