Aleksandr was at least 90% sure. It was always in the corner of his eyes, darting away before he could get a good look at it. He could hear it just behind him, matching his footsteps almost exactly but always disappearing when he turned around.
He curled his hands into fists, trying to make them stop shaking. It was stupid of him to think he wouldn’t need someone else with him. Didn’t matter that Moscow had been his home for his entire life, even he stayed off the streets when night fell.
There.
He took off running, weaving through the streets and alleys with practised ease, stepping so lightly he barely made a sound. That was the one pro; it was dark. And that gave him the perfect cover to melt into the shadows.
Once he was sure that he’d lost it, he crossed the city by rooftop to get to his apartment, locking the balcony door behind him and taking a few moments to catch his breath.
“Nice place.”
Oh for the love of-
He whirled around, machete materializing in his hands. The intruder sat on the counter, not even trying to hide.
“Who are you? Who sent you?”
The woman smiled slightly, unfolding her legs and standing up. “I sent myself.”
“Did you?” He sighed, shaking his head, “Doesn’t matter. I need your name or else I’ll put this clear through your head.”
She snorted. “Oh please. You’re good, but you’re not that good. Now, do you want my street name or my real one?”
“Both will suffice.”
“Alright. My name is Natalya, but on the streets, they either call me Niota Fury or the Dark Angel.”
“Well, does the ‘Dark Angel’ have a last name?” She was dancing around his question and it was starting to annoy him. This stranger had no business breaking into his house and wasting his time.
“Natalya Somodorovayla.” She folded her muscled arms over her chest, weight shifting to her left leg.
“Really?” He had to admit that the resemblance was there; icy brown eyes, pitch-black hair, same general facial structure and a permanently pissed off expression. But anyone could buy hair dye and contacts and it wasn’t that hard to find someone who looked like him. “Prove it.”
She rolled her eye (her left eye was completely obscured by her hair,) “Fine. Mother spread us all over Russia when Dad decided to take issue with us for some damn reason. I got sent out of Russia and to America by an underground black ops unit while Vladimir, our oldest brother, got the rest of you together. Then he got killed and you lot split up, making my job harder.”
Okay… “What job?”
“I was sent by our not-so-dead brother to reunite the family. Dad’s in the middle of the thing I’m trying to stop and he knows I’m after him. Vladimir is worried that he might start picking you guys off to deter me, so I’m getting you to a safe house. Or,” she raised an eyebrow, “you could always fight off the brava by yourself.”
He sighed, lowering his machete, “Fine. But if this is a trap-”
“Then it would be three powerful superhumans versus me and I’m too tired for that. Let’s go.”
