Snow and black ice.
You don’t joke with them — even when you’re driving a Porsche.
I know this road perfectly,
but it feels like higher forces intervened.
The Porsche slides slightly sideways.
The rear starts overtaking the front.
For fuck’s sake.
The stability system is no longer fighting for trajectory —
it’s dissipating energy.
Torque is almost fully cut,
the all-wheel-drive clutch is open,
the engine drops into minimal traction mode.
Sensors clearly register the problem.
A sharp pull from the seatbelt —
my chest burns.
The car is ten years old.
That changes everything.
In an older Porsche, the body no longer works like it did on the day it left the factory.
The metal is tired.
Weld points have gone through thousands of load cycles.
Rigidity is distributed unevenly:
some areas still hold, others already “float.”
The second spin is slightly calmer.
Come on, Nazokat, get it together —
this isn’t our first time.
The body responds to the command.
It’s trained.
— chin slightly down
— tongue away from the teeth
— shoulders into the seatback
— arms compact, closer to the body
— feet off the pedals
I let my body become part of the passive safety system —
not its enemy.
The impact comes from below and from behind:
we’re rotating and entering the snowbank rear-first.
But the snowbank has a crust.
This isn’t a pillow — it’s a press of snow and ice.
I cover my face with my elbows.
Group up. Protect the skull.
The instructor’s words — like a mantra.
The rear crumple zone engages first.
The metal doesn’t fail gracefully —
it folds, breaking at pre-weakened points.
But because of the car’s age, energy distribution is worse.
— a dull thud
— a crack
— a short metallic groan
This is not glass.
This is the body.
The seatbelt catches me a second time — harder.
The chest takes the load through a wide strap, not point-by-point.
The airbags don’t deploy —
the sensors don’t register the required acceleration peak.
And strangely enough, that’s good:
at this angle, an airbag could have caused more harm than help.
My head makes a minimal movement forward and back.
The headrest does its job —
and that’s exactly why my neck stays intact.
Still — I hit my head.
Blood from the nose.
Classic under sudden deceleration:
small vessels rupture due to pressure spikes and overload.
Unpleasant, but not critical.
Don’t move.
Initial check, the instructor.
This matters.
In the first seconds you check:
— orientation
— breathing
— body symmetry
— pain that “shoots” or “spreads”
No sharp pain — likely no displaced fractures.
No numbness — the spine is probably intact.
I nod. Everything’s fine.
Level your breathing, the brain says.
Acknowledged.
Steam under the hood — not smoke.
Hot exhaust, hot engine block — and snow.
No fuel smell — the fuel line is intact.
No oil on the asphalt — the oil pan isn’t breached.
Good job.
I nod to myself.
It’s a good thing he taught me all this.
I actually understand what’s happening.
I don’t move right away.
Protocol.
After impact, the body still “lies”:
adrenaline suppresses pain,
muscles hold a shape that might no longer exist.
I close my eyes for a second.
And I start by breathing.
Inhale — present.
Deep. Even.
Exhale — no wheezing, no sharp pain in the chest.
So the ribs are intact.
Head.
Consciousness is clear. My vision isn’t drifting.
There’s noise in my ears — dull, muffled, but not sharp.
It’s overload — not a concussion.
Face.
The nose aches dully.
Warmth runs down to my lip — blood.
Neck.
I don’t rotate it.
I just lightly tense the muscles — symmetrically.
No sharp pain. No shooting sensation.
So I can proceed.
Shoulders.
Both in place.
Arms — moving.
Fingers clench and unclench.
No tingling.
Chest.
The seatbelt left a hard mark — there will be a bruise.
But the pain is dull, diffuse.
Soft tissue.
Abdomen.
Calm.
No sense of “emptiness” or an internal impact.
Good.
Pelvis.
Legs.
Knees.
Feet.
I carefully wiggle my toes.
They respond.
That means — I can get out.
Don’t rush.
A sudden rise after impact is a bad idea.
Acknowledged.
Blood pressure is jumping.
My head might “float.”
I nod.
I unbuckle the seatbelt slowly, holding it with my hand
so it doesn’t strike my body when the tension releases.
First — silence.
Then I notice a smell — not fuel.
The smell of warm metal and snow.
Wet. Cold. Clean.
I open the door carefully.
It gives — with effort, but it gives.
That’s a good sign: the frame is still alive.
My foot touches the snow.
Cold hits immediately, sharply.
And that’s… good.
Cold brings me back into my body.
I step out not in a jerk, but with support —
one hand on the roof, the other on the door.
Hold your support properly.
I nod.
The world around me stands still.
Trees in snow.
The road — empty.
The car behind me — skewed, crumpled,
as if it got tired and sat down.
I take a step.
Then another.
My head is clear.
No double vision.
So — for now, everything is under control.
I wipe the blood from under my nose with my sleeve.
Look at it — scarlet, fresh.
Not dark.
Not thick.
I walk around the car slowly,
not looking straight at the scariest places yet.
First — the whole.
Then — the details.
The rear is gone.
Metal crushed like paper folded into a fist.
The rear fender — creased.
The bumper — no longer a shape, just an idea.
It looks brutal.
But there’s no panic.
Accidents — drilled.
Here, I’m in my element.
I take out my phone.
My hands aren’t shaking.
I light a cigarette.
So Nate was right.
Time to replace the car.
Let’s see who the alpha chooses.
Mike?
— The subscriber’s device is switched off or out of coverage…
For fuck’s sake.
No signal.
Alright.
Handbag.
Stilettos.
Cigarettes.
AirPods.
I turn on the music.
Gimme More…
Britney in my ears, snow all around, night —
and suddenly I start dancing.
In a fur coat.
With a cigarette.
In the middle of an empty country road.
So… someone will have to give me a ride.
But for now — let’s dance.
I spin for myself.
I laugh.
For real.
Alive.
Loud.
— Uaaaa… aaa… uaaa… aaauaaa… gimme gimme moooore…
The world is strangely intact.
Even now.
I stop and look at the car.
At what’s left of it.
— So, what do you say, my friend?
The track switches on its own.
Cherry.
And suddenly the silence inside becomes different.
— I served you well, miss.
Damn.
A tear breaks free and slowly rolls down my cheek.
Then another.
And another.
— You weren’t just a thing… I know.
— I’d like to believe that, miss.
And then it overwhelms me.
The tears come in a flood, with no attempt to stop them.
— Damn… all the places you pulled me out of.
I laugh through the tears.
— Remember how we revived you after we flew off the bridge?
— Yes, miss.
— You shouldn’t have hit the gas back then.
— Right…
The memory —
like an old movie.
— And I laughed back then…
The tears keep flowing.
Quietly.
But insistently.
— I’m sorry, my friend.
I’m so careless.
— No, miss.
You’re the best in the world.
— Oh, come on…
I shake my head.
He’s standing nearby.
His spirit is nearby.
He hears.
The tears don’t stop.
They just keep coming.
— And when you comforted me after I fought with Nate?..
— I remember, miss.
— Damn…
I’m so sorry.
— It’s alright, miss.
A pause.
And then — softer, almost a whisper:
— I’m worried about you, miss.
You’ll freeze…
I cover my face with my palms.
— You idiot…
Worry about yourself.
You’re crushed, and I’m a beauty.
The boys won’t drive past.
— Miss… the main thing is that it’s safe.
— Damn, you’re right.
I stop, step back, open the door, and take out the telescopic baton.
Cold.
Heavy.
Reliable.
Now — order.
And now I’m a super lady:
covered in diamonds,
with the keys to a Porsche,
on stilettos,
and with a baton in my hand,
so the boys don’t relax.
— Miss…
— Mm?
— I love you.
I close my eyes.
I exhale steam — long, loud.
And the tears start flowing again, in streams, without stopping.
I keep walking on foot for another twenty minutes.
Music in my ears, snow under my feet, my body gradually warming from the movement.
I feel somehow… strangely calm.
And warm.
And then —
Oh.
An executive-class Mercedes.
Nice.
I wave my cigarette like a flag.
The car stops.
— Jonathan.
His eyes go wide.
He jumps out of the car so fast, as if everything else in the world has been cancelled.
He comes up.
Takes my face in his hands — carefully, but firmly.
— My God, Nazokat… are you okay?
What happened?
He remembers he’s supposed to hide that he loves you, right?
— Hades, sneering, from inside.
I shrug.
— Hi, darling.
Hold this for me, please. It’s terribly heavy.
I hand him the baton and the handbag.
He takes them automatically —
and only then realizes what exactly he’s holding.
But he doesn’t ask any questions.
He seats me in the car, cranks the temperature all the way up.
— You’re shaking… you’re cold.
Well, if you walk around in winter wearing just a skirt — for fuck’s sake, you freeze.
— Mushu, rolling his eyes.
— Yes, darling. I’m cold.
He fusses around me:
checks my hands, shoulders, face,
throws his jacket over me,
looks too closely, too attentively, too carefully.
— You’re so sweet, Jonathan…
I stop him, pull him closer, and kiss his cheek.
Lightly. Almost innocently.
— You need to go to the hospital.
— Oh, darling…
Don’t start.
— Nazokat, —
he looked at me strictly.
Not angrily.
Responsibly.
The way people look when they’ve already decided.
I smirked.
— My dear.
My beloved Jonathan.
You won’t drag me there
while I’m conscious.
I straightened up in the seat, even though I was shivering.
— Let’s do this.
We’ll tell Sebastian that I need to put Alpha in order.
I’ll listen to everything he thinks
about my irresponsible attitude toward life.
And then we’ll go to the car dealership.
I turned to him.
— You’re not busy, are you?
He hesitated.
Just a little.
But it was enough.
I snapped instantly.
— I see.
— I… I was driving to a meeting.
— I see.
I got out.
And slammed the door so hard the sound disappeared into the snow.
He immediately rolled the window down.
— I’m sorry.
I showed him the middle finger.
— Go to hell.
And I walked forward.
Back straight.
Stilettos on asphalt.
Baton in hand.

Sebastian met me with eyes like marbles.
— Yes, darling.
I folded the fur coat and placed it into his arms.
Yes, Alpha is dead.
And I looked at him.
— Listen, where’s that kid?
— You mean Cayenne?
I licked my lips.
— God, how I like his name.
I’ll have to name my son that.
— Right…
Miss, he’s most likely in the garage.
— Call him.
— Yes.
I went upstairs, trying to slip past the dining room very quietly, almost soundlessly.
Nate — with a newspaper.
— Kitten.
Fuck.
— Yes… hi.
— Aren’t you going to kiss me?
— I, uh… um… I’ll just change first.
— Is it that urgent?
Or is there another reason?
— Aaaah… I howled.
That traitor Jonathan must have reported everything to him.
—I’m not guilty!
— Darling, — Nate looked at me strictly.
No, no, no — I got angry.
— Don’t make a child out of me.
Don’t you dare lecture me!
He exhaled.
— Kitten, we should have replaced it a long time ago.
It wasn’t pulling anymore.
Ten years is a lot for a car.
— Oh, piss off.
I ran up the stairs.
I was sick of all these “adults”.
I changed.
Pants with no pockets.
Everything in me was craving revenge.
Let them be tight — so Nate would get nervous.
And a thin cashmere sweater.
Stilettos.
— Hello.
Mike?
— Miss.
— Will you take me for a drive?
He hesitated.
I lost it — damn it, what the hell is happening today?!
I stormed downstairs, out of my mind with rage.
Nate, you snake.
He was standing by the exit — composed, handsome, impeccable.
— Darling, I’ll drive you myself.
I rolled my eyes.
— No. Get lost.
He pleaded.
— Come on, kitten, I was so worried about you.
— I’m not little, and I don’t like it when you don’t trust me,
as if I need to be controlled all the time.
— That’s not true, kitten.
— Ha.
— Come on, kitten…
The staff discreetly withdrew.
I was still standing there with my arms crossed over my chest and my lips puffed out.
— Well, my little mouse… — he stroked my waist and slid down to my hips.
I shoved him.
— No. Leave me alone.
He smiled.
— Darling, I honestly tried the nice way.
And he threw me over his shoulder.
I started drumming on his back.
— Nate, damn you! Let me go!
I was laughing and furious at the same time.
Nate pretended nothing required his attention, calmly took the keys from Sebastian.
— Um… could you open the door?
— Of course, sir.
And I was carried out of my own house without being asked.
…
In the garage, he lit up.
— Kitten, ready?
I snorted.
He pleaded again.
— My beloved little mouse…
I gave in a little.
— My kitty. My beloved, beloved…
And he rubbed his nose into my hair.
I melted.
Bastard.
He smiled even wider.
— Kitten, I love you so much.
And a tear rolled down my cheek.
He flinched, blinked, and pulled himself together.
— Darling, I’m sorry.
— It’s fine.
— We’re going.
— Of course.
He raised an eyebrow.
I was torn.
I wanted to go in the Phantom — the Rolls-Royce is for effect,
just to make people shudder more and ask fewer questions.
But he makes me sick; we only take him when we have to play by elite rules.
Nate pressed the button and the beast came alive — auto-heating.
Great. Problem solved.
We’re going in his beloved tuned BMW.
We pulled out of the garage.
I tried to breathe more calmly, but Nate at the wheel is in his element.
Already wild and hot, behind the wheel he became completely himself.
All his heat and darkness came to the surface,
and I was dying with desire for him.
He threw his head back, switching modes.
The gearbox came alive, submitting to power, authority, and its master.
He entered the highway.
Snow and black ice — perfect for his nature.
The car slid sideways.
The BMW growled but obeyed.
4x4 pulled perfectly.
Nate knows how to hold the reins.
I’m calm like a wolf.
I trust him.
I put on my lipstick.
Another turn — the BMW spun up the revs, lining up precisely,
speed exceeding normal limits.
Nate was focused.
And suddenly — Alpha.
They were towing him away.
— Damn it, stop!
I got out.
Then came back.
— Turn the car around, please.
Nate nodded.
In the rear-view mirror — a reflection.
A woman who lost a friend.
One tear.
He got out.
— Kitten…
His eyes were wet.
— Darling…
— Hey…
Aren’t you afraid of me?
I looked at him, not understanding what he meant.
— I don’t understand.
— When I’m in the dark, it’s hard for me to keep control.
Especially when we’re close.
— So? — I still didn’t understand.
— Kitten, you accept me in my darkness.
I spread my hands. I hate stupid questions.
— Of course. You know that.
And I bit my lip, remembering Nate’s strength and passion.
There was one time he lost control so badly he punched the wall.
I almost died — first from fear, then from desire.
That was probably the only time,
but he had an objective reason then.
I forbade him to touch me while I danced for him.
Mmm.
He smiled.
He knew I’d gone into memories.
— So—
I shook my head.
— No. I adore your darkness.
And suddenly my mood lifted.
He slapped my ass and we took each other’s hands.
Time for a new Alpha.
The engine roared.
Bass in the speakers.
Alright, first — Mercedes.
I have no idea why I need this boredom, but let’s see.
Cars spun on platforms, one more expensive than the next.
I yawned.
So boring.
— Manager: Miss, please follow me.
Holy shit, what is that?
Right there, perfectly arranged — charged, predatory machines.
— Wow… what’s this?
— These are racing Mercedes, miss.
I went cold.
I turned to Nate.
He swallowed.
— No.
I ran out of the building.
— No, damn it, no!
Nate followed.
— Kitten—
— Damn it, you should have told me!
And in the parking lot — the gleam of an S-Class.
— Damn it, and Jonathan too?!
— Nate!
You might as well have brought the boys too —
Matty, Roman, Philip — what, we’re already doing races?
We’ve lived long enough already!
I stomped my foot.
— Darling, darling… — he smiled, and I got even angrier.
— You’re so cute when you’re angry.
— Shut up!
How could you sign up for races without telling me?
— I didn’t—
He sighed.
— Darling, I thought you wouldn’t mind.
— Ha!
I was about to get into his BMW.
— Damn it, give me the keys!
— Darling… — he smiled again. — You won’t be able to drive it.
— Get lost!
He got behind the wheel.
— I’ll drive.
— No! — I screamed. — Get lost!
— I’ll drive, kitten. Don’t argue.
— Don’t you dare turn on the alpha!
I stomped my foot again.
I went up to Jonathan.
— Give me the keys.
He looked at Nate.
Nate shook his head no.
— Oh, I see.
Bastards.
— Fine. I’ll buy a new one right now, you damn assholes!
Nate came up again.
— Darling, I want to be close.
— Fuck off. That’s not for you to decide, got it?!
I lit another cigarette, all nervous and jerky.
— Kitten, but it’s not just up to you either—
— You bastard!
And I slapped him so hard he spat blood.
— Do it again, — Nate smiled.
My eyes went wide.
— Do it again, kitten.
I looked around, not even knowing whose support I was seeking.
I looked at Nate — his gaze was satisfied.
— Get lost. — I waved him off.
— Do it again, little mouse.
— What are you saying?! — I screamed. — Damn you, do you want a show in front of everyone?!
He rolled his shoulders.
And I hit him again.
He spat blood again.
I suddenly found it funny. What an idiot.
— Want more?
— If you want, I’m ready.
— What?
— Oh, you coward, you rag, you bastard—!
I stomped my feet in the snow.
For another second he was amused.
— Kitten, we’ll have to do this the hard way.
And he threw me over his shoulder again, like prey.
— Aaaaa! — I was pounding him with my fists as hard as I could.
He took me to my favorite restaurant,
and there he kept purring and purring
until I finally melted completely.
— What time are the races? — I asked casually, as if nothing had happened.
— At six.
— Nate, I don’t know… it’s still dangerous.
— Everything’s accounted for to the maximum. All the cars are fully equipped.
— I don’t know.
— Darling, let’s do it this way.
In the evening.
— Wait.
— Nate…
I sighed.
— Come on, Nazokat, you can handle it.
— Nate, I-I-I don’t want to castrate you. My decision isn’t the main one here.
If you need this, I’ll accept it.
And I licked the ice cream.
He swallowed.
— God, you’re impossible.
But the ice cream treacherously dripped between my breasts.
I wanted to wipe it with my finger and lick it.
But Nate grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me into the restroom.
— Oh my God, what an idiot.
I squealed.
— Darling, I just want to help.
— Of course… — I laughed.
He licked his lips again.
I took off my top and tried to wash off the drop.
But the drop slid so deep there were no options —
I had to take off the bra.
Nate rubbed his hands with pleasure.
— God, you’re not normal.
— Exactly.
Another second — he threw his head back and growled low.
His pupils darkened.
Oh no.
The darkness was breaking out.
— Hello, kitten.
I swallowed.

I tried to breathe — tuned BMWs are incredible —
but this is Nate’s territory.
Let’s move on.
Volvo.
Maserati.
And of course — Porsche.
Damn, none of it.
Nate turned around.
— Wait, — brain.
— Acknowledged.
— Darling?
— Hey…
— We need to wait a bit.
We sat down on a little couch. I flipped through a catalogue.
The ground shook — a truck pulled up.
A car carrier.
I turned around.
A second one.
I squealed.
— Damn — there he is.
The second one — shining black and endlessly mine.
Damn, it’s him. I knew the Alpha’s soul would choose a new place.
— Damn it, I’ll take this one.
— Miss, unfortunately the cars are order-only, — the manager appeared out of nowhere.
— Oh my God.
I flinched.
I blushed with anger and clenched my fists.
— Listen to me—
Nate intercepted me.
— Kitten…
— Damn it, Nate, don’t give him to them. That’s my car.
He nodded.
Nate and the manager went off to talk.
Twenty minutes later the paperwork was done, and I got behind the wheel.
— Ohhh… so this is what all that money is for.
And power.
How great it feels to get what you want — when you want it.
— How much did you pay for it?
He pretended not to hear.
— Whatever. Who cares about money, my friend.
I finally have—
And there I was, enjoying it… but wait.
This isn’t a Porsche.
It’s a Maserati. What?
How could I— I couldn’t be wrong. This is him.
But he’s not a Porsche?
— Hello.
— Oooo, hello.
The connection suddenly cleared. The engine growled.
I started crying again.
— Hi, my friend. I can’t believe you’re here.
— At your service, miss.
But I warn you — I’m a very cheeky guy now.
— Oof, I love those.
And I laughed.
— Kitten?
Nate tapped on the window.
— You’ll manage?
I shook my head.
— I don’t understand what these buttons are.
He smiled fondly.
I grimaced.
— Get lost, you shameless thing.
He got in and drove a lap, like he was born in this car,
then explained everything to me.
I’ll try not to panic.
After all, home isn’t far.
— Come on, baby, you can do it, — Hades.
I nodded to myself and tried to exhale.
Damn, how unfamiliar it is to be helpless.
— Right, — Mushu nodded.
I inhaled even deeper, and warmth stretched up from my lower belly.
Don’t forget — you’re a girl now.
You’re allowed not to understand, to panic, to worry.
The boys are here to support you.
Just trust them.
— Come on, Nazokat.
And I relaxed.
On the road, Nate drove ahead — he always leads.
I calmly followed behind.
Behind me — Jonathan.
And everyone was smiling.
We know the road like the back of our hand.
Ahead — almost ten kilometers of wide, straight road.
I’m glowing with confidence.
I’m sure the guys are smiling too.
I rolled the window down, gestured with my hand:
— Slow down. Pull over.
We lined up.
Hands on the wheel and on the gearbox.
Everyone except Jonathan has a manual.
Not that I hoped to beat the boys,
but I wanted to see the Maserati in action.
Engines running — oof.
The BMW jumps first.
Then the Maserati.
And finally the Mercedes.
The car is a beast.
That’s why I easily passed them both.
Though at some point I realized it was all too easy —
and I understood the boys wanted to lose, to give way.
That made me even happier, lifted my mood after the purchase
and the final reunion with my Alpha.
Everyone drove home on adrenaline and happiness.
The race.
The racers are getting ready.
Nate walks toward me.
I just brush it off — I can’t truly give my blessing.
He takes off his helmet.
— I’m not going to race.
— Well, there goes Nate, now without balls, — Hades.
I blush.
— Nate…
He kisses my forehead.
— Kitten, it’s okay. This is my decision.
— Are you sure?
He nods and wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.
We sit down in the stands.
I’m ridiculously happy.
— And still, you castrated him, — Mushu.
— Nope.
I stick my tongue out at them.
Be jealous. In silence.