Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby
Chapter 95: A Taste of Pan-Asian Cuisine in Moscow

Chapter 95: A Taste of Pan-Asian Cuisine in Moscow

Eleanor’s shadow guards leapt into action the moment she gave the order. They began a quiet sweep of the hotel, checking every room, staff member, and registered guest. Within an hour, they compiled a comprehensive list of individuals carrying firearms or other weapons, catalogued by room number and identity. Once the sweep was complete, they handed the findings over to Eleanor, then retreated to a safe location more than half a mile away from the hotel. From there, they hired a taxi and returned to check into the hotel again... this time as Cassandra’s traveling companions.

Meanwhile, inside her suite, Eleanor worked tirelessly. She cross-checked the names from the guest list with national databases and dug into their personal and professional histories.

To her surprise, only one of them, Yury Solovyov... was carrying a licensed weapon: an MP-80-13T pistol. Yury was a veteran investigative journalist working for Novaya Gazeta, one of the few remaining independent news outlets in the country.

The rest were carrying illegal firearms.

Major (Retired) Artem Kuznetsov was found with a Glock 19. A former military man, he now operated as a private security consultant. Along with him, four others carried the same type of firearm. They were all ex-military, stationed around the suite of a man named Vladimir Egorov... a wealthy oil shipping tycoon. Vladimir himself had a Makarov PM in his possession. Eleanor concluded that the group likely formed his private security detail.

Elsewhere in the hotel, Pavel Antonov, a gemstone dealer, was found to be carrying a Walther PPK. Another man, Sergei Lebedev, listed as an antique dealer, had a Tokarev TT-33 tucked away in his room.

But the most interesting of them all was Anatoly Ignatov, a Regional Coordinator of the ruling United Russia Party. He was staying alone and kept a Stechkin APS under his pillow.

Aside from these, the remaining guests were normal humans... no supernatural presence, no weapons. Satisfied, Eleanor leaned back, switched off her tablet, and slipped it into her bag.

A faint presence behind the door caught her attention. Without turning, she said, "Come in."

Sebastian entered, bowed respectfully, and asked, "Ma’am, what are our orders for today?"

Eleanor glanced at the clock and shook her head. "Nothing for now. Rest first. I have a factory visit scheduled for tomorrow, so I won’t leave the hotel until then. But you have a mission tonight."

Sebastian straightened, attentive.

"I’ll give you a geolocation. You’ll need to investigate the area. I’m looking for a server facility. If you don’t find anything at the exact address, check the surrounding buildings. My guess is the server may be underground, so choose your team accordingly."

"Yes, ma’am," he said with a nod.

"Oh, and send Cassandra in on your way out."

A few minutes later, Cassandra knocked on the door and entered.

"Boss, you called me?"

"Yes. Did you receive my complete schedule from Teresa?"

"Not the complete version," Cassandra replied. "She sent over two confirmed appointments... one tomorrow morning at ten, and the second in the afternoon at three."

"I was told you’d finalize the rest of the appointments and set up the return schedule. Our plane must be ready to depart anytime the morning after tomorrow."

"Understood."

"I want you to contact both companies and confirm our arrival times. I’ll be bringing two guards with me. Ask the hotel to provide a rented SUV by tomorrow morning. No driver needed... Raphael will handle that. And inform the staff not to prepare the dining area for me tonight. I’ll have dinner in my room."

"Got it," Cassandra said, jotting notes on her phone.

Eleanor nodded, then dismissed her with a wave. Once the door closed behind her, Eleanor changed into a more comfortable outfit and sank into the luxurious bed. She dialled Selene’s number, intending to speak to Freya... but it was Ethan who answered.

Surprised, they chatted for a few minutes. He updated her on his preparations for the upcoming duel, while she shared a bit about her current living situation. When Freya finally got on the line, Eleanor’s face softened. They spoke until a knock came at the door.

Eleanor walked over and opened it to find Cassandra standing with a hotel staff member.

"Boss," Cassandra said, "the menu options were quite broad, so I brought him here."

"Alright." Eleanor took the menu and studied it with a raised brow.

To her delight, the hotel offered an extensive selection of Pan-Asian cuisine. After a few moments, she pointed at the items she wanted.

"I’ll have spicy coconut milk soup with shrimp wontons, half a Peking duck with pancakes, cucumber, and hoisin sauce... and tiramisu with green matcha for dessert."

The staff member entered the selections into his tablet silently.

She continued, "For tomorrow morning, croissant with Tom Yam shrimp and fried eggs, seasonal fruit platter, and tea."

Once that was noted down, she added, "And send a bottle of Beluga Gold Line Vodka to my room now, along with a Sichuan chicken platter."

The staff bowed slightly, understanding the unspoken dismissal.

Turning to Cassandra, Eleanor said, "Everyone can order what they like, but limit the alcohol. Tell the team to eat early and rest... we have a packed schedule tomorrow."

"Understood, Boss."

As Cassandra departed, Eleanor moved to the table and opened her laptop. There were several reports and applications waiting for her approval. She sipped water and began to work, determined to clear her desk before the vodka arrived.

***

The Black Castle stood amongst mountains as a testament to time... a fusion of ancient Russian aristocracy and surreal opulence. The gilded cornices and carved oak panels whispered of long-dead dynasties, while jewel-toned lighting washed the hallways in a theatrical glow.

In a large room at the top of the castle, chandeliers like frozen galaxies cast soft radiance over imperial-patterned marble floors. A throne-like sofa of crimson velvet and brass studding cradled a man who looked as if sculpted by gods.

He lounged with decadent ease... regal, seductive, and dangerous. Tousled raven-black hair framed a face too perfect for this age. His eyes... glacial blue, almost metallic, shone with the unnatural sheen of the immortal.

He wore a silk-black shirt, open at the chest to expose the smooth gleam of his collarbone, and tailored trousers stitched from history itself. The room seemed to orbit around him, air bending as if even the elements paid him tribute.

The door creaked open, and a pale-skinned man entered. Without hesitation, he fell to one knee in a display of reverence... a ritual as old as the blood that ran in his veins.

"Speak," the reclining figure said without moving his eyes from his phone.

"My Lord," came the calm voice of kneeling Dimitry Petrov, eyes lowered, "Eleanor Elizabeth Raynor has arrived in Moscow. She passed immigration under her real name a few hours ago."