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Chapter 1

"Rose, looking good," Mason smiles appreciatively, eyeing me from top to bottom. My lips twitch, holding back a laugh. I look down at my oversized hoodie and jeans and then back up, giving him a questioning look. "Come on, you look just about good in anything," he laughs in response. "Even in this big ass hoodie," he says, tugging on the strings.

I wrap an arm around his waist in a half hug. "You're sweet, Mase," I smile before letting go.

"Just calling it like I see it," he shrugs. "Come on. Now that you're here we can officially get this party started." With his arm around my shoulders, he guides me through the crowd of St Vladimir students, moroi and dhampir alike. I nod in greeting to other seniors as we pass and hug those closer to me.

A cup of coke is shoved into my hands. I take a whiff and smell the alcohol. "No thanks," I say, shoving the cup back to Mason.

"Oh, come on, Rose! You're no fun," Mason jokes. "A little won't kill you."

I shake my head. "I don't drink," I say, glancing over at Lissa, who's sitting on Christian's lap. Christian whispers something in her ear making her laugh before she takes a sip from her cup. I feel her contentment through our bond and I smile to myself.

Turning away, I jump up and take a seat on the desk. Mason follows my lead, seating himself beside me.

"Urgh, Psycho 3 at 11 o'clock," Mason grumbles. I look over at the three that have just entered: Jesse Reads, Mia Rinaldi and Ralph Clemens. They are senior novices like me.

Jesse Reads (the leader) walks through the crowd with a certain air of superiority. One look at that golden-haired tool makes me want to punch that smirk off his face. To think, in freshman year, I'd fallen for that dimpled smile and unsophisticated charm. I shudder at the thought. I eventually saw his true colours once he tried forcefully getting me to sleep with him. I smirk at the memory of shoving the heel of my hands to his nose and kneeing him in the balls. Neither one of us has seen eye to eye since.

Then there's Mia Rinaldi (the bitch). She's always been jealous of the fact that I was the best in our class. She's never come close to beating me during our match ups and she's one hell of a sore loser. Add to the fact she's always had a thing for Jesse, who in turn had a thing for me, certainly bruised her ego a bit.

Finally, we have Ralph Clemens (the follower). I had nothing against him personally, except for the undeniable fact that he had no individual thought in that minuscule brain of his whatsoever. Therefore, since the end of freshman year, he's been an arse towards me because Jesse's been an arse towards me.

They were aptly named the 'Psycho 3' after Mia Rinaldi had gone ballistic during a combat class the year before after losing a match up against another novice. That fight had determined the end of year grades, which were carried onto our final year. You see, if by the end of senior year, you are not in the top 10 percentile of your class you are unlikely to be placed at court to guard the royal moroi. Being a royal guard was a luxury. You got to live a lavish lifestyle during your hours or days off guard duty. The Psycho 3 would quite possibly kill to be in that position. I personally knew I'd be guarding Lissa – the last in the Dragomir line and my best friend. Besides, I was already at the top of my class so I didn't have much to worry about.

"Do you reckon Mia's screwing Jesse and Ralph?" Mason asks with a smirk.

"I don't reckon. I know she's screwing them both. Probably at the same time," I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly. Mason barks out a laugh. "See," I nudge Mason's shoulder, "look at the way Mia's grinding on Ralph but she's looking at Jesse while she does it." I shiver, disgusted.

"Holy shit," Mason whispers, "you're right!"

We talk some more and then hop off the desk to dance for a while. I laugh as Mason shows off his epically awful dance moves. Suddenly, I hear Lissa by my side, singing the latest Bruno Mars song to me. I wrap an arm around her and we sing together whilst giggling the whole while.

"Shit!" someone shouts. "Guards!"

The few seniors left at the party panic and start running for the door, leaving cups chaotically scattered in their wake.

I survey my options. Option number 1: through the door everyone is shuffling through right this second. This door leads to the dorm hallway and at the end of that hallway is likely to be a rushing surge of guardians cornering all the students. Option number 2: to the left of the room there's a door leading to the en suite. I know from previous knowledge that there is a small narrow window in there, too small to fit through. Option number 3: the window.

I run over to the window, which is already opened a crack. I push it out further and peer down at the very small ledge. Even further down, 3 floors down to be precise, are some very scraggly looking bushes. I internally wince at the thought of falling into those. I can hear voices growing louder as the guardians outside in the hallway corner my friends. My heart beats a little faster. I focus back on my escape. Okay, the ledge continues to the right and a few feet away I see the fire escape ladder. Bingo!

I place my right foot on the ledge, closely followed by my left foot. I stand up and place my palms and back to the building. "Holy shit!" I breathe, looking down. Don't look down! I scream internally. I feel the cool night air against my skin and have the horrible sensation of floating in the air, as if any moment I could plummet to my death. Ok, I had good enough reflexes that I knew I wouldn't die, but it would seriously hurt. I start shuffling excruciatingly slow to the right. I gulp. I can feel the back of my neck damp with sweat. Keep going, nearly there, I encourage myself.

After what feels like an hour, but was probably only a minute or so, I feel the cool metal of the fire escape ladder at the tips of my fingers. I grab onto the metal with one hand and swing my body onto the ladder. I let out a long breath that I hadn't known I'd been holding, relieved. After a few more seconds, I reach the bottom and jump the few short feet onto the damp grass.

I keep crouched and study my surroundings. Deadly quiet. I snigger to myself and pull my hood over my head. I stealthily walk over to the corner of the building and sneak a peek at the other side. There are two guards on duty, walking around the premises. I may have to camp out in the bushes until the coast is clear. "Damn," I whisper.

"Indeed," says a deep voice from behind me.

My entire body stiffens. Slowly I turn around. I am greeted by the one guardian I had most hoped not to come across. Guardian Belikov stands in front of me, in all his 6ft 6 glory, arms crossed at his chest, feet apart and looking every bit as badass as the stories go. My eyes reach his face to find his hard expression and brown eyes staring deep into mine.

"You know, I'd say it took you around 2 minutes to reach that fire escape," he says casually, but I am not fooled. I am going to have hell to pay for this act of rule breaking. "Your technique was good, your shoulders and back were straight against the building. What cost you was the number of times you kept looking down." I glare over at the offending window and ledge, realising to my great horror and embarrassment that Belikov had been watching the entire time. My cheeks burn at the thought. "I'd say you could've cut your time down to 30 seconds if you'd kept your focus."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind for next time," I can't help retort. Trust Belikov to give me pointers on the correct techniques of escape whilst reprimanding me.

He quirks his eyebrows. "That attitude of yours could also use a few adjustments."

"I respectfully disagree."

Lucky for me, he ignores my last retort and carries on. "You will write me a one-thousand-word report on the appropriate techniques of escape, referencing the Harbour's Method of Surveillance," he spouts, his tone very business-like. I drop my eyes to his shoulders, attempting to burn a hole through that black sweater of his. "You will also write me an additional 500 words," I splutter and attempt a retort but he continues over me, "on the importance of a school curfew and why rules must not be broken. Both to be due in by the end of the week. Meet me tomorrow at 6 before school."

"Why?" I ask stonily.

"You will run seven miles every day before the start of school for the rest of the week."

"What?" I shout. "Why? You're already making me do two reports! Why do I have to go running?!" Embarrassingly, I stamp my foot like a petulant five-year-old.

"Would you like to make it a two-thousand-word report and ten miles?" he replies unaffectedly. I clamp my mouth shut and decide a response is not required.