DISCLAIMER: Nope, I don't own any of 'em except for the ones I create. Richelle Mead's the goddess. I'm the wannabe 

I shivered into my fur skin coat, the icy wind biting my face as the dull stars lit up the arctic sky, the sun fading rapidly into the west. Spring came late up north. Siberia wasn't the vast and desolate ice berg I imagined it to be. Oh no, Greenland already won that throne, hands down. It was ironic in a way; the cold barely fazed me now. It was delightfully warm compared to the gaping hole of loss inside of me.

I wondered that after two months, this intel would actually not have me diving blindly into a cesspit of the undead. Sure, the locals at the native ice fishing village had been fervent about their claims about the "ice devils," in this area, as had the flight attendant before with the photographic memory who remembered a man matching His description boarding a plane for Greenland.

But still… Greenland?? What kind of monster hides out there? It's too desolate even for them.

Then again, what dhampir or Moroi alike would ever expect it? The winters were long with short days and extended nights, giving freedom of movement to said Strigoi. The nomadic folk that still lived this far north were widely regarded as notoriously superstitious and isolated, so their claims were written off as laughable. Not to mention that humans, no matter how frozen they are, still have blood. And what guardian would be crazy enough to track a Strigoi to an ice cube?

I grinned ruefully at that. Me.

Yes, Greenland was definitely a Strigoi safe zone. The only question was whether the crazy guardian would get out of this haven of the undead alive.

I crouched behind a snow bank, gripping the silver stake, my eyes fixed on the ice shelf cave in front of me. Two months spent hunting Him had given me a hell of a lot of Strigoi kills to add to my total, but the numbers hardly mattered to me now. It was all about survival. Primal, in a way.

Two months spent hunting Him. Two months of nights plagued with horribly familiar memories of us. But they always ended the same.

Icily handsome feature. Deathly pale skin. Soulless red eyes. And a blood chilling smile.

Two months with a promise unfulfilled.

I held back the hot tears of grieving rage and what was stolen from us.

"Control," I whispered. "Focus."

I turned my attention back to the cave entrance, now eagerly awaiting the battle sure to come after the sun vanished. I wanted blood-lust, battle-hunger, anything to thrust myself into. I needed to shake off my dangerously shattering emotions of grief, love, and hope.

It was my greatest fear. His warning. That when I saw Him, I would hesitate. A little flinch. An involuntary jerk of recognition. Enough to unhinge my cold exterior and bring out the love I still felt for Him, pressed beneath glass. And that was all it would take.

If anything could shatter the rough and hardened mask I had built up around me, it was love.

My fatal flaw. With only two outcomes, one being my death, which, to be honest, I wouldn't mind so much, the other I refused to think about. Besides, if I died right now I would be so pissed at myself for leaving so much unfinished. It was like an epic tragedy. In English I would always root for the badass villain. I hope that doesn't count against me now.

Finally. The sun vanished across the lonely landscape, but no Strigoi were emerging. Fine. They wouldn't have to come to Hell. Hell would go to them.

I vaguely realized the past months really had made me go beyond my usual recklessness and into the suicidal category.

But as long as my stake beat His fangs, I was happy.

*****************

I flashed a beaming smile at the nerdy looking clerk at the desk. He hurriedly straightened his glasses.

"Hello, Miss. Welcome to Missoula International Bank. How may I help you today?" he asked squeakily.

"I would like to make a withdraw, and I was just wondering if anyone," I emphasized, "could help me."

The clerk positively glowed, drooling a little bit, while I inwardly rejoiced. I had forgotten the effect I had on human men, and was glad that so far this hadn't been difficult. "Golly, sure!" he replied, blushing.

Golly? God, this guy had to be desperate. What decade was he living in, 1920?

Regardless, I gave him my name, flirting outrageously, and told him the account would be under Ivashkov. He informed me, in awe, that the account had an initial amount of five hundred thousand dollars, with bimonthly deposits of ten thousand, courtesy of the Ivashkov fortune. I cringed, my eyes widening. I knew that the Ivashkovs were a major royal power, but still. I couldn't believe that this wouldn't even register on their money scale as suspicious. What did Adrian think I was going to do, open a casino?

I got five thousand in hundreds, along with an exclusive ATM-like credit card. The clerk told me that I could get instant cash at any bank in the world around the clock. Sweet. If I had been in this situation before, I knew I would've giggled greedily at the thought of rolling in money. But that was a different time.

I asked the clerk, quietly, if he could keep this exchange secret from any who might come asking. He stuttered that the bank maintained a strictly confidential privacy, and that the Ivashkov account existed only off the books. I sighed, knowing that it wouldn't be any use against compulsion and the guy was couldn't lie for shit, but the only way for anyone to know if I had an account here was if Adrian told them. Surprisingly, my instincts told me that Adrian wouldn't say a word about my request. I thanked the clerk quickly, and swept out of the bank, ignoring, as I always did now, the hum of spirits. It seemed that they were always watching, but had given up on trying to get me to return to the realm of the dead. Or maybe they knew that I would return without their efforts. That my road to Him would end with Death. The thought crossed my mind that it was more than likely I wouldn't return here. That my eighteenth birthday was my last. It didn't really bother me.

*****************

I ran silently towards the cave, picking up the speed knowing that the more time spent meant the greater chance that my cover could get blown earlier. I crouched behind another snow bank, cursing my boots for crunching against the snow and also Greenland for having virtually no good scoping places. I surveyed the entrance to the lair once more, my eyes performing a routine solo sweep over the entire area. Clutching the silver stake with an iron grip, I darted the final yards in, preparing myself for the nausea sure to come before the fight.

And it hit me hard, too. I quickly staked a Strigoi from behind. He must've been young; he didn't see me coming, before turning quickly to cut down his partner before they could raise the alarm. I covered her mouth to smother her shriek as I whirled my stake into play. She died instantly. The nausea leaving me, I continued into the lair, zipping from side to side, all senses alert.

Turning the corner, I collided into a third, my sixth sense kicking in too late. It was déjà vu all over again. I vividly remembered seeing Him get caught by surprise that last time before it ended. It had haunted me for the past weeks, replaying the scene over and over in my head, agonizing over it with guilt, and wondering about His last thoughts. This time, I wasn't the screaming bystander. I got it full on as the star of the show.

The Strigoi wasn't Him, but the same red eyes and cruel grin faced me as we squared off. I knew I was dead dhampir walking; my movements were a tad off even as I tried to bring my stake into play.

It happened too fast for even my kick-ass ninja reflexes.

The Strigoi spun and kicked the stake out of my hand, and like a flash, he was on me. He pounced as I numbly came to the conclusion that this was how it would end for me. Rose Hathaway, drop-out novice, first very heart broken, then very dead.

Ever hear the phrase 'deer in the headlights?' That was me, and I didn't even have ghosts to blame it all on this time.

I struggled uselessly against the Strigoi, my hands groping for the stake that was just out of reach. He grinned cockily, knowing that he had won and flashed his fangs.

"I can see what Belikov meant." He whispered, his iron arm coming down on my wind pipe, choking me as I thrashed helplessly. "You're a fighter. Let's see how well you do against eternal night."

My heart literally stopped as I shuddered beneath his grasp. "Never!" I croaked, knowing the fear would show in my eyes.

The Strigoi grinned again, and brought his razor-sharp teeth down to meet my neck.