The idea behind this fic is to give a certain depth to Cassie's relationship with Mircea, which in my opinion is neglected in the books, especially when compared with all the Cassie/Pritkin scenes. I wanted to explore their bond and see where they could take things, because I totally find Mircea a valid love interest for Cassie - even though the recent books seem to have taken a distinct Pritkin direction. So like many others, I've also wondered what the Cassie/Mircea relationship could be like, given the chance. This is my take on trying to find out. Timeline is somewhere after Hunt the Moon.

The Cassandra Palmer universe and all characters are the intellectual property of Karen Chance.

That vamp was so gonna get it.

I'm usually all nice and friendly; I prefer minding my own business – most of the time, anyhow – and rarely have uncontrollable fits of violence. But if that miserable piece of undead meat wasn't going to move it, I was about to shift his sorry ass out into the Nevada desert. Where he could take up that attitude of his with the scorching rays of the sun and the carrion picking away the flesh from the bones lying scattered all over those hellish flats of sand.

Then again, I wouldn't do that, given that I'm not really a bad person. Well, opinions about that may vary, depending on who you ask – I may be a disgraceful, irritating shrew according to the Circle, or an infantile, ill-tempered disaster, if you were to ask the Senate. Not that you should believe a word of those two good-for-nothing manipulative excuses of supposedly respected supernatural organizations, anyway.

In all honesty, I'm just an ordinary girl with ordinary needs and ordinary wants. One who is trying; really, really trying her best not to grate on everybody's nerves. I probably wasn't trying hard enough, judging from the reddish hue of the vamp's face in front of me. Which was - after all - pretty impressive, if you consider his being a vampire; you know, the dead, no-circulation kind of vampire, who usually have too little blood in their system to even get a healthy tone to their skin, let alone have their whole face turn crimson from fury. And that from merely talking to me. Oh boy, I had to be doing something right.

"I'm here to see Lord Mircea," I repeated for what seemed to me like the hundredth time. Again, all I got in response was a pissed-off amber gaze and a flare of undead nostrils, which on top of it all, had started quivering slightly.

Clearly I had an innate talent for getting on people's nerves.

So I just smiled and tried covering my annoyance with good manners by adding a 'Please,' dripping with sugar-coated bile. Clearly my personal, robust roadblock of a doorman was not moved by my fake pleas, for he continued to bar my way past the massive double doors leading to where I hoped I would find his Master. I sighed.

"Look, I don't have the time for this." Which even I admit was ironic, coming from the Pythia, but I wasn't feeling very patient right then. His master and I had some issues to address. We were going to discuss them immediately, and I was absolutely not about to be intimidated by the first hulking vampire bouncer he put in my way. Or even the third, if we count the two in front of the elevator downstairs that I slipped past with the help of a certain incorporeal friend of mine.

"I'm sure Lord Big Bad Master Vampire Basarab can handle a young, unarmed woman like myself," and oh boy, you had no idea, "so why don't you just turn a blind eye for me this time and let me talk to the great man?"

"The Master sees no one," came the reserved response from the stubborn waste of blood ahead. His tone as he grated that, though, was pretty calm – considering I had been driving him nuts for about half an hour – which brought me to the conclusion that I could push my luck a little more.

"So the Master might have said, but he hadn't known I'd be coming to meet him, and I'm sure he wouldn't mind seeing me under any circumstance." That got me a glare that let me know exactly under what circumstances Mr. Tough Muscle wouldn't mind seeing me; the unveiled irritation radiating from his towering frame suggested it would involve a lot less talking and a lot more dying on my part.

"So, I suppose you won't just let me in?" I pressed on, and yes, my sense of self-preservation has all but evaporated since I became Pythia.

"No." On to my next attempt, and speaking of which...

"But I'm the Pythia. Surely Lord Mircea would grant me an audience."

"No."

"No, he wouldn't grant me an audience, or no, I'm not the Pythia?" I actually thought I heard the crack of a bone as my nemesis clenched his jaw and grit his teeth.

"Okay, I see that you don't believe me, so why don't you go and ask him yourself?" He closed his eyes, his muscles still tense, his hands balled into fists. Just one more try and then I'd sound the retreat.

"Well, since you won't let me in, at least go and ask him why you're not supposed to be letting me in to start with-" I trailed off awkwardly, for I suddenly felt all my breath knocked out of me, although the vamp hadn't even hit me. All he did – all he had to do – was open his eyes. And staring into those deep amber depths I came to the realization that I had been facing a master.

All that nagging him suddenly didn't seem such a clever move in retrospect.

I heard my inner self scream at me to backpedal and disappear through the nickel doors of the elevator behind me, but I found myself stunned by the swirling colours around the pitch black of his pupils.

"I said the Master receives no one," I felt a strong, ice-cold grip wrap around my wrist as the words edged with menace slithered around my mind. "And I shall make sure no one will bother him." My sight was becoming dim from a growing, tenebrous fog encompassing my field of vision. It seemed to be emanating from the creature in front of me, who held me pinned by more than just the bulging muscles of his arms he had steadily fastened around my hands. The more I felt the magnitude of his mind pressing against my consciousness, the less I perceived from my surroundings; the ring of darkness I saw became thicker, the faint sounds of the operating elevator cars grew weaker, I lost more and more of myself in that burning golden light. Golden light that inadvertently called forth an intense memory from the last scraps of my wits. A memory involving a pair of golden eyes, with their amber fire blazing at me.

Mircea.

I no longer saw my captor, my senses finally succumbing to the power of this vampire so ancient, my power rattled with the weight of his age. The last image that flitted across my subconscious was of that intense, auric glow that I'd seen before, in the playful, intense gaze of someone I knew, but couldn't quite recall...

Mircea.

Mircea? Just a name, a mere echo floating up from the depths of my mind, but on the heels of that one thought followed a spark of recognition. It flared up within me and with it came an influx of blazing energy, that filled my body to the brim.

The change was shocking.

No longer was I suffocating under the dark, unrelenting mist, but was enveloped by a potent tide that rose up and propelled me towards the surface, towards clarity. I gasped as the pounding torrent flared against the master's hold on my mind, the new-found power in me rising higher and higher.

And with a jolt, I broke free.

I came to shaking on my hands and knees in front of a vampire who seemed not as much frightening or overwhelming, as he looked rattled and a little shaken. Then again, that was probably because I was no longer his mental captive. An experience like that ought to make everything more terrifying than they usually are. The experience of being stripped of my will, of my mind, everything that made me me, until I no longer thought, no longer felt, just sank into a smothering nothingness that unmade me with every draw of its tight mass of power.

The feeling was so raw and unnerving still that I let out a shaky breath and tried to regain my focus by concentrating on my physical condition, rather than on my inner turmoil. Maybe I'd have more luck there, for few things could possibly be worse than my emotional state.

Trying to find a point of focus, I took my time admiring the texture of the rug between my fingers; tracing the fine red strands of velvet that composed the carpet, which ran along the long elegant corridor in front of Mircea's suite. When I felt like the crimson fabric wouldn't slide from underneath me, I slowly sat back on my heels and looked up at my companion, who had stood eerily still the entire time I slowly regained my wits.

Even though I hadn't been able pick up all the details in his change in appearance during that brief glance earlier, I did now, and he definitely looked fazed. He was slumping against the heavy oak of the masterpiece of a doorway he had been guarding, his brown hair fading into the carved ornaments connecting its panels. He was also clutching his arms oddly, and seemed to avoid my gaze completely, having fixated it on an invisible point somewhere past the stucco of the ceiling. I admit the floral motifs were pretty nice, but I didn't think knock off Italian interior design would merit such attention.

Other than that, he showed no sign of what came to pass between us mere minutes ago; his simple black suit was still immaculate, and his face bore the pleasant no-emotion expression it had had before I showed up and blew his strong self-control straight out the window.

As a mental note to myself for future reference, I ought to refrain from doing that on a regular basis. It might be bad for my health.

When I finally managed to stand up, shuffling my legs under me, I had to brace my hands against the soft wallpaper on the wall of the corridor. He made no move to stop me, or even indicate that he had saw me, so I assumed the danger was over. As if the soft lingering currents of Mircea's power weren't enough reminder to clue me in that I probably wasn't going to be thrown out by his bouncers. At least for now.

After finally managing to gather my marbles, I cleared my throat.

"So, am I allowed to go in?" I asked, being immensely pleased with myself that I didn't sound as bad as what I felt like.

My question was met with silence, which annoyed me slightly. Though obviously not nearly as much as having my mind taken over by a pissed-off master vampire.

I should probably have expected the doorman at the personal rooms of Lord Mircea Basarab to be no mere fledgling; but still, even though he was a Senator, and we were at war, I found placing an antediluvian to guard a foyer just excessive.

While waiting for his response, I took the time to meditate on my new pal. Not like I had anything else to do, anyway. Having had a run-in with his powers from way closer than I would have liked, I guessed him to be over eight hundred years old, because Mircea himself had lived past his 500th birthday years before I was born, and he had never felt that old to me.

Then again, if he had felt like an old man to me, I wouldn't have been there trying to speak with him about our personal life in the first place.

My inner musings were interrupted by a sudden 'Not yet' coming from the vamp before me, which cut through the silence so hard that it startled me.

Not yet? I hoped he was joking.

He rose, and came to me with the glide of a centuries-old predator. He had be one of the masters Marco had told me about - older than dirt, but not powerful enough to allow them to live without domination by another. Not that I thought this one lacked anything in the power department, and if it weren't for the wall behind me, I would have taken a step back as a precaution. But he just dropped to one knee in front of me, and bowed his head.

Okay, that was new.

"I humbly beg for your forgiveness, my lady."

Okay, that was very new.

"I was not aware of the severity of my actions. Although my offense against you is grave, I would be eternally grateful if you could find the kindness of heart to forgive me. On the other hand, I shall offer myself to you for punishment, as a rightful penalty for my wrongdoing, if you see fit." Well, colour me dumbstruck.

"Uhm," I managed to squeeze out intelligently. Yep, that's me, Cassandra Palmer, reigning Pythia and queen of apt replies. Sometimes I wonder how I had even got this far.

"Ahem, thanks I guess..." He looked at me expectantly with a very serious expression on his face. "So, can I go in now?" He closed his eyes and bowed his head in response. And all right, I suppose we really had exhausted that topic already.

We were saved from further awkwardness by the chiming 'ding' of the elevator. I turned my back towards the interruption in panic, expecting to see some hotel guests which pressed the wrong one out of the elevator's couple of dozen buttons. We really didn't need any more drama; Dante's had had loads of that already during the past couple of months. But the figures the two polished sliding doors revealed were to my new-found horror not gentle, naive geriatric couples, or confused-irritated families on vacation. I wished they were, but of course I had no such luck.

"Oh hi, Marco!" I said in my most authentic fake cheerful voice, as I faced a very vampire, very pissed-off, very hairy neckline, but only because I didn't dare look him in the eye.

"Hi. Hi, she says, HI!", I cringed at his tone, but I guess I'd be pissed off at me too, if I were him, just having returned from a ghost-hunt which turned out to be a false alarm in the end - but apparently not before getting him and his companion wet, dirty, tired, and covered in something green and foul-smelling. I'd have a talk with Billy about the efficiency of his 'distractions' later.

"I just wanted to talk to Mircea. He and I, uh, have things to discuss." Even to me, that sounded lame.

"Oh, I know all about it," Marco growled at me. I wondered briefly where he could have known it from, for all I knew, no one would have been able to tell him. "Especially since you and your little stunt managed to ruin my entire shift," right, especially with his being occupied by a certain ethereal cowboy, "by making us chase after a flipping GHOST!" And yeah, the f-word he used might have been a bit harsher than flipping, too.

I had wanted to come up with an excuse for thoroughly messing up his whole afternoon, but I don't suppose he would have bought whatever I would have tried to sell, anyway. I contemplated explaining to him how I hadn't planned on all those details happening, but taking one look at his aggravated expression, I gave up.

Plus, what I had planned didn't involve Marco and the other guard being back so soon, or actually finding me; then again, it didn't involve getting my mind taken over by the last guard on my way in, either. And yet here we were. So much for planning ahead.

Instead of getting the thorough scolding I had braced myself for, Marco fell silent, the only sound being the short, angry huffs of his breath leaving his heaving chest. Startled, I looked up and saw that the other vamps, too, froze motionless with a solemn expression and an elevated gaze, as if attending some invisible presence.

Oh damn, I suspected foul play now. My stomach started to sink as a thought occurred to me on who exactly could have known to interfere, and where Marco might have gotten the newsflash from, but my mind refused to accept the suddenly very probable notion of him finding out about all that transpired here before I even had the chance to meet him. Because boy, did that mean trouble.

I watched in dread as my suspicions were confirmed when Marco stepped to the door. The two giant doors I had wanted to get through so much earlier, but didn't really feel like braving anymore. I watched in trepidation as my 'bodyguard' grabbed the polished doorknobs and twisted them, yanking open the thick board of wood with so much force the frame rattled.

I suddenly didn't want to go past that doorway and meet its owner; I knew I had wanted to, but that was before I tricked two of his assigned guards, snuck my way to his threshold and got overwhelmed by another one of his guards. And no matter how I looked at that, that spelled t-r-o-u-b-l-e. I gave an enervated sigh.

It was unbelievable how he and I could never find any time to ourselves to sort our things out. Our scarce meetings always seemed to involve a bigger audience than I would have liked, more life-or-death situations than I could bear, and a lot more disasters than were statistically possible. And okay, most of those might be my fault. Our stolen moments – because with his work and my training, the brief hours we had to ourselves couldn't be considered quality time – always revolved around strategy, politics, danger and trouble. The former two due to my being the Pythia. The latter due to my being me.

I would have just stood there, with the three vampires standing immobile and gazing intently at me, if our predicament wouldn't have been instantly resolved by a strong voice calling out from behind the now open door. Even though the single word that voice uttered had been innocent, it made my skin tighten with goosebumps and a shiver run down my spine. That single word he uttered sliced through the silence like a command, resonated through me like a claim, hung in the air like an invitation, daring me to answer it. There was a reason I was anxious to face him. That's what he did to me, and all he had to do was say one word.

Even if I hadn't recognized that all-too familiar baritone, the obedient expressions on all the vamps' faces would have clued me right in on who exactly was running the show now. They stayed motionless, waiting for the silly little fly to walk into the web of the spider it longed to see. Waiting for the servant to attend their master. The thought alone made me shudder, but I wasn't deluding myself. Our relationship would probably never be normal; we would never be just a man and a woman, which was sort of understandable. Lord Basarab, Chief Negotiator of the Senate, professional diplomat, first-class manipulator and the Master of a strong line of vamps was so much more than a man. But I was also the Pythia, heir to the power of Apollo and Artemis, the Head Seer of the supernatural community. I was Cassie Palmer and hell be damned if I turn back from a challenge.

I supposed there really was no point in turning back -literally- one doorstep away from my goal. I would face him, and I would talk to him and finally get a main aspect of my life back in order. Even if I were to give in to my reservations about this, my boldness from earlier this afternoon having evaporated, I wanted this. There was no use in delaying the confrontation.

"Dulceaţă?," came that voice again. I sighed. Plus, Mircea wasn't the particularly patient type either. Or maybe that was part of my charm.

So I braved myself and took that last step to the entrance of his domain, and stepped through the door. After me the deluge.

This fic was beta-read by JustSayNoToPants and Freedomflyer, who both helped greatly in improving the quality of the writing. I'm grateful for both their help, which allowed me to present the fic in its current state.