When Savva returned to the room carrying a tray overflowing with food, Mikhail was sitting at the small table waiting for him. Carefully setting the tray on the table, he studied the other man with a critical eye. Tanner looked noticeably different from the stringy haired, scraggly faced creature that he'd first met. The heat of the shower had given his skin a rosy, healthy glow, and Savva was pleased to see that he'd made an effort to shave and comb his hair. Unfortunately, his eyes betrayed the inner turmoil that was raging within him. All the dark, fathomless pain he felt was still on display for the world to see.

"Tell me about my Sonya. How bad is she?"

"First you must eat, sir. You must keep your strength up. Your Sonya would be very upset with me if I did not look after you."

"Let me guess—you're not going to tell me anything unless I comply, right?" Mikhail stared at the older man with a menacing expression.

Savva inclined his head in agreement, reaching down to take one of the steaming cups of coffee before pushing the tray gently across the table. With a muttered curse Tanner picked up a sandwich, biting into it almost savagely as he glared across the table.

Savva blew into the cup, trying to cool the contents. "Tell me, what is her favorite flower?"

Tanner stopped mid-bite. "What?"

"Flowers. What are your Sonya's favorites?"

"Sunflowers. Why?"

Reaching into his interior jacket pocket, Savva produced a small, battered notepad and pen. Jotting something down, he gave Mikhail a sad smile. "When my… Sofiya struggled, sometimes being around things that she had always loved… it helped to keep her grounded in reality. I am hoping the same thing will help Madam Karp."

"Why are you doing this? What exactly is your game, Luzhkov?" Mikhail's voice was laced with suspicion.

"I have read the reports. She is a good woman. She does not deserve this. No one does. This illness of the mind she has… It is a terrible thing."

"No one is as thoughtful as you're making yourself appear to be. I ask again, what do you have to gain by helping her? Maybe you hope to win her trust… her gratitude. Maybe you plan to take advantage of her since you have easy access to a defenseless woman!"

Savva frowned, feeling the faint burn of anger in his stomach. "Speak plainly boy—do not sugar coat your words. You think… you insinuate that I would…how do you say—have my way with her? Force intimacies on her?" He watched the other man, his anger growing at an alarming rate as he considered the demeaning assumption. "You do me a grave disservice. I have been with one woman in my life and I will not change that. I have seen the horror of rape firsthand—Moroi scum ravaged my woman and that is what led to her—" He broke off, setting his cup down and shoving his chair away from the table. His breath was coming in quick, hard bursts, his nostrils flaring as he struggled to control himself. "You insult someone who only seeks to aide you."

Tanner looked away. "I'm sorry. I just don't understand. I don't—"

Savva cut him off. "What is so hard to comprehend, boy? That there is goodness in the world? That perhaps some people care more about doing what is decent and right than following the rules? That a man can put the needs of someone in pain over all else? If that is the case, I pity you greatly. There is good in the world, Mikhail Tanner, but you have to be open to it."

Mikhail sat in silence, head tilted back and eyes closed. A single tear ran down his cheek, and he wiped at it before speaking. "Blue."

"Pardon?" Savva arched a dark eyebrow, confused.

"She loves the color blue. And waltz music. Obscure Russian poets." Picking up the half eaten sandwich, he studied it. "She loves chocolate, and gardens. Dancing in a warm spring rain. Reading. Children."

The gut wrenching anger vanished instantly, washed away as a wave of empathy filled him. He could feel the other man's intense sorrow as if it were his own. It was a gift he'd had since childhood, one he'd inherited from his mother's family. She came from a long line of prophets and seers, healers and telepaths. He'd thought that perhaps he was able to soothe and calm Sofiya so easily because he could sense her feelings. But this… never before had he shared so intensely. Perhaps it was because he knew these emotions on a personal level. He'd lived with them for fourteen years, ever since he'd lost her. He struggled to overcome the feelings—knowing he needed to comfort the man in front of him, lest he lose control of his own never-ending grief.

"And you." Savva said, reaching across the table and clasping his hand on Mikhail's shoulder. She loves you."

"I love her so much. I hope she knows that. I was going to propose the night they took her."

"She knows, Misha. She wanted me to tell you that she was sorry she couldn't control it. She asks for you constantly."

Tanner gazed at him with bleary, half dead eyes. "That's what she calls me. Misha. Is there any way you could… Any way to get me in there? I must see her, Savva. I have to tell her how much she means to me, before it's too late."

Savva sighed, dropping his hand to the table. He splayed his fingers against the surface, studying the scattering of scars across the back of his broad hand. "Perhaps in time, I can think of something, but right now—it is impossible. I'm sorry. I have a high clearance level, for a guardian, but granting her visitors… that is not in my power. The warden… he would not allow it. He is a cold man." He looked up, meeting Tanner's gaze head on. "I wish I could do more for you. I am truly sorry that I cannot sneak you in."

"Don't be. You're risking a lot just by being here." Mikhail took another bite of the sandwich, his expression contemplative. "It's strange, but your words… they give me hope that somehow this will all work out. Knowing that you'll help me… Why is that? Why do I feel like I can trust you?"

"Because something in you recognizes that we are the same, you and I. We would both go to hell and back for someone we love. Your Sonya… she is so like Sofiya. She could be her daughter. I look at her and I see what could have been, had my love not been taken away. Our daughter…" His voice broke, and for the first time in years, Savva gave into his grief in front of another living being. It was as he'd feared—when Tanner's strong emotions had danced through the room, they'd opened up the wounds he had deep within him, wounds that never really healed, effectively ripping the scabs off and leaving his insides raw and bleeding. "Sofiya was pregnant when they raped her. I had been sent on a trip to enlist future novices, starting at Koryakskiy and working my way southward, back to Saint Basil's, village by village. The bastards knew I would be gone for at least a month, leaving her unprotected for the first time in her life. They took her captive and violated her in the cruelest ways imaginable. They'd always mocked us, the Badica princess and her dhampir lover— they called me her guard dog. She cried in my arms and told me that she called out for me again and again, begging me to save her, and those fine, upstanding Moroi lords taunted her, asking why her dog did not come when she called out for him." He collapsed his head down onto his arms, resting against the table, grappling with the grief that lived within his soul.

"I'm sorry, Savva. So sorry." Mikhail watched the older dhampirs shoulders shake as sobs racked his large, stocky body. "If you need to get it out—to talk about it—I'm here. I'll listen."

Savva sat up abruptly, scrubbing at his face with his palms , his breathing hitched and shaky as he conquered his anguish. "Not now. I cannot do it now. In time… maybe. But now…" Closing his eyes he concentrated, struggling to clamp down the mental walls that held his emotions at bay. "Now we need to concentrate on those that can be helped. Sofiya is gone. Sonya is not. We must save her."

Once he had completely calmed, they talked a bit more about little things that might help him keep Sonya sane. Savva made notes in his ragged notepad, then compiled a list of things he would need. Finally, he pulled out a small camera and snapped several pictures of Tanner, even one of him holding out the small box containing the ring he had purchased for his love.

"I will be leaving in the morning, Misha." Savva shoved the camera back in his pocket, offering the man his hand. "I would like you to write her a letter tonight. I will pick it up before I go."

Tanner stared at the outstretched hand and ignored it, pulling the larger man into a fierce embrace. "Thank you. I owe you so much for this, Savva. You have no idea how much this means to me."

Extracting himself, Savva gave a sad smile. "I do know, Misha. Letters from Sofiya were the one bright spot in my life, after she… Well, eventually they stopped coming. Still, every day when I check the mail, I hope to find one waiting for me."

Mikhail gaped at him, his confusion apparent. "But… I thought she was dead?"

Savva paused at the door, his broad shoulders stiffening as his body tensed. Not turning to look at Mikhail, his answer came out sounding like a low, threatening growl. "She is. But still… I can't stop waiting… hoping that somehow, things will turn out differently. It is similar to reading a favorite cherished book that has a tragic ending. Each time you re-read it, you pray for the hero to save the maiden, knowing it does not happen in the end. Hope springs eternal, Misha, even when dealing with a cause that has been completely lost."

Shutting the door quietly behind him, he made his way back to his borrowed room, deep in thought. He regretted losing control in front of Tanner. All his life, he had ruled over his emotions—except where Sofiya was concerned. Simply the thought of her shattered the carefully constructed walls he had spent so many years building.

He knew that tonight he would relive everything he had disclosed to Mikhail, his words fueling the images that would invade his sleeping mind. As always, it would start out with complete blissful happiness. That would change, all too soon, into complete and total horror.

He collapsed on the narrow bed, a fresh wave of agony and desolation tearing through his soul. As dawn peeked over the horizon, Savva Luzhkov cried himself to sleep in the manner of a small child that missed his mother and was stranded, far away from home. Sofiya was waiting for him in his dreams, just as sweet and beautiful as she had been on that horrible long ago night, fourteen years in the past.

Her pregnancy had not been planned, but that did not make it unwelcome. They were still unwed, but that would change soon enough—her eighteenth birthday was only seven months away. Every day he woke smiling, kissing the still flat stomach of the woman he loved, reveling in the fact that growing within her was a tiny testament to their passion and complete devotion to each other.

They bantered over names for days, finally settling on Katya for a girl and Maksim if it were a boy. Both names came from her family, and it pleased her greatly that he wanted their child to carry on her families traditions. He didn't really care if the child had a Badica name, as long as the child and his Sofiya were healthy.

The wealth and power of her family were so great that they were given a small cottage on the school grounds to use as their own. Even though she was still a student, the headmaster granted her permission to move out of her dormitory—an unprecedented occurrence that caused quite the scandal. As always, they ignored the whispers and pointed glances, wrapped in a bubble of happiness that no one could invade.

Sofiya decorated the small cottage with love, creating a cozy home for them that was beyond his wildest fantasies. He would sit and watch her as she attempted to knit small things for their unborn babe, the firelight reflecting off her long, dark hair and making it shine. Always she would catch him staring and reward him with her beautiful smile—a smile he could never resist. So many nights her smile resulted in the frantic removal of clothing as their bodies sprawled before the fire, joining together in a dance as old as time itself. They were happy. So very, very happy.

She was four months pregnant when he received the order to travel all the way to Koryakskiy. He argued with his superiors, stating he could not leave her side. They insisted he go, claiming that as the newest, youngest member of the schools guardian ranks, it was his duty to go among the villages and communes, convincing the parents that resided there to sign their offspring up for the Academy. It disgusted him—the mere thought of convincing young, impressionable dhampirs to sign away their children's lives to the Moroi left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was bad enough that so many parents enrolled their children as soon as they could walk, but to be the one convincing them to do it? He could not bear it. He would rather quit the ranks and lose his title than partake in enslaving children into a future they may not want. Not even Sofiya could understand his feelings.

"Savva, I thought you liked being a guardian." Her hands were weaving through his hair as his head rested in her lap. He had just finished a thirty-minute rant, damning the ruling council to hell for crimes against his people.

He sighed, capturing her hand and gently kissing her palm. "I do, my love. But it was not my choice. My mother signed me up for the academy the summer I met you. Children… they should be allowed to choose what they want to be. We are not slaves or indentured servants, no matter what the Moroi think."

"But—"

"The way they treat us, Sofochka… It is servitude, pure and simple. A type of… debt bondage. Only instead of holding money over our head, they hold the fact that dhampirs cannot breed together. They know we do not want our race to die out, so they pull our strings like puppet masters."

"So you don't want to be a guardian." Her voice betrayed her confusion.

He sat up, pulling her to his side. "Yes, I do. I would have signed up for the academy, because I want to protect others… to protect you. But I do not agree that it should be demanded of dhampirs. I do not agree that it is their duty to serve the Moroi. It should be their choice. Our children should not have it drummed into their heads from infant hood as the only acceptable choice."

"So tell them that—the dhampir parents. Go on this trip and please the council, but use it as an opportunity to share your views with your people." She cuddled against him, her head in the crook of his neck. "I am proud of you, Savva, for standing up for what you feel is right. Maybe you can convince others to share your beliefs—it would change our world for the better."

Her wise words convinced him, and a few days later he bid her goodbye. Their parting was tearful, to say the least. It would be the longest separation they had ever experienced, the first time in eleven years that they did not see each other every single day. To most, a month apart would seem like nothing in the grand span of life, nut to Savva, it was agony. Every day felt like a month—by the time his trip was nearing its end, he was frantic to see her. To hear her voice and kiss her soft lips as he held her in his arms—those were the things he dreamed of each night in his cold and lonely rented beds.

His trip was almost over when it happened. He had only two more communes to visit, having worked his way down from the far north, where the cold wind chilled his bones and the snow had numbed his poor, tired feet. Why they had mapped out such a ridiculous course was beyond him. Instead of scheduling his visits by lining the villages up on a map, sometimes he found himself backtracking, driving hours out of his way to visit a commune that he'd passed the day before. Still, he did it, following the schedule his superiors had mapped out—although he did allow himself the freedom to mutter about their idiocy in the privacy of his vehicle while driving from place to place.

His vehicle broke down before he reached his next destination—luckily it was within walking distance. Luckier still, he had an aunt who resided in this commune, so there was a place for him to stay while he waited for the dilapidated car to be repaired. Within a few hours he was sitting in a cozy, comforting kitchen, devouring a warm bowl of porridge.

His beloved aunt—whom he had not seen in years—was out, but her daughter had welcomed him with open arms, calling and arranging to have his car towed as soon as she had him settled at the table. They made pleasant small talk, catching up on what had happened in the years since they'd last seen each other face to face. Since leaving the academy she'd had three fine children, two lovely daughters and a handsome, strong looking boy. The later watched him with large, fascinated dark eyes and a solemn expression on his young face.

"How old are you, little man," he asked, smiling at the boy.

"Seven."

"Seven going on fifty," the boys mother replied, ruffling the child's hair as she stood, taking Savva's bowl to the stove and refilling it. "He is such a quiet child—never any trouble. He is almost too serious for his own good."

Savva nodded his thanks as he accepted the bowl. "You are big for your age. I thought you were perhaps ten or eleven."

The boys lips lifted in a small smile as he shrugged his shoulders. Savva returned the smile, studying his young second cousin with appraising eyes. The boy's dark brown hair brushed the collar of his shirt, and his large brown eyes held a strange, wise look that seemed out of place on one so young. He'd had his nose buried in a book when Savva first entered the residence. Now, knowing the boy's true age, Savva was amazed that the seven year old was advanced enough to read and comprehend such a large, thick novel.

"Are you really a guardian at Saint Basil's?" The child asked, still watching his every movement carefully, as if committing it to memory.

"Yes, I am, would you like to see my marks?"

When the child nodded, Savva leaned over, pulling his hair away from his neck, exposing his promise mark and the four molnijas. He felt the child's long, delicate fingers tracing slowly over his skin.

"You've killed four Strigoi," the boy whispered.

"Yes. Several times they have tried to ambush my charge when I've taken her into town."

"Savva guards a Badica." His cousin said, smiling fondly at her son.

"My grandmother has been training me for over two years. In a few months I'll be attending Saint Basil's," the boy said, reclaiming his seat. "Will you be one of my instructors?"

"It's possible." Savva pushed the bowl away, frowning at his cousin. "You enrolled him already?"

"His father did. He will only be a part time student at first, to help him acclimate."

Savva turned to the boy, motioning him over and pulling him onto his lap. It was difficult—the boy was almost too big to cuddle in such a manner. His arms and legs were long and lightly muscled, reminding the older dhampir of a spindly young colt. "Is that what you want, little man? To be a guardian?"

"Yes."

Savva grimaced at the shortness of the boy's answer. "Why? Because it is expected of you? Because you've been told it was your duty?"

"Well…" The boy cocked his head, as if considering his words. "Partly. I want to do my part—but more than that, I want to help people. I want to protect them from the Strigoi. I want to make a difference."

Savva nodded. The boy's face had lit up while he answered, almost lit from within by some inner fire. "You realize that it is a hard life. You must sacrifice many things in order to reach your goal. And once you graduate… You will be responsible for someones life, Dima."

The boy cringed, scrabbling out of his lap and hastening to his mother's side. Savva looked at him, shocked at the frightened expression on his small face—a face that had gone ghostly pale. "What is it? What did I—"

"That is what his father calls him." She looked at the boy, smoothing the hair back from his forehead. "Go read your book while I talk to Savva, Dimka. You can talk about guardianship later, alright?"

The boy hugged her tightly for a moment, releasing a heavy, weary sigh. He pulled away from her, and glanced over at Savva. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have startled you like that. It was impolite."

Watching the boy's lanky frame retreat into the sitting room, Savva frowned, not understanding what he'd just witnessed. He turned to Olena, waiting for an explanation. She looked out the window, her cheeks flushed. The movement of her hands caught his eye as she twisted them together in a nervous manner.

"His father… drinks. When he does, his temper gets the better of him."

"He has hurt your son?" Savva felt his muscles tensing at the thought of that bright, strong boy suffering.

"No… he's never hurt the children." A tear spilled down her cheek. "He doesn't mean it. He is a good man, but—"

"He is not a good man," he hissed through gritted teeth. "If he raises a hand against you he is scum and I will deal with him. I want his name."

"No Savva. He would ruin you. He's a royal—"

"I do not care if he is a goddamned king—he dares to abuse you! Olena, the mere use of a nickname terrified your boy—I will not stand for it. Dimitri's reaction should speak for itself—a child does not pale and quiver in fear for no reason. The bastard has obviously done something to frighten him."

"A few slaps as punishment, nothing more."

"A few slaps." Savva glared at her. "I should take all three of your children out of this house immediately. I cannot believe that Yeva stands for this!" He stood, pushing his chair back. When she started to rise he stopped her with a pointed look. "No. I am going to talk to the boy. Right now I cannot be around you. I am ashamed of what you have become, cousin."

The boy was sitting on the sofa, his face resting on the palm of his hand as he stared off into space as if he were in a trance. The book was clasped in his other hand, apparently forgotten. The only acknowledgement he gave Savva was a slight wince as the man settled down beside him.

"I'm sorry for what happened in there, little man. I had no way of knowing that nickname would disturb you."

"I'm fine. I shouldn't have let it affect me like that."

He studied the boy's face, saddened to see the warm brown eyes looking flat and lifeless. It was as if the child had closed off his emotions, hiding them away. Sighing, he glanced at the book. "What is this book about? You seemed fascinated by it when I arrived."

"The olden days, when there were cowboys."

Savva laughed. "There are still cowboys, Dimitri."

"Yes, but they're not the same," the boy said dismissively. They don't fight bad guys anymore."

"Perhaps some do. Maybe I'm a cowboy and you just don't realize it."

The boy glanced over at him, frowning. "Now you're making fun of me."

"No! Just stop and think for a moment. Cowboys in the old West fought for what was right. They protected people. Isn't that what I do?"

"Yes, but—"

No buts. Maybe I don't wear a twenty gallon hat…" He paused, pleased to see the boys lips twitch as if he were fighting a smile.

"Ten gallon hat." Dimitri corrected.

"Yes, of course—my mistake. As I was saying, I don't wear a funny hat, but still I protect people from the bad guys. I try to uphold what is right and good, just like Marshal Wyatt Earp or one of those fellows. So perhaps being a cowboy is all a state of mind." He watched as his young second cousin pondered his words, seeming as though he were taking them to heart. "Anyone who stands up for what is right and protects others could consider themselves a cowboy, little man. I think that perhaps you are a cowboy in the making."

The boy's eyes widened. "You think so?"
"I know so." Savva nodded. "What you said in the kitchen, about wanting to help and protect people, and making a difference… that is proof that you have the heart of a cowboy."

Dimitri nodded slowly. "Thank you."

Savva gnawed at his lip, unsure how to brooch the boy's father, but knowing it must be done. "Dimitri, I want you to promise me something. If your… if that man ever hurts you or your sisters, I want you to call me. Immediately." He dug around in his pocket, producing a grubby card. "You call that number and tell them it is a family emergency—they will find me. Can you promise me that?"

The boy took the card, staring down at it. "Why? What would you do?"

"I will drive here faster than the wind and beat the living shit out of him. He will not touch you again, I promise. I will kill him first."

The boys eyes filled with tears. "What about Mama? He hurts her too."

Savva sighed. "Your mother is a grown woman. She knows that what he does to her is wrong, but sometimes, if you love someone… it gets complicated, little man. She loves him more than herself, I think. Or maybe she is just frightened. I don't know. But it is her decision—she could stop him, and maybe someday she will. If I interfered… she would hold it against me. But you…you're still a boy, and you need protecting, just like your sisters do. I cannot sit by and let him abuse children."

Scrubbing at his eyes, the boy nodded. "I promise—if he tries to hurt us, I'll find a way to call you."

"You're a brave boy, Dimitri Belikov. Someday you will make a fine guardian."

"Everyone calls me Dimka… you can too."

Save shook his head. "No, I think not. I think I will have a special name for my favorite little cousin. Perhaps Mitya. How does that sound?"

Before the boy could answer, the door burst open, his aunt rushing into the room dragging two small girls behind her. Her eyes immediately found Savva, and something about the expression on her face turned his blood to ice. He remembered it from childhood—her eyes had the crazed look that often accompanied her visions.

"Savva—you must go, now. Your woman… they…. She's injured, in an abandoned barn near a lake on the Academy grounds." Shaking her head, she pressed her keys into his hand. "Go. As fast as you can. If you don't, it will be too late."

Without another word Savva bolted through the door, terrified beyond belief. Yeva's visions were always accurate. If she said Sofiya was in danger, then it was the complete and absolute truth. The drive between Baia and Saint Basil's normally took three hours, but he made it in two. As soon as he was granted admittance he demanded the guardian on duty send backup to the location his aunt had described. He knew exactly where she had been describing, he'd often taken Sofiya there when they were younger and she felt out of sorts.

She was lying unconscious in a pool of blood, her beautiful hair matted and filthy, her clothing shredded beyond recognition. Her pale skin was covered with bruises and bite marks, barely an inch remained unscathed. Gathering her in his arms he rushed her to the clinic, demanding the guardians secure the building to prevent anyone from tampering with the scene as he brushed past them.

The medical staff whisked her away from him, leaving him sobbing and shaking on his knees in the small, utilitarian lobby. Hours passed before a doctor emerged, his face somber as he spoke in a low monotone. Sofiya was in critical condition. From what they could determine, she'd been raped repeatedly—and due to either the severity of the sexual assault or the beating, she had lost their baby.

Savva sat upright in bed, his body covered with sweat, his body shaking with horror as the doctors words echoed through his mind. His eyes flicked around the room, his pulse slowly dropping as he realized he wasn't in the clinic at Saint Basil's, but instead in a dorm room, fourteen years away from the night he'd been reliving in his dream. Wiping away the tears that coated his cheeks, he buried his face in the pillow, gritting his teeth. He would not sleep again—the dream was still too near. Instead he would simply lie awake, counting down the hours until sunset, trying his best to lock away his tragic memories.