"This is the slowest I have ever seen you drive."

"Pardon me for trying not to kill us."

It's true; the snowfall that started drifting down when we landed in Novosibirsk has increased in tempo. With the steady build-up of snow on the windshield, exacerbated by Dimitri's dread of seeing his family, we're driving along at a snail's pace while the weather slowly turns from bad to worse.

"Well, on the plus side," I reason, "by the time we eventually get there, there's a definite possibility that your grandmother could have died."

He chuckles, "I wouldn't hold your breath."

Sadly, I have to agree with him.

"Seriously though," I continue. "I don't think I've ever seen you stick to the speed limit."

He rolls his eyes. "That's because I'm always rushing you into some life or death situation."

He does have a point. "Maybe you should let me drive."

This gets me one of those rare, full laughs that deafens both of us in the confined space.

"Good one."

We subside into companionable silence which is broken a few minutes later by a very bad Russian word. I look over with alarm.

"What?"

He continues to curse not-so-silently. "I can't drive in this," he says eventually. "We're going to have to pull over and wait it out."

The car doesn't take long to slow as he pulls over at a convenient shoulder of the road. The tire tracks we leave behind are almost obscene in the untouched snow, but in a few minutes they'll be gone at the rate that the snow is now falling. Honestly, I'm surprised he'd been able to carry on as long as he did; even with my superior dhampir vision, the windscreen is practically a solid sheet of white. Dimitri unclips his seatbelt and settles back into his seat with a sigh. I follow suit.

"So what now?" I ask.

His lips quirk. "Now we wait."

I groan, causing him to laugh again.

"It's not that bad," he says.

"We're stranded in a car in the snow," I reply. "How cliché is that?"

"Hey, writing is hard work."

"What?"

"What?"

I let it go. "So what do we do?" I ask, trying and failing to keep a suggestive note out of my tone.

He looks at me levelly. "I have a spare western in my pocket." The teasing in his voice does nothing to dispel the fire in his eyes.

"I don't know, it's pretty cold."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well," I say softly, leaning towards him, "I may have to rely on your body heat to keep me warm."

Our lips are millimetres apart, I'm breathing in his scent. I allow myself to drown in his fathomless brown eyes.

"It would work better if we took our clothes off," he whispers huskily.

"Can't argue with science."

He brushes his lips lightly against mine. But Dimitri has always had such a strong effect on me that the brief contact is enough to light the fuse.

In a second, we're a tangle of limbs, tugging at clothes and knocking extremities against the close surfaces of the car's interior. The small pain in my fist as it hits the dashboard is swept up and whisked away in the hurricane of passion.

He's somehow managed to get my shirt off - Russian god that he is – and is busy trailing kisses down my neck while he works to unclasp my bra one handed. His other hand is engaged…elsewhere. I feel the hooks release and the satin slide down my skin as his lips move along my collar bone.

I toss his duster in the direction of the back seat, but I give up trying to pull his shirt over his head, moving my hands to his hair and freeing it from its tie instead. I tangle my fingers in the deep chestnut strands as they make their escape, providing an excellent means to bring his mouth back to mine. His unoccupied hand starts to creep lower.

"Not again!"

It's as if somebody dumped a bucket of icy water over my head.

With a twist that defies the laws of physics, I grab the stake from the car floor where it rolled under the seat. I'm entirely alert, watching all windows for the sign of a threat through the falling snow. Of course, the instant I reacted, Dimitri did too. But everything is still and silent, apart from the whisper of the white flakes on the roof.

"What is it?" he asks, Guardian mode engaged.

"I heard something."

"What?"

I shake my head and glare through the curtain of drifting snow, willing the threat to materialise.

"I don't know," I answer eventually, frustrated. "Did you say something?"

Now that he knows that there's no danger, he relaxes visibly. "I was a little distracted."

I frown at his smirk, still puzzling over what happened. Did I imagine it?

With a sigh, I reach down to retrieve my bra which had somehow managed to get twisted around one of the pedals. Dimitri silently hands me my shirt.

"What kind of something?"

"Huh?"

"What exactly did you hear?" he repeats.

"It was a voice. You're sure you didn't hear anything?"

He shakes his head.

What's wrong with me? I could swear I heard something, but obviously if Dimitri heard nothing with his superior senses, there was nothing to hear. Am I losing my edge? Or worse: is this some strange new symptom of residual spirit-darkness?

"Hey, don't worry about it," he says, gently smoothing out the furrow between my eyebrows with his thumb. "Roza, we've been travelling for a while now; you're sleep-deprived."

Somehow I doubt that lack of sleep is the problem, but one look at his face full of concern and I find that I can't tell him otherwise. I don't know for sure anyway.

I offer a small smile and a feeble attempt at a joke. "And whose fault is that?"

His answering grin bolsters my mood once more.

"So what do we do now?" I ask.

"Well, we could pick up where we left off."

I hesitate before answering. "This is definitely one for the history book: I don't think it's a good idea to try it out again so soon. I don't know what that was."

If he's disappointed, he doesn't let it show. "Okay, so what do you want to do?"

I watch the snow falling outside. It seems to be getting lighter, but it could still be a while before we can move again. There really isn't that much we can do in here, but one option does occur to me. I begrudgingly conclude that anything will be better than sitting twiddling our thumbs while we attempt to ignore the mounting sexual tension.

Still, I wilfully have to unclench my teeth before I speak. "You said you had a spare western?"

I do get the satisfaction of seeing Dimitri's rare expression of surprise, which eases my dread a little.

"Seriously?" he asks, his eyes wide and his tone indecently excited.

I close my eyes briefly to stop myself from rolling them. "Yes."

Resorting to his native tongue to express his enthusiasm, he stretches over his seat to fish the novel out of his duster pocket. He presents it to me and I eye it dubiously. Surely a guy shouldn't be more excited about this than sex?

It looks pretty thick, though judging by its worn cover, he's read it more than once. Remembering my last attempt at reading on the plane, I'm suddenly struck by a brilliant idea.

"Read it to me?"

He narrows his eyes, ridiculous eagerness fading somewhat. "So you can make fun of my pronunciation?"

That makes me grin. "No, so I can listen to your voice. It's soothing."

After studying my face for a few more seconds, he concedes.

We get ourselves as comfortable as we can in the space available; Dimitri stretches his long legs out as far as possible and rests his feet on the dashboard, while I curl up in his lap. As he begins reading, I can feel the words resonating through his chest and I snuggle closer, letting the story immerse me in the rich molasses of his voice.

"When Augustus came out on the porch the blue pigs were eating a rattlesnake…"

It takes about an hour for the snow the ease up enough for us to drive again, though it doesn't stop entirely. I'm feeling much better now, maybe even a little curious about how the book ends, not that I'd ever admit it out loud.

As we draw nearer to Baia, I begin to recognise one or two landmarks from my last visit, despite the blanket of snow that covers everything. I also notice Dimitri growing tenser with every mile that we leave behind us. When his knuckles show white beneath his skin, ready to burst like some overripe fruit, I know I have to intervene.

"It's normal to be nervous."

He doesn't respond beyond a slight deepening of his frown.

"Dimitri."

Still nothing, though he does accelerate slightly.

"They're your family, Dimitri."

"I know. That's the problem."

I wait for him to elaborate. I've slowly learned that he always responds in his own time, as long as there's silence for him to do it in. I need to lend him my strength right now.

Eventually he sighs. "How do I show my face to my mother, when she knows that it's the last face that so many innocent people ever saw? What if my sisters look at the brother that they grew up with and see a murderer?"

The pain in his voice breaks my heart. "Do you know what I see when I look at you?"

He keeps his tortured silence.

"I see a man who loves, and who will always do the right thing. I see a man who's working hard to forgive himself."

"Sometimes that's hard to remember," he admits.

I smile. "That's what I'm here for, Comrade."

Though his anxiety doesn't dissipate, I can see his strengthening resolve as we start to pick up speed again.

Because of the snow, the sun has started to set by the time we pull up outside the Belikov's house. Dimitri takes a deep breath and murmurs something unintelligible as he exhales. Then he opens his door.

As we walk up the path, I offer my hand and he takes it, unquestioning.

"I love you, Comrade," I whisper, "and they do, too."

He squeezes my hand slightly in acknowledgement and raises his own to knock on the door.

Before his knuckles can connect with the wood, the door swings open. Yeva stands in the doorway with an unsettling smile on her face. She has more wrinkles than the last time I saw her, the folds casting sinister shadows across her already creepy features. She looks like Yoda if he'd joined the dark side, and not in a good way. Her brown eyes are as sharp and intelligent as ever, never once leaving her grandson's face as she calls over her shoulder to the rest of the family within the house:

"I told you he'd come home."


Author's Note


Your response to this fic has astounded me. A heartfelt thank you to everyone who's stuck with me so far; to everyone who has reviewed, followed or favourited this story. This is the first thing I've written to exceed three chapters without me losing interest, and that is largely owing to your overwhelming support. Please continue to be so incredible.

Okay, confession time. I have never seen snow. I live in a coastal town in South Africa where the average winter temperature is 17°C. Snow is a foreign concept to me. Also, the first and last time I was actually on a plane, I was six years old. I wasn't aware at the time that I would need to pay attention to the airport for the sake of future fanfiction. And so, my point is that my details may not be 100% accurate, but I ask that you please forgive me.

A big thank you to RomitriIsMyMaximumMortalFlaw, my incredible Beta-reader that teaches me how to English at the same time as correcting my work! I love that she helps me to learn from my mistakes, and I would highly recommend that you take a look at her stories, because they're great. Also, a shout-out to toonsta, my snow consultant that took the half-hour necessary to answer all of my ridiculous questions.

I will try my best to update again before I jet off to Poland for World Youth Day, which I am super excited about. Apologies for the wait between updates, my sporadic posting just seems to be a part of who I am.

The Vampire Academy books and the characters in this fanfiction all belong to Richelle Mead.