Eric Dragomir was not looking for trouble. He just wanted to relax. He wanted to forget danger and politics. He wanted to be free of his responsibilities for a day. Was it really too much to ask for one day away? One day to forget everything that was demanded of him? Prince of a dying line. The one the Queen wants as her successor. Council member. Father. Husband. Grandfather. Businessman.

Was one day to himself too much?

Rhea apparently thought it was too much. They had fought, and he had left. He would be back. He had to go back. One day in Las Vegas to relax. To be by himself. To forget that he was a failure. He was a failure as a husband, as a father, and as a grandfather.

How many times had he failed in his marriage? There was only one that Rhea knew about. Emily had been gorgeous. She had listened to him. She had comforted him without demanding anything in return. And she was dead now. Dead because Eric hadn't even tried to get a guardian to protect Emily and Jill.

What kind of father doesn't even try to protect his child? Jill's brokenness and anger when they had met again after Spokane still haunted Eric. He had failed her. He had failed Andre and Lissa as well.

How much of Andre's rebellion was Eric's fault? Eric knew that Andre felt angry and betrayed when Jill entered their lives. When, a year and a half later, Andre told them about Mia's pregnancy, Andre wouldn't hear anything Eric said about being more responsible. They had argued ever since. Any time Eric tried to remind Andre about the importance of his image, Andre threw Eric's mistakes back at him.

And Lissa, how could Eric protect her? He hadn't been able to protect her from Victor Dashkov. He hadn't been able to keep the knowledge of her power a secret. Now, too many people were interested in her. They wanted to use her gifts to their own ends. And Eric could only do so much to keep her safe.

Then there was Violet. Eric's dhampir granddaughter was still just a baby. She was still such a fragile thing with no notion of the world, and yet there were people who wanted to decide her fate before she could even say her name.

Was it wrong to want a break from all of that? Was it wrong to want a break from responsibility and duty? Was it wrong to want something new and fresh and exciting?

Eric left for Las Vegas with his wife's angry voice ringing in his ears. The bitter accusation that she knew what he would do in Vegas. He had strayed before, could she really trust that he wouldn't again?

He found himself in Midnight, one of the Witching Hour's bars. It was elite and exclusive. The bartenders were always friendly, and they never asked too many questions.

He sat at the bar and ordered a beer. Frank Linden stood near the door, watching Eric and the room. Most Moroi didn't stay with their guardians while in the hotel, but most Moroi weren't their family's Prince. A few other guests sat quietly at booths or at the bar. A human news station played quietly on the television in the corner of the room. Eric watched it as he drank.

A woman entered Midnight. Her gown was a deep wine red, hugging her slim form from neck to waist and flaring out from hip to calf. It showed off a lot of skin but was still elegant. She walked like a dancer, light and graceful. Her hair was long, dark, and sleek. She smiled at the bartender, and he smiled back.

"Your usual?"

"Yes Sam, thank you."

"Right away."

Sam turned and began mixing her drink. She took a seat two chairs away from Eric. Eric glanced at her briefly before looking back at the television. He looked again when Sam gave the woman her drink. It was a blue cocktail. She sipped it, eyes closing as the liquid touched her tongue. She looked at Sam.

"Perfection, as always."

"That's what I like to hear," the bartender replied with a wink. "Just let me know when you want more. I've got to see the rest of my guests."

She waved him off with a laugh. As she took another sip, she saw Eric looking at her. Her dancing hazel eyes met his. He was surprised to realize that she was a dhampir. Young, in her mid-twenties. Her skin bore no marks, so she wasn't a blood whore, whatever else she might be.

"May I ask what you are drinking?" Eric asked.

"A blue long island."

"I never knew that was a drink. I'll have to order one tomorrow."

She looked at his drink. "Good idea, mixing beer and liquor is never a fun time."

He laughed. "No, definitely not."

She sipped her drink, studying him with interest. He wondered if she knew who he was. "Do you come here often?"

"Once or twice a year."

"To escape Court?"

"Am I so obviously a royal?"

She was smirking against her glass. "In Midnight, yes."

"Touché. Yes, I like escaping from court sometimes. What brings you here?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she sat a bit straighter. "I'm a singer. I perform two times a day, six days a week."

"That's a lot of performances."

"Yes, but I enjoy it, and it pays the bills." She drank some more and sighed. "There are more jobs out there for dhampirs than some people seem to believe."

"I'm sorry for offending you."

"You didn't," she replied, though her tone betrayed her annoyance. "However, it's a bit wearying that Moroi always assume the worst of dhampirs who aren't guardians. Non-royals are a bit more sympathetic at least - no offense." She added the last as an afterthought.

Her words, gently spoken, scorched him like fire. He had never given much thought to the futures of dhampirs, until Violet was born. Holding his granddaughter for the first time had started a chain reaction in Eric Dragomir's life that he still hadn't gotten a hold on.

The idea that his granddaughter didn't deserve any future her heart desired just because she wasn't a full blooded Moroi was repulsive. She should have every opportunity to follow her dreams- just as Andre, Lissa, and Jill had been given. That Eric's grandson and granddaughter could be forced down different paths based on race alone was like a knife to Eric's heart.

There were some on the council who wanted to force all dhampirs into service. They claimed it was too dangerous in the world - wasn't the attack on the school proof enough of that? Or they could make dhampirs into guardians at a younger age - is sixteen old enough to fight?

"What if I think that dhampirs should also choose their own paths in life?"

Her brows rose. "I... that would be a first from someone of your stature."

He took a few swallows of beer. "Sometimes life makes us reevaluate the way we see the world."

She tilted her glass toward him. "I'll drink to that. So, mysterious stranger, wanna talk about the ways of the world?"

He laughed, mirroring her gesture. "I'm not doing anything else right now. My name is Eric." He held out his hand to her in greeting, which she took. Her hand was soft and delicate.

"Rose - is there something wrong with my name?"

He had frozen, the smile on his lips dying. He withdrew his hand. Thoughts of her as a beautiful woman had shifted uncomfortably with the sound of her name. Rose was a name too intertwined with the vivacious young girl he had helped raise. "No, nothing. My daughter's best friend is named Rose." His foster daughter. The girl who had been his legal ward from the time she was a child. A dhampir whose future he had never questioned.

Her eyes narrowed for a moment before she resumed her friendly and open expression. "Well, my full name is Rosanna, but everyone calls me Rose. How old is your daughter?"

"My older daughter is seventeen. She will be graduating from school this year. Rose is also graduating, and we intend for her to be my daughter's guardian."

"How many kids do you have?"

"Three."

She hid a smile with a sip of her drink. "Well, senior year is always a fun time. Although... I do suppose that depends on the school and who you are."

"You figured out who I am; I suppose?"

She nodded. "Prince Eric Dragomir, it's nice to make your acquaintance."

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Rosanna. Now that names are out of the way, may I ask how a dhampir gets a job as a singer in a Moroi casino?"

"I have a good voice," she answered drily.

He laughed. "Point taken."

Smiling, she answered him. "I always had a voice for singing. My parents encouraged my vocal talents. I still went to an academy growing up. They took me out freshman year and enrolled me in an alternate school that most dhampirs in this area go to when they drop out. A lot of poor Moroi attend as well."

"You're from Las Vegas?"

"Yep. My parents work in casinos here, met here, married, et cetera."

"Your parents are married?" Marriage between a Moroi and a dhampir, while not unheard of, wasn't common in Eric's social circles. He had always assumed that it was similar among poorer Moroi, as well.

"Shocking, right?" She said sarcastically. "I also have Moroi half-siblings because my parents believe in continuing both races. It's weird, but it works for them. You seem so shocked, and yet you're one of the people making up laws that govern Moroi and dhampirs. Shouldn't our rulers know more about what normal Moroi and dhampirs do?"

Eric looked down, needing to hide the stunned look on his face. He had come to Vegas to escape from his responsibilities but was coming face to face with them against his will. "You make a good point. Maybe I am too removed from the cares of non-royals. Perhaps most of us royals are too involved with ourselves to know what is really happening to our people."

"Sorry to ruin your escape from court," she offered sympathetically.

He shook his head, meeting her eyes. "Don't be. I'm starting to realize how badly we need to change. Can you tell me more about life for non-royals?"

Standing, she smiled at him. "Sure." She motioned toward a booth nearby. "Why don't we get more comfortable seats?"

Eric agreed. With fresh drinks, they settled in the booth and began to talk. By the end of their conversation, Eric had gained quite the education. For as much as Eric knew about the world and about his society, there was also a considerable amount he didn't know.

Having lived his life within wards and in elite circles, Eric had been very sheltered. Most of what he knew about the Moroi world at large came through reports and hearsay. Rosanna's account of life outside of wards and without guardians was very different from the pampered life Eric had led. He knew so little about the people he was responsible for representing in the Moroi council.

When he went to his room, alone, Eric pondered the conversation for a long time. A conviction had grown in him. The seeds had been planted long ago, but now they began to blossom. He would support the rights of dhampirs and common Moroi. He would support Moroi becoming fighters and using magic offensively.

He needed to call Rhea, to tell her that he was an idiot. To tell her that he loved her and that she was far too good for him. He waited, though, so that he could talk to her in person.

Instead, he wrote an email to Tasha Ozera. He wanted to know how her research was going. He wanted her to know that she finally had his support.

Dimitri looked out at the city of Bucharest, Romania. It was the last weekend of April. He had spent the weeks after his time in Baia traveling with Tasha and Svetlana to the ancestral homes of the Moroi royal families. Svetlana and Tasha had set up the meetings in advance, ensuring that the archivists could gather likely documents for them. Tasha and Svetlana had scanned or photographed hundreds of documents. Sveta had begun reading through some of the records, searching for relevant information.

Dimitri had spent his on-duty time guarding Tasha. When he was off duty, which was an uncommonly large portion of his day, Dimitri searched the Moroi records for mentions of Robert Doru. So far, he had found nothing useful.

Dimitri had found record of Robert's birth. His mother had been a non-royal. His father was unlisted. He had attended school at an east coast American academy. After that, there were few records of him over the decades. Ten or so years ago, he had dropped off the record entirely.

Was Robert even alive? Had he gone completely insane like so many spirit users did? Mark and Oksana had implied that he was swiftly headed that direction. Could he have killed himself? Of course if he was dead, wouldn't there be a death certificate?

Dimitri wouldn't have been surprised if Robert had lost his mind. The darkness of spirit was so consuming. Dimitri knew how it felt. Some of it still lingered inside him.

He rested his hand against the glass. Night had fallen. The lights of their hotel spread out beneath them, as did the light of the surrounding neighborhood and city. He felt strange, looking out into the darkness instead of watching over his charge. He knew that he should be more concerned about their safety and security, but Tasha was rather resistant to actually being guarded. They each had their own rooms on the same floor, which had become their typical arrangement.

Next week, Dimitri and Tasha would be back in the United States. They hadn't talked about Ivan in weeks. Tasha had been focused on her research and Eric Dragomir's recent decision to openly support Tasha's progressive faction. While Dimitri was glad that there seemed to be some progress toward creating a better future for their people, his thoughts were still focused on Ivan.

Ivan had been turned into a Strigoi. Dimitri had to find him. Dimitri had to bring peace to his friend. Whether by ending Ivan's life or restoring it, Dimitri had set his mind to the task. Everything else, even visiting his family, felt like a delay.

At least his family would be better off now, and Dimitri wasn't worried about their futures if he died. He had given them a large percentage of his inheritance, with the rest entrusted to them upon his death. They would never have to worry about money again.

Dimitri sighed, looking out over the city. He wondered where in the world Ivan was. He wondered how long it would take until this task was accomplished. Steeling himself, he looked away from the window. It was time to tell Tasha about Robert Doru.

Ivan walked swiftly behind Sofia as they made their way through the streets of Bucharest. It was the last weekend of April. After a short trip to Novosibirsk to visit with Galina, who Ivan was surprised to recognize as Dimitri's former school instructor, they had made their way to Romania.

Sofia had grown quiet and irritable since her summons to visit an immortal being in Bucharest. Ivan had learned nothing more about the reason behind the visit or anything about the immortals. All he knew was that Sofia wanted him to accompany her, so he did.

Ever since Sofia had shown Ivan how powerful she was, he hadn't questioned her. She hadn't touched him again either, which was odd. Now that Ivan was aware of how sex felt as a Strigoi, he wanted it again. He wanted it with another of his kind, but he would never dare raise the topic with Sofia. He knew she had done it to show him her power. He thought that she rather despised the act otherwise.

They stopped outside of a square stone building with red doors and red window frames. Graffiti was scrawled on the building and on the sidewalk in front of it. It appeared to be abandoned.

Sofia turned to him, low level anxiety showing on her face. "Whatever happens inside, do not accept any food or drink. Try to avoid speaking to anyone. Do not fight."

Though he hated to be ordered around, Ivan agreed with her. "Understood."

Giving him a brisk nod, Sofia knocked on the door. It took a few moments for the door to open a crack. Sofia said something to the figure behind the door in what Ivan thought was Romanian. Whatever she said satisfied the person inside, as the door was opened for them.

As Ivan stepped inside, cold swept through his body. It tingled into the very core of his being. Sofia's grimace showed that she felt it too.

"What was that?" he growled.

"Insurance," rumbled a deep voice that made the hair on Ivan's arms rise.

Predator, his instincts screamed. Ivan looked at the man who had opened the door and felt himself recoil. It was as if two images were laid over top of one another. The man was tall and muscular. The image of the man- if he was a man- was ruggedly handsome. The second image reminded Ivan of a serpent.

He continued talking, the images never quite resolving into one in Ivan's mind. "The ward strips all glamours and blocks all immortals from their power while inside the building. Come with me."

They followed him from the entryway into an open room which was set up like a restaurant. A bar stood to one side of the room. Booths lined the walls and center of the room. Curtains blocked most of the booths, so Ivan couldn't see the faces of the beings he felt around him. He could smell a few humans in the room too, though he didn't know where they were.

The faces he saw were strange and alien. They were mostly humanoid in form, though their skin, hair, and eyes were all inhuman shades. Some had scales or feathers. Some had vertically slitted eyes. Some had eyes that were a single solid color - black, white, blue, red, et cetera.

Ivan's instincts were screaming for him to flee. The powers in the room were magnitudes higher than Sofia's. He felt like a mouse walking into a den of hungry cats.

They stopped at the bar, ordered by the snake-man to wait. The woman behind the bar observed them with disdain. She said nothing, drying glasses with a white cloth. It seemed an oddly mundane task for an immortal being.

A minute later, the snake-man returned. Sofia told Ivan to remain there while she went to conduct her business. Ivan found it annoying, but he also had no desire to know what business she had to conduct here on behalf of a seven-century old Strigoi.

Alone, Ivan studied the woman at the bar. She looked human except for her coloring. Her hair and skin were varying shades of green. She looked at him again, eyes narrowed. Her eyes also seemed human, though the aquamarine color of her irises wasn't. The energy radiating from her didn't scream predator, though there was an ancient strength to her.

"What are you?"

She thought for a moment, mouth opening and closing a few times before she decided on the right term. When she spoke, her voice was pure and clear - melodious in a way that was almost painful to Ivan. "I'm a water spirit. We have different names in various folk tales, but that is the simplest term."

"You dislike me."

"I dislike all of your kind - all true immortals do. Strigoi are abominations. You shouldn't exist."

He wanted to lash out at that, but something in the room restrained his violence. "Shouldn't exist?"

She began making a drink on the lower counter, out of Ivan's view. "All true immortals come into the world as immortals. Your kind were mortal once. It makes you aberrations."

"So, you're telling me that only Strigoi are made into immortals?" She nodded. "So, how did you come into existence?"

She tilted her head to the side, studying him. The hostility had faded from her face. "That is a complicated question. Some species of immortals are born to a parent or parents. Others are duplicates of an original- like some plants and fungi. My kind mostly emerge from the waves."

"Like Aphrodite?" Ivan scoffed. "Rising from the sea foam?"

She held his gaze for a long moment- seething. "Be careful not to mock things you cannot understand, child. Your kind has been on the Earth for a breath. Mine was here long before yours became a plague upon the humans. Not that the humans are much better. At least as immortals, you don't destroy the rivers and seas."

"The humans? We prefer Moroi, though we hunt dhampirs and humans as well."

"You're all the same."

"What does that mean? Moroi and humans are entirely different races."

She gave him a closed lipped smile. "If they were entirely different, they couldn't interbreed." She resumed making a drink out of his sight.

Ivan didn't reply. He wasn't sure there was a reply to her statement. He hated being in this room, surrounded by beings he didn't understand. He hated being limited in his power by the ward around the building. He hated waiting to do Sofia's bidding.

He watched the woman. She moved gracefully. Her hair rippled down her back, falling to her waist in shimmering blues and greens. "Do you have a name?"

She glanced up at him. "Lethe."

"Goddess of Forgetfulness? One of the rivers of the underworld?"

Her lips parted in a smile, revealing tiny serrated teeth. "So said the ancient Greeks." She held up a glass filled with a clear liquid that seemed to glow faintly. She stepped closer to him, holding the glass in both her hands.

Ivan watched her, entranced. His eyes fell upon the liquid in her hands, and a fierce longing rose in him to taste it. He wanted it more than he had wanted anything in his life. He began to reach toward the cup when a voice shattered the spell.

"Lethe!"

She pulled away, setting the cup down and lowering her head.

Ivan blinked several times. He dimly realized that she had been compelling him. He looked first at her, then toward the person who had called out to her.

The being was tall, slender, and androgynous. Its skin and clothes glowed faintly. Everything about it made Ivan feel strange - like he could cease to be if the being wanted.

"You are not to harm him, Lethe," the being said. "He must leave here unmolested."

She raised her head slightly, not quite meeting the being's eyes. "As you command, that I will do."

"Watch over him until he leaves, and you will have done all that I require."

She bristled, visibly tensing, but nodded.

Ivan watched the being, trying to meet its eyes, but he couldn't. The being was too luminous, too glorious for him to fully observe or comprehend. Ivan watched as the being left them. It seemed to vanish as it turned a corner.

Ivan felt himself return to normal. He looked at Lethe, who was visibly unnerved. "What was that thing?"

She shook her head, pouring the liquid from her glass onto the base of a nearby plant. She drew a few deep breaths before looking back at Ivan. "That was an eternal. An eternal who has now demanded that I save you from yourself while you're here."

"Eternal?"

She tapped her fingers against the now-empty glass. Her words came slowly as she began to describe the indescribable. "They are ageless. They are timeless. I told you that all immortals have a beginning. Some immortals can even be killed. Eternals began before there was time. They cannot die or even be harmed. They exist outside of time. And that one intervened on your behalf." She shuddered.

Ivan couldn't comprehend her words. An angel was the only thing he could think of that even remotely resembled Lethe's description of this eternal being - or a god. Did angels exist? Was there a God or gods somewhere out there? He had never put much thought into theology before being Awakened, and it seemed unimportant to him now. However, he was an immortal being in a room filled with immortal beings he had once thought to be myths. Shakespeare came to mind as he considered what had just transpired. There are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Perhaps Shakespeare was correct.

"Why did you obey it?"

She laughed. "I cannot disobey the command of an eternal."

"Could I?"

"Of course you can. You aren't a true immortal." She groaned and proceeded to clean the cup. "Your kind are so tedious."

"What was in the drink?"

"Water," she answered slyly.

He glared at her.

"It was water - mixed with enchanted silver. It would have burned you from the inside - ending your so-called life."

Sofia had warned him not to drink anything. She had warned him to avoid speaking with anyone. It appeared that Sofia had been correct in her warnings.

"Why would you attempt to kill me?"

"I already told you that I despise your kind. I kill mortals regularly if they come too close to the waters I protect. Now let me continue my work, and do not wander away! I'm responsible for you now, much as I despise the task."

Annoyed, but still unnerved, Ivan took a seat and waited for Sofia to return.

"Why are you a bartender?" The question came to him as he watched her give drinks to various patrons.

An amused smirk twisted her lips. "I've lived for a very long time. This is an amusing diversion - a place where immortals can meet to discuss business in peace. Neutral grounds are important for keeping peace in the world - not that your kind care about peace."

"What's wrong with seeking power?"

She wrinkled her nose. "What is power but a matter of perception? I am immortal and invincible. I hold sway over rivers and lakes. I can compel other beings to their deaths. Do I not have power? Yet what is power for you - domination of mortals? Accumulating wealth as mortals measure it? Such things are ephemeral. And should your goal be to dominate the world, you will find many other immortals willing to challenge your position - to say nothing of the humans who infest the earth."

"Do no immortals seek power? Or is this something you ascribe to the failings of my former mortality?"

"Some do," she conceded. "The dragons are especially power hungry."

"Dragons? Is every fantastical creature real?"

"In every story there is at least a drop of truth. How much is true and how much is a lie is quite variable. As for dragons, there have always been many kinds. Some would be known to the modern world as extinct varieties of dinosaurs. The other kinds are immortal shape shifters. The one who let you inside is of their kind."

Ivan disliked how unsettling all this information was, but at the same time he needed to know more. He wanted this information. He wanted every advantage he could get. Knowing about the immortal world, even if it hated Strigoi, was an advantage he couldn't let slip through his fingers. "Tell me about the other immortals."

To his surprise, Lethe was quite willing to share about the myriad races of myth and legend who still walked upon the Earth. What was true and what was a lie, Ivan didn't know. Lethe was an entrancing story teller, and Ivan absorbed every detail of the stories she told.

When Sofia finally reappeared, she hardly glanced at Ivan before heading toward the entrance. He quickly followed after her. When they reemerged into the night, Ivan breathed deep. The blanket of the ward had lifted. A surge of primal wrath bubbled up in him. He needed to hunt. He needed to kill.

Ivan looked around, glancing at their surroundings. Behind the immortal lounge was a hotel, several stories high. It looked elegant and aristocratic. He wondered what kind of people were in there. He wondered what they would taste like.

Hotels were too messy for hunting. They would have to go to one of the nearby parks. There were sure to be a few humans who could easily be taken as prey.

Tasha Ozera twisted her engagement ring on her finger. She couldn't believe Dimitri's words. A way to restore Strigoi?

"I'm sorry for not saying anything sooner, but I didn't want to distract you from your work. I know how important the research is to you."

She walked to the window of her room, ignoring Dimitri. She couldn't speak or think. She closed her eyes against the tears. Ivan was a Strigoi. He was lost to her. She had been telling herself that over and over again for more than a month. They were planning to hunt him down and kill him. Now Dimitri was telling her that there might be another way. She opened her eyes as she rested her head against the cool glass of the window.

Ivan.

Her heart clenched. Breathing was difficult. Why Ivan? Why her? She had already endured her brother and sister-in-law turning into Strigoi.

She wanted to forget it all. She wanted to run from it. She wanted to bury herself in work and forget the empty aching chasm inside her soul. Why had she agreed to do this? She wasn't strong enough.

"Tasha." Dimitri's voice was gentle. He was standing a few feet behind her. She could see him reflected in the window. "If you want me to do this on my own, I can."

"No," she whispered. "I can't let you go rogue. If you abandon your guardian rank, you will lose access to the resources you need to find Robert Doru. You never abandoned him, and I won't abandon you now." Drawing a deep breath, Tasha turned to face Dimitri. "I promised you that we would free his soul. If there is a way to restore him, it's worth trying. I'll see what I can do when we get back to Minneapolis."

"Thank you. I'll let you rest."

She nodded mutely, watching as Dimitri left the room. When she was alone, Tasha turned her face back toward the window. Ivan absorbed her thoughts. She turned the ring on her finger, wondering when she could finally be at peace.

"Where are you, my love? If this mad dream is possible, would you even want to be restored?"

Tasha rested her palms against the glass, staring out into the city lights of Bucharest.

Notes:

Thank you all for reading and following and commenting!

So, in case you're curious, I chose a real location in Bucharest (courtesy of Google Maps) for where Ivan, Tasha, and Dimitri were. The hotel I chose and the reference building I chose for the immortal lounge are next to one another at an angle. (I posted a picture of it on my facebook site which is bluegoldrosestories ) I also posted the link to where it is on streetview. The hotel is- Epoque Hotel Relais & Châteaux.

Lethe is a combination of several different myths and creatures of lore, plus a bit of embellishment that's partly inspired by the Dresden Files.

Thank you for reading! I'll see you again in two weeks! :)