Alberta stared at him, wide eyed for a full minute before jumping to her feet and heading for the door.
God, he loved teasing her.
He'd anticipated her reaction, purposefully positioning himself so he could reach the door a split second before she did. Leaning against it, he smiled, crossing his arms as he blocked her dramatic exit.
"Leaving so soon, Allie?"
"Move," she growled.
His smile widened. "Make me."
Alberta narrowed her eyes. "Don't tempt me, Ivashkov."
He leaned towards her, amused when she flinched away from him. When he spoke, it was almost a whisper. "It was a joke, Alberta." He brushed past her, sauntering into the kitchen to grab the shot glasses he'd left on the counter.
"Has anyone ever informed you of the fact you're an asshole?"
"Frequently." Plopping down on the couch he poured out the drinks, then patter the cushion beside him. "Park it Petrov. If that envelope contains even half of what I'm expecting, I'm going to need a drink or two to stay calm."
He enjoyed Alberta's company. She had a sharp, biting sense of humor that was similar to his own, and when she laughed, it was infectious, making him forget his troubles for a while. Growing up as a Royal Moroi, he often forgot that the guardians' were people with thoughts and feelings—with desires of their own. Looking at them, all you could see was their stoic, unfaltering expressions, making them seem unfeeling or uncaring. When Alberta dropped her mask, she was one of the most entertaining people he'd ever met.
After the second shot hit his system, he tore into the envelope, leafing through the pages. It was too much reading for one night, so he zeroed in on Lucien's final summary, trusting that the man had been thorough.
St. Vladimir struggled his whole life with spirit's side effects. He suffered through dreams and delusions, experiences he wrote off to "demons." But he never completely lost it—never went completely crazy or tried to kill himself. Because his bond mate—shadow kissed Anna—had sacrificed herself, taking his insanity—the darkness of spirit—to save him. Just like Rose had done in the classroom.
He tossed the papers down on the coffee table with a sigh. He could feel Alberta's eyes on him, the curious gaze pressing against him like a weight. He ignored it, pouring another round. He wasn't ready to discuss it… yet. Those few sentences had confirmed his worst fears, and they weren't just fears for his Rosebud. Fear for his own future poked at him as he mentally made a vow; he'd never create a bond mate. To do so might save his sanity, but he refused to damn another person with his madness.
By the fifth shot, his worries had been forgotten. He watched in amusement as Alberta snuck a drag off his cigarette, almost pissing himself with laughter when she began coughing up a lung a few seconds later. The seventh drink tore down the barriers on their inhibitions, Alberta trying to sooth him as he sobbed, confessing his deep, tragic love for Rose—and the hopeless despair he felt when he saw her with Belikov. Her expression was almost motherly as she poured them another round and attempted to change the subject.
"So tell me, Adrian, what's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done while under the influence?" Wincing as she tossed back the Patròn, she set her glass down, propping her feet on the table as she leaned back.
Thinking about it, he smirked. "Standing outside of Belikov's room serenading him. I thought I was at the dhampir dorm."
"That really happened?" She laughed. "I thought Alto was pulling my leg."
"Nope. Your turn."
She leaned her head back, studying the ceiling. "If I tell you… I swear to God Adrian, if you ever repeat it, I'll kill you." She glanced over at him, grinning.
"Scout's honor." He winked at her—at least, he attempted to. He was so drunk he couldn't be sure if he'd succeeded.
"You were never a scout, Ivashkov." She chuckled before beginning her confession. "Back before I came here, when I was out in the field, my charge was a very happy go lucky young man. He was a good person, and we became… friends. He always insisted I worked too hard, so he arranged for me to have a night off. I didn't want it, but he insisted. When the night in question came, he drug me along as his guest when he went out on the town with his friends. Since I wasn't on duty, I drank a bit too much and…" She trailed off, biting her lip.
"That cannot possibly be the embarrassing part," he said, eying the empty glasses. Don't leave me hanging, Allie. Spill it." Grabbing the tequila he took a swig straight from the bottle.
"We ended up in a strip club and I ripped a feather boa off one of the dancers and got onstage dancing to 'Brick House'." She said it so fast her words ran together.
He sprayed her with his mouthful of tequila as he choked on his own laughter. When he finally calmed down, she was smiling at him fondly. "Holy shit. I wish I'd seen that."
"Trust me, it wasn't pretty. It made his night, though."
"Why did you stop guarding him?" He asked, handing her the bottle.
She sighed. "His mother didn't approve of how… friendly we were. She had me reassigned."
The sadness in her voice penetrated through the layers of alcohol surrounding his brain, and he understood the hidden meaning behind her words. They'd been lovers. "Who was he?"
"A Tarus. You remind me of him, sometimes." She smiled wistfully at him. "You have his personality. And his eyes."
His heart gave a small pang of sympathy for her. He refilled the glasses, handing her one. "To tragic love affairs. Yours. Mine. Hell, even Rose and Belikov's."
She clinked her glass against his. "I'll drink to that."
And they did. Several more times.
A strange, buzzing sensation, accompanied by an irritating high-pitched ringing noise pulled him from sleep. He lay there for a moment, confused. Why the hell was his cheek vibrating? It took him a minute to realize his face was pressed against something, and that something was the source of his discomfort. A phone. What the hell?
"What the fuck do you want?" His voice sounded slurred as he mumbled out his version of 'hello'.
"Ivashkov?" The voice on the other end sounded confused.
"What?"
"Sorry, I thought I dialed Guardian Petrov. I—"
Shit. He ended the call, sitting up and slamming his head against something hard. Why the hell was he under the coffee table? He shook his head, dismissing the question. He had a bigger problem to deal with. Alberta Petrov was passed out on his couch, and he'd just answered her phone—a phone that was ringing again. He wracked his brain for an excuse, finding one almost instantly. Thank God he had experience creating plausible lies.
"Hello?"
"Ivashkov—I don't know your cell number. Why are you answering Guardian Petrov's phone?" Belikov's voice was no longer confused, instead, now his tone was almost…teasing.
"I had a fax sent to her office last night. I must have picked up her phone by mistake." Adrian closed his eyes, wincing at the pounding in his head.
"Do you happen to know where she is?"
Belikov's smug voice was starting to irritate him. "Her office?"
"That's where I am. Any other ideas?"
Over the phone he could hear a door shut. Fuck—he better not be headed this way.
"Her dorm room? Hell, I don't know, when did I become Alberta's keeper?" He reached down, shaking her gently.
"What time did you pick up your—" Belikov began to ask, stopping abruptly when Alberta woke up and started talking in an extremely loud voice.
"Ivashkov? How much did we drink last night?"
Fuck a damned duck. Adrian slammed the phone shut with a groan. Dear God. He should have put a hand over her mouth before waking her. Alberta sat up, staring at him, eyes wide.
"Please tell me that's not my phone."
He tossed it to her. "Well I had the perfect cover story, until you started shouting at me."
She buried her face in her hands. "Who was it?"
"Three guesses." He smirked.
"Jesus."
"Nope. Next guess?" He dodged the smack she aimed at his shoulder. "I believe the cradle robber might be headed this way, so here's the story. I was drunk when I got to your office. You walked me back and I compelled you into having a few drinks with me."
She stared at him, her eyes bloodshot, her hair sticking out in a hundred different directions, trying to grasp what he'd said. "You could get in trouble for using magic to compel me."
He shrugged. "Nah. It's only Belikov."
"Adrian, you're something else." She hurried over to the door. "Thanks."
"Sure thing. Oh, and Allie?" She stuck her head back in the door, a questioning look on her face. "Next time let's drink gin."
As soon as she was gone, he showered and dressed, desperate for some fresh air. Before leaving the apartment, he took a moment to use his laptop, unable to keep a decidedly wicked smile off his handsome face.
He spent the morning in the library, searching for information—there had to be some way to counter the insanity that spirit brought on. Some way to heal her, or drain it away. Unfortunately, if there was, he didn't find it. He did, however find several interesting tidbits on compulsion that he'd never seen before. He made note of the books, then set out in search of Lissa. She'd want to know about this, so she could add it to their ever growing compilation.
He was about to start searching for her when he spotted Rose walking towards the commons, the colors in her aura a mixed up jumble of confusion and dismay.
"Rose!" She glanced over at him and he had to bite back a smile at the stunned expression on her face.
"Did you just call me 'Rose'?" She asked. "And not 'little dhampir'? I don't think that's ever happened."
"It happens all the time," he countered, catching up to her as they entered the commons. Their footfalls echoed loudly in the deserted hallway. "Where's your better half?"
"Christian?"
"No, Lissa. You can tell where she is, right?"
"Yeah, I can tell because it's last period, and she's in class like everyone else. You keep forgetting that for the rest of us, this is a school."
Damn. He hated having exciting news and no one to share it with. "I found more case files I wanted to talk to her about. More super-compulsion stuff."
"Whoa, you've been doing something productive? I'm impressed." She teased.
"You're one to talk. Especially considering your whole existence here revolves around beating people up. You dhampirs are uncivilized—but then, that's why we love you." He struggled to keep his tone light as he uttered the last two words. He longed to say them to her—to whisper love you into her ear. He could picture him murmuring it to her quietly between kisses and caresses.
"Actually," she mused, "we aren't the only ones doing beatings lately. Does the word Mână mean anything to you?"
He leaned against the wall and reached for his cigarettes. "Sure."
"You're inside the school," she warned.
"What—oh, right." With a sigh, he slid the pack back into his pocket. Stupid rules and regulations. "Don't half of you study Romanian here? It means 'hand.'"
"I study English here."
"Why the interest in translation?" He studied her face, watching as she tried to puzzle something out in her head.
"I don't know. I think I got it wrong. I thought it had some connection to this thing that's been going on with these royals."
"Oh Lord. Not that. Are they really doing it here too?" He asked.
"Doing what?"
"The Mână. The Hand. It's this stupid secret society that pops up at schools. We had a chapter of it back at Alder. It's mostly a bunch of royals getting together and having secret meetings to talk about how much better they are than everyone else."
"That's it then," she said. He watched her eyes brighten as she figured out what had been troubling her. "That's Jesse and Ralf's little group—the one they tried to get Christian to join. That's what this Mână is."
"Him?" Adrian laughed. "They must have been desperate—and I don't mean that as a slam against Christian. He's just not really the type to get into that kind of thing."
"Yeah, well, he turned them down pretty hard. What's the point of this secret society exactly?"
He shrugged. "The same as any other. It's a way to make people feel better about themselves. Everyone likes feeling special. Being part of an elite group is a way to do that."
"But you weren't part of it?"
Hell no, he had enough on his plate trying to stay sane. "No need. I already know I'm special."
"Jesse and Ralf made it sound like royals had to stick together because of all the controversies that are going on—about fighting and guardians and all that. They made it sound like they could do something about it."
"Not at this age," said Adrian. "Mostly all they can do is talk. When they get older, Mână members sometimes cut deals for each other and still have secret meetings."
"That's it then? They're just hanging out and talking to hear themselves talk?"
He contemplated her question. "Well, yes, of course they're doing lots of that. But I mean, whenever these little chapters form, there's usually something specific they want to do in secret. Each group's kind of different that way, so this one's probably got some plan or scheme or whatever."
"You know a lot for someone who wasn't in it."
"My dad was. He never talks much about it—hence the secret part—but I picked up things, and then I heard about it while I was at school."
Rose leaned against the wall next to him, making his heart beat a tiny bit faster. "Did you hear anything about them beating up people? There are at least four Moroi I know of who were attacked. And they won't talk about it."
"Who? Like non-royals?"
"No. Other royals."
"That doesn't make any sense. The whole point of it is for elite royals to band together to protect themselves from change. Unless, perhaps, they're going after royals who refuse or are supporting non-royals."
"Maybe. But one of them was Jesse's brother, and Jesse seems to be a founding member. Seems like he'd have to make the cut. And they didn't do anything when Christian refused."
Adrian spread his hands wide. "Even I don't know everything, and like I said, this one's probably got its own little agenda they're keeping hidden." She sighed, the look on her face making him curious. "Why do you care so much?"
"Because it isn't right. The people I saw were in bad shape. If some group's going around and ganging up on victims, they need to be stopped,"
He laughed, unthinkingly reaching over and gently tugging at a strand of hair that had fallen in her face. God, it was so fucking soft. "You can't save everyone, though God knows you try."
"I just want to do what's right." Her face softened for a moment, then she gave him a small smile. "I need to bring justice where it's needed."
He watched her aura brighten, and saw the truth in her words. Unfortunately, he also saw that she was thinking about Belikov. He could tell by the flickering colors. "The crazy thing, little dhampir, is that you mean that. I can tell by your aura."
"What, are you saying it's not black anymore?"
"No…still dark, definitely. But it's got a little light in it, streaks of gold. Like sunlight."
"Maybe your theory about me catching it from Lissa is wrong then."
"Depends," he said. "When was the last time you saw her?"
She socked his shoulder, and even that small touch made him smile. "You have no clue, do you? You're making this up as you go along."
The nearness of her was overwhelming him. He caught her wrist before he could stop himself, pulling her closer. "Isn't that the way you normally operate?"
She grinned, and just like that, her aura changed, making him catch his breath. It flared with… attraction. She studied his face, and her careful scrutiny dragged his attention back to the girl in front of him. "You know," he said, "under any other circumstances, this would be hot. Instead, you're looking at me like I'm some kind of science fair project."
"Why don't you ever use compulsion on me?" She asked. "And I don't mean just to stop me from getting in fights."
"Because half the fun of you is that you're so difficult."
"Do it."
"Do what?" He asked, confused by the direction the conversation was taking.
"Use compulsion on me."
"What?" He stared at her, waiting for her to laugh—to say she was joking.
"Use compulsion to make me want to kiss you—except you have to promise not to actually kiss me."
"That's pretty weird—and when I say something's weird, you know it's serious."
"Please."
Good God, could he control himself? If he compelled her and she wanted to kiss him, would he be able to resist her? Only one way to find out. He sighed, focusing his eyes on her and lacing his words with spirit as he pushed them into her mind. "I want to kiss you, Rose," he said softly. "And I want you to want me too."
Her expression changed almost instantly. Her pupils dilated, her breathing quickened and she stared at him with a look of utter longing. Closing the remaining space between them, she tilted her face up toward his, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she stared at him.
"Do you want to?" he asked, voice still like velvet. "Do you want to kiss me?"
"Yes," she said, staring at his lips.
He leaned closer, his mouth hovering a few inches away from her lips—those full, luscious lips that were waiting to be kissed. Waiting for him to—He stopped. "We're done," he said, stepping back and withdrawing his power. His heart was pounding so hard he was afraid he might be going into cardiac arrest. So close—he had been so close. He'd felt her warm breath on his face, teasing him. Fuck. He had an erection and they hadn't even done anything.
She snapped out of it instantly. "Hmm,"
"Hmm?" he asked, watching her aura as it fluttered, reflecting the colors it always had when she was thinking about her damned Russian. He was thankful for his pea coat, it was long enough to hide his rather large… problem.
"Hmm."
The third "hmm" came from across the hall, pulling his attention away from Rose. Christian stood across the hall watching them. The sounds of students pouring out of classrooms rumbled through the hallway. He had to get away from her, and this offered the perfect opportunity.
"Now I can see Lissa," he said, forcing his voice to sound cheerful.
"Rose, will you come with me to the feeders?" asked Christian.
"I'm not guarding you today."
"Yeah, well, I miss your charming company."
"Sure. I'll see you later, Adrian," she said.
He nodded, heading in the other direction, holding his coat closed in front of him. He'd find Lissa, but not until he took a very long, very cold shower.