Temper me in fire

by voldobaby

AU: The world of Moroi and Dhampirs is very different, political turmoil has opened up a vacuum in which illegal and immoral actions can transpire, such as slavery of Dhampirs. Rosemarie Hathaway is born into slavery in Arizona. Her life revolves around tending to her chores and making herself inconspicuous. But that all changes when Mr.Dashkov and his Guardians arrive

70. Chapter 69

RPOV

Adrenaline is twining with the alcohol in my system, the high of Dimitri's tongue and touch still overloading my senses and making certain parts…flutter

Adrian is staring at me, expectant and eager. I want to shy away until I can calm my nervous system down. Not because of what he knows but because his abilities mean all those other feelings are on fucking display.

I take a deep breath, trying to lull the restless energy cracking under my skin. Energy cracking under my skin that makes me want to spar, run, or go back to rip all that stiff fabric off what I want.

Adrian raises his eyebrows and I flush crimson.

And then I'm speaking because I need to diffuse some of this, I need to let something out and more importantly, I want someone to understand.

"I don't know when exactly but by the time I realised it had been a while and it was like a relief to finally recognise it for what it was. To allow myself to accept it, that being pulled to him at every turn wasn't anything like how I've needed someone before – that he was unlocking things inside me that had been forbidden to be freed."

My breath catches, a warmth spreading through me from liberating the truth without a sense of loss. Sharing didn't mean losing it. Confiding in him, this little bit, didn't feel like betraying Dimitri.

The ground doesn't break open, the room doesn't go deathly still, and Adrian's face doesn't contort.

So, I'm able to hold his eye and whisper, "I love him. He's for me."

Adrian squeezes my hand, smiles softly and very simply says, "I know."

And although there's still so much tension coiled around my body, still so much I'm angry and frustrated about – for a moment it falls back. Because someone knows this beautiful thing about me, not something dark and awful but something good.

"And I know he loves you too." Adrian continues softly, admitting the truths he already knows. "How reverently. I have never felt anything like it. I mean, I'm not exactly surrounded by the best sorts but even I know that isn't something that comes along so easily."

"It's not like that with other people?" I question again, someone else to confirm.

"No. I mean, it's hard to explain. No love looks the same and no emotion is strictly the same colour or a variation of it. But you two? It's a radiant force and the reason I will need an ice mask for my eyes later." He flashes that mischievous grin of his and a small laugh escapes me, a smile turned to sound. He lifts two more drinks for us and continues quietly, "It's golden, almost pure light that surrounds you both but when you danced… it was like the sun was in the room."

I think back to it. How I'd felt like wet paper, trembling and ready to tear but then he pressed in, and I was safe.

I was home.

Being inside it, being part of it, I felt how special it is, but hearing Adrian confirm that it's rare - it's gratifying. It's re-affirming. Like, believing the world is bigger beyond a dusty yard but you can't imagine it. Can't hold anything other than that small place in your mind but then suddenly, you're racing away from it and the world begins unfolding, more than you could have ever imagined.

"Do you want to know the next thing remotely comparable to you both? It's how Rhea lights up when she looks at her children – it's pure." I follow his eye line to where Andre has his arm around his mother as a photograph is taken. And just for a moment, Adrian lets his guard down and I see the longing there. A need that's never been met, one that cuts you so deeply that it's the hardest wound to heal or ever recover from.

Then like turning a switch, he's smiling again, hiding it. "Obviously, not the same kind of loving happening in a public bathroom, which I'm still having intrusive thoughts about."

I roll my eyes and he laughs under his breath.

When I look back his expression is tender, "Love like that, I think no one deserves it more than you do."

The room is loud around me, the world too busy with its own self-importance and celebrating that our little pocket goes unnoticed. It hits me so hard, where I am and where I came from, how he's a Lord and now my friend…and how none of those things matter. What matters is he is my friend.

"Thank you." I whisper.

"Even though it got complex." Adrian murmurs drawing back my attention. He looks apologetic. "Variations of red and purple bruising that light."

Marring stains blotting that feeling of peace, of belonging, because he wasn't there to stay with me.

"I was angry with him. I am angry with him." I confess quietly. "It can be hard sometimes."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. I can put those pieces together myself." He says subtly nodding his head. I follow his eye to where Natasha is clustered with Victor, Eric, a woman dripping in gems and beyond them, the sun everyone can see – Sofia.

More truths Adrian knows without having to pull them out of myself.

I take a deep drink and thousands of sweet fizzing bubbles wash over my tongue, promising to soften the edges, steel the stubbornness of my anger and encase my heart in a protective layer.

"But those 'sometimes' things like bruises, won't last." He tells me, "Not with the way he was feeling tonight, it takes talent to hold all that in, but he was cracking."

It should soften me hearing how he was struggling, that it was evident to someone else, but it doesn't.

Because it doesn't change the circumstances.

"I hope so." I reply and it's almost lost under calls of appreciation from the thickened crowd as a new song begins.

The air of the room has changed, thawing with laughter and the eager smiles on new faces, excitement weaving through like a window thrown open for fresh air. Then I feel it, like I'm back in a lavender-scented pool, the current pulling at my waist as he moves through the water. Behind Adrian, staying close to the border of the room, Dimitri sails by. Spine straight, jaw sharp and eyes trained ahead.

He doesn't look this way, but I know he knows exactly where I am. I drop my gaze to the puddle left in my glass, my temper crackling low in my belly and even though I know how stupid we had been in that restroom, I wish it had lasted longer.

"Come, on." Adrian says decisively, "Finish that and let's get a cocktail, visit the tarot reader, watch the bourgeoisie embarrass themselves and make notes for blackmail purposes."

---

DPOV

I adjust my appearance - undoing the signs of her undoing me.

Waiting for my trousers to not feel constrictive takes more time than my pride likes.

It shouldn't have gone like that – I followed her in here to talk to her, no longer able to take it anymore and then all I could think about was kissing her, touching her – consumed by it. All common sense and any semblance of logic escaped me.

I splash cold water on my face, take a mouthful for good measure. I need to get it together, but I feel like every ounce of control I have, everything I took care to wind around my fist and hold in an iron grip, is fraying.

Five more minutes I would have taken her against the door.

Risk her privacy and even though she was looking at me like she didn't care ultimately, she would.

I would.

I do.

Adrian Ivashkov knows and that's…fuck I don't what that is.

Inhale. Exhale.

Rose wasn't alarmed when it was his voice coming from the other side of the door, my hand high on her thigh, broaching over lace to find her skin…

I straighten and brush back the few strands that have been pulled loose by her fingers. They were just as demanding and rough as mine had been. Freefalling into the promised pleasure of each other and somehow it was different, there was an edge and I wanted to be devoured by it.

I look down where my dress trousers leave no unforgiving room for modesty.

"Blyad." I hiss.

---

RPOV

The more I drink the easier everything is.

It's easier to ignore how some Moroi women, the ones marked in finery that signifies they'd been here from the start of the night, have an unwelcome edge in their eyes.

Moroi performers stand on block podiums crafting flowers, animals and scenes from fire and water. Then using air to make them soar around the room or burst into the tiniest droplets that Adrian tries to catch on his tongue. And I know I'm drunk again because I'm laughing far too much about it.

I don't look for Dimitri, I ignore the taunting tingles that run over the back of my neck, my hips, and keep my focus on Adrian. But not indulging means the craving is building, a swelling pressure that I know in the back of my mind has the potential to explode.

A dark, primal thrill threads with these thoughts.

Burning gold moves at the edge of my vision and I'm pulled to it.

Sofia's presence is a magnet. When she moves people's heads turn, when she speaks to someone, they lean toward her, a sunflower to the sun. Her laugh can be heard from any corner of the room, carefree and infectious. But it wasn't all positive, I noticed some, mostly women, giving her what Natalie called dirty looks and whispering. Treatment I thought I would receive more of – or maybe I had and just hadn't noticed.

She had to know, but the most intriguing thing is – she doesn't care. The biggest testament to this being she notices Nathan and Adrian's mother openly glaring at her a few feet away, so she smiles and walks directly to them.

Adrian is laughing under his breath, "Everyone brace yourselves."

"I wish we could hear." I murmur back, noticing how some of my words slant.

"Believe me, we will find out soon enough. Look, Lady Vasilisa Dragomir requests our presence."

Adrian steers us away from the scene and through the break in bodies, I see another fixture of gold. Spiridon's gaze is trained where mine had just been, his face so uncharacteristically unreadable that it's unsettling. And then it slides in this direction, landing close.

Adrian clears his throat.

We navigate around a few bodies, and I catch sight of where Lissa is waiting, steeling myself when I realise the people with her. Thankfully when we get close, she steps away from Christian and Mason. One of them completely ignores us and the other outright stares, something unfriendly and judgemental in his face.

"Tarot time." Lissa says excitedly, taking my hand.

At the back of the room, almost tucked behind the tree, a Moroi woman sits at a table draped in silver cloth with markings. The only ones I know alone are the sun and the moon. Large cards have been laid out in an arc and a candle burns on the far side of the table away from the pine.

The Moroi looks between us, "Who's first?"

"I always put myself first so on this rare occasion…" Adrian sweeps his hand toward us.

Lissa and I exchange a look.

"I will." Lissa decides, gathering her skirt as Adrian pulls out the chair for her.

The Moroi scoops up the cards in one sweeping motion.

"I'm actually going to leave you two to it." Adrian says suddenly, "I'm comfortable knowing I'm the creator of my own chaos. I'll get us another cocktail."

He disappears into the crowd but not in the direction of the mixology station. I drift closer to Lissa and try deciphering the smell of the candle.

In one fluid movement, the Moroi woman spans the cards back across the table.

"Would you like to ask a question or select three cards you feel drawn to?"

"Is this magic?" I ask, the question bubbling out without permission.

"Of sorts." The Moroi replies, laying down a second arc of cards under the first. "Tarot can give you a more meaningful perspective of the past, more understanding of the present and reveal potential possibilities for the future. No, it does not tell your future." She gives me a hard look like she expected that question to fall out of my mouth next. "Ask a question and I will draw a card, together we interpret its potential meaning to your question. Do not ask and we can implement the past, present and future three-card cluster."

"I have a lot of questions…it's hard to pick one or put it properly into words." Lissa says with a nervous smile. The Moroi just stares at her, waiting, until Lissa's smile fades.

The party is a loud wall at our back but tucked away here it's like being in another private pocket. The scent of the candle is tugging at me, asking for attention but when I try to give it the scent scampers away.

"Would you like me to leave?"

"No." Lissa says firmly, reaching out to touch my hand but just as her fingers begin to pull back, they curl around mine at the last second. She sits straighter and reaches out.

"Let her go." The Moroi instructs, quiet but sharp and Lissa's fingers slip from mine, "Pick three cards, slide them toward you and keep them face down. When you have all three, we will overturn them and reveal your reading."

I don't see the magic in this at all.

Lissa moves her first card across the table, the second takes her a few more minutes and then the third even longer. The Moroi watches her, eyes so dark they're almost black, sucking in the light, and she's so still it's unnerving. I almost jump when she reaches out and overturns the card at Lissa's left.

"Your past." The Moroi woman murmurs, "Is depicted by The High Priestess, reversed. You found it difficult to listen to your intuition. You listened to your head, your heart, but not your gut. There was confusion within you, and your actions did not align with what you knew to be right. You were not on a path authentic to yourself."

Lissa doesn't reply, just nods and the Moroi flips the second card.

"Your present is depicted by The Hierophant, reversed. This card represents feelings of restraint from too many structures and rules. As a result, you feel loss of control. You have a particularly strong will and desire to regain it as well as to break free from convention. You are tempted by unorthodox approaches, to defy social ties and norms. You are questioning traditions."

She flips the third card.

"Your future…The Tower." The Moroi murmurs, black eyes trained on it and a shudder runs through Lissa. I have the urge to touch her shoulder but resist. "Great change, momentous change of which, there is no turning back. It could mark loss, a disaster, chaos but it can also mean change for the good - what is destruction if not the beginning of creation?"

Seconds drag by in which Lissa doesn't move or speak, the Moroi watches her, reading her but then in one cutting motion, she collects the cards, and we jump. Lissa looks up at me, a shaky laugh leaving her lips, but the rosy glow has left her cheeks.

"Your turn." I help her out of the chair out and just before I take her place, I catch sight of Adrian.

The burnt sugar of his hair as it leans close to burnished gold. And beside him an older woman has a child's scowl; a toy has been taken away.

"Rosemarie."

My head snaps toward the Moroi behind the table.

"Don't call me that."

"I apologise, I assumed that is what Rose is short for and a Rose cut short is a pity."

I dislike this Moroi and casting a look at Lissa she doesn't seem to feel any warmer about her either.

She collects her cards, so tauntingly effortless, the way Spiridon flips and handles a blade with ease.

She spreads all the cards out in one crammed curve, the edges overlapping so it's hard to see where one card ends and the other begins. Her black eyes watch me steadily and the faint wisps of that candle are seeping in. I stare at the cards longer than Lissa had and not because I don't feel drawn but because I feel encompassed in a surrounding orbit that I can't explain, the candles' scent wafting in and out of recognition, but I can't zero in on one to draw. It's like they're reading me back, trying to decide which should step forward.

I am drunk.

It's the only rationale.

I sense Lissa open and close her mouth, the Moroi's black eyes silencing her every time until finally my hand slides across the cloth and drags one card back.

"Your past." The Moroi urges.

My teeth rake my bottom lip, my hand sealed to the surface as it moves again, pulling back another card to the right of my first.

"Your present." Lissa confirms.

And my future takes a long while to decide upon, even though this whole thing is silly. One rectangular card can't predict or allude to choices I have yet to make….but still my hand wavers across the velvet, before reaching for a card tucked at the very end of the curve. The heat of the candle presses on my skin like a kiss.

My future.

I exhale. She reaches across the table and flips the card to my left, and the smell of dry earth, too sweet fruit on the cusp of rot, fills my nose.

"Your past, is depicted by the moon." I hear her say, "Illusions, searching for truth, anxiety and fear, things carved deeply that must be overturned…" I don't lift my eyes from the table, somehow unable to, not wanting to meet black or green. "The moon watches over us, the biggest light in the night sky, an anchor. You may have felt lost, felt danger hiding in the shadows or boding just ahead whilst desperately looking for the right path. Listening to your intuition will have led you the right way."

The moon watching beyond the treetops…and I'm angry because she hadn't hidden me…an angel with red eyes…a shadow chasing me through trees.

She turns over the middle card and I try to make sense of the image, the scent of fruit retreating like the tide and pausing before it rushes back in.

"Your present is depicted by Judgement." She says, her voice like smoke, light but assaulting. "You are reflecting on your actions, on others, evaluating and coming to a significant point in your life. You might have a clearer idea of what you want and what you don't. A better understanding of yourself and others. A clearer idea of your needs and what or who doesn't serve them. Things will come to a head and you will have to make choices, that will affect yourself and others."

I can smell something sweet and musky, and then something like fabric softener laced with the frigid night air, a bitter strain of coffee. The intricate scents take up my senses, flashes appearing behind my eyes, images so unsure and fleeting – so I faintly hear her words, barely register she's overturning the last card.

Until behind me Natalie's loud laugh cloys, Mason's answering shout and Adrian's voice threading in between.

"I don't want them to listen." I tell Lissa, feeling like I'm jerking awake.

She's looking at the cards but pulls her gaze to mine before nodding. The gossamer fabric of her dress whispers over the floor and then the voices behind me halt, no longer coming closer but retreating back toward the crowd.

"Your future…" The Moroi continues, "Is depicted by The Wheel of Fortune." I glance at the candle, thinking it must have burned down to the last of the wick or wax because I can smell smoke and…iron. Not wispy smoke but thicker, charring, and something stale like sweat. "Life is a cycle we cannot control. Ups and downs, pain and pleasure – all embroidered in the rise and fall. Outside forces are moulding the change to come. You must remain steady and remember your power to endure what they put into motion, the things you love might stay close or be pulled away."

The charred smell is contorting, pickling with citrus and acidic scent of wine.

The Moroi is staring at me, the black consuming. "Remember, the wheel is always turning, and nothing lasts. The good and the bad."

---

Getting up and taking vital steps away from the table is difficult.

When I reach the harbour of familiar faces, I take Adrian's glass from him and drain it. There are encouraging whoops as the last of the sharp burn scores down my throat and the fogginess retreats from my head, the room refining at the edges.

"What did she tell you? That you're going to meet a tall handsome stranger?" Jesse asks.

Lissa's smile is wan, my thoughts are still scrambled so Adrian answers for us.

"They already have." There's a dramatic pause and he waves airily. "Moi."

"You're not that tall."

"Coming from you?" Logan grins, making a point of looking down his face at me. He must have arrived with Mason, dressed in dark jeans and a white shirt, he looked good.

"Maybe not by your standards." Adrian mutters into a new glass before smirking around it, pleased with himself

I lean close, playing a card of my own, "How's the blonde you're interested in?"

He swallows a mouthful, gulps more like, his expression unphased and then dips his face close to mine, "Peachy."

The gold around his pupil is like a starburst, not as subtle as I remember it before, and the green is the colour of grass in fall. Bright and crisp. He's enjoying himself and this game of words is not one I'll win, especially when he likes to boldly circle the truth.

I roll my eyes as someone punctuates telling us to get a room with a mocking cough.

"I own them all." Adrian throws back, straightening up. "So careful, or I might kick you out of the one I want."

I catch Ralf saying something to Mason, both glancing at Adrian with unfriendly grins.

An hour passes with all the contentment and bliss of holding chocolate on tongue, savouring it as it melts, but all the while there is an impatient undercurrent, the thrumming impulse to devour it and be done. To move on to something else more decadent…something worth consuming with relish.

My body aches with the restraint it's been clamped with. Even the smallest impulse to turn and peek at him denied.

I try to remain distracted by immersing myself with my friends, the conversation lapping around me in waves but when he appears at Lissa's side it becomes near impossible.

He can't avoid her all night because of me, that it would only upset her, and I don't want that. I want Lissa to be happy.

But can he make her truly happy when he'd a liar, he comes from liars and tyrants and –

"Are you okay?" Adrian says into my ear.

I nod rigidly and try to drown the thoughts by pouring more champagne down my throat.

I could leave, take Adrian's arm and weave through the room but I won't. Why should I? Why should I be chased away?

My stubbornness burrows deeper than my unease, flourishing in the heat of my anger. But my body remembers, strains to be away from him, reacting when he moves just the barest bit, to the point Adrian's hand is around my waist, steadying me to him.

He understands somethings wrong even if he doesn't know what.

Somehow the topic is on Adrian and I being here together, and Natalie is narrating the tale, the spotlight of it chasing out the shadows it had cast over her earlier. So, I smile brittlely as she exaggerates, alters how she responded in Victor's suite and misses the part about Adrian asking for Ben's blessing.

When bite-sized desserts, cheese on buttered wafers and platters of fruit begin to circulate I have enough sense to know I should eat something. I've drank so much tonight that I had to be on the cusp of disappearing or doing something entirely stupid. Irritation is slithering under my skin, my anger cooled and steeled but one thing could be the spark to set it ablaze. Whether it be Natalie's passive annoyance, Christian's presence, Mason's long stare or if I catch sight of them together.

When the tray reaches the shore of our group, I'm not the only person who reaches for something, but I am the only one who tries to fit more than one thing onto my napkin. I thank the waiter, spying short glasses of wine making their way through the same current the food followed

"Do you want me to hold that so you can make up another make-shift picnic?" Adrian asks.

"No, thanks." I say proudly and catch sight of what he's been toying with in the hand by his thigh. His lighter. "Are you alright?"

He immediately smiles, the showman, mouth shaping a long drawn out 'yes' but whatever's on my face makes him stall. He plucks a cherry from my napkin and pops it in his mouth. He'd been getting more fidgety as the night wore on.

"I might need to take a break soon." He admits. "There's a viewing deck close so I won't be long, it's where we'll watch the fireworks later."

"Okay, I'll go with you." I offer, "It would be nice to get some fresh air."

"It'll be freezing."

I make a point looking at him for a long second "You're my date, give me your jacket"

"It won't go with your outfit."

"In the movies men give the dates their jackets."

"But who or what will keep me warm?"

I roll my eyes as the server with the tray of glasses reaches us, another holding a wine bottle like a prize.

"Your legacy." Jesse shouts at Christian, his face flushed, as he lifts a glass from the tray and it might be the light, but Christian looks sickeningly pale.

The Dhampir tips the bottle and out pours a liquid so dark and smooth, like garnet.

"I'm so excited to try this." Lissa says, casting him a look of pride and Christian smiles weakly.

"What's this?" Adrian enquires as another glass is poured for Natalie, the smell of it tugging on a memory that turns my stomach sour.

"Blueberry wine!" Lissa declares, "Natasha had crates of it brought in from the Ozera wineries."

For a moment, sound compresses into one flat, dull noise. My triumph, my contented joy, my confidence – it all blows out like a single flame of a candle trying to stand against the darkness.

Hours spent crouched on dry earth, my back aching, my neck burning and fingers stiff. Patting compost into the ground, the smell and heat clogging up my throat and making my eyes prick. The pops that would sound from my neck and back when the day was finally over. Lying down and straightening my spine was always painful and had to be done slowly.

Those were the better days – if your basket ran low or the fruit was found softening to rot, those were the bad days. They brought punishment.

Next to me, Logan lifts a glass and the sweet scent is like a slap.

The dining room, my feet in paper thin slips, her glass held up as she demanded a refill.

"Am I the only one who knows red wine shouldn't be served during cocktail hour?" Natalie says.

"Yes." Most of the boys answer.

"My mother would never allow it. Your aunt must have been very insistent." Adrian says to Christian, who is deathly still.

For the first time in months, I'm staring directly at him, no shying away. When the pale blue eyes meet mine nothing in me flinches.

Icy panic clashing against deadened wood of winter.

The layered conversation from our friends means the moment goes unnoticed.

"Miss?"

The waiter looks at me expectantly, the bottle mouth poised over a glass. I just stare at it.

"No."

"Oh, Rose, you have to try it." Lissa begs as Jesse volunteers to take what I don't want.

"She doesn't." Christian says thinly. "And Adrian's right, this shouldn't be going around now. It's inappropriate."

Now Lissa is frowning at him, "Why are you being so weird?"

"I don't care about appropriate. The more split wine, the more ruined couture, the better memory of this night." Adrian replies and when the waiter turns to him, he glances toward me before waving them off.

"Lissa, she's clearly done this without asking for approval." Natalie pipes in, taking a long sip. "God, this is sexy though."

"She thinks she's impressing the other Royals but it's just going to come across arrogant." Christian retorts angrily and then orders the server. "Take it back."

The uniformed Dhampir looks uncomfortably confused and remains still.

"Christian." Lissa chides perplexed.

"You're just mad hundreds of dollars worth of your stock are going down our uncivilised throats." Mason says in a mock pompous voice before knocking back another glass like it's a shot.

Hundreds of dollars.

Hundreds of hours under a burning sun, skin slick with sweat and blood.

Hundreds of them drinking the price of it.

The waiter starts as my fingers lock around the bottleneck and yank it from their grip.

I turn to Adrian, ignoring the others and what they're saying, ignoring the urge to hurl the bottle at the floor or across the room. "Can we go to the deck? Now." Adrian stares at me, green eyes bright under his furrowed brow. "Please."

Someone makes a comment about us and a private party which brings on a round of laughter. That noise clashes with feeling the weight of the Others lives in my fingers.

Adrian's hand leaves my waist to seize my free one. He pulls me away, manoeuvring us through the crowd, water slipping around stones in a stream.

Inhale. Exhale.

The noise falls away as we cross into a chamber and falls further as we round into a stairwell, my hands brushing across the fake garlands woven around the rail as we climb stairs. And then Adrian throws open a door and the cold rams into all my senses.

The night air wraps around me in a confining hold, compressing the anxiety and locking in the rage, allowing my head to clear.

I'm jostled between Adrian's hands as he secures his jacket around my shoulders, "Are you alright?"

"I need to break this."

Someone else would ask why or at least give me a strange look but Adrian does neither. He assesses the deck, "Um, well, probably not here as it will look like a murder scene but…"

He strides across the frosted wood, faded footprints running along beside him until they both stop at the rail. "If you throw it that way it'll likely do no damage."

I come to where he's standing and look out at the dark abyss, into nothing, and back down at the bottle.

The glass is a dark purple, not black, and their crest is pressed into red wax above the label.

I'm holding what our lives amounted to. What they prettily packaged up, sold, or gave away, and Moroi would drink it and only taste the sweetness of the berries. Not the cruelty, the anguish, the hopelessness, the fear, and the pain.

Lissa and Natalie had tasted this.

"Rose –"

I throw it. Reeling back and snapping forward so fast his jacket falls off my glamoured back.

We don't hear it smash as the dark swallows it.

---

DPOV

I haven't drunk this much in years.

My graduation probably.

Switching from champagne to whiskey was a better decision. Whiskey I can handle. And it isn't exactly hard to stand here quietly, to nod when appropriate but what is trying is to not think of her. To not look at her because when I do, I can feel her pulling at me, angry enough to risk ripping my clothes, my tongue touching the tender point of my lip where she bit me, and I am being undone to it.

More to the point, I want to be undone by it, I want to cut through the room and ask, demand, beg, her to leave with me.

If I thought, I was in hell before.

I take another deep drink as Natasha gestures to me, and I try to tune back in, tearing my eyes away from where the glittering dress rounds the huge Christmas tree, out of sight.

Ivan's face surfaces in my mind, laughing at me. The force of it almost knocks me back, the cutting and unforgiving reminder that he's gone. His balance, his judgement, his genuine nature are all missing from this room. Without it, the scale tips further out of balance.

He'd tell me what to do.

A shimmer sweeps in the floor by the tree, her glittering shadow, and I watch Adrian move into the crowd away from her. Heading toward –

Laughter snaps me back into the circle, someone made a joke about infidelity, that turns the conversation to the Coalition reps, again. Rhea looks stony as she looks off to the side.

"Lucas isn't exactly well informed." I say, cutting in and earning expressions of surprise. I need to move this forward because I need out of this room. "Natasha has been boarding at St. Vladmir's, working closely with Headmistress Kirova to structure her classes and has connections with the Heads on the Education board. With our climate in a delicate place, we need strong representatives that will make well informed decisions, who will put in the work to do what's best."

"And you don't think Prince Ozera is capable of that, Guardian?"

Jibes are water off my back at this point. "I don't think having spent the last few years out of mainstream society has benefited him, no."

"That's a pretty bold statement."

"I was trained to be a critical and logistical thinker. Facts are facts."

The Moroi turns to Natasha who's smiling bashfully. "And would you, given the opportunity, step up to the mark?"

"I would serve in every way I could to ensure the prosperity of our world, of course I would."

The woman smiles before excusing herself, taking her newfound token of gossip to throw in the cess pool in exchange for another. Beyond Natasha, in ear shot with another group, Victor nods at me.

"You shouldn't have said that." Natasha rounds, forcing us a step away. "A Guardian being openly critical of a Royal, my brother, whilst advocating for me? It's snakey and no doubt will be halfway around the room by now."

That is the point.

"Are you going to argue that Lucas being in a position of power is the better option?"

"It is the only option." She whispers fiercely.

"No, it isn't. But I understand why you're afraid of him."

The icy blue of her eyes crack.

"Natasha! I do believe your contribution to the evening has begun to circulate." Eric enthuses, appearing beside us and acting oblivious to the tension.

He calls for Rhea and the Royals they are talking to join us, causing people on the fringes to turn at his excited voice.

How easy it is, to manipulate the masses.

A Dhampir server appears, balancing a tray of short glasses and a shining bottle of wine. Voices wash around my head as Natasha smiles humbly and faces alight with keen interest as they accept glasses.

Natasha takes the bottle and begins pouring for her audience. There's a ringing in my ears and the last, fine cord of patience snaps soundlessly.

The wine pools into a glass, so dark and rich it could be mistaken for what it costs to make. Natasha holds it out to me, the proud smile still etched on her mouth.

"No."

It comes out deathly cold and quiet, it could be so easily lost under the other voices of praise, but she hears.

Her expression dims under a shadow of nervousness.

She urges the glass toward me, "Dimitri, please. I'll explain later."

"No." I state again, louder, drawing attention.

"Something the matter?" Rhea asks and it takes control to not flinch at the dark strain on her lip.

"Not a man about fine wines." Victor laughs, appearing as if summoned with a glass in hand. "It's not for everyone."

"It's rather sweet." Rhea persists thoughtfully, "But light, it's wonderful."

Natasha, cushioned by the compliment and Victor's presence, pushes it toward me again.

"It cuts too close to resembling blood for my tastes." I say levelly. Eric's stills, Rhea frowns and Victor's gaze turns sharp. I turn back to Natasha who unbeknown to them looks panicked. "And then there's tempting fate should I spill it, how it stains, and I don't want that on my hands."

There's a beat of silence and then Eric breaks it.

"God, if you're worried about being clumsy then how far gone am I?" He chortles.

I incline my head to them all, "Excuse me."

I stride away, scanning the crowd, waiting for that pull of intuition to kick in and tell me where she is. My north point.

Around me faces are lighting in savouring pleasure as the Ozera wine infects the crowd.

A hand pulls at my elbow, one that I'd had to tolerate all night but no more. I jerk away.

"Dimitri." She hisses, "Stop it. Where are you going?"

"I'm done." I say plainly and she casts a wary look around. "And how can you pretend not to know why? How cruel can you be whilst feigning ignorance? Do you have any idea what –"

"Enough." She says in a harsh whisper and has the gall to look regretful. "Let me explain."

But I'm already searching again, finding no hint of Rose and there's a sinking sensation in my stomach.

"Dimitri –"

"No." I snap, earning curious glances that Natasha deflects with a smile. "I am done."

"Victor said it would help solidify my mark. That – "

"Your mark? The product of slave labour – that's what you want?"

"That's in the past! I would never –"

"And yet you did." I hiss and she blanches. The creature rears, snarling and wanting to rip apart the seams holding this room together. My fists shake and my collar bites into my throat, a sickening reminder. "You didn't tell me because you knew what I'd say, because I'd tell you the fucking truth of it. This makes you as bad as them. Rose is in this room, and you didn't care that you'd be trying to feed this to her, watch her friends and people she's found to be family drink down the torture she endured and enjoy it? You decided that your mark was more important. How can you excuse your way out of that?"

She's paled but sets her chin, and says calmly, "You're overreacting. You only see her as the girl you found – this probably hasn't even affected her and you're a making a scene about it."

The remaining pieces of who she was to me peel away and I'm staring at a stranger, or something worse.

"I remember the girl I found, who was saved from your brother –"

"Saved because of me!"

I bite down on my tongue until I taste copper. Behind her, through the sea of faces, I catch sight of Spiridon prowling closer against the wall.

"Yes, because of you." I say quietly and her shoulders relax, "So, why don't you spare the rest of us from him as well and take his title." And leave Montana. Let Rose have some semblance of peace. Take me out of this pantomime before I take her and flee it.

Natasha opens and shuts her mouth, the protest dying on her lips, and I see the exact moment she lets her ambition win over her fear.

"Tasha!" Christian storms toward us and behind him Lissa is trying to follow, struggling to manoeuvre her dress around people.

"This is not the time or place." She says tightly, stretching out a smile as he reaches us because in his wake curious expressions follow.

But Christian's eyes are ablaze, his face cut from the same ice as his fathers and the creature roils.

"Oh, that's right, we only talk about it on your terms and your terms are to brush it under the fucking carpet. I asked you not to, you promised, you said we were selling - "

"What is going on?" Lissa cuts in, her voice a gentle but firm hush to his fury. "Everyone is looking."

Christian seems to have caught his tongue, he and Natasha locked in a silent war of wills. Lissa looks between them and then at me, her face turning to a plea.

I wouldn't protect them in the same breath that would betray Rose.

"Excuse me." And I leave the Ozera's to navigate their own lies.

I cut around the dancing figures, the laughter, the performers and still I can't find her. But I find the counter point to my entanglement with Natasha.

Victor shows the barest hint of surprise when I interrupt the group he's hosting, asking for a private moment. The good spirits he's in flee through the course of what I have to say.

"I fear you are speaking on impulse." He says mildly but his eyes bare warning "We have all had a bit to drink and I understand, I do, the impact this has on you but –"

"I won't change my mind." My voice is flat. "Natasha will take his title, you will have your vote, and you have my decision."

He isn't taking me seriously, not completely, mistaking my resolve for a threat. That I am acting out of emotion goaded by the alcohol I've consumed. That he will be able to talk me out of it or humble me to an excuse come tomorrow.

He's wrong.

"My work is done for this evening."

Victor studies me, the revelry and cheers surrounding our stalemate.

"Yes, it is. Goodnight Dimitri."

No sooner is my name out of his mouth before I'm brushing past him, searching again, and when the opportunity opens to bump a shoulder, the trajectory of that body stumbling into a tray carrying wine.

I feel the smallest pang of guilt for the server as the sound of smashing and a shriek sounds in my wake.

---

RPOV

A click breaks the silence, then the muffled sizzle of the cigarette catching and Adrian exhales. Spice stains the air.

"Are you cold?"

"Yes. But it's a mandatory requirement that my date steal my tailored layers so."

I wish I could force a smile but then…Adrian is one of four people I don't have to do that with. There's comfort in that at least. And in my rage, my thrumming, crackling rage that is hot wiring through my veins.

"I'm sorry for – well, if I ruined things." I say, my voice walking a monotone tightrope.

I feel him looking at me, "You didn't ruin anything, but your little posse definitely has their own ideas about why we snuck away with a bottle of wine." He takes another draw, "Holding hands and almost running didn't help. The narrative or my lungs."

I sigh and lean forward against the rail. The valley looks so different from up here, bigger. The village small in its cradle, vulnerable somehow. It's so dark I can't make out where the ski trials are or the lifts that are always visible.

The clove smoke fans around my neck and my eyes water. I feel him watching me and choosing his words.

"Rose, I have a theory and I don't like it." He says softly, "I keep trying to talk myself out of it but then something will happen and it's right there again." I keep my eyes on the distant specks of light, my heightened sense of sight deciphering people moving along the main avenue. He takes a deep breath, "You have gone out of your way on multiple occasions to avoid Christian. At Halloween your aura flipped the moment he came into the room, at Thanksgiving, the pool and my abilities aside, you don't look at him or acknowledge he's there. Until twenty minutes ago."

I can't find a bit of truth to chisel away to offer him without bringing down the whole structure of my lies.

"Has he hurt you?" Adrian asks quietly.

My lips are dry, kindling that would catch should my tone spark. "He reminds me of someone who has."

He nods as if he's been expecting the answer. Then feather light his hand touches my back and I swear I feel Lissa's magic tingle in response.

"Who, Rose?"

I close my eyes and say their names. Adrian's fingers curl against my back as I skim over the details of how Victor found out, how Dimitri found me and how I never expected to have to see any of them ever again. He doesn't say anything, but when I finish, he blows out a long breath like he's held it the entire time. I make myself look at him and my heart jolts. His eyes gleam dangerously in the dark, all humour bleached from his pale skin, the corner of his mouth.

"Do you need another cigarette?"

A noise comes out of his throat, like a bubble of laughter died before it could escape. "I don't think there's enough narcotics in the world."

He rakes in another rough breath and swallows, before his arm curls firmly around my shoulders and pulls me in.

"I'm sorry. I'm more sorry than I'll ever be able to say and it's audacious to even try."

"You saying it means something." I whisper into his shirt, the rich cologne reminding me this is different to the comfort I usually find. With Ben it's one strong arm around my shoulders followed by a joke. Spiridon is stone cold honesty with direction. And Dimitri…Dimitri is finding even ground, warmth and a place to lay my head.

And now Adrian, rich spice and the returned feeling of finding comfort somewhere new.

"Lissa doesn't know." He states after a moment, "And Victor is…pushing them together. She's basically his niece."

"I don't know what to do."

His hand claps the back of my head as the other presses into my back.

The weight of my secrets hasn't changed but having another person willing to carry them makes a difference.

"We'll figure this out." He promises, resting his chin on my head.

A dam is cracking within me, amber-spiked rage sputtering and spitting through the fissures, meeting the cool balm of his embrace.

The door to the deck is thrown open causing us both to jump.

Dimitri fills the entry, wisps of the party slinking out around him, the light at his back cloaking his towering figure in shadow. I feel, more than see, his eyes look between us, to wear Adrian's hands rest on my upper arms, noting his jacket wrapped around me and the impression of emotion on our faces.

"Apologies." He says, not sounding sorry at all.

Adrian rubs my upper arms and forces a lightness into voice, "No need, I've done my fair share of interrupting tonight."

Bold. So, very bold.

I slide off Adrian's jacket and hand it back to him. "I'm not going back in, but you should. You should go enjoy yourself, Andre will be happy to have you to himself."

"I can come with you." He offers quietly, both of us ignoring Dimitri's presence. I shake my head and he leans in to press a kiss to my forehead, causing my throat to tighten. "I'll talk to you tomorrow and we'll figure this out."

It's just words but they plant warmth and hope.

I wind my arms around myself as he walks away, the crystals biting into my cold skin, the air thinning with the unsaid.

Until Adrian breaks it.

"I've known, from the first time we met, how you've felt about her. I'm not about to jeopardise what you have. I love Rose, she's important to me, I would never do anything to hurt her."

"Again." Dimitri says softly and my eyes close, irritation zipping through my blood.

"Right, just like I'm sure you won't."

I'm about to tell him to knock it off but Adrian's already descending the stairs.

The wind picks up and a shudder rocks through my bones, knocking out a breath that frosts the air. I don't hear him move but then heat is pressing in as he pulls the blanket of his jacket around, the smell of him enveloping as he pulls it tight. Adrian's was of finer material, and smaller, having little effect against the temperature.

"Roza, look at me, please." I tear my eyes away from the set point beyond his arm, lifting to his collar – it's too tight around his throat, likely leaving marks – and then finally to his face. His eyes are exactly like the view, dark with faint flecks of gold. "I didn't know."

I know he means about the wine, and I know he's telling the truth.

But it doesn't dissipate or appease anything, so my face remains blank which serves to bring his frustration to the surface and my rage purrs.

I was angry before, in the confines of the bathroom, but now the fire is liquid and licking around the confines of my body, begging to be let out.

Another blow from the world, another thing out of our control and thrown at us. But this time, what is worse, is that there is an audience to it, and they are lapping it up, literally.

And against reason or rationality, I want to fight with him, burn to.

"Say something." He urges and my tongue scrapes my teeth, trying to pry apart my lips.

"Like what?" Two words, thrown like stones.

His features tighten, clinging to his patience, and it almost makes me smile. "You always have a lot to say, don't pretend otherwise now."

We stare at each other, the space between us almost spitting and crackling. I don't trust myself to speak, not knowing where to start because if I start then I won't stop. I won't stop because the violent static running through my blood demands action, I won't stop because it's safe to dispel on him, it's safe to fight with him and the dark curl in my stomach is a tell that there's pleasure to be found in it too.

Because it's release, it's getting lost, it's escape and it's being safe in the storm.

And that just brings my attention back to an errant note logged into my mind – that's exactly why he used to be with Sofia.

I shrug off his jacket and shove it against his chest, but not quick enough to pull back before his fingers latch around it as well as my hand. The only warmth there is as the wind whistles by.

"Yes, I have a lot to say but what does it matter? You want me to be happy that you were blindsided too? That Victor probably knew and didn't warn either of us? That the people I care about are down there drinking and praising her, talking about how much it's worth when they have no fucking idea what it costs? But sure, thank you for telling me you didn't know. I'll keep that in mind when the next thing happens and you're by her side when it does." I try to wrench away but there's no give, so I redirect and push at him. "Let go!"

He doesn't, instead, he reels me in tight and I'm hairsbreadth from screaming in his face.

"I understand your anger and I can take it, whatever you want to throw at me, but one thing will be clear between us, Rose." He tugs me closer, the planes of his face severe. "I am on your side, always."

My lip curls, "You should probably get back. We wouldn't want her to be missing you."

His jaw flexes and I know if I keep pushing, I won't just break his mask, I'll shatter it.

"I've made it clear that my role where Natasha is concerned is fulfilled and I won't be taking it any further." He says deathly soft, an illusion of being calm as if it could convince us both, "And I will not go another day, another hour, without trying to resolve this. Even it means arguing with you all night."

I wrench free, glaring at him before striding away.

The whole walk back to my room I don't have to turn back to know he's close behind.

---

The hall to my suite is disconcertingly quiet after wading through the celebrations, ignoring the faces turning toward me, the hushed whisper and giggles of gossip exchanging. Just like it had on the walk down.

My skirt brushes the carpet, then the beep of my door, the soft thump of my purse as I toss it aside and then the quiet click of the latch and lock.

The silence stretches, just as aggressive as if we'd begun shouting at each other.

Dimitri moves past me to the drinks cart and pours out two glasses, keeping one neat whiskey and adding soda to the other. He then offers it to me, making me think of the white flag the cowboy offers in Quicksilver, a moment of peace before the battle.

The stubbornness in me wants to keep my arms crossed but make myself take it, trying to ignore the static that runs over my fingers as they graze his. Our eyes meet and I know he feels it too – but then he walks away, putting a safe distance between us as he sits down on the couch as if readying for a calm discussion. As if he can convince himself it will be but I've known him long enough to recognise the rigid lines of his frame, the tension coiled in his shoulders, ready to strike rather than relax.

And I want to tease that out.

I take a sip to steady myself, the sweetness overlaying the sharp smoke, relighting the alcohol in my system. My nerve endings smooth out, and my temper quietens enough so that when he breaks the silence, I don't immediately feel coiled to hit back.

"One thing I haven't said yet, which I had every intention of saying before my...temper got in the way." He exhales and meets my eyes, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't handle this well. I should have been more direct than cautious. I never wanted to hurt you."

I stare at him, seeing the sincerity below the frustration, noticing how It's more difficult for him to admit he lost a grip on his emotions than it is to apologise. Always trying to keep himself in check and not let go, to be holding back.

I've been so absorbed in my own reasons that I haven't stopped to appreciate his anger. I chose to do what I did in retaliation to something that wasn't within his control. Marched out in a uniform to take part in a fight he didn't choose. Someone else's orders, someone else's agenda

"I know you didn't." I finally say, "But – "

"But I did." He finishes and drops his gaze. "And I know an apology isn't enough."

My only answer is to take another drink.

"You need to speak to me, even if it is only to shout."

"I don't want to talk."

He sits forward, contemplating the glass between his knees. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No."

I relish the mask slipping, the frustration colouring his face and hardening his eyes, "Then what do you want?"

What do I want? I don't want to talk because it doesn't change the fact the world pressed in and left another bruise. That it crowded so tightly that I stopped being able to breathe and was forced out of the room. It won't change the fact I feel like I need to spar or run for hours to dull the impact of another blow when I thought I had the upper hand.

I take another drink, savouring the bite. "I want to keep fighting."

The muscle feathers in his jaw and he grits out, "What?"

Something like rage but more destructive, like longing but far more selfish, like desire but for more consuming…and when it erupts it destroys the stress embedded, it devours and I want so badly, to be devoured.

To not feel like this.

"Make time to fight with me." I invite.

Comprehension hits and clears his expression. And instead of seizing the moment like earlier, when he'd pushed me against that door and given me a taste of the outlet I needed, he sinks back against the couch, declining.

"That's not a good idea." His words are rough around the edges.

"Why?" I demand silkily as the heat of anger rearranges itself, and weaponizes in another way.

His gaze lifts to mine, almost black and pinning, "Because the way I feel right now, the way I want you, it could frighten you and I won't risk that."

I've always known or suspected he holds back, that I haven't felt the entirety of the power he holds in his body, hadn't been ready to. But now I want to know, now I want more than anything, to be lost and safe, to be in the craze where there is no restraint. Where the world can't interrupt and has no control of either of us.

And for him to be wary, it touches on being patronizing – as if I can't make my own decisions, as if I am so naïve.

"You won't. I haven't been afraid of you since you walked me out of the woods."

"We both know it doesn't work like that." He replies tightly, tracking every small step I make. "It can surprise you."

"Fight with me." I dare, reaching for the zip.

There's conflict in his face, his jaw rigid, his eyes alight with that hunger…but even so, I know he won't yield.

Neither will I and I had discovered new weapons in my arsenal.

The weight of the dress shifts, slackening against my body.

"Rose." He warns as it slides down slowly, starry winter giving way to silk night.

Unlike the first time I stood in front of him in lingerie, I'm not gripping my nerve in a choke hold, and he doesn't deny himself looking at me.

"Fight with me."

His gaze is like a caress as it travels down my neck, trailing over my collarbone, my breasts and my stomach before sweeping down my legs. Detailing the belt and the straps that latch to the band of lace at my thighs, what he'd felt earlier when he explored.

He is incredibly still.

"You think I don't know that your hold back. You think I don't know what I'm asking?" I step out of the pool of diamonds and toward him. His hand fists. "You've seen the pages I've folded down in the book, the one that details the different types of ways to be with someone." I take measured steps toward him and begin to list, "Making love, sex, and – "

And then he's right in front of me, moving so quickly the surprise cuts me off. Lightly he takes my chin, tipping it higher and I all but glare at him for the gentleness of it.

"And what?" He asks softly, resolve resting on my answer.

Such a strange word, so many meanings, usually it's to heighten what I'm trying to express, except right now – it's a singular thing and the meaning of it I want him to define.

I force it out on a breath, "Fucking."

One word loaded for action, saturated in craving, and an advantage on my side.

The white flag lowers as he leans in, slow, and deliberate, dark eyes holding the promise of what I want - a wildness, but his voice is still soft.

"That's what you want?"

"Yes."

His touch skates featherlight along my jaw, causing tingles to run over my waist, for an ache to sound and my patience to crack. He reaches the back of my neck, my hair sliding between his fingers. I gasp as he tugs it back, the tenderness overturning.

His eyes search my face, looking for a hint of what he won't find and still, he doesn't give in.

"And what would I need to hear before giving you that?"

The same thing he reminds me of every time we're breaching something new for me but this time my irritation far surpasses my appreciation.

I grit my teeth but he's unmoveable without it.

"I'll keep my promise." His hold means I can't move far so I arch into it, enjoying how that earns a reaction, and gives me an advantage, "Fight with me, Dimitri, and then we'll talk."

His mouth comes down on mine and I'm pulled against the hard lines of him. The noise that escapes my throat is a mixture of relief and craving, need and desperation. The storm finally hitting after waiting for it to roll in, and instead of it being something we weather, we become it.

We kiss, fierce and wild as if it's sparring but when my tongue breaches his lips first, I feel his groan vibrate in his chest, hand still fastened in my hair as the other explores. The rougher parts of his palms are a needed friction and when it grips my ass I gasp into his mouth. Each finger bites into the soft skin, bowing me to him and my leg inches up his.

Dimitri makes a rough noise of satisfaction before using that hold to lift me onto his hips, closing the advantage he had.

My back hits the wall, my mouth breaking from his in a whimper as pressure is applied to the cradle of my thighs. He takes the battle down my neck as I get pinned in the sensations coursing through my body, and when he rocks into me, slow and grating, it snaps me back into the fight. I pull at his jacket until he wrests it off, somehow shifting me higher, taking the pressure away and turning his attention to my neck, the swell of my chest, kissing and nipping until it all feels taunting.

"Dimitri." The want in my voice betraying the command it was supposed to be.

"You asked me for something." He says, hand running along my thigh, my hip, the black satin fastened to my chest in a possessive caress. "So, you'll be patient until I give it to you."

I latch onto his hair and yank his head back, earning what can only be described as a growl. I pull at his tie and then collar, the bolt coming free and showing the indentations on his skin.

"I have been patient, all night, wanting you."

Those gold flecks burn, the muscles in his throat shifting interestingly beneath the marks they left on him. I dip to cover them back my lips, tracing my tongue over the lines and listening to the sharp breaths he takes, still in my hold.

"Show me that you want me too, like you've never wanted anyone else."

And with speed and precision, only a warrior can have, my wrists are pinned above my head, hips sliding back down to meet that pressure as his mouth grazes over mine.

"I have never craved anyone else." A husky vow.

My pulse is fluttering, hips tilting on their own against him as my heels press in, but I smirk and echo from another time, "Prove it."

His mouth claims mine, truly claims it. Fierce and consuming kisses that make it difficult to breathe and I don't care because I want to burn together, have it ingrained on our bodies and souls that he's for me as I am for him. I rip out the band in his hair, raking my fingers over his scalp and beneath his shirt where the muscles shift between his shoulders.

Gravity swings as I'm held against him, followed by a loud clatter as the small dining table is cleared and I find myself perched on it.

It's a moment that makes me pause, drinking in the sight of him like this. The towering, powerful presence held the broad width of his shoulders and chest. How painfully handsome he is with desire ablaze in his eyes as his hands firmly pull my hips to the edge so only his body keeps me balanced there.

Something primal in me takes over.

I grab his tie and pull him to me, ripping open his shirt with so much force I hear the buttons ping loudly where they land. He groans, hands tangled in my hair, tipping my mouth how he wants it as my nails scape over those dips and lines of his torso, to the small of his back to press into the dimples there, trailing around to the dent of his hips.

The heat of his body calls to mine, and I need it sealed against me, need him as close as possible. I press my palm to where his need is apparent too and he sucks in a tight breath. I pull at his belt, only to have my wrists pinned to my sides.

He's looking at me like only he looks at me and it's that look that stops my protest, but my legs tighten their hold around him as the ache demands.

---

DPOV

Marathon. Not a sprint.

But fuck, it's so incredibly punishing to remember that when she's looking at me like she is now, breathless and craving. Laid on a table, in nothing but scraps of black satin and lace that have my heart thundering, body shuddering in response to how badly I want her.

Those loose curls mussed from my hands, her quick harsh breaths that enhance the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her waist that will be my handhold, the flare of her hips and - god - the stockings. A shade a little lighter than her skin, ending at or beginning at her thighs that currently frame my hips.

What the hell is it about stockings?

And the most alluring thing of all, those eyes, glaring at me from under her lashes and my cock twitches.

There's so much pleasure in staring at her, so much reverence and especially like this where desire is mounting to the point of pain, temptation becoming a vital need. She wants me to show her how I want her, prove how badly, not hold back?

Fine.

"I wanted to leave all of this on the first time." I inform, running another appreciative eye over her. "But now I have other ideas."

She tests the hold I have her in and I smirk. That glare heats and drops to the strain in my trousers, causing electricity to rocket down my spine. Her thighs tighten around my hips and my intention nearly collapses.

"You think this is all about you?" I murmur, leaning in and she lifts her chin defiantly. "I want things too."

"How silly of me to think they'd be the same thing."

I guide her onto her back, releasing her wrists, "Something tells me you won't complain."

I plant one hand firmly on her lower stomach, the other running down the thigh hitched around me. My thumb brushes the satin, finding it damp and warm. The light touch earns a whimper, a sound to make my blood pound. I tug the material aside and her breath catches.

I groan, "Look at you."

My palm glides up in a possessive splay, making indents in the pillowy swell, feeling her heart thump in her chest. Her hands fold over the back of mine, allowing me this, allowing control.

"Do you know what I want to remove?" I murmur, watching the blush spread across her cheeks.

She licks her lips, eyes closed. "I can guess."

I hum, "Can you?"

And before she can answer, I brush my fingers over the warm, wet softness of her, shuddering as she bows against my palm.

I am at worship and God is rushing through.

I ease my fingers in, not one but two, because she's more than ready and that primal thing in me rears as I recall her saying she's wanted me for hours. Rose moans, reaching out to grip the table's edge as I work in and out of her, thumb circling and then pressing down. Her hips rocking against me, seeking more, wanting more. Pleasure ripples across her face, staining her cheeks, my eyes tracking every tell, savouring every little benediction that falls from her lips as reassurance.

I pluck at the black satin cupping what I should be.

"This, Roza. Take this off for me." I coax softly, contrasting to what my touch is doing.

She does without argument, unlatching it at the front, and then she's bare from the waist up. A groan sounds from low in my throat as the soft swells bounce slightly, the hardened peaks daring to be between my teeth.

"No." The protest comes in a small plea as my touch leaves her but it's only for a moment in which I replace it with my tongue.

I spread her thighs across my shoulders and find out what other benedictions I can earn. My tongue traces the small bundle, circling, lapping, before sinking down to dip inside her.

Rose writhes, dainty fingers sliding against my scalp, pulling at my hair, panting affirmations with my name and it unleashes a new primitive wave. I have spent hours watching others watch her, knowing all too well the considerations running through their minds and the fresh acclaim they gave to Adrian because of it.

It had been maddening, it had been humbling and now it's divine.

I lick up, in one forced press, sucking hard on that little bud as my fingers sink into her again.

Affirmations turn to pleas.

She moves my hand to where she wants more sensation and I'm more than willing. I grasp her rougher than I ever allow, goaded by the tensity of suffering through envy, wanting to claim her and trying to do just that as my tongue works her undone.

Rose's moans and cries thin, as I feel her winding tighter.

I pull away to bite her thigh, smirking at the throaty sound of displeasure and reaching up to grasp her with my other hand, circling her wetness around her nipple. She grips my wrist trying to push it back and I let out a dark chuckle.

"We're fighting, Roza." I remind her. "I don't have to be nice about it."

Her nails dig in and when I sense she's about to give back I lower my mouth back to her, licking her in one long, light swipe. She squirms, trying to leverage her legs on my shoulders to bear down

"But I won't be cruel."

I pull my hand back, sucking hard on her clit, teeth grazing, my fingers pressing deep, curling higher and she arches onto her shoulders.

---

RPOV

He is being cruel because this isn't fighting fair. Every glide of his tongue is torture and not enough, I can't endure it anymore and it increases the tension twisted up in my body. I pull at his hair and push up on my elbow, frustrating pressure thrumming through my every muscle as his mouth stops but his touch doesn't.

Dimitri's dark eyes collide with mine, a proud look crossing his face and confirming he knows exactly what he's doing.

"More." I demand.

"Are you ready for me?" He taunts quietly, as if it isn't obvious, and if I wasn't already made of fire I would ignite as he considers what his fingers are doing.

I snap forward, fisting his shirt and trying to ignore what the angle does. "Enough. Give me what I want."

He smirks, actually fucking smirks. "Remind me." And before I can react to that, he bears over me, chest brushing mine, the heel of his palm pressing hard so my eyelids flutter, "Say it."

That word, 'fuck', with so many meanings and variations and intentions depending on how it's said and right now it's the only word that I can hold in my head because it's part of the key.

I forge it to myself.

"Fuck me."

He cusses in Russian and kisses me. This time he doesn't stop me when I undo his belt, and pull his pants low on his hips, both of us making wild noises as I taste myself on his tongue, as I take him in my hand, as my underwear is yanked aside again and likely ruined. His brow leans against mine as my touch works up and down the length of him, a sharp inhale before brushing my touch aside so he can take over. I grasp the back of his neck, as the broad tip slides against me, my body straining as he tilts us back a little…

In one movement, his lifts my hip and slides into me.

My lungs seize and I gasp in the space between our mouths. The sweetest sting as my body stretches to accommodate his size, that hallow ache now filled, the impact rippling through me.

"Blyad." A guttural exhale.

I'm still, save for the short, telling pants, nails creating crescents in his tattoos.

"Rose?"

His shoulders quake as he fights impulse, a shadow of concern held in my name, so my response is to nip at his bottom lip, rocking against him as my hand sinks beneath his waistband to grip his ass. It's all the reassurance he needs.

He melts against me, tongue sliding against mine and tasting the moan that quivers in my throat as his hips roll back and then forward. And then it changes. The kiss heats, teeth and tongue scraping before a hand slides to my throat to ease me back onto the table.

He does exactly what I asked for, what he made me spell out – Dimitri fucks me.

His hands encircle my waist, keeping me tilted as his hips drive into me, harder and faster than he ever has. I have no grip on the room or him or any coherent thought. My fingers claw and slide against the table surface but the only thing I can find purchase on is myself – and it just propels the pleasure.

It thunders through me, waging war on everything I've had to shoulder these past weeks. Every ember of stress, every kernel of irritation, every flame of rage and restrained inferno of fury is ignited and let loose.

There's a shift in position, in rhythm, that allows me to surface. My heads kicked back against the surface, his hand at the base of my throat in a soft press, his chest brushes my stomach and then I gasp when his mouth closes around the peak of my breast. His pace drops to a slow, hard roll, and the hand on my neck hand slides to the back so he can lift me to meet his mouth.

"Watch." He says thickly.

And I do. I watch where our bodies meet, where my thighs are parted wide, the retreat and the return. I watch until his pace picks up and I can't anymore. There's no indicator of the climb cresting, every stroke as incredible as the last but then release crashes through me so violently I lose every sense to it.

Vaguely I know I'm clinging to him, that his face is pressed into my neck, arm around my waist as he moves faster and more desperate. His shout is muffled against my skin, in my hair, his shoulders bunching as he shatters.

---

DPOV

I don't know how long we've been like this. My face buried in her neck, her chest rising and falling against mine, a dampness to our skin as release ebbs away. Inwardly I assess if my weight could be hurting her and then give myself another handful of seconds before pushing back.

Her fingers stay curled at my neck, not allowing me to go far. Those warm brown eyes are mostly clear of the fury that burned so brightly earlier, that had made me afraid that the last straw had been snapped and Natasha's act had taken her from me.

But now she's looking at me through a pleasured daze, wrapped around me like ivy as our harsh breaths sync.

Selfishly, so selfishly, I had my own reasons to want to be lost in her. My temper would have had the best of me tonight if finding her hadn't been my priority. If my love for her didn't surpass all the rage I felt and almost broke free when confronting Victor. If I hadn't been so blackened by jealousy of an Ivashkov with her.

She'd saved me from myself.

Her gaze has turned studious, as if she can sense the shift in my thoughts. The warmth cools a little, determination returning, and she tilts her face up in that quiet ask.

I kiss her slowly but with fervour, intent, and after a minute she pushes the ruined shirt from my shoulders. Her fingertips tracing the fine chain I'd refused to take off and I think she hasn't noticed until now.

Not like I'd noticed her bare hand the moment I took it earlier.

She presses her lips to the base of my throat, the cross, and I fold her tighter to her to me, soft curves welcoming me home as she kneads the back of my head, something I love, something only she knows. The quiet between us is content, intimate in the afterglow, as I can savour softer kisses, unrushed for now. She tastes like whiskey, sweet and smokey, and predictably it isn't long before my blood thrums again.

I unfasten the garter belt, remove her ruined underwear and peel the stockings from her legs, taking my time to appreciate the silky feel of them.

"I don't think I can wear those again." She says, low and tempting as she watches me kneel.

"I'll get you more." I promise.

She smirks, "I have more."

I raise an eyebrow and she smiles wider, "I brought them with me."

"Interesting." I murmur, leaning up to brush my lips over hers. "Stay here."

I collect two bottles of water, provisions and preparation, and when I return she hasn't moved - save to draw her knees together. Wordlessly she reaches for me and I draw an arm around her waist, lifting her back to my hips and carry her to the bedroom.

---

RPOV

I kiss his shoulder greedily. My teeth scrape the soft skin where his shoulder meets his neck causing him to inhale sharply, and the possessive thing in me purrs. He lowers me to the floor by the foot of the bed, the edge of the next arena. He tosses the water aside and curls a finger under my chin, so I'm looking at him instead.

My mouth goes dry.

There's been a shift somewhere, where I've gone from demanding to having, where he's gone from willing to purposive. He's looking at me in that primal, contemplative way, his fingers skating over the flare of my hip as wanting builds again.

"There's a way in which I want you, Roza, that I have thought about for a long time." He says quietly, accent flavouring his words and sending a shiver over my skin. "And I think considering what you asked for there's no better time. If that is still what you want?"

I lick my lips, "Yes."

He dips to kiss me as if wanting to taste the word.

"And if you don't?"

My palms slide down to the trousers slung low. "I won't want you to stop."

I watch his throat constrict and I'm being pulled into the current, enthralled by how the muscles shift in his torso.

"If you do." He presses.

I almost sigh but don't because ultimately this is one of the reasons why I love him.

I lift my eyes to his, "I promise I'll tell you."

His shoulders relax, so slight I'm sure only I would notice, especially as his lips have tilted to a sinful curl. He dips as I reach, mouths colliding and the kiss deeper for it. He inches me toward the bed, and I moan low in my throat as the length of him presses at my hip.

The craving returns in a roar.

Dimitri turns me, my back to his chest, the bed in front, and he kisses my neck before his words graze my ear.

"Kneel on the bed, Roza." Not fully understanding why but urged on by the excited flutter in my stomach, I do. His arm is loosely coiled around my waist, lips leaving a trail on my shoulder. I tilt my face to him and the next direction fans my lips, "Hands to the bed."

I lean forward under his guiding palm until I'm braced on all fours.

I feel him move back and a new sense of vulnerability presses in, twining with the anticipation. His hand coasts the dip of my waist, my hips and then there's a sensation, like silk slipping off my skin and my breath catches with the realisation.

Lissa's magic.

And for a second it's too much, knowing he can see every intimate inch of me whilst I can't see him, knowing my back is no longer smooth and unmarred by marks and nicked skin. Sofia Tarus silhouette flashes in front of my eyes, the clinging satin, the clean marble of her back and –

A light kiss presses to my spine and I let go of the breath I'm holding. Then another. A third under my shoulder blade, lips skimming the longest mark before sealing over it. His fingers trace the curve of my waist, over my hips and down my thighs, coaxing the fire back to full flame.

Tension leaves my frame in a sigh.

"Ty neobyknovennyy." He says, touch trailing back up my legs to cup my backside.

A tremor goes through me, "Dimitri."

"Seeing you like this is doing irreversible things to me. I am ruined for you, you understand that don't you? That I am only for you now. Always." I can barely hear what he's saying, his touch cresting higher between my thighs, to where I'm wet with both of us. Another tremor wracks my body. "And you're for me, aren't you?"

My nerves are fraying, "Yes."

The rustle of his trousers being kicked away. "And this is only for us?"

My hips bear back, fingers curling into the bed. "Yes."

He hums, a low broad rumble and then I feel the tip of him where his touch had been. Dimitri's heated, hard length slides into me in one purposeful, slow push. My mouth opens but there is no air. My hips arch, my shoulders pull back as my head bows. Carnal, lavish heat floods my entire body and the only thing I can feel is him, the only thing I know is how he feels.

He says something, in English or Russian I have no idea, and then he moves, and I am lost.

I had been naïve before. I had only been eased in. Because this this was what I'd wanted. What I asked for and he knew, he knew to add in another step first.

It's an effort to breathe, every other inhale and exhale punctuated by pleasure given sound. His grasp holds me in place as all that strength, all that power, is channelled into the pounding of his hips – every push deep, every retreat slick, all of it given hard.

This is giving over control but still retaining power, this is pure undiluted pleasure.

I don't know when my arms give out, when I collapsed so my cheek is pressed to the covers, when they twisted around my hands. Or when I turn my face to the bed, so my fractured moans and cries are muffled.

It's so good, it's so fucking good.

I'm yanked back. An arm scooping around my waist, the other taking my jaw, bowed against his fevered chest as his ragged breaths pierce the haze.

"Say that again."

What? What had I been saying?

This angle has him pressed in tight, touching a point so deep that the pressure is overwhelming and incredible.

"I know I asked you once, to not swear at me but I think – "He retreats unrushed, contrasting to the craze before and then pushes back in, "I was wrong."

"Oh, fuck." I hear myself whimper as my hips push back into his.

A throaty laugh fans against my ear as the hand not holding my neck drifts from my waist to between my thighs. My head falls back at the silken touch, fingers clutching each wrist, the whirlpool circles bringing me closer to drowning.

"Say my name." He murmurs right into my ear.

I'm crippled under this wanton need, and I squirm against him. "Please."

He tips my head back a little further, his tongue sliding against mine in a mess of a kiss, like he wanted to taste the plea.

"Say it."

His pace picks up and I'm too sensitive to every movement. My mind is dissolving into wisps,

"Di – oh god."

I feel him smile against my cheek, "Close enough."

He lowers me back to the bed, moving us both so he comes down over me, remaining close as he resumes the pace from before and a force builds in the cradle of my hips. I reach back, tangling my fingers in his hair, probably pulling hard enough to cause pain, as our skin slaps together. His guttural moans, my name ragged from his mouth, his hand between my body and the covers turn my blood molten.

The force detonates, sending pulse after pulse of raw pleasure through me. He pushes the thick curls away from my face as I cry out, watching it overwhelm me as my body shakes around him.

"Yes." He hisses and then he pulls back to grab my hips, strokes turning rougher, and he comes apart with a shout that would be heard from the hall, if not the floors below.

He collapses over me, bracing on his elbows to save me from his weight and the only sound is our ragged breaths.

---

I don't know if I fall into a light sleep or just a blissed-out state but when I surface, I find him on his back next to me. I stretch out to touch him, missing the contact, and as soon as I graze his chest he catches my fingers, pressing them to his lips.

He turns to me, the gold chips bright in his eyes and a question on his face.

"I'm alright." I reassure.

A soft smile, "That's what I was hoping to hear, 'I'm alright'."

A small giggle works free, "I'm sorry, do you need more detailed praise?"

He rolls onto his side, a sheen to his skin that mirrors the slick feel of my spine. "No, you singing them is very fresh in my memory."

My bones are too liquidy to feel even remotely embarrassed. The most I manage is a smug smile as he pulls me closer, and I settle into his warmth. I trace his cheek with my thumb and smooth back his hair.

"It needs cut." He murmurs.

"Don't you dare."

"Oh? Do I continue growing it out until it's as long as yours?"

I grin, "No. But…not yet. I like it. Never short"

"That was a well constructed argument." I nip his arm and he pretends it hurt. "Okay, As you wish, lyubimaya."

The name plants something tender in my chest. I run my fingers back to that sweet spot at the nape of his neck and his eyes close, a heavy sigh leaving him.

We lie there for a little longer before he kisses me gently and then gets up. He retrieves a damp warm towel and wordlessly cleans me up. When he comes back from the bathroom, he hands me a bottle of water and a moment later I'm snickering around the rim.

"What?" He asks, pulling the covers to tuck around our waists.

I try to speak but it turns into a giggle, spurred on when he raises an eyebrow.

I take a breath. "Close enough?"

His expression clears and then he drops from his elbow onto his back, flinging an arm over his face as I repeat it again, prying his arm away, laughing harder at his embarrassment and cheeks renewing with colour.

"I knew it. I knew you liked being called a god." He tries to hide in his other hand but I grab that too.

He tries to say something, but laughter contorts it and that makes it so much funnier. It goes on until tears prick my eyes and we both have to work to calm down.

When the amusement fades it welcomes in silence, lifting the afterglow and around the border of the bed all the things that still need discussed wait for us.

His gaze searches my face, waiting for me to decide.

"I know you didn't mean to hurt me. I know you're sorry and I know you didn't know about the wine."

"But?" He prompts softly.

"It still hurts." I admit, "And I think it will, for a while."

"I have a while and I'll spend it making things right."

I absorb that, let it balm the hurt I wasn't ready to admit the extent of yet.

"What did you mean on the deck, about her?"

His expression darkens and he presses me closer. "After I realised what they'd done it was like…the final layer peeled away, and who I saw isn't the woman I knew. And knowing Victor would indorse it…with you in the room, having it served to you when he knows what you suffered." His jaw clenches and I press a light kiss to it. "All that's left is this contract that binds me against my will to do things I don't believe in anymore. And I can't do that to you – I won't." His eyes move to mine. "I got Natasha to agree to challenge Lucas for his title – which means she will leave for Court and have to spend her time there. And…"

"And?"

"And when Natalie and Lissa graduate this summer, Victor will relocate to Court not long after. Likely August, or early September. That's when my contract expires, and I told him I won't be renewing it."

I process that, not daring to hope, "So, she'll leave for Court soon and by the time we would be moving there your contract ends and…"

His thumb strokes my cheek, "We leave."

It sounds too good to be true. The right medicine to treat the blows.

"Rose?"

"I…I want to believe you but I don't. I can't because if I do, and then that doesn't happen, and you get ordered off to Romania or something, then I'm a fool…again."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"It was an example." I mutter.

"Nevertheless, I'm not going anywhere, and I am not participating in any more of her classes. I am done."

I sit up, drawing my knees to my chest. "He can make you." When he doesn't say anything, I look over my shoulder. "What?"

His gaze is hard on the ceiling, "Maybe be leave sooner rather than later, run."

He can't be serious but there's no mistaking the look on his face, the determination of it.

"What?" I repeat again.

"We go as soon as we can."

Panic flares because he isn't thinking it through. "No, because that means you're in breach and Ben said Victor would be spiteful enough to punish you for it. The Guard would come after you, right?"

"Yes, they would but they have a lot to monitor right now. I wouldn't be a high priority."

"No. No, I don't want to live like that. Something else over my shoulder. I want to be free." He sits up, drawing an arm around me as emotion starts to catch up, "I want a life with you. I want a house. I want to be able to see my friends. I want the place you said my mom can come and stay – my mom. If we're running, how will I find her?"

He makes soothing sounds, smoothing my hair back from my face. "It was only an idea. It got away from me."

I swallow, "And if they caught us, you go away. I wouldn't know how to find you."

"I'm not going anywhere." He whispers again, kissing my forehead. "As long as you'll have me."

I relax into him. "We don't run unless we have to."

"Okay."

After a minute, when the prickling feeling doesn't leave, I kiss his neck, then his jaw, twisting to climb into his lap.

"Rose."

"You said you would argue all night." I remind him, fingers sinking into the silk of his hair and gripping tight. A low noise of restraint rumbles from him. "Are you tired? So much for physical challenges."

"You are very intent on using that pretty mouth to antagonise me."

I hold his gaze, "What else would I do with it?"

He leans forward, lips barely moving. "Be a little more resourceful, Roza."

A charge passes through the air, the challenge carrying it.

My hand splays against his chest. "Move back."

He does, settling against the pillows, eyes not leaving mine as my face lowers to the tight muscles of his stomach. I plant kisses on a path down and soon he's gripping the headboard.

We fight for hours. The bed sheets mangled around our bodies, twisted by desperate reaches, fists, and swallowing noises no one else should hear. Another piece of myself discovered and conquered. I show him I can keep up, no bets needed. I discover more of him too, ways his voice can change, what makes him powerless, the way he looks at me through all of it.

The final round is fought with palms sealed, soft sighs and eyes held.

We don't say it but what we're fighting for, not about, is clear.

---

Later

"Roza."

"Mhm?"

"Lyubimaya moya." I stretch, face burrowing into the pillow and its warmth, it smells like him. "Wake up."

I pry my eyes open, aware of the stiffness in my limbs. "Again?"

I hear him chuckle. "No, but you need to get up."

I frown, eyes closed again without permission. "Why?"

He kisses my temple, on the other side of where I expected him and that makes me climb back up.

"Because if you don't get up, you'll miss it."

"What does that mean?" He's crouched by the bed, the angles of his face softer now, and dressed in a dark cable knit and dark jeans. "Did you leave?"

"Only to get a change of clothes." He murmurs, tucking a lock behind my ear. "No one is back yet, they won't be for some time. Now, come on."

I sit up, ignoring the protest of my muscles, and find some clothes of my own laid out for me. I dress and stamp my feet into my boots, sleep clinging to me as I find him in the living room, duster on. My dress has been lifted and respectfully rests on the couch.

"Where are we going?"

"Not far, but you need to be warm."

I shoulder on my puffy coat as he rummages around the kitchen and puts things in his pockets. Then he's taking my hand and leading us out into the hall but instead of turning right, we go left.

It's a treasured weight, his hand in mine, outside the confines of a locked room.

At the end of this hall is a door I've paid no attention to before. He lets go to push down on the heavy handle and as soon as it cracks open the cold slams into us both. That wakes me up.

"Why?" I whine, stepping back.

He holds it open for me, "Trust me."

We climb a stairway eerily like the one he'd pulled me down months ago and the cold pinches my ears. When we reach the second landing I realise where we must be going. Fresh winter air fills my lungs as I step outside, the navy sky opening above with hundreds of stars speckled through it and in the distance it's lightning. Dawn isn't far away. I venture over to the edge, my eyes adjusting to see we're nestled against the curve of the mountain, looking down into the valley.

Dimitri sets a block by the door to stop it from closing and crosses to sit on a metal box that's whirring.

"Why are we on the roof?"

"So many questions. No allowances for mystery."

"I'm cold."

He smiles, holding out his hand. "So, come here."

I try to keep up the grumpy façade but I'm too intrigued, and far too happy about being intrigued with him. He folds the duster around my legs as I settle between his and lean back against his chest. He tells me there's water and snacks in his pockets and I fish them out.

"Why are we having a frozen picnic?" My head snaps back in excitement, "Are we waiting for sunrise?"

"No." He says smugly. "But you should drink that and I bet you've eaten as much as I have."

I hadn't eaten properly since….

Ah.

We split the granola bar and I feed him pieces as he keeps the coat in place around us.

Distantly there's a high-pitched noise, like a whistle.

"Watch." Dimitri says and the memory of when he'd last said that sends a hot tingle down my spine.

And then the sky explodes.

Red, purple, green and blue scatter across the navy, like a giant has thrown gleaming gems into the air. They scatter outward like dropped marbles dimming and then gold erupts. I feel the light on my face, brightening the space around me. I crane my head back as more pop and drizzle across the sky – and then it's not just multicoloured rain but images. I realise as the first is fading it's the Ivashkov crest, then the Dragomir's with every family to follow. Silver races in a streak to outline a stake and then a second crossing it.

Dimitri kisses my cheek and I realise my mouth is open.

The fireworks begin to dance. Spinning and creating paths, pulling my gaze in every direction afraid to miss something. Until finally, there's one bang so loud it should shake the mountains, should be heard in the next state, and the sky itself seems to have cracked open. Thousands upon thousands of golden specks shimmer like fragments of the sun raining down.

It takes a few minutes for them to fade. I look up at Dimitri and find him watching me, quiet emotion on his face.

"That was amazing." I say, the word not big enough.

"Reflected in your face, it was."

I turn inside the shelter of his coat and slide my arms around his neck, "When we were at the pool, I had this moment where I realised how great it was, that it was one of those things that make going through the bad stuff worth it." I lean my head against his. "This is a good moment."

He doesn't say anything but folds me tighter to him. We stay there for a little while, drawing out the good, and when we pull apart sunlight is creeping into the sky.

"Time to talk." He says quietly.

---

"Ty neobyknovennyy."- You are extraordinary.

"I have never craved anyone else." . - S/O to Kat (Pennythedreadful) for saying something like this to me about Dimitri/Rose and I made note.

Notes: Thank you to Maddy for always taking the time to give feedback and make suggestions on the first draft, and thank you to Liz (TheFangirlDairies) for going back and forth in VN's about the Tarot reading!

I for one, am glad this ball is over and this spice (that I easily went over eleven times and still hate it) so we can move on. I'll likely come back with a fresh head and edit this further but I cannot look at it any longer.

Thank you for all your kind reviews on the last chapter, especially those of you who persevered to make them known seeing FF glitched and wouldn't post them properly! Also thank you for your patience and sticking around / understanding life can get in the way and it's hard to manage writing this scale quickly.

*On p .t.r..e...o...n I posted a chapter in Spiridons POV of the ball and what he got up to and who with. And I will post the first version of this chapter there too.