"Printsessa."
That rich familiar voice calls out to me, pulling me from my dreams. Somehow it isn't strange that he's here with me. I know that nobody will disturb us and I'm just happy to finally be curled up in his arms.
His skin feels amazing, but it's not just about being physically close to him. His presence warms my whole body with some kind of inner glow. It's like I've spent a lifetime underwater and he's my first breath of fresh air; life to my starving lungs. His skin is so warm and smooth and soft against my own. I feel a swelling bubble of happiness in my stomach, radiating warmth that's amplified wherever he's touching me.
Somehow that's not weird either, that we're lying so close together with nothing on. A tiny voice in the back of my head says something is wrong, that I should be ashamed or embarrassed. Or that this shouldn't be happening. But it's almost entirely drowned out by the utter bliss of his presence, and the beauty of his form. I stare at the vague shape of his head next to mine on the pillow, revelling in the feeling of being with him at last. Natural, comfortable, with all those stupid walls lowered.
"Are you okay Rose?" he asks. His voice is soft and husky with sleep. His huge hand is sleepily cupping my cheek.
"I'm fine," I assure him, focusing on his large palm resting gently on my face. Something swells in my chest at the thought, and I suddenly want to kiss him.
So I just do. Shifting forward a little, I press my lips against his. It's short and sweet and tastes like happiness. The knowledge that I can finally kiss him whenever I want to makes me smile. I feel his answering grin in the darkness.
I revise my earlier statement. "Actually, I'm better than fine."
He chuckles and kisses me again, wrapping his hand around my neck to angle my face towards him.
There's something about those fingers, capable of such wonderful, terrible things. I know he'd never hurt me. But the fact that he's controlled for me, that he's entirely focused on me and our pleasure...well. The thought shifts the tone of my mouth on his, and I feel his fingers tighten deliciously in response.
"Mmm I'd have to agree." It's almost a growl, and my reaction is instantaneous. I'm suddenly warm all over, and I can't seem to get close enough to him.
A quiet chuckle makes his breath tickle my neck, sending goosebumps down my spine. His lips play across my throat, teasing me with his tongue. I'm awash with sensation, my fingers knotted in his hair, trying to pull him closer.
He laughs again, but it's husky and sensual, setting me on fire.
"In fact I have to say," his hand slides almost lazily down my waist, stopping to rest lightly on my ass. "You're so much more than fine."
His fingers suddenly tighten, earning him a sharp inhale, and pulling me flush against him in the process. Desire clouds my thoughts in a heady fog, but there's nothing that needs thinking about. I want him. He wants me. It's simple.
Words are no longer enough. I need to explore every inch of him, to convince myself that he's real and he's here with me. His lips shift from my mouth, down to my jaw. He plays along my throat and my collar bone, pressing tiny kisses and bites all along my skin. So I return the favour; burrowing my face next to his, nipping and sucking at his earlobe, kissing down his throat.
And then somehow, without me even forming the conscious thought to act, I find my lips inches above the vein in his neck. I can see his pulse, his heart pumping blood throughout his body. I can feel where it's currently pumping blood to, hard against me.
I'm excited. I lick my lips and lean forward slowly, allowing my fangs to graze his delicate skin. He lets out a moan that goes right through me, and I just can't wait a second longer.
Through skin and muscle, finding that sweet, warm, exquisite reservoir and hearing him moan even louder, willingly surrendering his very essence so me. I drink long and deep, my hand gently stroking as I guzzle more and more of Dimitri's ambrosial blood. Through the haze of endorphins, he guides my hips and pulls me onto him.
I'm lost in a sea of warm sensation and flavour that I never want to end.
Disgust crashes over me like a bucket of cold water, waking me more thoroughly than any training session ever could. I feel bile in my stomach, threatening to overflow. I'm absolutely repulsed at myself, at the scene my subconscious concocted...and at the part of me deep down that can't get the thought out of my head.
I'd never stoop that low. He's not some blood whore and I'd never disrespect him like that. I know that he'd never want me to do that in the first place. Well...I know that he'd never want me.
The thought is sobering. Even though I'm all warm and craving, I'm aware that it's such a stupid thing to dwell on.
It's never going to happen.
I get out of bed, even though it's much too early. I just know I won't be able to get to sleep again after that. And maybe I'm a little scared of continuing that particular dream where it left off. So I hop in the shower, trying to wash the disturbing fantasy away. And when that doesn't work, I figure I may as well go get some training in before my detention starts. Maybe it will help take my mind off things.
I don't know how many laps I've done by the time he finds me. There's something soothing about the repetitive thud of my feet on the track, the mechanical action of moving my body and pushing myself forward. My thoughts calm as my lungs expand again and again, gasping in the sharp air of the twilight and clearing my head. Of course the memory of that dream still hovers like a stain on the horizon. And when I see him standing there, it all bubbles up again. I push harder, move my legs faster, feeling like I'm flying around the track. But I can't keep up the pace, and my weakness catches up to me. Sooner than I'd like, I'm doubled over gasping for breath. Swaying slightly on my aching feet and trying to focus on the ground long enough for it to stop spinning, I see him walk up to me in my peripheral vision.
"This is not the first place I looked for you, you know," he says. "I was wondering if you'd run off."
I straighten up and shrug, still panting heavily. Heading over to where I put my towel, I reply over my shoulder.
"I guess technically I did."
Nice Rose. Keep it casual.
He acknowledges my joke with a grunt. I can feel his eyes on me from across the gym, like static running over my skin.
"Running is a good remedy for a full head sometimes," he says.
I want to glare at him, but I stop myself. He already knows me so well, I'm scared of what he'll see if he looks into my eyes right now.
"Maybe my brain just woke me up early," I say. "Anyway. I'd love to stay and chat, but I have a detention to get to. So I guess I'll see you later."
I'm sincerely hoping that he doesn't follow me as I move towards the exit with a slight limp, but I can't say I'm surprised when he falls into step alongside me. I sigh.
"Don't they give you weekends off?"
"You're snarkier than usual this morning."
He sounds entirely unfazed, like he could be commenting on the weather.
"I didn't sleep well," I grumble.
"Running will help with that too."
I bite back my retort. There's no reason to take out my bad mood on him. It's my subconscious that's been running amok here, he didn't even do anything. Which I suppose is part of the problem.
So I just shake my head and carry on walking, trying to take in the scenery and ignore my muscles that are beginning to ache.
"You want to talk about it?" he asks.
I look over at him, which is a mistake. But I'm a glutton for punishment, and he looks so incredible in the last rays of the setting sun, it's almost worth it.
I give him a small smile. "Really, Comrade, it's nothing. Just a bad dream."
His eyes narrow slightly at the nickname, but he returns my smile so I can tell he doesn't really mind.
Clearly he cares about me in his own way. He cares about my safety as his charge, and I think he's coming to care about me as his student too. That knowledge definitely feels good, knowing that I seem to be impressing someone whose opinion I'm really coming to value. It's a worthy pursuit, feeling myself sticking to training and slowly getting stronger under his instruction. But I just wish that those ways he does care were enough for me. I wish my stupid brain would be satisfied with his good opinion, that the part of it screaming at me to kiss him would shut the fuck up.
I wish part of me wasn't still dwelling on that dream...
...and now I have a full morning of detention with him just there, and these thoughts spinning around my head with nowhere to go. Lovely.
I never really had much to do with the chapel, having avoided religion like the plague on the off chance that it's all true and I'm going to burst into flames if I cross the threshold onto hallowed ground. But as we approach the picturesque gardens, complete with fountains and statues of various saints, I can't help but be a little stunned.
It's all gothic spires and domes, beautiful architecture reminding me of the pictures I've seen of the Baltic States. There's something haunting about the colours, the way the rooftops pierce the sky. By comparison, the very normal-looking priest waiting at the front doors is almost comical.
"Good morning Princess," he begins, immediately putting my back up. "And you too, Guardian Belikov, thank you for coming. I'd like you to help sort through some old boxes today, and maybe start clearing some space up in the loft."
Honestly as far as detentions go, it doesn't sound too bad. We follow him into the chapel and up some narrow stairs at the back, until we're standing amidst piles of dusty papers and boxes that fill most of the floor. My feet are to throbbing from the climb, but I try to pay attention to what the priest is saying while I look around.
It's a tight fit for the three of us. It doesn't look like anything has been disturbed up here for at least 20 years, apart from one clearing in the middle of the room where there are drag marks in the dust.
"What is all of this?" I ask, tilting my head to read the titles of a stack of books at my feet.
"Some of it is useless paper I fear," says the priest with a wan smile. "But I'm told that our collection of historical documents is up here as well. Please set aside anything of interest and hopefully I'll be able to answer that question more fully tomorrow."
We both nod.
"Excellent. I'll bring up some more empty boxes for you, and you can get started."
As he heads back down the stairs I look over at Dimitri, whose head is worryingly close to colliding with the rafters. I have to remind myself that the priest will be back soon, that it wouldn't be a good idea to take advantage of the solitude and the dim light. He's staring intently at our surroundings, shoulders relaxed but muscles tensed, seeming ready for anything. Suddenly his eyes flick up to meet my own, and it's like a current goes through me. Neither of us speak, but something passes between us. It's all I can do not to vault over the boxes on the floor to get to him. Instead I raise my chin a little, pressing my lips together.
For a second I think that he might accept the invitation. His eyes seem to smoulder for a moment, and there's a fierceness to his expression that's so startlingly intimate, I feel an echo of my dream, of lying bare with him next to me, in our own little bubble.
My throat tightens at the reminder, and I feel my stomach begin to roil as I remember what happened in my safe little bubble. I shift my feet awkwardly, and tear my focus away from his gorgeous face, bestowing it instead upon the nearest boxes.
"I figure we should start here," I say, unpacking an ancient looking economics textbook from the box at my feet. "That way we clear more space as we go, and there's room for piles of junk or anything we want to keep.
I get started without waiting for him to agree, sitting down on the dusty floor and starting the process of sorting gingerly through the contents. My feet breathe a sigh of relief at having some time to rest.
Dimitri is quiet as I work, but what else is new? Obviously it's dangerous to dwell on thoughts of his presence, so I need a powerful enough distraction.
After a little while, I hear him moving boxes behind me, and the sounds of rifling that follow. I start to relax into the task, and somehow also just the peaceful feeling that his presence brings. Whenever I'm not ogling or fantasising about him, of course.
There's a whole bunch of random crap to go through. As often happens with these things, the junk pile quickly grows to twice the size of the keep pile. Old test papers, empty forms for some fundraiser, more outdated textbooks and some teaching aids for younger students that might actually come in handy.
The priest comes back up with empty boxes and some trash bags, so Dimitri begins transferring our small piles into the appropriate receptacles. I watch him out the corner of my eye; the way the muscles in his forearms tense as his hands open and close, the way he distractedly sweeps stray locks of hair that fall into his eyes when they escape the tie at the back of his neck. When he briefly stops to retie it, I stare transfixed at the way he shakes out the gorgeous brown mane before sleeking it back once more. I'm just standing there staring at him like an idiot when he looks up at me, and I hurriedly move towards the back of the room to hide my flaming face.
Here, in darker recesses of the space, the boxes are stacked three or four high. Evidently reminiscent of a time when there was actually some sort of storage system implemented. Some boxes even have faded hand-written labels on them:
Chapel
Vestry
St. Vladimir's
I sigh, but get to work heaving some of the boxes down. My feet have now gone completely numb, which is probably not a good sign, so I sit down again and tug off my shoes and socks, putting them to one side.
I grab the sides of the box I'm sorting through and shift it towards myself, trying to find a better angle of access. And that's when I see it.
Something about the yellowed sheaf of papers catches my eye. Perhaps the way it's bound with a leather cord, or the hand written ink that's brown with age. They were almost lovingly preserved at some point, wrapped in paper that crumbles beneath my fingers as I carefully prise them free. Gingerly, I open to a random page and begin to read.
"And I think it is a miracle too, the power Blessed Vladimir shows over people. I saw him from a distance, amidst a crowd of both Moroi and dhampirs. I listened to his words with them and he instilled lightness in my heart. I felt an energy, a presence radiating from him that stilled the troubles in my mind. Some say it's not spirit that touches him, that it is madness instead. But we adored him that day, and I would do anything that he asked of me still. Such is the way God marks His favourites, and after the crowd had dispersed, I saw the toll it took on Blessed Vladimir. But his guardian was there by his side, easing his burden with their great bond. And I was happy to know that such a friend was placed in his life to do good for him, as he does such great good for others."
"Hey Comrade, come and look at this," I call, scanning the rest of the page. Looking for answers, I flip back to the front to see if there's a title.
Michael Dobrich's written account of Saint Vladimir (1893)
Translation by Gustav Paniny (1934)
Holy shit, this is a primary source of the life of a saint. I need to show this to Mr Peter.
Behind me, Dimitri exclaims something in Russian.
"I know!" I reply enthusiastically. "This is probably crazy valuable as well. I wonder if anyone has even gone through it before, looks like these boxes have been here for decades."
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, but the sound comes from closer than I expected and makes me turn around.
He's on his knees besides me, concern plain upon his face.
"I don't care about the documents Roza, look at your feet!"
I do as instructed, and almost gasp. Yeah that would explain the pain after that run this morning.
After a quick assessment, Dimitri picks up my shoes with a dark look.
"Don't tell me you've been running in these."
I try to suppress my amusement.
"So do I just stay quiet then?"
He glares at me. "These are not made for running."
"Why would I own shoes made for running, Comrade?"
He's busy inspecting the shoes further, seeming indecently angry at them. Like they've committed some atrocious crimes against humanity, or murdered his family.
"They're also one size too small."
That brings me up short. "How the hell do you know my shoe size?"
He just looks at me disapprovingly.
"What else do you know about me from my file, my bra size?" I huff.
Really wish I hadn't thought of that particular example, because the answer is probably yes.
He ignores the question, and just sighs. "You can't keep training in these, we'll have to get new ones that aren't going to cut off circulation to your toes."
My eyes widen.
Wait. Is my guardian telling me I have to go shopping? Meaning that he would have to accompany me to a mall, outside of campus? My mind begins to churn with the possibilities. This is almost too good to be true. Except...
"I'm not allowed to leave campus though. Under house arrest, remember?"
"Let me deal with that," he replies, rising from the floor. "Stay here, I'll be right back."
I mock salute and he rolls his eyes, heading down the stairs. I distract myself from the stupid butterflies in my stomach by turning my attention back to the rest of the contents of the box in front of me. I unearth an old notebook and a couple of hardcover biographies on the life of Saint Vladimir, which should make for interesting reading now that I'm kind of curious about his life. There's something familiar about the stories, something I can't quite put my finger on.
A few minutes later Dimitri returns, silent as ever, and with a first aid kit in his hands. I don't actually hear him until he gracefully folds his long form beside me on the floor.
He shifts the box away from me to clear some room, then extends his hand palm up, waiting expectantly. For one wild second, I think he wants to hold my hand, and all I can do is stare dumbly at him.
He clears his throat. "Rose. Your foot. Please."
Ah. Well that makes more sense.
I begin to comply, then remember that while my feet may require minor medical attention, I also ran a fair amount this morning and they are super gross and sweaty and dusty...and Dimitri wants to touch them.
"Uuh..." I say eloquently. "I can do it. You don't have to get your hands all dirty."
He raises an eyebrow, a slight twinkle in his gorgeous brown eyes, and looks pointedly at the state of the dust and grime around us.
My eyes shift away from his. "Yeah," I hedge. "But I mean. My feet kind of stink."
That elicits a laugh. "Never thought I'd see you shy."
My face heats.
"Rose have you ever smelt the men's locker room?" he asks. "I guarantee you, it's a hundred times worse than anything you can throw at me. Can I please just patch up your feet so they can heal?"
I sigh. "Fine."
But really it's the concern in his voice that gets me, and the surprising gentleness of his huge calloused hands that envelop the foot I gingerly extend towards him.
He cleans each blister and cut on my foot, and pats my ankle soothingly when I wince at the sting of the disinfectant. When he rubs some salve into my tender heels, it's with such a light and gentle touch that it makes my chest feel all warm.
This is concern for me and my wellbeing. He's trying to make me feel better, and doing his best not to hurt me. This has got to mean he cares about me, right? Obviously not in the way that I want. But maybe it's a start.
"Thank you," I say, to break the silence while he works. It feels almost too intimate in silence, and I need to stop my brain from going into overdrive.
He nods, and takes my other foot, pressing his fingers into the pads of my toes. I just barely stifle a moan.
"Where did you learn to do this so well?" I ask.
He shoots me a grin. "I grew up with my mother and sisters. It's a good skill for bargaining."
"I'll say. I'd do just about anything you wanted right now."
Fuck. Did I just say that?
He continues his work with an enigmatic smile, and the silence descends again for a while. My heart is racing at the feeling of his hands, and of having him so near.
"You should be proud of yourself, you know," he says suddenly.
I look up from where I was watching him work. "Huh?"
He meets my gaze. "You should be proud of the work you've put in. You're making progress."
"So does that mean you're proud of me?" My voice is soft, and I can feel how wide my eyes are. It kills me that I'm being so vulnerable, but I suddenly really need to know.
"Moya Printsessa. Of course I'm proud of you."
My eyes fill with tears, and I avert my gaze to stop them from spilling.
"Thank you," I murmur.
I can tell without having to look that he's smiling at me. A genuine smile; not the small sarcastic ones we throw around during practice.
"And besides," he continues with a note of laughter in his tone, "who knows how much better you'll do in shoes that aren't trying to kill you."
That does make me smile, and I look back at his gorgeous face.
"I can't wait."
Author's Note
Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know your thoughts by leaving a review. I post pretty sporadically, so if you'd like to keep in the loop, please feel free to follow and favourite me and the story.
I've been writing this chapter for a while, and it's a complete coincidence that it's coming almost precisely one year after the previous one. I hope you're all well and staying safe. Have a fantastic festive season and new year.
The VA universe and the characters therein are the intellectual property of Richelle Mead. I'm just grateful that I get to play around with them