My apologies on letting two weekends pass by without an update — a couple of big life issues hit me one right after the other, but everything's worked out for now, so we'll be back to weekly updates! I won't give an exact day to expect chapter seven this weekend because I'm going to be at my parents', but the chapter is already being run through my beta and will be up at some point by the end of Sunday, barring the end of the world or any other inconveniences. Thanks for your patience with all this!

Field Report Five (5)

R. Hathaway

December 24

[Note: Previous name changes have been kept.]

[. . .]

I'm hoping that the party Irina is throwing on the 25th will shed some light on the town's dhampir culture, or even just give me something to work with. I knew going into this assignment that commune dhampirs wouldn't be up for sharing, but I wasn't prepared for the stoic silence I'm getting. Zenaida slips the most . . . which is about what I'd expect from a five-year-old. Everyone else doesn't dare breathe a word, making my job here frustrating and tiring.

True to form, Misha, the son, is the only willing to cooperate. My hours logged talking to him surpass anyone else in the family by miles, something I was surprised to note the other day going through my recordings since my last report — though it may just be that conversation with him is far more enjoyable than with anyone else. He's the only one to have let on about the family's relationship with his and his sisters' father, though admittedly it wasn't much. When I brought it up, he was quick to brush me off and move on to something else, indicating to me that the relationship there may be more negative than positive. He and Veronika return to school before my next field report, so I'm hoping that continuing to spend time together will get him to open up to me more.

[. . .]

"Sorry about my friends," Rose said under her breath to Dimitri in the kitchen a little bit later while the family was running around and putting final preparations on everything. Even Paul had been pulled into the mix, and he didn't look too happy about having to work.

"Don't worry about it," Dimitri replied, carefully brushing an egg wash over top one of Rose's half-decent attempts at black bread. "They clearly love you and just want the best for you."

"Yeah, but usually it's me who's ganging up to make suggestive comments, not the other way around."

"Well maybe that just means—"

"Rose!" Viktoria called from the table, where she was trying to wrangle Katya into sitting still long enough to braid her hair. "Can you go find Alexei?"

"Yeah, sure," Rose said, happy to be free of another awkward conversation with the guy she woke up wishing she was wrapped around instead of her pillow.

(Alexei turned out to be hiding in the bathtub, behind the curtain, and only emerged with a single nod of his head when Rose promised he could eat as much cake as he wanted.)

Every ethnographer, when he reaches the field, is faced immediately with accounting for himself before the people he proposes to learn to know. Only when this has been accomplished can he proceed to his avowed task of seeking to understand and interpret the way of life of those people.

— Gerald D. Berreman, Behind Many Masks: Ethnography and Impression Management (1962)

"Hey, Rose," Karolina said, poking her head in Dimitri's room. "You're changing, right?"

Rose looked down at the one decent blouse she'd brought, black and slightly clingy. The material gave easily when she picked a stray hair off the front and turned back to the other woman, raising her eyebrows as she replied, "Yeah. Why?"

Karolina shrugged. "I wanted to recommend you wear your hair up. It's going to get hot in this house very quickly and besides, you've always got it down. A bun is a little dressier."

Opening her phone, Rose gathered her hair up, twisted it into the suggested style, and checked her reflection in the front-facing camera. Yeah, Karolina was on to something — assessing her angles, Rose was hit with the realization that lately, she'd only been wearing her hair up for runs, and she usually pulled it down as soon as she was finished so as to keep her ears warm, and a loose bun really did help dress up the shirt more.

"You have a . . . ?" Rose asked, still holding the thick swirl at the crown of her head and gesturing to it with her free hand.

Karolina held out a black hair tie and disappeared to let Rose finish getting ready.

Almost immediately after the first guests arrived, Rose realized she hadn't taken it seriously enough that when Sonya had said the entire dhampir community would show up, she'd truly meant the entire dhampir community. Everyone brought dishes, too, which made all of the family's earlier efforts in the kitchen seem pointless. Within an hour, there were easily over a hundred people packed into the house as well as the front and backyards, with some spilling out on to the street, eating and drinking and talking, vodka making sure sub-zero temperatures were ignored in favor of socializing. Though that could've just as easily been the Russian tolerance for harsh winter weather.

Rose found herself unsurprised that Dimitri seemed to know everyone and their life story, though she could see it was wearing on him already. He was a natural introvert; it was clear he was pushing himself to interact with everyone and catch up, especially with everyone acting like he'd been away for years instead of less than an academy semester.

Most people seemed to be giving her a wide berth, and rather than force anything that the locals weren't comfortable with, she tucked herself in a corner of the living room with Paul and some of his friends who were home on break. Someone had nicked one of the many bottles of vodka and the foursome were passing it around the circle as Rose taught them Western card games. She was in the middle of getting slaughtered during a round of Shithead when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, seeing Mark and Oksana looking down at her and the group with expressions more amused than scolding.

"I'm eighteen," one of the boys lied, snatching the bottle from Paul.

Mark just laughed and waved the boy off. "We're here for Rose. May we borrow her for a minute, gentlemen?"

"Suckers," Rose said, dumping her cards on the floor as she stood, forcing a forfeit of the round. "I'll be back in a bit."

"No vodka?" Oksana teased as the three squeezed into the kitchen, handing Rose a plate of what looked like cookies.

"Hell no," Rose said emphatically. She dropped the cookies on the counter next to the sink in what little space was left and turned around. There was enough room for the three of them to stand and chat comfortably. Barely.

"It's Christmas for you, isn't it?" Mark asked.

Rose nodded, a pang hitting her gently in the chest.

"Merry Christmas, then," he said with a soft smile.

"I've been promised gifts at New Year's," Rose said, like not getting presents in December was the end of the world. She laughed. "Thank God for Amazon. I just shipped all my friends their presents to them this year. Some of their stuff to me has come in. I'm waiting on others. I've been told customs can take a while."

"Your friends, they're good?" Oksana asked, shrugging off her coat and folding it over an arm. She unlooped her scarf and laid it atop her parka.

"Yeah. I miss them, but I haven't gotten homesick or anything yet." Rose crossed her arms over her chest. "It's weird. I've been expecting to wake up missing them like crazy one day, but it hasn't happened yet."

"It'll happen soon enough," Oksana promised. "Once the holidays are over and Olena calms down, I bet."

"The Queen is your bondmate, yes?" Mark asked, jumping topic so fast, it made Rose pause for a few seconds while she puzzled out the new term.

"Um, yeah," she said, slowly. "How did—?"

"Ksyusha and I were talking about this the other day," he said, taking Oksana's coat and scarf from her with a gentle tap on her elbow. "It's a logical enough jump but we weren't completely sure. Even out here, we know Queen Vasilisa works spirit, and if you don't really feel like you've left your friends. . . ." Mark shrugged, gave a passing Alex a nod, and turned back to Rose. "This isn't the place to talk about it, and I know Olena's probably got you busy—"

"Always," Rose muttered.

"But if you have any problems, whatsoever, you know you can come to us, yes?"

She bit her lip and stared at the couple in front of her. When she first met them, she hadn't noticed any signs of instability or wild emotions, and it still held true now. But their bond was open, if her interactions with them were anything to go by. Based on her first lakeside conversation with Dimitri, she felt comfortable in her assumptions to say Oksana wasn't on antidepressants. So then . . .

"How do you manage feeling all of Oksana's emotions?" Rose asked, eyes darting between the two of them.

"It's a delicate balance," Oksana said with a glance at her husband.

"It took a long time," Mark admitted. "She heals the more intense effects out of me. It sounds paradoxical, but it works. I don't think even we're quite sure of how it works, so we can explain the mechanics, just not the how or why."

Rose nodded, deep in thought.

"We can definitely talk more," Mark said, reaching out and clasping Rose's shoulder. "In the meantime, I head Vanya and Olga brought pelmeni myaco and that's the only reason I bothered showing up. Take care, Rose." Mark gave one final nod and slipped into the throng of people.

"How long have you and Queen Vasilisa been bonded?" Oksana asked after a moment, still standing in front of Rose, fingers fiddling with her purse strap.

Rose squinted as she did the math. "Seven, eight years? Something like that. It was ninth grade."

"It'll get easier," Oksana said, a small smile on her face. "I saved Mark much longer than eight years ago and we still struggle with it from time to time. On the whole, though, you get more of a handle on everything as time goes on."

"I hope so. Having a backstage pass to legislation discussion was cool for about five minutes."

Oksana laughed. "I'm sure it was. If you'll excuse me, I have to go make sure my husband doesn't eat so much that he can't walk home tonight."

"A man after my own heart," Rose joked, and the two parted ways.

Back in the living room, the handful of boys had disappeared. Yeva sat on the sofa next to where they'd once been congregated.

"Where'd they go?" Rose asked, in English.

Yeva stared back at her, dark beady eyes staring straight into Rose's soul and giving nothing away.

"Paul and his three friends. Where'd they go?"

Nothing.

"A couple of teenagers, probably too much alcohol, pretending they're hot shit?"

Nothing.

So the old woman wanted a standoff.

Rose put her hands on her hips. "I know you understand me. Paul talks to you in English all the time."

Slowly, a smug smile appeared on her face.

"For God's sake . . ."

"Rose." It was Sonya, across the room. Rose turned and the older woman jerked her head up the stairs. "I sent them up to the boys' room to keep them out of the way."

"Oh, good, so now I can go freeze to death to get my cards back," Rose said, slipping through the people going out the front door, and past Sonya, who snorted.

Upstairs, in the room Paul and Alexei shared, Rose found the four boys playing without her. Not only had someone produced a fresh bottle of vodka, cigarettes had also joined the party.

"Those'll kill you," Rose said disapprovingly, taking a seat on the floor in the space Paul and one of his friends made for her, shuffling out of the way.

"We all graduate next August," one of the boys said, taking a drag. Smoke floated up above him on his exhale, thick and dirty white. "I'm pretty sure a Strigoi will get me first. Pasha, what would you bet on killing me first? Cigarettes or bloodthirsty vampires?"

Paul, to Rose's surprise, gave his friend a relaxed, lazy smile and threw out a wild card. "Vampires, probably. I'd say the cigarettes if you were graduating when my mom did."

Rose winced. Getting the age decree reversed was one of Lissa's top priorities since taking the throne, but nothing had been successful yet. Novices were still becoming guardians at sixteen. The rates for first-year guardian deaths had skyrocketed since Rose's graduating class.

"What's your name?" Rose asked the boy, watching Paul take a long pull off the bottle and pass it to his friend in her peripherals.

"Viktor," the boy said.

"Okay, Viktor," she said, staring him down. "Let me ask you two questions. Can you run?"

He shrugged, threw down two eights. The next boy in rotation grumbled at being skipped.

"What's your personal best?"

Looking up at the ceiling, Viktor took a while to answer. "I average a seven-fifty mile."

"That's shit and you know it," Rose said, shaking her head.

Even still, he looked unfazed. "Aren't we supposed to be trying our best? Isn't that all we can do when faced with a Strigoi?" he asked, tone heating as he spoke.

"Vitya," Paul said softly, and he didn't speak again until Viktor finally looked at him. "You know I know you're capable of better."

After a silent moment, Viktor nodded to Paul and addressed Rose, who gestured to the cigarette in his hand.

"Quit those and start running after school. I promise you, they don't make you look cool, and if you can get down to a five-fifteen minute mile, you and whoever you get assigned to will stand a pretty fair chance against a Strigoi."

"Who says they don't make me look cool?" Viktor challenged.

Paul swore in Russian at the boy to Rose's right when he laid down a King, and she caught the name Igor in the middle of it.

"She got that Ivashkov pyaniy to quit," the third, unnamed boy said and Viktor replied back with something in Russian that Rose didn't catch.

Pursing his lips, Paul was focusing very hard on his cards and not on what his friends were saying. Forcing herself not to stoop to the level of an immature, sixteen-year-old boy, she tilted her head and asked, with genuine curiosity, "'Ivashkov pyaniy?"

"This is a blood whore commune," Igor said slowly, like Rose had no clue. "Moroi men come and go faster than the sun turns."

"Not just Moroi. Royal Moroi." Viktor had lost some of his bravado and sucked long on his cigarette, burning through a fourth of it in one go. "Ivashkovs tends to come around the most because they're the richest. They can afford to come out here."

"And then when it got out that the American coming to visit on behalf of the Queen was you, there was a lot of whispers that the Queen had found out you were, well . . ." The third boy drifted off.

The room went still with the implications. The game had stopped completely, forgotten in favor of the conversation.

"She's not like that, Boris," Paul defended quietly, looking down at his crossed legs. Across the circle, Viktor was staring at Paul, a half-grimace curling his mouth down.

"I know," Boris said defensively. "But she's a dhampir girl who was with an Ivashkov for long enough, and then she's staying with the Belikovs of all families . . . There was a lot of talk." He looked at her. "I'm surprised you didn't know."

Stunned, she recounted the past two and half months. The Belikovs had been nothing but warm and welcoming. She'd come to feel like Olena's fourth daughter in many ways. There'd been no indication that gossip had been running rampant because of her, though it did explain the handful of odd looks she got when some of the older women had arrived earlier. How big of a social sacrifice had Olena and her family made in agreeing to be Rose's host family for her assignment? Was that what this party was about? Was Dimitri's birthday an excuse for Olena to be able to show off that the American dhampir girl who'd once dated Adrian Ivashkov was very much clean and not at all a blood whore? Karolina's earlier words came back to her.

Wear your hair up. You've always got it down.

Was that to show her molnija and promise marks and how unmarked the rest of her neck was? But that didn't make any sense— Lissa had always healed her bite marks when they'd been on the run and the handful of times she'd been bitten since hadn't left anything stark enough to see at quick glance in a house full of people.

Her head suddenly hurt and an itch was crawling up her arms, making her hands shake and setting her heart running. She snapped her fingers at the bottle of vodka. If nothing else, she could at least forget the rest of the night, Lissa's assignment be damned. Now she wasn't so sure she wanted to get as deep inside the secret dhampir culture in Baia as she was supposed to go. "Give me that."

Igor hurriedly handed it to her and she gulped about three drinks worth in one go, relishing in the burn.

"You guys know how to play blackjack?" When only Paul nodded (which Rose wondered about, because then who in his family had taught him?), she gestured for the cards. "I'm gonna teach you and then we're gonna play for shots. I need to get drunk and you're my best company right now."

An hour and many victorious rounds later, Rose was the drunkest she'd been since high school. In between hands, she offered to go snatch a plate of food from somewhere, not realizing she was capital-'d' Drunk until faced with the stairs. The world was spinning, but remembering the food in the kitchen, she decided it would be worth it. There was a stack of blini the size of . . . well maybe not the Empire State Building, but close enough. There was a lot. And jam. Jam was good.

One foot in front of the other. Down the stairs. It's not that hard, Rose.

Halfway down, she missed a step and would've taken a nasty tumble if something solid hadn't stopped her. If someone hadn't stopped her.

"Rose, are you okay?"

She looked up to see Dimitri holding onto her elbows, concern in his eyes.

"Me?" she slurred, looking around and swaying in place a bit. "M'fine, c'mrade. Just tryin' to get to the ki—tchen."

"Rose, you're drunk."

"You're drunk." She poked his chest and noticed his coat. It was wet and worn and— "You're, like, a cowboy."

"What? Rose, what are you talking about?"

"This duster." Her fingers grabbed one of the lapels and shook it. The dark brown leather was cold. "You don't wear a normal jjjjacket like—" Hiccup. "Like the rest of us. You wear this. Cowboys wear this. That makes you a cowboy. I think. It's a duster, right?"

Karolina joined them on the stairs. "What's going on?"

"Your son and his friends are probably in similar states of inebriation," Dimitri said, nodding in the general direction of Paul's room, and without needing the invitation to do so, Karolina finished climbing the stairs, two at a time, and shouting at her son in Russian the whole way up and around the corner.

"You're so cold!" Rose said, putting her hands on his red cheeks, having finally realized that by being two steps above him, they were at eye level. Actually, she might have been slightly above him. It was hard to tell. Vodka.

"I was walking one of my mother's friends to her car," Dimitri replied.

"Of course you were." Rose started nodding and didn't stop, liking the way it felt. The motion was the smoothest thing she'd felt in a long time. "Because you're a sad, surly warlord, but you're, like-" Hiccup. "A noble, sad, surly warlord."

"When did you last eat?" Dimitri asked. His hands were still gently yet firmly wrapped around Rose's arms. Her hands had dropped to his chest where his duster was open. Faintly, she registered that his button-down was much warmer than his coat.

She thought about it and then gave a dramatic shrug. "I have . . . blegh, shit, I . . . I have . . . no clue!"

"Come on." He turned halfway and then looked at her. "Do you need help down the rest of the stairs?" When she started nodding enthusiastically again, he wrapped a supportive arm around her waist and got her down to the foyer where a worried Olena was waiting, asking Dimitri something in Russian as they approached. He replied in a soothing, quiet tone that Rose was too drunk to pay attention to beyond the fact that she never wanted him to stop talking.

She leaned into his side, enjoying his arm around her, and let the two put her coat for her, stumbling in place when one of the sleeves got tangled. Dimitri's arm returned, though it was less warm now, and they were out the door before Rose could see Olena's reaction.

"Where we going?" Rose asked as they — he steadily, she barely — walked down the stone path. A lot of the party had cleared out or gone inside; there was no one in the front yard anymore.

"To get you some food," Dimitri said.

"But there's food inside," Rose argued, trying to point back to the house and stumbling in the process.

"You'll appreciate this food, trust me," Dimitri said, leading them down the street to the car that was only technically his.

Ten minutes later, they pulled up to a KFC. Rose's jaw dropped. "You have these?"

She wanted to melt inside Dimitri's grin. "Yeah. Contrary to what my mother would have you believe, it's not all cabbage and sausage."

"You were holding—" Hiccup. "Holding out on me, Dimitri. I'm disappointed in you."

"My sincerest apologies."

Rose's brow furrowed. "I'm too drunk to tell if you're joking."

Dimitri didn't answer and instead opened his door, pressed the lock button for all four, and handed her the keys. "Don't let anyone take these," he said, voice low and face close to hers.

"I won't," she stage-whispered back, holding them close to her chest.

Time passed weirdly. He darted inside, got food, and came back before she could feel like he'd been gone any longer than a minute or so.

Back inside the car, he handed Rose her own bag. "I made an educated guess, but—"

"There're two meals!" Rose's face lit up when she looked inside. "You're the best. Lissa never lets me get two."

"I'm almost positive that's not how it happens," Dimitri said, smiling as she launched into eating.

If she were sober, she would've tried to scale back her sexually charged groans — not because it was the socially acceptable thing for a "lady" but because she didn't want to further complicate an already weird relationship. Drunk Rose didn't give two shits about anything, though, and she made no effort to hide how enamored she was with the fried chicken.

"This is just—" Two bites. Long chug of Pepsi. "So good. Oh my God. I think I love you."

It took half a beat for Dimitri to respond, but Rose was too far gone to notice. "Was that to me or the chicken?"

Rose squinted at the food in her hands. A drunk grin drew across her face, and she held up the drumstick. "Definitely the chicken, comrade, don't worry." She settled back into the seat and stared at the brightly lit restaurant in front of them. "You know, I haven't told anyone I love them. Like, romantically."

"No?"

"No. Well — no, no I didn't. I never said the words aloud. It's a long story. Have you?"

"Once."

She lolled her head to look at him, taking in his features as he contemplated his fries. He looked lost, and the thought that she wanted to join him wherever he was kind of flitted across her mind without her really recognizing it. "Did you actually love her, whoever she was?"

"I don't know. I think I did." He tapped the small container of fries. "Sometimes I think I didn't because when we ended things, I was just relieved to be free. Other times I do legitimately miss her, but I tend to think it's because I miss the reason we had a connection in the first place more than her or the relationship."

Pause. "I have no idea why I'm telling you this."

She slumped down and propped her feet up on the dashboard, vaguely aware she hadn't changed out of her slippers. "It's 'cause I'm drunk and everything comes out when you're drunk." She could feel his eyes watching her and, torn on whether or not to meet his gaze, she chose to reach for her fries from the bag on the floor. "I've been in two real relationships, but both of them were guys I was more friends with than anything. One of them is still a good friend. The other one died."

"I'm so sorry, Rose."

She made a noncommittal noise and popped a couple fries in her mouth. The grease was sobering her up a bit and she found she could get through whole sentences without slurring, more or less. "It was during the attack on the academy. You probably heard about it." She figured Dimitri nodded, so she kept going. "I really only started dating him because he was really into me and I'd never really dated anyone and it felt nice to be wanted, you know? And it was kind of expected, too. I mean, all our friends figured our flirting meant something, which it didn't because I flirted with everyone back then. Anyway, we'd been sneaking around campus after hours one night which was dumb because I was still on probation, but we broke curfew anyway, and we were on our way back to the dorm to try to get some sleep before breakfast when someone jumped him. It took me a second to realize it was a Strigoi." She stopped, staring out the windshield and swimming in nightmares.

"My last image of him," she said slowly, punctuating each word with a jab of her fry in the air, "Was the Strigoi dragging him off into the woods. He screamed my name the entire way." She was transfixed, the memories making her feel completely sober for a moment. "I was frozen solid for a good thirty seconds, until I heard another scream, farther off, near the Moroi dorms. I would've panicked and run to Lissa if I didn't have the bond with her. I saw she was safe — awake and terrified, but safe nonetheless — so I took off and fled for the guardian offices. When I got there, I found one of my instructors. Later, someone told me I managed to outrun a second Strigoi that was coming for me, but at the time I hadn't noticed him." She paused, shaking herself, and popped another fry. "The rest is in the official report."

When something grabbed her hand, she jumped, only relaxing when she saw it was just Dimitri's fingers weaving through with hers and gripping tight.

"I am so sorry you had to go through that, Rose, and at such a young age." His face was earnest, his thumb stroking the back of hers in comfort.

She shrugged. "I was in therapy for a while. Lissa made me go. I was already dedicated to my extra sessions with Alberta so I could graduate on time, but after that . . . I lost myself in them. I was probably in the gym more than anywhere else, and you already know how much I value my sleep." Beat. "If you ask my friends, they'll say I changed after that, and that I haven't really gotten back to my old self since."

"Did they ever—?"

"Yeah." Her voice cracked and she swallowed, squeezing his hand, surprised to find strength in the small action. "My mom had been called in to help with guardian numbers. It took a few days, but I convinced her we needed to at least see if we could find him, because if we found him, we could return him to his family for a proper burial. I think my anxiety attack made her relent." The unspoken no body meant he'd been turned hung in the air. "There was a cave system just north of the school where they'd gathered and snacked. And there, we . . . we found—"

She swallowed hard. "It was a huge relief to me. I was lucky, though. I was able to get my closure. A lot of people weren't. They took a lot of us. Twelve or thirteen."

She fell silent and let go of his hand, much as she didn't want to, and focused on finishing her food. He took her lead, and once he balled up his trash and put it in her bag, her turned the engine over and drove them back to the house.

"I hate vodka," Rose mumbled as she traded her blouse for the sleep shirt Dimitri held out to her. "I hate stairs, too, but vodka more."

He eyed her sitting on the bed and tossed her shirt in the hamper. "That's why we don't play poker with teenage boys."

"It was blackjack," she said automatically, half-naked and staring at her shirt. She held it up to him. "I don't know how to put this on."

She pouted when he kept his eyes fixed on top of her head. A tiny voice was talking about how great it'd be if he were taking her shirt off, and it was honestly really persuasive.

"Do you need help with your sweatpants, too?" he asked, still not looking at her.

"Probably." Did she have an ulterior motive? Probably. Was she still really drunk? Hell yeah she was.

He still helped her, though, being the noble, sad, surly warlord he was, and she faceplanted into her pillow while he changed, trying to stabilize the spinning world underneath her. He turned off the overhead light and pulled the blankets from underneath her to drape over her. She shifted on to her side as he got in, squinting at him in the moonlight.

"Do you believe in fate?" she asked.

His eyes widened and he stopped mid-motion, leg bent and covers held in the air. "Um—"

"Do you believe in fate?" she repeated, bunching her pillow up underneath her head to prop herself up a bit. It helped with the rocking motion she felt.

"Yes," he said slowly, clearly unsure where she was going with her thoughts. "Mostly because of my grandmother. Why?"

"Because I've known you a week and it's felt like a lifetime," she replied simply and quietly. "I don't know. I feel like we were always meant to meet. Nothing else could explain why I'm so comfortable with you."

He finished getting into bed, sliding down on his side to face her. His bent knees bumped hers and a shot of heat ran through her at the contact when he didn't pull away. "I see," he said cautiously.

"And because I've told you things not even Lissa knows."

". . . Really?"

"She doesn't know the story about Mason. Not all those details. My therapist does, but she doesn't count."

"I'm not sure what to say."

"You don't have to say anything." She yawned. "I just thought you should know."

"Are you tired?"

"Probably. You're more interesting than sleep right now."

"I am?"

"Yeah."

She could've sworn his eyes flicked down to her lips for half a second but she was more than likely mistaken. "I'm sure you'll change your mind about that pretty quickly."

"Not gonna happen," she said, yawning again.

He shook his head. "Sleep, Roza. I'll be here in the morning."

Still, she fought the urge to close her eyes. "But you're leaving soon."

"In three weeks. That's three weeks of hanging out you'll still get, even if you go to sleep right now."

"I like it when you call me Roza."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It sounds warm when you say it. Exotic."

"I think it's because to you I have an accent."

"To me? Dimitri, I hate to break it to you, but you are the one with the accent."

"Excuse me," he said lightly. "To over a hundred and forty million people, I sound completely normal."

"Bullshit."

That got a laugh. "I'm dead serious, I promise."

Her grin was face-splitting. Her tongue reached out and wetted her lips as her eyes traced the slope of his nose, the arch of his brow, the depths of his eyes in the soft, muted light filtering through the window. "So I sound like I have an accent..."

"You do."

"What do I sound like?"

"Exotic," he teased. Then: "You speak lower than my mother or sisters, so it's like . . ." He shifted, tucking a hand under his pillow and resting the other one along the length of his body on top of the blankets. "It's like a deep, warm cup of tea on an autumn day. With hard, unrolled 'R's."

Something hot and lovely shot through her, sending little shockwaves out her fingers, and the feeling wasn't at all because of the fading alcohol. "That's the nicest compliment I've ever gotten. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She giggled, shifting closer and pressing her socked feet against his bare ones so that the length of their shins touched. "I'm up for more compliments if you've got them."

"Now that's just blatant fishing," he pointed out, mouth quirking.

She shrugged her free shoulder. "You gave me a pole. I want some fish."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I'm not hearing any compliments."

"I'm not giving you any more."

She scoffed, pretending to be offended. "Then you have to tell me something that you haven't told anybody else."

". . . Why?"

"Because I told you about Mason dying."

He was silent for a few minutes and she was worried she'd pushed him too far until he said, "I beat up my father when I was thirteen."

"You what?"

His nod was slow, his voice quiet but strong. "He was royal. He'd visit from time to time. I think my mother loved him, in the beginning. He's the father to all of my sisters, too, which is rare around here."

Sensing a horrible story, she grabbed his hand and squeezed, urging him on.

"He was always drunk. I can't remember a time when he wasn't drinking." His jaw tightened. "He liked my mother, but he didn't love her. I don't think he ever did. She was just a distraction from whatever problems he had. And he . . . he got physical. A lot. My sisters grew up terrified he'd eventually turn on them, but it was always just my mother. We'd hide upstairs, in Sonya's room, listening to the shouts and things breaking. When I was thirteen, I decided I'd had enough." He swallowed, staring at where she'd brought their joined hands up between them and laced her fingers between his. "He never came back after that."

"God, Dimitri, I didn't—" It struck her that was a lie, but the thought was gone before she could fully register it.

"No, Rose, it's okay," he said. "We all have our struggles. They make us who we are. You shared a struggle and asked me to do the same, so I did. I don't think it's the right way of phrasing it, but I'm happy to share for you." He met her gaze. "I don't know why, but I have this feeling that I'd do anything you asked of me."

Like a hand pushing on her back, her mouth crashed against his with a ferocity that surprised her. Stiff at first, he hastily melted into the kiss, eyes sliding shut. He returned it with an intensity that left her breathless, sliding his hands in her hair, gripping tight. She arched forward, her own hand pressing into his back and the other trapped under her, lost herself in the feel of warm, dry lips against her own. The world tilted off its axis in the most pleasant, fiery way she'd ever felt. She nipped his mouth and he responded in kind by sucking her lower lip into his mouth long and hard, causing her to inhale harsh through her nose. It was, perhaps, the best kiss of her life.

A whine in the back of her throat broke the spell. He pulled away and she whimpered, chasing after him. "Roza." His voice was thick, gruff, full of everything she wanted him to continue.

"No, don't." Her eyes stayed shut.

"You've been drinking."

As if on cue, the spinning feeling hit her hard when she realized how in his space she was. He was right. Fuck. She sighed in defeat, tears welling up in her eyes.

"No, no, no, Roza, look at me," he whispered, untangling one of his hands from her hair and tilting her chin up with a finger. "I want you. Trust me, I do. Just not like this. Not when you've been drinking. Not when we've been sharing stories that put us in an already emotionally fragile state. It should be when we're capable of making decisions with a clear head."

"Doesn't make me any less frustrated," she replied quietly.

"I know. Me, too," he whispered. "Come here." And he pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her head under his chin. She tangled her legs with his. "I agree with you."

"On what?" she asked into his chest, relishing in the warmth.

"That it's only been a week but it's felt like so much longer."

She burrowed into his embrace, tucking her arms into her as close as she could manage to erase any gap between them. "It kind of terrifies me."

"Why?"

"Because I barely know you and all I want to do is spend every minute of every day with you. The times I'm with are the best parts of my day and when I'm not with you, all I do is look forward to when I can see you."

She could feel him nod, his chin digging into the top of her skull with the movement. "I was surprised by you that night we met."

"You were?"

"Mhm. It's not every day you're attacked in your own house." He laughed softly. "You've kept me on my toes ever since."

She smiled against his shirt. "I live to serve."

"And you're right — it has only been a week. Can you — please don't argue, like I have a feeling you're about to, okay?"

"Okay," she said, trying to keep an open mind.

"We don't know really know each other, which means we should probably take this slow. See where this goes on its own time, I think. Forget about the destination and just enjoy the ride. Would you — could you do that?"

She turned it over in her head, a valiant effort given how exhausted she was rapidly becoming. It didn't escape her how she was melting into his arms. Coherent thought was pretty much off the table at the moment. "I think I can do that. I'd rather have you than not."

She felt instead of heard his soft rumbles of laughter. "Go to sleep, Rose."

A few hours later, unable to fall asleep with the woman in his arms, Dimitri extracted himself from her grip and, despite the snow and below freezing temperature, went out for a run to clear his head — the first time he'd done such a thing since before Ivan Zeklos died.