What's this? Two updates in a week?
Chapter seven was late in being posted, so this one is technically on time (and even a smidge early). And I wanted it posted leading into Valentine's Day weekend because, well, you'll see. ;)
Update next weekend!
At a half hour to three in the morning, Rose found herself buzzed enough to not feel the cold. Her arm was linked with Dimitri's as he led them towards a house at the end of the street, her laugh loud and bright when he screwed up the punchline of some joke he was telling, a result of one too many glasses of wine messing with his sequencing.
The house they were making their way to was owned by Polina Andropova, and when some of the older neighbors had been hesitant to explain how a dhampir woman in her mid-twenties could afford such a luxury without seeming to work, like, ever, they dropped enough hints that if there was ever a chance of finding the kind of blood whore whom stereotypes were based on, Polina was her best bet.
When Rose outwardly expressed hesitance about going when Dimitri proposed the idea, he shook his head and told her that it was a dhampir-only gathering — and in any event, Moroi wives expected their husbands home for the holidays, so "tourism" was low at the moment.
Inwardly, she was somewhat disappointed in the party ultimately being of no use to her assignment — what would be the point in going? — but she plastered a smile on her face and replied that she'd love to accompany him.
Music was blaring out of the house when they arrived. The windows were open to help cool off inside, and it looked like someone had dug out several colored mini disco balls. It was loud and obnoxious and exactly what she expected from a college fraternity party.
"I know this doesn't seem like the kind of place you'd find me," Dimitri said into her ear as they walked up the front path. "But there's someone here I need to talk to."
A couple guys — guardians, she noted with surprise — were congregated just outside the door, blue plastic cups in hand. Already boisterous from whatever they'd been drinking, they got even more exuberant when they saw Dimitri.
"Mitya!" they chorused loudly, and Rose let go of Dimitri's arm so he could greet them, exchanging a round of hugs and kisses on the cheek.
"Kto eta devushka?" one of them asked and for a split second, Rose saw Dimitri look at her with a weird look akin to momentary panic. Who's the girl?
"Rose," she asserted, knowing exactly how to deal with guys like the ones in front of her.
"Rouz!" went another chorus and they reached out for fist bumps, each one glancing at Dimitri when she returned the gesture.
"Anton vse yeshche zdes?" Dimitri asked, clearly wanting to move the attention away from Rose. Is Anton still here?
One of the guys jerked his head towards the second level of the house. Another mimed slicing his neck open. A third muttered something profane enough that everyone around him Ohhh'd like he'd just delivered the greatest insult of all time.
"She'll leave if you show up," one said, still sober enough to speak English. "Especially with her," he added with a nod to Rose.
"Spasibo," Dimitri said and opened the door. When Rose went to follow him, the one to first acknowledge her jerked his chin at her, his eyes trailing her body in way that said he was clearly checking her out.
"Rose, you said?"
"Yeah," she said. She stopped mid-entrance, and Dimitri, too, turned to watch.
"Like Rose Hathaway, Rose?" Her last name came out sounding like Khatavay.
"Yeah," she repeated, now more curious than ever.
"You did all that shit with the Queen and stuff," one of the guys in the back said and his American accent surprised her.
She shrugged. "She's my best friend." Still expecting to get hit on, she asked, "Why?"
The first guy made a face. "Can you tell her the novice dorms at St. Basil's need an update?"
"Yeah," the American said. "They're pretty dingy and there's this funky smell on the third floor every time it gets humid."
She tossed her head back with her laugh. "I'll be sure to mention it."
"Thanks." The first guy turned to his friends, who'd loudly moved on to a new conversation, but then spun back around a second later, motioning for her to come closer. "Mitya's a good guy," he said quietly in her ear, which she thought was pretty good for a guy who was at peeing-in-the-front-yard levels of drunk. His breath reeked of vodka, confirming Rose's suspicions that the country drank nothing else. "He hasn't been out on New Year's in a long time, so you're clearly special to him if he's here and he's got you on his arm, you know?" He finished off the drink in his plastic cup. "Anyway, if you're serious about him — even a little — let him know, okay? Don't be like that other girl. She was a fucking bitch, and their breakup was about as bad for him as when Ivan died."
"So what you're saying is," Rose said into his ear, shifting her weight to press closer to him in an effort for Dimitri not to hear, "Break his heart and you'll kill me, even though you already consider me badass?"
"YES!" the guy exclaimed and Rose took a step back in response, laughing at his excitement. "See, you get it. Guys, she gets it!"
The rest of the guys cheered like they knew exactly what their friend was talking about.
"Go get a drink before you freeze your ass off," the guy said with a friendly smile and Rose rolled her eyes, finally following Dimitri into the much warmer house.
"That was Igor," Dimitri shouted in Rose's ear over the music as they pushed through the crowd. "We were roommates as novices." She caught his eye and nodded to show she understood, grabbing his elbow again as he scanned for his friend. After a few minutes of fruitless searching, Dimitri pushed through to the kitchen, grabbed one of many unopened bottles of what looked like champagne, and tapped some girl on the shoulder, shout-asking the same question to her as he had Igor. The girl pointed upstairs and Dimitri nodded. Rose followed, eyes not once leaving the dark corners of the rooms they passed through.
The second floor was much quieter. He took a second to lean against the banister and pull his hair out of its ponytail, almost as if he was catching his breath. "It's hard to turn off, isn't it?"
"What is?" she asked, eyes scanning the hallway. Four bedrooms. Three currently occupied. Another looked recently vacated. One bathroom, empty. Two other unidentified doors. One was probably a linen closet.
"Being a guardian," he said, his own eyes jumping between the closed doors and settling on the one at the far end of the hall.
"I don't think I've ever stopped since I graduated," she admitted.
"Me neither," he said, handing her the bottle of champagne and three cups he must have snagged behind her back. "Some would call that a problem."
"I've been told I need to get a life," she said, and she grinned with he laughed at that while retying his hair. "Multiple times."
"So have I," he said, taking the bottle and cups back.
He didn't knock on the door, instead walking right into the middle of a couple's fight between a guy Rose guessed to be the ever-elusive Anton and some girl who looked far too drunk for her own safety. Anton and the girl turned when the door opened, and when she saw Dimitri in the doorway, she threw her hands up in exasperation.
"Mitya poyavlyalsya. Razve tiy yego nazyvayete?" the girl snapped. Mitya would show up. Did you call him? She then caught sight of Rose and scoffed. "Tiy budesh fachit yeye tozhe?" You gonna fuck her, too?
"Roza eta so mnoy," Dimitri growled. Rose is with me.
Rose's head whipped away from the trainwreck in front of her, surprise flooding her at how quickly he'd been angered. Something burned deep in her at the fire in his eyes and the way his shoulders tightened like he was readying himself to take on a Strigoi and not a woman both deeply upset and wasted. Rose didn't catch whatever Anton said to the girl, but she seemed slightly placated and stormed out only half as intensely as Rose assumed she would.
Anton looked exhausted when Dimitri ushered Rose in and closed the door. He sat on the bed, head in his hands, and only looked up when Dimitri handed him a cup. "Thanks, Mitya."
Dimitri waved him off and Rose watched with amazement as he gracefully folded himself in one of the armchairs in front of his friend. "Anton, Rose. Rose, Anton. He was my partner the first few years after graduation."
She shook his hand and took the other armchair, her eyes locked on Dimitri as he set the bottle of champagne and two remaining cups on the tiny stand of a table between them. Her mind was spinning as she put the pieces together. He'd mentioned in passing once that he'd been home visiting his family when Ivan was attacked; that would've made Anton the guardian on duty at the time. Her gaze flitted to Anton for a second. He looked pretty good for a guy who'd once been on the brink of death.
"I don't know what I'm going to do about Annushka," Anton said, glancing at the door. He held out his cup for Dimitri to pour champagne into. "Her mom's back with that Tarus asshole and won't take the baby, so Annushka is freaking out. She's trying to convince her grandmother to at least help her, but the woman's old, and I feel like shit because I'm at the academy and can barely support myself, let alone three of us."
Dimitri was silent, his movements careful as he poured drinks. "I'm sure my mother knows someone who could help."
"Yeah?" Anton looked like Dimitri had just given him a thousand dollars in cold, hard cash, no questions asked or strings attached.
"Yeah. She loves doing that kind of thing. Rose, here."
She took the cup from him as she shrugged off her coat.
"It gives her something to do," Dimitri continued. "She's done it before. Hell, she's done it for my own family."
Anton looked thoughtful. "I'll ask Annushka if she wants to explore that. I can't imagine she'll say no. How's Vika, by the way?"
"Eager to be done with school, especially because of the age gap," Dimitri replied, a small, sardonic grin on his face. "But you already knew that."
"They need to start some kind of continuing education program," Anton said, avoiding Dimitri's last words. "With the number of girls who drop out in the final two years because of pregnancies and never finish . . . it would be successful here, I think. You should tell your Queen friend," he said with a tip of his cup at Rose.
She smiled politely. Would she ever not be associated with her friends back home? "I'll be sure to pass it along."
Anton returned his attention to Dimitri. "And Alexei?"
"He's grown attached to Sasha since Vika and I left in August," Dimitri said. "Which I predicted would happen, did I not?"
"You did."
"Vika asked me to come with her and Alexei to the city in April for his appointment. I was going to talk to you about this before the school let out for the holidays, but you know how . . . busy things became at the end there."
Anton nodded. "She found someone?"
"Yes. They were booked through the end of February, so she had to make the appointment for when we come home at Easter . . . " Dimitri looked worried and exhausted, his fingers clutching the cup harder with a stress that gave the conversation an air of faux lightness. "She doesn't mind making the trip for subsequent appointments. At this point, she's just looking for answers."
"What's up with Alexei?" Rose asked, curiosity getting the better of her. She unzipped her borrowed clutch and opened her voice recorder app, covering her action by pretending to check the time and redo her lipstick.
"He doesn't talk," Anton said.
"Selectively. He talks to Viktoria," Dimitri explained. "I've gotten him to say a few words in the past year or so, and I'm sure Sasha has heard something in the past few months. My sister says his language skills are developed — he just doesn't verbalize to her in public or anyone in general. Nobody noticed until Oksana mentioned her observation of it last spring."
Rose thought back on her previous interactions with Alexei and came to the realization that yeah, he hadn't actually said anything aloud to her. Strange that she'd needed someone else to point it out to her. She thought her observational skills were better than that, leaving her to wonder that if she'd missed that, what else had gone unnoticed by her?
"You three can stay with me," Anton said, apparently having already figured out Dimitri's question. "I know anything like a hotel is out of the question, especially if Vika's having Alexei see a . . . chto eto za slovo?"
"Psychiatrist, I think," Dimitri said.
"Eto nyeh problema if you stay at my apartment. I'm sure money is tight if she's paying for a psychiatrist."
"Thank you."
Downstairs, someone had lowered the music and a countdown was under way. Anton, suddenly struck by a thought, pulled out his phone and tapped on it a few times before reaching across the foot of space to prop it up against the bottle of champagne. He'd pulled up a livestream of Vladimir Putin giving a speech with a countdown in the corner. They fell silent, watching the muted speech as the shouts downstairs counted in time with the half a minute flicking away.
As she watched Moscow hurtle into a new calendar year, Rose was struck by how unexpected life could be — how last year, she'd been on her couch, splitting a bottle of wine with Mia; Adrian sprawled on the floor, his head in Sydney's lap and a two-and-a-half-year-old asleep on his chest; Lissa and Christian snuggled together at the other end of the couch, her on-duty guardians silently flanked out along the perimeter of the living room; Jill calling for Eddie to get his butt back into the room because the ball was about to drop and I want my New Year's kiss, dammit.
And then this year — her, in a stranger's bedroom in fucking Siberia of all places in the world with champagne in a red plastic cup and an outfit on her body that wasn't her. Her, sitting across from a stranger and next to a man whom, if she was honest with herself, she really still didn't know but nevertheless was someone she was falling harder for with every passing day. Her, as far from Lissa geographically as she could get in this hemisphere.
A year ago, this was the last scenario she would've dreamed of if asked where she thought she'd be in the future. Of all the situations she could think of, the one least imaginable was the one that had come true. And if that were true of everything in life . . .
Where would she be at this time next year? Or the year after? In five, ten, twenty New Year's Eves from now?
Would Dimitri be there?
The counter ticked from six to five seconds and it struck her that for all her dates and flings and cobbled together love life, she'd never had a New Year's kiss.
Four.
She decided that she didn't really care about getting a kiss.
At three, she glanced at Dimitri, who'd already been looking at her.
Two and she changed her mind — she really did kind of care and she really did kind of want to be kissed.
One second left. She wondered if it was even a thing that Russians did.
The livestream cut away from Putin to a brilliant, colorful fireworks display over the Red Square, and she was shaken out of her thoughts by Anton raising his cup, a smile on his face.
"S Noviym Godom, s noviym schastyem," he said and she watched Dimitri raise his own cup to the toast with a slight, forced smile before tipping the drink back in one swallow.
"To a happy New Year," Anton translated for Rose, tapping his cup against hers. She mustered up a smile in turn and took a sip of her champagne. Anton drained what little was in his cup and crushed it in his hand, standing and tossing it in a small wastebasket by the bed. "My mother's probably too drunk to navigate her own house, so I should get going." He grabbed his phone and regarded Dimitri intensely, clasping his friend by the back of his neck. Downstairs, the music had picked back up with a throbbing deep bass that shook the floor. "I hope you find your happiness this year, Dimitri Radulovich. You've gone too long without it."
Something in Anton's blessing made Dimitri deflate, his usual alertness fading out of him. For a moment, there was nothing but a man desperate for relief hiding in places unknown to him still. He grabbed Anton's wrist and nodded. "Spasibo, Tosha."
"I mean it," Anton said, not letting go. "Listen to your own wisdom this year. Find beauty. Find a reason to smile."
Dimitri briefly tightened his grip on Anton's wrist and a look of understanding passed between them. Satisfied, Anton nodded once and released Dimitri, flashing Rose an easy smile. "Hopefully this isn't our last meeting."
"I hope so too," Rose said, meaning it. Anton was the only other person who understood the grief Dimitri still held onto, and she was drowning in her need to know every tiny detail about him.
She watched him slip back into his usual edge as the door shut behind Anton, music blasting through the opening for a beat. Dimitri considered the champagne bottle and then capped it. "Are you okay?" he asked her.
"You're asking me?"
"You look like you've lost your dog."
Her brain helpfully reminded her that she was several minutes into the New Year — hours if she went by Baia's timezone — and while she wasn't going to say anything to push this thing with Dimitri, she was the closest she'd ever been to a midnight kiss and she was going to be really irritated if she didn't get one. He still hadn't kissed her since that night after the party. It was like — there was slow and then there was this chaste snail's pace they seemed to be going at.
She shook her head, standing and gathering her coat and clutch, not looking at him. "I'm fine."
"Rose, I can tell you're lying, and I've only known you for two weeks.."
"I'm fine," she repeated, voice firm. She might've snapped her words; she couldn't tell. Her earlier good mood had fizzled out, a quiet discontent settling into her bones. "I'm actually kind of tired."
The look on her face must've said something else because she watched his jaw tighten in frustration. After a terse moment, he said, "Yeah, me too."
The cold outside was refreshing and she took a deep inhale, head tilted back to watch her breath fog up her view of the stars above. The front yard was empty; Igor and his friends must have relocated.
"I miss this," she said.
Dimitri shut the door and finished pulling his duster on. "Miss what?"
"The stars." She took another step, unconsciously veering into the grass. Heels and metabolizing alcohol didn't go together. "I've been on a daylight schedule for most of the past four years while Lissa was in college, so I got used to sleeping at night. And then here . . . I don't really go out at night. I have no reason to. So it's been a while."
"This life comes with a lot of sacrifices," he said lowly. She tilted her head up to see him watching her.
"They come first," she said, repeating a mantra she'd grown up hearing and later committed to upon becoming a guardian.
His answer surprised her. "Not always."
"Not always?"
"No." He took a turn looking up at the stars. "Sometimes . . . sometimes you have to think about yourself. It's something I've struggled with."
"Since Ivan?"
"Yeah." Not elaborating further, he offered his elbow again, and she took it, not daring to take off her heels in the cold despite how badly her feet ached. She leaned her head against his shoulder as they ambled back onto the street and a silence fell over them.
Halfway to the house, she stopped, dropping his arm and slowly turning in place, surveying the busy street around them. She could've sworn she saw someone familiar across the road, but when Dimitri asked her what was wrong, she denied anything. As she was turning back around, Dimitri stiffened beside her.
In front of them was Abe, and if Rose hadn't had so much guardian training, she would've jumped a foot in the air from being shocked. As it were, she had to physically stop herself from walking away, in the mood for nothing more than crawling into bed.
"That dress looks a little small," he said without preamble, dark eyes flashing with disapproval. Rose rolled her eyes and made no move to close her coat.
"What, I suppose you want a 'Happy New Year' and you're just bothering everyone you know on the street?" she asked.
"You know Zmey?" Dimitri asked, clearly confused and Rose crossed her arms over her chest.
"We met once. Unfortunately," she added.
"I wouldn't call it unfortunate," he said. To Dimitri: "I was in the neighborhood. Your grandmother wanted to chat."
"Well, we don't," she said, taking the lead and brushing past Abe, who caught her by the arm, forcing her to a stop. Up close, he looked vaguely familiar, like she'd seen him more than their one chance encounter. She brushed off the weird thought. Where had that come from?
"Don't test me, Rose," he said calmly.
She jerked her arm back. "Don't manhandle me." Giving him a once over — his outfit was flashy, this time a striking combination of dark blue and white — she pulled out what was left for the evening of her fuck-the-world attitude and asked, "What's your interest in me anyway, old man? Don't you have anything better to do like go break some kneecaps for fun? You must get your rocks off on being all mysterious and aloof or something, because this stalking thing is getting creepy."
That got him to laugh. "I'm only checking in on you to make sure you're surviving this place." His eyes flicked over her. "I can see it's a founded worry."
"I'm doing just fine," she replied haughtily. She could feel Dimitri shift closer to her from behind, a steady knuckle pressed against her lower back.
"I'm sure you are," Abe replied sounding not at all convinced by himself. He let go of her arm and headed in the direction she and Dimitri had come from. Over his shoulder, he added, "Give your mother my regards."
"You don't know my mother," Rose said, trying her best to not come off confused as hell.
"Don't I?" Abe gave a parting smile, a smooth, clever thing edging his expression with virulence. "Until next time, Rose."
Rose stood in silence, eyes narrowed, and Dimitri finally spoke once Abe had slipped into the darkness of the night, his guardians trailing him. "That was weird. He's usually not so . . . warm."
"You've got a funny definition of warm, comrade," Rose said with a shiver. "Speaking of . . ."
"Yeah, let's go," Dimitri said, his tone betraying how worn out he sounded.
Loud conversation was spilling out of the kitchen when Rose and Dimitri got home.
"I'm going to speak with my grandmother," Dimitri said, taking Rose's coat from her as she slipped it off.
"I'm just gonna . . ." Rose trailed off, waving a hand in the general direction of the stairs.
"I'll meet you up there," he replied, disappearing into the kitchen. She took a moment to listen to Dimitri politely interrupt Yeva before dragging herself upstairs.
In the room, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail and took off the heels with a groan of relief, dropping them at the foot of the bed. She paused, revelling in the feel of her feet flat against carpeted floor for the first time in nearly five hours. Stretching her arms above her as she yawned, she rolled her head and dug her fingers into her shoulders, trying to massage out the soreness. Her phone was blinking at her with messages from friends, all wishing her well for the new year. She replied to Lissa and Sydney before plugging it in to charge, forgetting that the recorder app was still running in the background.
She was setting her alarm for the morning and mentally debating whether or not to leave dealing with her makeup in the morning when she heard Dimitri come in. He didn't hear him say anything while she finished fiddling with the phone and then set it down, asking over her shoulder without looking, "What, did you fall asleep standing up?"
He whined in the back of his throat, making her head shoot up when she remembered that in putting up her hair and taking off her coat, the backless portion of her dress had been fully exposed. The look on his face said he'd somehow (but still definitely) forgotten about that particular detail of her outfit.
"See something you like, comrade?" she teased, flashing a playful smirk before turning to double-check that her phone was set for the night.
"I know—" He stopped, his eyes burning through her dress.
She straightened, setting her phone on the nightstand and moving down to the foot of the bed. "You know what?"
"I know I said we should go slow," he said slowly. His posture was the stillest she'd ever seen him.
"You did. A week ago." She tilted her head, her ponytail brushing against her shoulder. "I'm not following, Dimitri."
"I haven't been able to stop looking at you all night," he admitted, still struggling with something, and he stepped closer without breaking eye contact.
Her gut lurched with heat, her arms suddenly like dead weights against her side. "Are you trying to say I'm pretty?" She'd figured out within a few days that he wasn't blatant about things like emotions and it took some time trying to needle his thoughts out of him.
"I think you're beautiful," he whispered, her breath catching as his finger ghosted her over her temple, through her hair, back to where it was bound up. "So beautiful it hurts sometimes."
"That really isn't slow."
"I know."
And then slowly he pulled her hair free, inch by smooth inch, and her head rolled back with the motion.
The world stopped. Her focus was honed in on nothing more than the rise and fall of his chest and the way he gazed at her like he wanted devour her from the inside out. The hair tie soundlessly slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor.
His free hand skimmed up the sides of her body, and she let him guide her head back up with the hand wound through her hair, her tongue wetting her lower lip in anticipation. "This isn't slow," she murmured, her voice so low she wondered if she even said it aloud.
"I know," he said, the bass of his voice warming her. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide to the edge of his irises.
Fingers skimmed her throat, and she froze. An old ache — familiar but long unfelt, not since Adrian's hand and mouth grazed the same spot, halfway up her neck and below her ear — panged through her. Her pulse picked up speed and her head fell away from his hand, exposing the line of her throat as anticipation blazing through her for a bite that would never come.
"Bad spot?"
She had no idea how her voice was so steady, even if it was a bit breathless.
"Yeah," she said. "Something like that."
He hummed and his hand dropped down to the small of her back, pushing the fire inside her to explode into an inferno when he finally pulled her into a kiss.
It was just as intense as the first, the kind of soul-searing meeting of mouths that Rose had only heard about. Her arms snaked up around his neck and she moaned deep and low when tightened his grip on her waist, closing the last inch of space between them.
She didn't know how long they stood there but it felt timeless.
He tore his mouth from hers and buried his face in her shoulder, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her skin before sinking his teeth into the junction right below her neck. Her fingers found hold in his hair and when she gritted out a low I want you, his response was to push her to the bed.
He was gorgeous, she decided after, pressed against him and tracing thoughtless patterns on his stomach. It may have been a ridiculous idea, but she wanted to gather all his clothes and ceremoniously burn them in the backyard. She was tempted to declare that covering up the body she was half laying on should be one of the deadly seven sins.
"I can hear you thinking," he said softly as his thumb stroked her hip.
She looked up, head still on his chest and her hand on his stomach went still. "I thought I'd feel different."
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "What do you mean?"
"Keeping up and knowing what's going on . . . I don't know, I thought I'd feel more adult or something. My first few times were great, but I definitely fumbled my way through."
"I think everyone does."
"Did you?" she asked.
"My first few years were awful," he said with a quiet laugh. "I lost my virginity when I was sixteen. I had no idea what I was doing for the longest time."
"You definitely know what you're doing now," she said, a flash of heat striking her chest when arousal flashed across his face. Wanting to see how far she could push him again, she slipped a leg over his and pushed herself up, biting her grinning lip at the reaction she got. "I know you have some more in you. Don't tell me you turned thirty and got old, comrade," she teased.
"I would love to," he said, linking his fingers with hers. He brought them up to his mouth, brushing his lips over the back of her hand. "But I am actually tired. It's probably almost six."
She yawned and inwardly cursed the timing of it. "When are you going back?"
"The twelfth."
"Then I guess you have a week and half to make it up to me." She kissed him deeply, smiling at his groan of protest.
"You're going to kill me," he murmured against her lips.
"I might, but you'll enjoy me all the way to your grave anyway," she said, and then she kissed him again, hand splayed across his cheek.