SUMMARY: Set in Vampire Academy. Christian's pov.
WORDCOUNT: ~960
Thanks for pointing out the typo, R-l-D.

Written for 100moods. Prompt: annoyed.

OUR SECRET
by Leni

Great. Just great.

I had only wanted some privacy, away from the prattle that passed as my classmates' conversation. In the last couple of days, such illuminated talk had taken a turn to the worse and sillier –full of contradictions and inconsistencies, too, not that they would realize that – due to the return of St. Vladimir's lost sheep.

Or, as they were better known, Princess Dragomir and Slutty Rose – not that anybody called the latter that name to her face. I believe that the last one to try had been Dawn Yarrow, seconds before she'd been slammed against a nearby tree. After that mess, nobody on campus had felt the need to risk a limb just to needle a jumpy dhampir.

Especially when Vasilissa took care to ruin one's reputation afterward.

Yarrow should have known better than to go against Hathaway without taking Vasilissa's power into account.

Compared to the rest of Moroi royalty, little Vasilissa had always looked like a saint, all smiles and patience and fair play. But the blood in her veins came from the Dragomir line, and one only had to flip through a history book to know that none of her ancestors was known for their congeniality. The little Dragomir had been born with sharp edges, and they cut deep when someone she loved was on the line – I'd seen her in action a couple times, before the accident that killed her family, when other students had tried to fill her in on her brother's less savory adventures.

She was loyal, I'd give her that.

To the point where she had shred another girl's chances to hold her head high. It had been easy, of course, a few cutting comments in the right ears and Yarrow was an outcast. Fleetingly, I wondered how Yarrow was doing now. She'd turned coward at her new status and fled the academy as soon as her arm was set.

No one missed her.

That's what being an outcast meant. I should know.

No one had asked questions, either. I doubted that even Hathaway was aware of the details; like most dhampirs, she was blind to anything but the most direct route: see the threat, punch the threat, worry later. She wouldn't believe it, anyway. It was obvious that she saw herself as Vasilissa's big bad protector, and she had this habit of watching over her best friend as if the daughter of one of our old houses could be the most fragile Moroi since the dawn of time.

How Hathaway forgot that even baby dragons had claws and fangs, I had no idea.

Except that the little princess wasn't looking too dangerous now. In fact, she seemed… vulnerable. And terrified.

Yeah… just great.

That frightened look on her face was making me feel like a jerk.

I'd wanted to surprise her, all right. Give her a little jolt so that she'd rush out of the attic room and leave me back to myself. Instead she looked terrified, as if I'd jumped out of my corner with the intention to do something unspeakable to her.

I didn't look that scary, did I?

And what if I did, anyway? Who the hell was she to be scared when shewas the intruder?

"Don't worry, I won't bite," I bit out. I could have rolled my eyes at the cliché dripping from that sentence. What was I, a ghost from a children's scary tale? Whatever. Might as well see it through the end. "Well, at least not in the way you're afraid of."

She frowned, just a little.

I watched her hesitate, and I had to chuckle at the whole situation.

There I was, having just gone over every fact I knew about Vasilissa Dragomir. And she was taking a moment to place me in her memory. Just. Great. If I had ever wanted proof of how low my public profile was, this was it. The social butterfly of our grade, the girl who, prior to her mystery flight, had had a word for every fellow royal and a smile for everyone else, was having trouble remembering a guy who'd been in her class since third grade.

At least that meant her fear was not that I'd kill her on the spot, in order to become Strigoi.

To her credit, she recovered soon.

"What are you doing here?"

A more interesting question was, what was she doing here? Even if she'd been keeping to herself since her return, a dusty attic above the chapel was not where Moroi princesses spent their free time.

But I had enough experience with girls to know that, if asked, she'd ignore the question. No matter. There were enough clues to build an answer by myself: she'd gone straight to the window seat, no looking around the room for better accommodations; her body language, in those seconds before I'd interrupted, had spoken of long familiarity with that spot, her legs curled comfortably under her, her head thrown back to admire the diffused light, and her shoulder almost but not quite touching the glass, as if she was aware of how cold it was to the touch.

She had come here before. Often.

"Taking in the sights, of course," I answered, moving on to point out the 'perks' of the attic.

Instead of blinking, or even sneaking a peek at the legless table, she rolled her eyes at me.

Well, she was not frightened anymore. That was great – for real. It meant I could stop her from leaving and not feel like I'd kicked a puppy. I had questions. Contradictions and inconsistencies, remember?

I wanted answers, and I was not afraid. Vasilissa could draw out her claws and her fangs, I didn't mind. Because, deep down, dragons were made of fire. And I?

I was in my element.

The End
08/12/12