Author's note - Sorry I've been gone so long! Still playing with Richelle Mead's amazing world and characters - everything Vampire Academy belongs to her!
Friday night, almost two weeks after Ivan Zeklos had moved to Saint Basil's Siberian Academy and invaded his life, Malina observed his class and Zeklos joined her. They weren't alone: it was the last class of the week and quite a few Moroi – almost two dozen – were waiting to join their friends for various Friday night activities. At first Dimitri assumed that Zeklos was there for Katya and he was almost resigned into accepting it, but as practice continued, he realized that Zeklos was there for Malina.
Dimitri had had only one other interaction with Zeklos in the weeks since Zeklos's arrival. On the Monday following the ward exercise, Zeklos had caught up with him as they were changing classes. Other students passed them on the crowded walkway, grabbing for hats and buttoning heavy coats that had been allowed to flap open due to the early morning warmer temperatures. The daylight hours had been overcast and the low-lying clouds had insulated the landscape, holding back the expected cold, but at the time of the class change, a few hours after sundown, the sky was clearing and the temperature was dropping fast. Dimitri tried to enjoy the emerging starlight but wished he'd gotten up earlier. He'd spent a lot of time in the sunlight when he'd been home over Christmas, and he missed it. Zeklos's interruption ruined another pleasant memory.
"Belikov."
Dimitri kept walking, but couldn't not answer. "Zeklos."
Ivan kept pace easily and held up his hands in good-natured self-defense. He ducked his head slightly, trying to catch Dimitri's eye. "No guardian questions. I promise."
Dimitri silently cursed the etiquette that had been drilled into him from an early age that compelled him now to apologize.
"I'm sorry about that. I overreacted."
"I'm sorry," Ivan answered. His voice was level and serious. He caught Dimitri's glance and held it, his own dark brown eyes mirroring Dimitri's exactly. Dimitri kept walking, but couldn't make himself look away. "I overstepped. I promise, from now on I'll leave guardian work to my guardians, and my soon-to-be guardian friends. You and every other guardian here are trained to give your life for mine – for any Moroi. I have no right to question anything."
Again, Zeklos said all the right things, in the exact right way; with the perfect amount of respect for dhampir service and sacrifice while retaining the easy self-assurance of royalty. Dimitri didn't – couldn't – respond, and he was finally able to look away.
"Are we good?" Zeklos pressed. "I've made it a general life rule to stay on the positive side of people who could break me in half."
Zeklos's joke again reminded Dimitri bizarrely of Katya, the way she joked as a matter of course, but also sometimes to cover her true feelings. He shook off the similarity with effort. Zeklos's easy company was working even on him, and he hated himself for the weakness. He still couldn't be sure about anything about Zeklos – what he knew, what he intended. Even his casual, harmless snark could be a dark insinuation, covering up the cruelty of his knowledge with his usual self-serving charm.
Dimitri would have taken any chance, any out to extricate himself from Zeklos's too-calm, too-polite, too-confusing company. "We're good."
Since that conversation Zeklos had backed off, building and solidifying his popularity and power base among the other students, not pressing Dimitri for more. Despite Zeklos and Katya's obvious relationship, he'd even absent himself from observing the open dhampir classes, staying away so completely and uncharacteristically that in weak moments Dimitri wondered if Zeklos was staying away from him on purpose in some bizarre kindness. But Friday night, Zeklos came to class to watch.
He had arrived after class had started, sliding into the gymnasium through a side door just behind and to the right of the silvery bleachers where the Moroi observers sat and watched the novice class. He could have used the main door, but he had chosen the less obtrusive entryway. He even closed the door behind him exceedingly softly, as if being truly careful to minimize any distraction his late entrance might cause to his practicing classmates. He stood quietly, his gaze sweeping the entire floor, watching the mock-battles unfolding before him. His eyes skimmed over Dimitri a few times, but he was clearly seeking Katya.
Dimitri's line of sight had been almost entirely blocked by the metal bleachers and the other Moroi, but as usual, his every sense clanged with awareness of Zeklos.
Advanced Bodyguard Technique was held in the largest gymnasium on St. Basil's campus. The class was required for all senior novices, and even though dhampir enrollment had decreased over the years, there were still more than enough students to fill the space. The building was large but strictly utilitarian: a well-lit, high-ceiled, unheated, steel-corrugated structure, the uninsulated shell serving only to block out the harshest of the Siberian elements. The crenellated interior was painted a basic white and the floor was hard concrete. The only concession to comfort was three massive, five meter-diameter ceiling fans which rotated slowly, circulating the small amount of heat generated by the novices' workout.
The novices practiced on blue and green practice mats spaced out wall to wall at regular intervals across the smooth gray floor. They wore the standard training workout gear: lightweight, layered clothing that allowed for a balance of warmth and maneuverability. The dark colors of the nylon jacket and trousers – shades of charcoal, navy, or a green so deep it was almost black – stood out in stark contrast in the lights and colors of the gymnasium, but would have faded easily into the background of the starlit outdoors where Guardians usually patrolled. Thin leather gloves protected their hands; their heads remained uncovered. Their hardier dhampir physiology meant that, even though their breath turned to vapor around them, they barely shivered.
Even in the unseasonably warm weather – almost above the freezing point, unheard of for this part of Siberia in February - the Moroi were bundled in long coats and classic Russian hats. They huddled together on the unfolded aluminum bleachers that usually saw no use until the novices' yearly final trials. Their heavy layers and close contact with one another kept them warm, but they watched with some envy as their classmates moved easily under the same conditions.
Soaked through with sweat, Dimitri stripped off the nylon outer layer and mid-layer fleece jacket, leaving only the thin, long-sleeved base layer that covered his torso and his fleece drawstring sweatpants. He ignored the catcalls from a few of the Moroi girls, but held his head up a little higher when he caught Malina's quick, appreciative smile.
Zeklos hadn't joined his huddled classmates at first but remained standing, hands deep in his fur-lined pockets. Dimitri expected him to slouch or lean, to relax to the point of laziness, but he stood straight, a meter or so from the bleachers, simply watching. Too aware of him, Dimitri had fought harder in his matches, trying to ignore the small smile on Zeklos's face as his eyes followed Katya.
Still fighting, he struggled to reconcile his own experience of Zeklos with the evidence that he was utterly besotted with Katya. Maybe this Zeklos truly was different. Even if he wasn't, even if he was the monster Dimitri expected him to be, graduation was in a few short months. They would all be going their separate ways after that. Maybe until then, the restrictions of time – and Zeklos's clear affection – would be enough to keep Katya safe.