Hi! Sorry it took me so long to write the new chapter..but here it is!

It might seem like Rose and Dimitri are a little, or a lot different from the Rose and Dimitri in the books. But later on they shape up to be loveable characters. H

Chapter 2.

I've always been afraid of the dark.

It was such a stupid and silly fear, and I honestly have no idea when it started. Perhaps it blossomed from the countless tales Gregory would often tell of the evil creatures of the night, the Strigoi: the bloodsucking monsters that stalk the night and prey on the innocent. His stories made me feel entirely vulnerable in the evenings, hardly able to leave the house despite my father's patient persuasions and reassurances. Of all my oddities this infuriated Camille the most. This also caused my hasty desire to live on a human's schedule. After getting past his many, many, many objections, dad allowed it.

It was easy: Gregory would escort me to school every morning, and pick me up in the afternoon, and if we had enough time before sunset, we'd sometimes chill out at the nearest mall or ice cream shop just for the hey of it. Though he never said it out loud, I was sure he enjoyed our little trips. It gave him chance to live, not just to survive for someone else's sake. He never thought of it that way, of course, just me and dad.

These guardians, I could guess very well, didn't think that way either.

Despite the light out, sheer darkness consumed the van. Tinted glass, I guess. It was a wonder how John, the redheaded guardian, could even drive in this condition. I sat in the backseat between guardian Velia and the tall, dark-haired one whose name I had yet to discover. Seira, seated shotgun, kept shooting me satisfied glances from the car-mirror. On my lap, my fingers clutched onto my dad's old, nearly empty duffel bag, its rough, bristly texture hurt my skin; it didn't matter though, maybe the pain would distract me from my reality.

They had given me almost no time to say goodbye or pack my things, as though I urgently needed to be at St. Vladimir's straight away. But no way was I leaving without a fight. So was Gregory.

John had come forth; apparently ready to drag me the instant the order slipped from Seira's mouth; just as I made to run for my room. I felt like a child sulking to the safety and comfort of my bedroom after being yelled at by her parents. But, man, were they quick.

It was the dark-haired one. The one who had joked to Seira about the doors not being locked. He slithered to my side and with a long, swift hand seized my arm painfully before I barely reached the door adjacent to our kitchen. Again, the feeling of a enraged child flooded over me. His guardian strength was nothing on me as I struggled out of his grip.

"Let go of me!" I yelled. "I'm not going with you, and you can't make me!"

"Let go of her," growled Gregory, stepping forward. Dad placed a hand over Gregory's shoulder to stop him from going further. Just what was that all about?

"Dad!" I continued shouting, with just the barest tinge of desperation in my voice. "Tell them you won't let me go. Tell them, Dad!" I glared at the guardian whose hand gripped unto mine. "Take your claws off me!"

He did. He simply released his fingers as I finished my command.

"Rosemarie," his low voice contained an accent—Russian, maybe? It was both alluring and daunting, joined especially by those dark, enthralling eyes. "Please don't make this anymore difficult than it—" He never got to finish his sentence, as guardian John barged in from behind. He took hold of my forearm, piloting me in the direction of the exit. My resistance was futile, I was well aware of it. Yet I went on tussling against him, wondering again and again why Gregory or my dad would not do a thing

Finally, I screamed. "Dad!"

"I'll call you, Rose, I promise you that," Dad's strained voice called from behind our retreating backs. "I'll—I'll visit.

"Please, please take care."

Gregory said nothing; perhaps he was as shocked and perplexed by my father's lack of action as I was. Still, hearing his voice would have given me some comfort. Coral, dad's other guardian; woken possibly by my screams, stood waiting in the entrance hall in her brown dressing gown. Her sharply featured face unnaturally lined with worry and alarm. She held in her hands dad's duffel bag, the one long since abandoned in our broom closet, where he kept all his tools and gadgets. "Coral," I whispered, sending all my livid and panicked emotions to her through one gaze.

Instead, instead, with a sudden smile, she handed me over the prickly bag and patted my hand, "Be good. And follow what Seira says."

No words could sufficiently describe what I felt towards her.

But I'll give it a try now.

You deserting bitch. What. The. Fuck?

It shouldn't have come as that much of a shock. She, after all, never hid her utter disapproval at me and my dad's heretical thinking. Yet after all the years we'd spent together, almost like a family, though me and Coral could never be as close as me and Gregory, you'd think she'd have lightened up. But no. for all I knew, it was Coral who possibly called these demons up to come get me.

And so, from there my settings became a complete blur. Thrown curtly into a silky black van. For the most part of the trip, daylight ensued, so no great danger from Strigoi could have come quite easily. Apart from the accented-voiced guardian, their stances relaxed.

I'd never ridden a plane before; I've never even left the city. Any other occasion and I'd have been thrilled, yet here I was, miserable as I gazed down at the cotton candy-shaped clouds hovering in the air about us.

"The trip won't take very long," a voice coming from my side said.

I stiffened as he moved closer, seating himself beside me.

Silent for a moment, he asked, "Is this your first time on a plane?"

"And why the hell would you assume that?" Bastard.

He gave no answer, and sneakily I stole a side-glance. His face was so close before me that I took a much more detailed note on his appearance. His dark hair fell in gentle fly-aways to his chin. Tall even while gracefully seated, I'd give say six-foot-seven, more or less. Authority screamed from his deep brown eyes, piercing yet in a way soothing. With those eyes he studied me, meeting my own dark ones. He was probably handsome, but you had to look beneath the surface of intimidation and resentment to see it, perhaps. And I was far from looking beneath that surface.

I turned away, facing the window once more.

I swear I heard him sigh.

"St. Vladimir's is a good school," he said in his low, accented voice. "I'm certain you will find yourself quite comfortable there after a couple of months, Rosemarie." He stood, ready to leave, when I said in an equally silent voice,

"It's Rose. Call me Rose." Slowly I turned to look at him.

The slightest ghost of a smile edged the corners of his lips. In a second it disappeared; maybe I'd just imagined it. "And you can call me Dimitri."