He was in Hell. Purgatory. Hades. Whatever you wanted to call it, the location remained the same. Over a period of several hours, he had tried—and failed—to contact the missing students. He had, in fact, tried so many times that he seriously thought he might be suffering from some sort of aneurism.

Full-fledged withdrawal was hitting him hard, and this time it wasn't because he needed to see his little dhampire. He needed a drink. Or twenty. He needed a cigarette. Just one or two puffs, to take the edge off. Just a swallow or two of liquid fire to ease the burning thirst.

His body was covered in sweat, quivering as if he had stuck his finger in an electrical socket. His breathing was hitched, his brain demanding nicotine. His mouth and throat were completely dry, and water could not begin to ease the ache.

Damn Dimitri Belikov to hell.

The man had removed every single bottle that Adrian had stashed throughout his suite. Every pack of cigarettes had been collected and hidden somewhere in the pockets of that ridiculous, ever present coat. He had even emptied the fucking ashtrays, so there was not a half smoked butt in sight. Adrian eyed the large man, actually contemplating attacking him so he could search the coat for a smoke.

The Russian sat across the room, watching him with a threatening expression on his normally calm face. Ever so often he would pace the room, muttering curses in Russian. He was waiting for Adrian to perform some kind of miracle.

Too bad it wasn't fucking happening.

"Look, I told you, the only person I've been able to reach is the Castile kid, and it's like he's hopped up on something—his mind is a mess, on some kind of crazy drug trip." Adrian ran his hands through his messy hair, frustrated beyond words.

"Try again."

"This isn't exactly easy, Belikov," he snapped. "It isn't an exact science. I can't make them dream about their location if I don't know where they are!"

"You made me dream about—"

"Oh nonononono. I most certainly the fuck did not. That little occurrence was all on you. I was just a spectator."

Belikov arched an eyebrow, as if to say 'bullshit'.

"You're an idiot. How could I make you dream about something that I had no idea occurred? You relived your little passion party all on your own. Although I must say, I enjoyed the show. Rose has got a hell of a body."

The other man growled, his fists clenching at his sides. Adrian realized he might have overstepped his boundaries. "Look, I'll try again, ok?"

Belikov began pacing; his long legs making the trip across the room take only a few steps. He was seriously getting on Adrian's last nerve. What the hell did Rose see in the moody asshole?

Closing his eyes, he focused on the Rinaldi girl. He thought about her deep blue eyes and her curly blond hair. He thought about her childishly cute face. Nothing.

"It's not working. I don't understand—"

"Try again." Belikov cut him off. "Roza is in danger. I can feel it."

"Why the hell do you even care? You dumped her for the Ozera bitch. You hurt her." The words were out before Adrian even realized it. He flinched at the expression on the other man's face, followed by a wave of relief when the Russian didn't attack.

"That's between Rose and I. It does not concern you."

"If Rose dies because of Natasha Ozera's stupid game, I promise you, the woman will pay." His normal carefree voice was heavy with malice. "You may think I'm nothing more than some spoiled party boy, but I promise you—I will do whatever it takes to see your girlfriend prosecuted for her false information. The queen will back me up."

Belikov was in his face before he knew what had happened. "She is not my girlfriend. Don't say it again. I don't care what happens to Natasha Ozera—the only thing that matters to me is Roza's safety!"

"Fine. Glad we're on the same page." Adrian smirked. "Now get the fuck out of my face so I can try again."

He ignored the fact that Belikov called him a jackass in Russian and focused on Rose. Her hair. Her eyes. Her scent—so intoxicating. Her aura and the darkness it contained.

He walked into her dream, gazing around with interest. He hadn't exerted any influence, it was a viewing, not a spirit dream. He had appeared in the middle of a gymnasium. There was a line of practice dummies waiting for use. A stack of thick padded mats. A loud, exaggerated female sigh drew his attention to the far side of the room.

"This isn't a Christmas special! This is my life. In the real world, miracles and goodness just don't happen."

Belikov stood in front of her, stoic and calm. "In the real world, you can make your own miracles."

"Okay, can you just stop this for once?" She demanded, placing her hands on her curvy hips.

"Stop what?"

"The whole profound Zen crap thing. You don't talk to me like a real person. Everything you say is just some wise, life-lesson nonsense. You really do sound like a Christmas special." Her voice was getting louder by the minute, the darkness that surrounded her pulsing with each word. "I swear, sometimes it's just like you want to hear yourself talk! And I know you're not always this way. You were perfectly normal when you talked to Tasha. But with me? You're just going through the motions. You don't care about me. You're just stuck in your stupid mentor role."

The Russian looked absolutely stunned. "I don't care about you?"

"No." Rose jabbed her index finger into his chest. "I'm another student to you. You just go on and on with your stupid life lessons so that—"

Quick as a cobra, the man reached out his grabbing the hand that had been poking him and pinning it to the wall. His aura flared with passion and need. "Don't tell me what I'm feeling," he growled.

"That's it, isn't it?" She asked.

"What?"

"You're always fighting for control. You're the same as me."

Dear sweet Rosebud. Always pushing. Adrian was willing to bet she was the type of person who, when using a pencil, pressed down so hard the lead snapped off.

"No," he said. "I've learned my control."

Ha! He was so full of shit. The man was a ticking time bomb. His absolute loss of control in the Guardian command center was proof of that.

"No," Rose declared. "You haven't. You put on a good face, and most of the time you do stay in control. But sometimes you can't. And sometimes …" I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "Sometimes you don't want to."

"Rose…"

Belikov's breathing was getting heavier by the minute. So was Roses, for that matter. Her fabulous chest was rising and falling more and more rapidly as she stared at her mentor.

She kissed him. And it was totally obvious, even to an observer that he was kissing her beck. Hell, he even took it a step further, pressing himself against her, trapping her body against the wall. His free hand slid up, entwining itself in her hair. Their small sounds of pleasure filled the gym for a moment before Belikov jerked away, stepping away from her. He looked… shaken.

"Do not do that again," he said stiffly.

"Don't kiss me back then," She snapped. Hurt was evident on her beautiful face.

He stared at her for a moment before speaking. "I don't give 'Zen lessons' to hear myself talk. I don't give them because you're another student. I'm doing this to teach you control."

"You're doing a great job." Her voice was bitter, full of the hurt and anger that surrounded her like a muted rainbow.

He closed his eyes for half a second, exhaled, and muttered something in Russian. Without another glance at Rose, he stormed out of the room.

Adrian came back to the present with a glare on his face. "You really are a complete and total ass."

Belikov wasn't expecting that. "What?"

"The way you treat Rose. Do you have any idea what that does to a woman's self esteem?"

"She's only seventeen. She isn't—"

"Don't feed me your line of bullshit, Belikov. It doesn't matter if a woman is seventeen, twenty seven, hell—even forty! Your little games fuck with her mind. Any woman would be hurt by them."

Belikov glared at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"She's dreaming about you. About what happened between the two of you when she kissed you in the gym."

The other man paled, sinking down on a chair. "I—"

"Save it." Adrian snapped. "I don't give a shit about your excuses. You may be some bad ass Guardian, but when it comes to your feelings for Rose, you're nothing but a goddamned coward."

With that, he leaned back, closed his eyes and attempted to contact Christian Ozera.