A wave of pure exhaustion hit him within minutes of the Russian's departure. Reading someone's thoughts apparently took a much greater use of spirit than any of the other tasks he'd mastered so far. Physically, he felt as if he'd just run a marathon; mentally, his brain felt like… mush. He tried to stumble to the bedroom, only to realize within a few steps that it was a lost cause—he'd never make it. Sleep was pressing down on him with an iron fist. Right before it claimed him, he collapsed onto the couch with a sigh. Closing his eyes, within less than a minute he was out for the count.

His dream started out wonderfully, taking him to a happy place where it seemed as if all his innermost desires had come to fruition. He was dancing with Rose in a grand ballroom, his aunt, the Queen sat watching them with a radiant smile on her normally dour face. Rose was a vision in a long formal crimson gown that sparked so much he thought it might be encrusted with rubies. She smiled up at him, and it was the smile she normally reserved for Belikov, full of love and admiration.
"Why so serious, Adrian?" She asked, pressing her body even closer to him.

He smiled. "I was thinking how marvelous you look in that color, little dhampire."

"I do, don't I?"

"Of course, you could be wearing a mud covered burlap sack and still be the most beautiful girl in the world." He bent down, brushing his lips against her cheek.

She laughed. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Ivashkov."

He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned his head to see who had the nerve to cut in on their dance. Belikov—he should have known. But… something was wrong with the man… there was something… different. As he watched, tan skin paled, turning deathly white, paler than even a Moroi. The Russian who'd been staring intently at Rose flicked his eyes to Adrian and his heart stopped as he saw the thin ring of red surrounding the dark pupil of each eye. Holy fuck! Belikov was—

"Roza is mine!" Dimitri's voice was cold and harsh sounding. He reached out, pulling Rose away from Adrian and pressing her close to his chest.

Adrian stared in horror as Rose smiled up at the man—no, the Strigoi—tilting her head and gathering her hair to the side, offering up her unblemished throat. Belikov smiled, revealing two wickedly sharp fangs, which he promptly buried in her flesh. She moaned with pleasure, her hands snaking up around his neck and entwining in his brown hair. A thin trickle of blood trailed down her exposed back, the same color as the dress she wore—a color he'd complimented only moments before.

The sight freed him from his momentary stupor; not thinking, he jerked her back, taking a protective stance in front of her. He had no way to defeat a Strigoi, but he couldn't let Rose face Belikov, not like this. The Russian was her one weakness and Adrian knew she would never be able to harm him, not even if it meant saving her own life.

"No!" She screamed, trying to get around his body, to return to Belikov's side. "I won't leave him!"

Fighting like a wildcat she continued to scream, hurling insults and obscenities at the man who was trying to protect her. She was determined to remove any obstacle that stood between her and the man—monster—she loved. She reached forward placing her hands on either side of Adrian's neck and twisted. As he fell to the ground the dream shifted, the ballroom fading away, replaced with a… void. A complete and solid velvety blackness surrounded him—he floated, suspended in midair, the vast darkness cradling him like a womb.

He felt the familiar buzzing in his head as his thoughts became hazy and muddled—insanity was paying him a late night visit. Around him images began flickering in the darkness. He'd catch a glimpse and as suddenly as he focused on it the scene would change into something else entirely. They were things he'd never seen or imagined in his waking hours. Things he wanted to forget… to somehow unsee as soon as he glimpsed them.

The forest… A dark underground chamber… Rose and Belikov, surrounded by Strigoi, fighting side by side. Their movements were completely in sync, resembling a choreographed dance as they left a trail of death and destruction in their wake. Around them bodies burst into flames, pain filled screams filling the air. Belikov… falling… his neck stained with blood as hands pulled at Rose—trying to move her as she fought against them, struggling to save her fallen love. She screamed, her voice filled with rage and pain, sounding as if her soul were being ripped out of her body. Flames consumed the images, but still her piercing screams tormented him. He had to stop them. Had to stop it…. Had to…remember.

Adrian jerked upright, his own scream on his lips as his eyes darted around the room. He was shaking violently, his body drenched in sweat. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm his breathing—to stop the spastic jerking movements of his hands. His mind felt muddled and fuzzy, warning him of spirit's ever present darkness. Grabbing a bottle off the coffee table, he drained it, waiting for the manic feeling to subside. Automatically he reached for another, thankful that he hadn't put them away after Belikov's abrupt departure the night before.

Two cigarettes and several sips later, he could feel the first numbing effects of the alcohol hitting him. Satisfied he'd lubricated himself enough to think about what had frightened him so badly, he tried to contemplate his dream. He'd had nightmares aplenty, but that one… holy shit, that had been bad. That had been…

He sat up, staring into space, searching his mind, trying to pull back the images he'd seen. Trying to remember what the dream had entailed. He couldn't. It was as if it had been erased from his mind in its entirety. Staring at the bottle in his hand a feeling of overwhelming panic surged through him. He hurled the bottle at the wall, cursing. What if it hadn't been a dream? What if it had been… prophecy? Running his hands through his hair he cursed his crazy, unstable mind. He couldn't fucking recollect a single bit of it, all he knew was that it was something vitally important. Something that could mean the difference between life and death.

An hour later he exited Kirova's office with a signed permission slip in hand. He'd used compulsion to obtain it, but he'd had no choice in the matter. He needed Lissa's help and he couldn't wait for her to finish a day's worth of classes.

Hurrying across the campus he entered her American Colonial Literature classroom without knocking. Ignoring the surprised murmurs that raced through the room he strode directly to the instructor, shoving the slip of paper in her hand. The woman studied it for a moment before giving him a questioning look. He ignored her, pointedly scanning the room for Lissa. After an intolerable amount of time, the old witch finally dismissed her.

Lissa shot him a concerned look as she gathered her things and followed him out into the hallway. The Castille kid was on her heels—unfortunately he'd forgotten about her little shadow.

"What's going on?" She asked, racing to keep up with his fast pace.

"I need your help with something."

She stopped walking. "So you pulled me out of class?"

Gritting his teeth he retraced his steps, grabbing her arm and towing her along with him. She made a sound of protest and the Castille boy stepped closer to them with a confused look on his face. "I had a dream—a very important dream and I can't remember it."

She jerked her arm free, her normally calm face flushing indignantly. "You can't just—"

"It involved Rose." He dropped his face, his green eyes boring into her. "It was a… warning. Something bad is going to happen and I have to remember what it was."

She stared at him, still skeptical. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Damn it Lissa! Did you hear what I just said? I'm fucking sober! I need your help—for Rose." He glared at her, feeling his temper rise dangerously. "We are going to my room and you are going to try compulsion. If that doesn't work, then you're going to have to try and read my thoughts… my memories."

"We can't do that—we agreed it was too dangerous."

"We didn't agree to anything. You decided it was dangerous, not me. I did it last night and it—"

"What do you mean you did it?" She hissed. "Who did you use it on?"

"It doesn't matter. All you need to know is that it works; I can walk you through it." Adrian closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. "Please, Lissa. This is important." He stared at her, willing her to understand and to believe his words.

She studied him for a moment before nodding. "Fine, but we're going to talk about what you did later." She stared at him, waiting for conformation. He grimaced, nodding. She glared at him for a minute more, then sighed heavily. "Let's go."

Compulsion didn't work. After over an hour of trial and error, they realized she couldn't force him to tell her something if he couldn't access the memory—and she couldn't force the memory to return. Trying to read his thoughts didn't work either. Even after two hours, she couldn't grasp the concept. It was like dream walking—she just couldn't do it. He tried walking her through it step by step, even going so far as to give her detailed description of what he'd visualized while performing the task. Nothing worked.

He was beyond frantic. His head was once again fuzzy, warning him that if he didn't have a drink soon, his mind would slowly begin to unhinge—but he was determined to abstain. Alcohol would prevent him from fully accessing spirit, and he knew instinctively he'd need spirit to find the dream that was hidden somewhere in his mind.

"It's almost lunchtime and Rose will be worried if we're not there. Let's take a break." Lissa sighed, massaging her temples. She looked exhausted and he was worried about the effect all the spirit use she'd been taking part in would have on Rose.

The knock at the door startled all three of them. Eddie, having stationed himself at the wall was the closest; he glanced over at Adrian then opened it when the other man nodded. A young dhampir stood on the threshold.

"Package for Lord Ivashkov."

Adrian walked over, brushing past Eddie, ushering the boy inside. He'd forgotten all about the little surprise he'd ordered. Now didn't really seem like the right time for pranks, considering he was trying to remember a doom and gloom prophecy. Still, he owed Alberta for sticking him with Belikov the night before. Taking the box he tore off the address label then handed it back to kid.

"I need you to deliver that to Guardian Petrov."

The boy looked confused. "But Ms. Treges in the office said to bring it to you."

"She was mistaken." Adrian laced his words with spirit. "It belongs to Guardian Petrov. You're going to take it to her and you're not going to mention me at all, are you?"

"Adrian!" Lissa hissed.

He waved her off, pulling out his wallet. "Here's a little something for your trouble." He handed the boy a wad of bills and ushered him out the door. Glancing back at Lissa, he smirked. "Well, come on. Didn't you say something about lunch?"