The next morning he stopped by Alberta's office, collecting the key and a note granting him admission to Belikov's room. Classes had yet to resume, and Christian was waiting outside the building, his face somber, as if he would rather be doing something else. That made two of them.

"You know, you don't have to do this." Adrian offered as they entered the building. He showed the note to the guardian behind the desk then headed for the stairs. "I'm sure you have better things to do than box up the remainders of someone's life."

"Fuck you. Rose is my friend—I'm doing this for her."

"I won't tell her you said that." Adrian smirked. "On second thought, maybe I will. The shock alone might snap her out of her daze."

They both stopped, staring at the door. A stack of unassembled cardboard boxes leaned against the wall, waiting for them. Sighing, Adrian unlocked the door, stepping inside the room that he'd only seen in his dreams. Everything was exactly the same, with the exception of a towel that was thrown across the back of the single chair in front of the desk.

"You want to start on the bookcase?" He asked.

Christian drug the stack of boxes in from the hall and they both sat on the floor, assembling them in silence. "This feels so… morbid, you know?"

"Yeah." Adrian took a box over to the desk and began dumping the contents of the drawers into it, not bothering to sort anything. Rose could do that, when and if she ever decided it was time for closure.

"That's not how you pack, Ivashkov," Christian sighed. " Maybe you should do the books and I'll do the desk."

They switched places, Adrian slowly filling two boxes with the battered books that packed the shelves. He realized that at some point, Christian had stopped organizing the items in the box and had seated himself in the chair, staring sadly at something in his hand.

"What is it?"

"A picture of Rose. There's a bunch of them."

Adrian leaned over his shoulder, taking the pictures one by one as Christian leafed through them. Someone had documented a few of their practices, judging by the variety. Some were of Rose practicing with a stake, some were of Rose and Belikov sparing. Adrian turned away, a lump in his throat, unable to look at anymore. He was almost relieved to hear a faint knock at the door.

It was Lissa.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with Rose?" He asked.

"She wanted to go to the library—something about an extra credit paper for our animal behavior class." Lissa walked over to the Christian, leaning over his shoulder as Adrian had been doing a moment before.

Christian set the pictures in the box with a sigh. "I hate this. I feel like a voyeur or something, like we're invading his privacy."

Lissa kissed his forehead. "It doesn't matter, Chris. He's gone."

Christian's jaw tightened. "That doesn't mean it's right. I hated when Tasha went through my parent's things."

Lissa grabbed a box and walked over to the closet. "Come help me with the closet. We can do the desk later." She opened the closet, frowning. "Well, he didn't have many clothes, that's for sure."

"He was a guardian, Lissa, he didn't need them." It came out harsher than he'd intended. "I'm sorry Cousin. This isn't easy on any of us."

She nodded, handing Christian an armful of clothing. "I know."

He'd just packed away the last book when Lissa shrieked, ducking as a box tumbled off the shelf, its contents raining down around her. "Sorry, I thought I had it—the box broke." She bent down, gathering up the items that had spilled across the floor, only to make a small, sad sound a moment later.

"Liss? What's wrong?" Christian shoved the box of clothing out of the way, moving to her side.

"Lip gloss. Rose's favorite kind. I wondered how she never seemed to run out of it. He.. Dimitri was buying it for her. There must be ten tubes of it here."

Adrian winced. This little operation had definitely not been one of his better ideas. Maybe he should have hired someone to do this, instead of subjecting them all to the pain of seeing just how much Belikov cared for Rose. "Put it all in a box, Lissa. Don't even look at the stuff, not right now."

She didn't hear him, having already moved on to the next item. "It's a stake." Her voice was teary, her fingers tracing over what he thought to be an engraving.

Walking over he took it from her, his brow furrowing as he read the Cyrillic message that encircled a beautifully crafted rose. "May this stake protect that which I hold most dear, my life, my love, my Roza."

"Oh God, I can't do this. I should have helped her. I should have gone with them to the cave." Lissa broke down, burying her face in Christian's chest.

"Maybe we should call it a day." Christian looked over at Adrian, waiting for agreement.

"Yeah, we've got a lot done. We can come back tomorrow." Shoving the stake down in the clothing box, Adrian walked over to the door. "I don't know about you guys, but I need a fucking drink."

He was halfway to drunk when she showed up at his door several hours later. It was almost time for the students curfew, and he couldn't help but wonder why she was out this late—standing in his doorway, no less. Trying to keep the surprise he was feeling off his face, he studied her. If anything, she looked worse than ever, her hair still unbrushed, her cheeks tear stained. But her eyes were the worst, they looked completely…haunted.

"Little dhampir," he said, stepping aside. "Come in."

She did, stepping around him and gazing around the room. Her hands were shaking, a small tremble that tore at his heart. He hated to see her suffering like this. Stopping at the end table, she picked up the half empty vodka bottle, wincing when she saw the Cyrillic lettering on the label.

"Bad time?" She asked, setting it back down.

"Never a bad time for you," he offered gallantly. Waving her toward an armchair he collapsed on the couch. "Haven't seen much of you."

She leaned back. "I haven't wanted to be seen." She paused, studying her hands. "You look worse than I do. I didn't think that was possible."

He picked up the bottle and took a long drink. "Nah, you always look good. As for me … well, it's hard to explain. The auras are getting to me. There's so much sorrow around here. You can't even begin to understand. It radiates from everyone on a spiritual level. It's overwhelming. It makes your dark aura downright cheerful."

"Is that why you're drinking?"

For a brief moment, he considered telling her the truth—that he was drinking because he felt responsible for Belikov's death. He dismissed the thought, knowing she would hate him forever, if she ever learned the truth. Instead, he opted for an easy out—one that she would accept without question.

"Yup. It's shut my aura-vision right off, thankfully, so I can't give you a report today." It was a lie, of course. He was nowhere near that drunk—her aura was perfectly visible to him, but she had no way of knowing that. He offered her the bottle, not surprised when she shook her head. Rose wasn't one to drink away her sorrows. Shrugging, he took another drink. "So what can I do for you, Rose? I have a feeling you aren't here to check on me."

"I need money," she said.

He arched an eyebrow. At least she wasn't beating around the bush. "Unexpected. From you, at least. I get that kind of request a lot from others. Pray tell, what would I be funding?"

She glanced away from him, focusing on the television. It was a commercial for some kind of deodorant.

"I'm leaving the Academy," she said finally, not looking away from the television. He had a feeling she wasn't seeing the advertisement—probably instead reliving Belikov's final moments deep inside her brain.

"Also unexpected. You're only a few months out from graduation."

She tore her gaze away from the T.V., finally meeting his eyes. "It doesn't matter. I have things to do now."

"I never figured you'd be one of the dropout guardians. You going to join the blood whores?"

"No," Rose said. "Of course not."

"Don't act so offended. That's not an unreasonable assumption. If you're not going to be a guardian, what else are you going to do?"

"I told you. I have things I have to take care of."

He arched an eyebrow. "Things that are going to get you into trouble?" She shrugged, as if it didn't really matter, making him laugh. "Stupid question, huh? Everything you do gets you in trouble." He propped his elbow up on the couch's arm and rested his chin in his hand. "Why'd you come to me for money?"

"Because you have it."

This also made him laugh. "And why do you think I'll give it to you?"

She didn't say anything, instead just looking at him with a soft, pleading expression. He felt his smile fading away, his eyes narrowing in frustration. He jerked his gaze away from her big brown eyes, mentally cursing himself.

"Damn it, Rose. Don't do that. Not now. You're playing on how I feel about you. That's not fair." He gulped more vodka.

She stood up, moving quickly to his side and claiming one of his hands. "Please, Adrian," she said. "Please help me. You're the only one I can go to."

He wanted to help her. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her until the pain faded from her eyes. To embrace her until Belikov was nothing more than a distant memory. "That's not fair," he repeated, slurring his words a little. He prayed she would think it was due to the alcohol and not because of the rush of emotion he was fighting. "You're using those come-hither eyes on me, but it's not me you want. It's never been me. It's always been Belikov, and God only knows what you'll do now that he's gone."

"Will you help me?" Her face crumpled as if she were about to break down. "You're the only one I could talk to… the only one who really understands me…."

"Are you coming back?" he countered.

"Eventually."

Tipping his head back, he exhaled a heavy breath. "Maybe it's for the best if you leave. Maybe you'll get over him faster if you go away for a while. Wouldn't hurt to be away from Lissa's aura either. It might slow yours from darkening—stop this rage you always seem to be in. You need to be happier. And stop seeing ghosts."

"Lissa isn't why I'm seeing ghosts. Well, she is, but not in the way you think. I see the ghosts because I'm shadow-kissed. I'm tied to the world of the dead, and the more I kill, the stronger that connection becomes. It's why I see the dead and why I feel weird when Strigoi are near. I can sense them now. They're tied to that world too."

"You're saying the auras mean nothing? That you aren't taking away the effects of spirit?" He frowned, remembering the strange nightmare he'd had, and Belikov's strange comments about darkening spirit. Could the darkness that invaded spirit users somehow tied to the evil that created a Strigoi? If so, how did Rose function under the cloud of darkness that surrounded her?

"No. That's happening too. That's why this has all been so confusing. I thought there was just one thing going on, but there've been two. I see the ghosts because of being shadow-kissed. I'm getting… upset and angry… bad, even… because I'm taking away Lissa's dark side. That's why my aura's darkening, why I'm getting so enraged lately. Right now, it just sort of plays out as a really bad temper…." She frowned, lost in her own mind for a moment or two. "But I don't know what it'll turn into next."

That made sense—sort of. The uncontrollable rage could be compared to a Strigoi's uncontrollable blood lust. It was something worth looking into. Adrian sighed. "Why is everything so complicated with you?"

"Will you help me? Please, Adrian?" She ran her fingers along his hand, sending chills racing up his spine. "Please help me."

She was hitting below the belt, and he could tell it was killing her to do it. This wasn't Rose… Rose didn't seek help from outside sources—she always handled things on her own and didn't let other people help her. Except Belikov. Now that he was gone… He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, hating himself for the thoughts that shot through his head. He might have a shot now—he could turn her request into an opportunity for himself. Barter away money for a chance to prove how much he truly cared for her.

He looked over at her, trying to hide the depth of his feelings. "When you come back, will you give me a fair shot?"

Her eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"It's like I said. You've never wanted me, never even considered me. The flowers, the flirting … it rolled right off you. You were so gone for him, and nobody noticed. If you go do your thing, will you take me seriously? Will you give me a chance when you return?"

Rose stared at him, her eyes betraying her shock. He wasn't so drunk that he couldn't see the regret that flashed, coloring her aura a deep burgundy, or the blue green dismay she felt at his question. As suddenly as the colors appeared, they vanished, replaced by a flat, dull charcoal gray. She was thinking about Belikov again. He bit back an angry comment. Knowing it wouldn't help his cause. It wasn't her fault—the man hadn't been dead a week, and already Adrian was moving in, like a vulture, circling a fresh corpse. He felt sickened by his actions, but still he pressed on.

"Will you?" he asked, trying to keep the pain he felt at her reaction out of his voice.

"Of course."

It was obvious she didn't want to. He wondered if she realized that she was lying to his face. Adrian looked away and drank more vodka. There wasn't much left. "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow."

Setting the bottle down, he stood up and walked off into the bedroom. Digging into the bottom drawer of his nightstand, he pulled out the large wad of bills Tatiana had sent him the week before. He smiled as he remembered the card that had accompanied the currency—his aunt had said he should add the enclosed amount to his 'cigarette fund'. Returning to the living area, he handed the roll of bills to Rose without a word, moving over to the desk to pick up the telephone. Thankfully, he could do everything he needed by making a few quick phone calls.

The bank manager was more than acquiescent to whatever request he made. Adrian Ivashkov's trust fund was one of the financial institutions largest accounts. While he made the necessary arrangements, he watched Rose fidgeting on the couch. She kept sliding her hand under her hair, only to jerk it back a moment later. He wondered—briefly—if tattooing the survivors had been a part of the memorial service. Judging by her actions, he'd bet it had been, she looked as if something on her neck was bothering her.

Finishing his calls, he jotted down the name and address of the nearest branch of the bank on a monogramed sheet of letterhead, handing it over to Rose. "Go there," he said. "I'm guessing you have to go to Missoula first anyway if you're actually going on to anywhere civilized. There's an account set up for you with … a lot of money in it. Talk to them, and they'll finish the paperwork with you."

She stood up and stuffed the bills in her jacket. "Thank you."

She stared at the carpet for a minute, her expression torn. It looked as if she were having some kind of internal battle, over what, he couldn't even hazard a guess. Suddenly her arms shot out, encircling his body, shocking him into stillness. Rose was not a hugger. Hell, the two times this had happened before, he'd had to beg her for an embrace. He forced his stiff body to relax, sliding his arms around her back as his eyes fell closed and he allowed himself to revel in the nearness of her body. After a minute or two—all too soon, in his opinion—he forced himself to let go, earning the soft brush of her lips against his cheek as a reward for his gentlemanly behavior. The feel of her lips against his skin was so unexpected that it stole his breath for a moment.

"I won't forget this," she murmured in his ear.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me where you're going?" he asked.

"No. I'm sorry."

"Just keep your promise and come back." He caught her gaze, trying to make her see how important she was to him.

"I didn't actually use the word promise," she pointed out.

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You're right. I'm going to miss you, little dhampir. Be careful. If you ever need anything, let me know. I'll be waiting for you."

She smiled—a sad, brokenhearted smile that did not reach her eyes. "Thank you, Adrian."

He watched her walk down the hall, his heart aching. Leaning against the door frame, he decided that the fact she hadn't said goodbye could be a considered a good thing. It meant she might change her mind about leaving—stranger things had happened, after all. Even if she went through with her crazy plan to leave, she'd promised him a chance. After she got Belikov out of her heart, she'd be back, and finally, Adrian Ivashkov would get his chance with the girl he'd fallen in love with.

Shutting the door behind him, he turned off the television, smiling to himself as he imagined Rose in a tiny little bikini, sunning herself on some distant beach as she struggled through her turbulent emotions. She deserved to get away for a while. A vacation was probably just what the doctor ordered. Too bad he hadn't thought to point out that misery loves company—he would have made an excellent travel companion, because misery was his middle name.