Supposedly, after 24 hours without sleep, humans start to experience the first signs of sleep deprivation; the effects are remarkably similar to being drunk, then go downhill from there. Hallucinations often hit as the second day wears on, followed by spasms and uncontrollable twitching; at the 72 hour mark the body often shuts down, lapsing into unconsciousness in an attempt to prevent further damage—whether its owner is willing or not.
Mind you, he wasn't human—and all those side effects were things he already experienced quite frequently, thanks to whatever fucked up genetic twist of fate that had burdened him with Spirit.
He was fairly certain that a Moroi could hit 72 hours easily, pushing the boundaries further with a few extra feedings and a steady influx of espresso—not to mention a steady supply of booze to keep his element at bay. Of course, the flipside to the coin would be that said element could team up with his self-imposed insomnia and speed up his mental decay—but that was a risk he was willing to stay awake an in control of what he dreamed.
The truth—as much as he hated to admit it—was that he was afraid to sleep.
The disastrous tie that bound him to Belikov was a wild card—and he preferred a sure thing. Being pulled into the Strigoi's head again was something he didn't want to chance; the rush of sheer power he'd felt when the Strigoi fed had been better than any drug he'd ever tried—just remembering the sensation left his hands shaking and made a light sheen of sweat break out on his brow. It was addictive, and he was an addict—one who wasn't accustomed to fighting off the urge for pleasurable things.
"Lord Ivashkov? Are you alright, sir?"
He shook his head to clear away the cobwebs, glancing at the feeder who was peering at him worriedly with a frown on her face. He'd noticed another side effect of going without sleep that he hadn't heard of before; his senses seemed hyper aware—so much so that as he stared down at the girl, he could almost swear that he heard the rhythmic, lulling beat of her pulse, calling to him like a siren's song. His eyes locked on the faint blue tracing of her jugular vein beneath her skin, watching as it fluttered in time with the beat of her heart. It was hypnotic, daring him to bite down—urging him to relive the power he'd experienced second hand in Belikov's head, seducing him to feel it firsthand. Scooting back, he closed his eyes, trying to fight off the vision of draining her dry that was racing through his head—urging him to chase down the dragon and ride the ultimate high. "You know what? I do feel a little strange. I think it's best if I just…go."
"But I thought you—"
"You thought wrong." His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms as he fought with himself; this wasn't good… not good at all. How was he supposed to feed? "Do me a favor sweetheart… go get the attendant… tell her I'm sick and it's an emergency. Please?"
His charm didn't fail him. The human scampered away to do his bidding, making him exhale an audible sigh of relief as he sank down in the chair she'd abandoned. Closing his eyes, he racked his brain, trying to come up with a plausible lie—because he sure as hell couldn't admit the truth; even if his aunt was the queen, they'd lock him up and throw away the key if they even suspected he was feeling such unnatural urges.
"Lord Ivashkov? The girl said you were ill?" A dark haired Moroi woman dressed in scrubs leaned over him, reaching down to place her fingers against his pulse. "Did you feel faint? That sometimes happens if you wait too long between feedings."
"No… it's nothing like that. Uh—I'm sure my illustrious reputation precedes me… you've heard about my… afflictions… for lack of a better word?" When all else fails, the best approach was honesty—or in this case, half-truths, at least. It was the best he could come up with on the spur of the moment, so it would have to do.
"I try not to pay attention to rumors." She gave him a reassuring smile, pulling up a rolling chair. "I find that they are usually nothing more than mean spirited slander."
He winked, forcing himself to flash her the devilish smile he usually reserved for teasing his Aunt whenever she was in a particularly good mood. "Sorry to say in my case they're true—well… most of them, anyway. I tend to have spells of… melancholy… when my behavior is a little off. I feel one coming on so I didn't feel comfortable biting her." The nurse frowned, pursing her lips as she eyed him suspiciously; he pulled on his element, prepared to give her a little nudge—not much, but enough to erase her suspicions if need be. "Not that I'd ever hurt anyone—but better safe than sorry, right? Anyway, I was wondering if you could… help me? Maybe draw the blood for me? I know it's not really conventional… but I'd appreciate it."
His green eyes widened, catching her with gaze as he unleashed the surge of Spirit he had pulled, lacing his words with the tiniest hint of compulsion, making her believe what he wanted. "I'd hate to do something to embarrass my aunt—if you get my meaning."
"Oh! You mean you were afraid you might…" her pale cheeks flushed, the faintest hint of pink tinting the skin along her cheekbones. "ummm… forget this isn't that type of establishment. For a moment I thought you meant you were afraid you might drain her."
"No… no, nothing like that. Just the normal, healthy urges of a healthy male with an extremely large… libido." Better to be thought a sex addict that a Strigoi in the making. "So what do you say nurse…" his eyes dropped down to her nametag before darting back up to lock with hers, "Grimes? Can you help me out? The sooner you do the sooner I can get out of here and take care of my other… needs."
"Let me see what I can do… give me a few minutes. You should rest while you wait—if you don't mind my saying so, you look a tad under the weather." Patting his shoulder as she stood, she gave him a kind smile, pulling the door closed behind her as she left the small room.
No sooner had the door closed behind her than he was on his phone, overwhelmed by the need to confide in someone who understood the magnitude of what he was facing—at least, as much as anyone could comprehend it… which wasn't a hell of a lot.
"Petrov." Her cursory greeting was as no nonsense and matter of fact as the woman herself, making him smile despite the severity of the situation.
"We have… a problem."
"Shit. What now? Don't tell me she's found him already?"
No idea—haven't tried to reach her. That would involve sleeping, which I'm trying to avoid." His statement was met with silence; he would have thought the call had dropped if he hadn't heard her breathing. "Allie?"
"What exactly do you mean by avoiding sleeping?"
"It's not rocket science—figure it out."
"Adrian… that's not good. You've been gone for two days."
"And I'll be gone a couple more—you wouldn't believe how many musty, crumbling old books they've got stashed away here. I think I've found another saint—well.. more like a holy man—who was a Spirit user, but I can't be sure. My Turkish isn't exactly up to par… in fact, you might say it's almost non-existent."
"As admirable as your dedication is, you have to sleep Adrian. Bring whatever you've found back here and Emil can translate it for you—his mother was Turkish, he's fluent in the language."
"Impossible. The books can't be removed from the Archives—and they won't let me photo copy them either. I'm having to write it all out by hand." He thought about the notes he'd made—the transcription looked like complete gibberish to his untrained eye, like something a little kid might scribble. "Hopefully I'm not fucking it up too much."
"Even so—"
"Back to the topic at hand Allie—stop distracting me. We've got a much bigger problem than my sleep patterns… or lack thereof." He cut her off smoothly; the guardian's tone had switched to lecture mode—and he didn't want to hear it. "I'm having a bit of a … setback in the feeding department."
"What the hell does that mean? What kind of setback?"
"The kind that involves flashbacks to what I felt when I was in the Russian's head. Urging me to do the same thing he did."
She was silent for a moment, but when she spoke, her voice was soft and gentle, holding none of the disgust he'd been afraid he might hear. "You need to come home Adrian—right now."
"I think you're forgetting that I am home—or the closest thing I've got to it."
"No offense meant Adrian… but I've met your parents—it's no wonder you're such a mess. Home is where people care about your wellbeing—not someplace where they put their own needs first."
"Why Guardian Petrov… if I didn't know any better I'd say you've got a soft spot for me—at least a little one."
"If I didn't I would have knocked you on your ass the first time you tried to snare me with your compulsion." Her sigh was loud enough for him to hear, despite the fuzzy long distance cell connection; he could almost picture her pinching the bridge of her nose as she thought about his problem—surprisingly, the image gave him a warm feeling of peace. No matter how fucked up he was or how bad he'd screwed things up, she would stand by him and help him set things right—and somehow… that made everything a little easier to bear. "Just hurry up and come back. Those records have been sitting there untouched for decades—they'll be there for you to sort through once we figure out how to fix this. Maybe we can talk to Izolda and she can—"
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, warning him of the nurse's return. "I've got to go—but thanks Allie. It means a lot—you caring. No one's ever really done that before. I'll call you back… soon." He hung up, ignoring her shout of protest, glancing up as the door opened and Grimes returned with a lidded Styrofoam container in hand.
"This was the best I could do—I didn't think you'd want to drink from a donation bag… that just seems a bit too…" her voice trailed off, her face twisting in an expression of disgust, "odd. Sorry it took so long, I had to draw it myself."
"It's fine—thank you. I really appreciate it." He reached for the cup, pulling off the top and draining it the same way he would a double shot of his favorite whiskey, trying to ignore the fact it was already cooling.
"If you still feel…off… when it's time for your next feeding, call ahead and ask for me before you come in—I'll take care of it for you." Her brow was wrinkled as she watched him, eyes full of concern. "I'd rather do this than risk having you molesting my feeders."
"Amen to that," he muttered, recapping the cup. Already he felt a little more centered, the blood going a long way to rejuvenating his weary mind. "Do you think—"
The door opened behind her, a dhampir's head popping into view. "Hey Teresa, someone—oh I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were with someone."
"It's alright Kyle, I was just checking on Lord Ivashkov—he felt a little woozy so I got him some juice to even out his blood sugar." Grimes cheeks flushed as her head ducked down, her hair falling forward to shield her face from view.
His interest was immediately aroused; letting his eyes go out of focus, he gazed at the air surrounding her body, taking in the colors that ebbed and swirled, pulsating with the beat of her heart the same way the feeder's vein had scant half hour before. Interesting… very interesting indeed. Shifting his gaze to the dhampir, his lips curved up in a smug, knowing smile; he was right—both of them were crushing on the other, neither making their desires known. He couldn't fathom why they'd even try to fight it—the emotions were intense, bright flashes that couldn't be ignored for long. Theoretically he could ignore it, letting them figure it out on their own—but focusing on their situation seemed to be calming his mind almost as much as the blood he'd consumed. "I'm feeling a lot better, but I'm still a little shaky. Maybe… Kyle here could walk me back to the Archives? Just to make sure I don't pass out and face plant on the sidewalk—it would be a flat out crime to mess up my face, don't you think?"
The dhampir looked put out by the suggestion—but Grimes agreed. "Certainly. You can go ahead and take your lunch break now Kyle, that way you can stop off at the café on your way back. Just add however long it takes you to escort Lord Ivashkov back on to your time card—I'll authorize it."
"Thanks for everything, Nurse Grimes. I'll see you later today—I've missed a few feedings and need to catch up." Eyeing the dhampir as he exited the room, Adrian tried to hide his amusement at the man's sulking expression—holding his tongue and not commenting on what he'd seen until they were halfway across Court. "So… you've got a thing for Grimes, huh?"
"Wha—no I don't. Why would you think that?" The dhampir stopped walking, glaring at him.
"Call it a hunch. She likes you—you should ask her out."
"No she doesn't—why would she?" Kyle crossed his arms over his chest, scowling. "And what the hell does it matter to you anyway?"
"Beats me—maybe she sees some hidden charm in you that's invisible to the rest of the general population." He chuckled, pulling out his cloves and lighting one, ignoring the all to obviously feigned coughing fit the dhampir went into. "As for why I care—just consider me Cupid. Maybe I like playing matchmaker." He tried to pretend he didn't know the real reason—that he needed the distraction it offered to keep him from thinking about the fact that the girl he loved was halfway around the world tracking down her mentor… who was seriously intent on fucking up his mind. "Look… just ask her out. She'll say yes—I guarantee it."
"She won't—she's got a ton of Moroi guys after her… ones her age who can offer her a hell of a lot more than I can." The dhampir's surliness vanished, replaced with a sadness that Adrian could understand far, far too well.
"She can't be that much older than you—what do a few measly years matter when you care about someone?" He shoved aside the image of Rose and Belikov mooning over each other—that was an altogether different situation entirely. "Look… can you sing?"
"I—what?"
"Can. You. Sing?" He blew out a stream of smoke as he spoke—slowly and precisely, wondering if the man might be a little slow. "You know… carry a tune without humiliating yourself?"
"I.. guess so?"
"Great—take her to the pub tonight. They do Karaoke on Thursdays—and the drinks are half price too. It's casual and fun. Perfect atmosphere for getting to know someone—and it gives you a topic to talk about too. Music… your favorite kind… her favorite kind…you know?"
"You really think she'd want to?"
Adrian sighed; Kyle might be physically older than him, but mentally he was light years ahead of the dhampir—despite his bouts of crazy. "I know so—she lit up like a firefly when you popped your head in the room, just in case it escaped your notice. Now go on—do it before you lose your nerve."
"But… will you be alright?" The man looked torn—wanting to follow his advice, but afraid to leave him alone.
Automatically, he knocked another five points of his assessment of the dhampir's I.Q.—he was completely oblivious to even the most obvious things. "I'm fine—I never needed help in the first place. It was an excuse to get you alone so I could talk to you."
Kyle stared at him a moment, then turned without another word, headed back in the direction they'd come from almost at a jog.
"You're welcome—asshole." Muttering under his breath, Adrian dropped his smoke to the pavement, grounding it out under the toe of his shoe before shoving his hands in his pockets and heading back to the Archives. Was a thank you too much to ask for? After all—he'd just wasted ten minutes of his life trying to help the nitwit out. Apparently being ungrateful was a common occurrence among all dhampirs and not just Rose.
And just like that, Rose reigned supreme, dominating his thoughts again—despite all his efforts to banish her from his mind. Sometimes, as much as he loved her… he cursed the day he'd ever set eyes on the dhampir girl that had stolen his heart.