Dear Diary,
As if the embarrassment of my throwing up wasn't enough, Abe called Pavel to bring him a clean pair of shoes—and to carry me home. Even though I was horrified by what we'd been discussing, I guess the alcohol I'd consumed had influenced me far more than I'd thought—because for some unknown reason… I found the sight of Zmey's bare feet absolutely hilarious. As I stared at them, trying not to giggle, I thought about my grandmother's revelation about the former queen—Tatiana was probably having a fit that someone else had the complete audacity to remove their shoes in her garden. But the thing that really set me off was the sight of the thick gold bands he had around two of his long, narrow toes—once I noticed them… it was like they mesmerized me; I couldn't look away, no matter how hard I tried. And then…when he wiggled his toes in the grass… I lost it completely, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down my face and my sides were aching. He stared at me, completely baffled at what it was I found so amusing—but of course, I couldn't tell him.
I like to think that had it not been for my giggles, I would have put up more of a fight when Pavel appeared and scooped me up in is arms—but as it was I just hung on to his neck, trying to stop laughing.
"At least she's a happy drunk," the dhampir muttered, gazing down at me with an amused smile.
"Not at first she wasn't… she's gone through the spectrum—weepy, pissy… and now hysterical, it seems." Abe slid his feet in the sandals Pavel had brought, looking at his soiled shoes with distaste as he shoved them in the plastic bag his employee had thought to bring.
"What's so funny kid?" Pavel whispered, his lips right next to my ear.
"His toes… they're so boney and hairy… and the rings." I wheezed, glancing back down at Abe's feet.
"I'll thank you to keep your opinions about my feet to yourself Viktoria—you make me sound like a hobbit." Abe gave me a dark look, moving to exit the garden—but his reprimand didn't quell my mirth.
It's hard to describe what it feels like being that intoxicated; maybe it happened because I drank so much so fast—or perhaps it was because of the emotional strain I was under; whatever the reason… I was well and truly gone. As strange as it sounds, as we walked across court, I kept losing track of time; one minute we were in the garden and I was laughing, then the next thing I knew Pavel was holding me over a trashcan as I emptied my stomach yet again. I only vaguely recall the briefest snatches of other things—like the elevator ride; I sang along with the music until Abe told me to shut the hell up—which immediately made me burst into silly, girlish tears. But the one thing I remember that is crystal clear in my mind is the way Adrian took care of me that night. From the moment he took me out Pavel's arms—so carefully, like I was a priceless jewel—my well-being was his primary concern… maybe because he knew what it felt like to be that drunk firsthand.
He laid me out on the bed and got a cool cloth, wiping my face gently before placing it across my forehead; all the while I huffed and grumbled, batting his hands away. I am ashamed to admit it, but I didn't appreciate his kindness at the time—instead of being thankful that he was trying to take care of me, I acted like a first class bitch, demanding he leave me alone and go bother his precious Roza. Thankfully, he ignored my childish fit of temper; instead of leaving, he pressed a soft kiss on my forehead, then put a glass of water on the nightstand before grabbing a pillow and retreating to the floor—right next to my side of the bed.
That's where he was when I woke up—curled up in a ball and shivering. Gazing down at him, I tried to ignore the way my heart swelled to bursting, refusing to acknowledge or name the overwhelming rush of feelings that made it hard for me to breathe. I couldn't be in love with him, no matter what my heart thought—it was foolish and illogical and I knew that I'd get hurt; how could it end any other way when I knew who it was that completely owned his heart? Still, my hand slid down, brushing his hair out of his face; he was so beautiful—my dream man come to life—but I knew far too well that dreams were tricksy, funny things that couldn't always be believed.
As quietly as possible, I pulled the thick duvet off of the bed, draping it across his body. Bending to brush my lips across his forehead, I crept out of bed and made my way to the bathroom, hoping I'd feel a little more alive once I showered and brushed my teeth. My head was throbbing and I felt more than a little nauseous from my hangover—but it was nowhere near as bad as what I was used to feeling in the wake of an extremely strong vision. Still, the heat from the water and the steam that filled the bathroom made me more than a little dizzy; I had to lean against the tiles, waiting for my stomach to stop churning and the queasiness to pass.
I was dry heaving when the glass door to the shower opened behind me —feeling too sick to even turn my head, since movement made the nausea feel a million times worse. He stepped in, laying a cool hand against my wet shoulder; I felt a tingling warning dance along my spine, but before I could protest, his power flowed through me—washing away the effects of my hangover as effectively as the water that rinsed away the soapy lather on my skin.
"Thank you," I glanced over my shoulder at him, trying not to frown. "You shouldn't waste it… not on me."
"It's not a waste—I don't like seeing you suffer. Besides… I have to use it."
" No—you don't. Not if it makes you act…" I paused, searching for a way to phrase it that wouldn't sound offensive—but he knew what I meant, supplying the words for me.
"Nuttier than a fruitcake? Yeah… sorry to break it to you Angel… but Spirit is a double edged sword. If I use it too much… it affects me—but if I don't use it… it builds up and has the exact same effect." He grabbed my shampoo bottle off the ledge and started lathering up my hair while he talked, his long fingers gently massaging my scalp—probably hoping to distract me. "It's better I use it in small doses for things like this than to totally flip out while we're at Saint Vlad's—that would blow my cover. I'm going in as a dhampir, remember—not a half insane Moroi."
The motion of his fingers moving through my hair was almost as soothing as his magic; I closed my eyes, leaning back against him, completely relaxed by his touch. "Why bother? It's not like you have to hide from my brother there—better to save the ring for when we come back… so you don't have to recharge it as soon, yes?"
"Want to bet? They know me there, Vika—I lived on campus for almost six months. If I show up at the Academy with you, your brother will get a phone call in no time flat."
I contemplated what he said, more than a little confused. "What do you mean you lived there? Is that where you went to school? Did you get kicked out or something?"
He didn't answer right away; instead he reached up and detached the shower nozzle, using it to rinse out my hair.
"Adrian? Did you—"
"No. I stayed there because of Rose." His voice was soft, with an underlying edge of tension—as if he were worried at how I might react. "I wanted to be close to her… to spend as much time as I could with her. I thought if I did… I could win her over… make her fall in love with me."
"I see." I tried to keep my tone even—to hide the pang of jealousy that sliced through me—but he caught it immediately.
"No—you don't. You have no idea what it's like to be an addict, Angel. To get so caught up in something—or someone—that no matter what happens… no matter what they do… you keep coming back for more. I think I'm just now beginning to realize that's what it is—to actually see things without blinders on. My initial attraction to her was real… and so were my feelings—but it all got twisted around along the way. This lingering… need for her… it's not real. Or healthy. In fact… it's pretty fucking sick." He reached around me, replacing the showerhead, carefully avoiding my gaze.
The pain that laced his words tugged at my heart, overriding the ache that appeared in my stomach as soon as he mentioned her. I turned, wrapping my arms around him—holding him close and trying to convey that I understood what he was saying. He sighed, burying his face in my neck, his lips pressing gently against my skin.
"I'm sorry Angel. I'm such a damned, messed up fool."
"You have nothing to be sorry for." It came out a whisper, barely heard over the sound of the water that trickled down around us. "And you are not a fool Dusha… you're just heart sick… and confused."
His hands slid around my waist, his wet chest pressing against mine as he moved; my nipples tightened from the sensation—pulling a low groan from deep within him as his body immediately reacted. I nuzzled the side of his head, sliding my hand down to stroke him—but he grabbed my wrist, stilling my movement as he pulled back, increasing the distance between us. "No—I didn't come in here for that."
I blushed, confused and more than a little hurt by his rebuff; despite the fact I had two sisters, I suppose I was quite naïve. I'd automatically assumed he wanted sex since his arousal was obvious—and it was certainly front and center in my mind, to say the least. "Don't you want me?"
"I do—but not until we clear the air about everything. It's not fair—to you or to me. Until we work things out we need to take it slow." He sighed, pursing his lips into a tight, thin line—as frustrated, perhaps, as I was. "I just wanted to comfort you… to make you feel better. That's all. I never had that with her—I never felt like she needed me, except for once or twice… and even then it wasn't what I'd hoped for. I don't know how to explain it really. Even when your brother was… gone… it was like she was forcing herself or something. She pretended to need me… but she didn't—there was only one person she ever really needed…and it wasn't me. Maybe she could never really let her walls down and let me in because no matter how hard she tried… the memory of him—of what they had—was always there between us."
I considered what he said for a moment, studying the tiles beneath our feet; he took my silence the wrong way, automatically assuming that his words had angered me. "Look I'm probably fucking this all up—I've never tried to be noble before. As much as I hate to admit it, if you were anyone else I'd probably be fucking you up against the wall right now… but you're different, Angel. I want to do the right thing because it's not just about the sex. Believe me… it's killing me to wait. I—"
I laid my fingers against his lips, silencing his rambling—my lips curving up in a soft smile. "Dusha—it's alright. Really. You're right—we should take it slow… and I happen to think you're worth waiting for."
Pressing my lips against his cheek, I opened the steamed coated door, feeling absolutely giddy at everything he'd said. Maybe it was foolish of me, but for just a moment, I shut down the logical part of my mind and allowed myself to just feel—and the euphoria that was seeping up in me was even more intoxicating than all the vodka in the world. "I'm going to make breakfast while you finish up your shower—"
"No—don't." He grabbed the soap and began lathering up, shooting me a crooked grin. "Trust me, after your little bender last night you need lots of greasy food—we'll have breakfast in the café."
"But I feel fine—you already healed me," I pointed out—arching a brow as I pulled on my robe, wondering what he meant. "Besides… I like cooking for you. The expression on your face is absolutely priceless when you take that first bite."
"You're forgetting two things, Angel. Number one—we don't know how well my healing will affect you—and number two, we've got a flight this morning. Do you really want to get air sick?"
"You healed me yesterday and it took just fine," I argued—but the thought of getting sick during the flight wasn't a pleasant one. "And I've never thrown up on a flight before."
"Have you flown hung over before? Cause I have—and I can tell you… it isn't fun." He eyed my shampoo suspiciously before shrugging and applying it to his hair. "What the hell were you drinking, anyway?"
"American vodka." I shuddered, fighting the urge to gag. "I do not know how anyone can stomach it."
He chuckled, closing his eyes and tilting his head back under the showers spray. "I thought you Russian's were born with vodka running through your veins."
"Russian vodka is an entirely different thing," I huffed as I wrapped my hair up in a towel, glaring at his amusement. "I am not sure why it hit me so strongly… but I think I will never touch that swill again." I tossed him a towel as he turned off the water, trying not to let my eyes run over the way the droplets slid along his skin. "Hurry up, Lord Ivashkov—I am feeling exceptionally hungry… and the longer you stand there looking so delicious, the harder it is for me not to give in to my appetite."
His laughter followed me out of the bathroom; I smiled, feeling more than a little smug. It hadn't taken much for me to turn his mood around, banishing all thoughts of my brothers girlfriend from his mind; it made me think that perhaps our self-imposed 'fast' wouldn't be for nearly as long as I'd imagined—which was a good thing, since I didn't know how long I would be able to keep my hands to myself.
We walked to the café closest to my building, trying to maintain a respectable distance between us; both of us were aware that it wouldn't do for my brother to hear rumor that his little sister had been walking around Court holding hands with 'Guardian Johnson'. Still, our bodies seemed to gravitate towards each other; every few minutes our arms or hands would brush—making us move further apart to increase the space between us. Our conversation was light and easy, filled with flirtatious banter—pitched low enough that none of the people that passed could hear; our talk in the shower may have been brief, but it had cleared the air between us—the apprehensive tension that had beenlingering since I'd learned the truth was completely gone. Now he knew I wouldn't fly into a rage if he mentioned her—and me? I was feeling more confident and positive about everything. Even more importantly, the jealousy I'd been feeling towards Roza seemed completely gone—which was rather ironic, considering what happened while we waited to be seated.
The entrance to the café was a little crowded—which made sense considering it was breakfast time. As luck would have it, one of the people waiting to be seated was Guardian Anosov—the dhampir I'd met a few days before, outside the Council chambers. As soon as he spotted me, he made his way over, bowing deeply and kissing my hand—the same way he'd done when we met. I didn't think anything of it—at first—I just smiled politely and said good morning in Russian.
"I was hoping I would see you again—without your keeper," he teased, giving my hand a squeeze.
"I am sorry she was so rude—I honestly don't know what got into her." He'd spoken to me in our native tongue, so I answered in the same without thinking.
"I understand, believe me. She is looking out for your honor—it is something grandmothers do. They cannot seem to understand that times have changed and things aren't as… complicated as they used to be." He moved closer, still hanging on to my hand—though I tried to reclaim it. "Have you had time to go sightseeing yet? I have the afternoon off—I could take you."
"Viktoria—aren't you going to introduce me to your… friend?" Adrian moved closer to my side, his voice flat, green eyes locked on Anosov's hand.
I glanced over at him, surprised by his tone—my eyes widening at the angry scowl on his handsome face. "Guardian Johnson… this is Guardian Anosov. We met a few days ago—briefly."
"Johnson? You must be new here—I don't remember seeing you before." The dhampir barely glanced at him before returning his eyes to me—his free hand moving to my shoulder as he attempted to steer me away from the man beside me. "We could pack a picnic lunch—I know just the place I'd like to show you."
"I just bet you do." Adrian's hand shot out, knocking the guardian's hand away. "Look Anatole—"
"Anosov—Felix Anosov." Felix gave him a dark look, his eyes darting between us. "If you will excuse us Johnson—I would like to chat with Miss Belikova about our homeland. I am sure you would be quite bored with the discussion, so perhaps you should run along."
"I'm not going anywhere buddy—in case you didn't notice, she happens to be here with me." Despite the fact the guardian had several inches—and quite a bit more muscle—on him, Adrian forced himself between us, infringing on the other man's space. "So how about you take your picnic basket and shove it straight up your—"
"Good morning kotyonok—and to you as well Guardian Johnson. I was hoping I would find you both here."
Relief flooded me at the sound of my brothers deep, rumbly voice; I turned to him, not trying to disguise the panic I was feeling—while I found Adrian's sudden possessiveness extremely attractive, he seemed to have forgotten that despite his disguise , he wasn't really a dhampir. If it came to a fight—and it certainly seemed to be headed that way—he would end up getting seriously hurt. "Dimitri! Good morning… did you come to join us for breakfast?"
"I did—though now I am wondering if perhaps I will have to referee first. Gentlemen… such behavior in front of a young lady? You should be ashamed—my sister will think the Guardians here at Court are heathens." Dimitri clasped his hand on Adrian's shoulder—a gesture that appeared to be a friendly one, but he used his grip to pull him back, out of Felix's face. "Guardian Anosov, you are running late this morning? I seem to recall seeing your name on the roster for the seven o'clock patrol."
"I am—I was waiting on my order when I ran into your lovely sister. I extended an invitation to show her the sights but Johnson took offense." Anosov answered in Russian—and though I tried not to, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. His motivation was extremely transparent—if he thought my brother would side with him just because he was from our homeland, the man didn't know Dimitri very well at all.
"Ah—well you see, while Viktoria is visiting she has decided to work for Rose's father. Mr. Mazur assigned Guardian Johnson to keep her safe, so surely no offense was meant—he is just doing his job." Dimitri gave the man a friendly smile, sliding his arm around my shoulder. "Actually, you should probably thank him—had you taken my sister anywhere without my permission… I would not have been pleased. I am sure you understand, yes?"
Anosov took a step back, holding up his hands. "Of course—I am sorry. I was unaware your family was quite that old fashioned. I meant no disrespect to you, Dimitri."
"Where my baby sister is concerned… old fashioned does not begin to cover it. I have recently learned of a Moroi boy back home who tried to take advantage of my kotyonok… I plan to visit to Baia in the very near future to have a… talk with him." All vestiges of the friendly, easy going charm he'd displayed vanished from my brother's face; his jaw was tense, his expression cold and angry. "In the future… you will stay away from my sister, yes? You see… your reputation precedes you. There is much talk of how you like to spend time with young dhampir girls since there is… how was it they put it? Ah yes—no chance of knocking them up."
"That was not my intent at all, I assure you—"
"You had best hurry, Anosov—as I said before, you are running quite late." Dimitri's grip on my shoulders tightened as he moved me further away from the Guardian—who turned away, red faced, hurrying out of the restaurant.
"He did know about our family—Grandmother chased him off the other day," I murmured, watching the man scurry off like a frightened rabbit. "Thank you Dimitri…I wasn't sure how to—"
"Break up a fight that you stirred up with your feminine wiles?" He arched a dark brow, trying not to smile as he teased me. "Come now, Vika. I know how you women think. What was it, you wanted to see if you could get a rise out of Johnson? Speaking of which… where did he go?"
I glanced around, frowning; I'd been so wrapped up in watching my brother handle Felix that I hadn't realized Adrian had completely disappeared. "I don't know—he couldn't have gone far… he wouldn't just leave me—"
Dimitri's hand slid to the small of my back as the hostess called out my name, gently propelling me forward. "Maybe he is in the men's room—don't worry, he'll find us. I've been told I am rather hard to miss."
"Speaking of which… how did you know we were here?" I slid into the booth, smiling a thank you as the woman handed me a menu, nodding when she said our waitress would be with us soon.
"I didn't—I saw you through the window on my way to the donut shop. I was planning on surprising Rose with breakfast… but you looked rather frantic." He eyed the menu, letting out a wistful sigh. "I know Mama is on vacation… but do you think she would make me breakfast once or twice before she leaves? I am so very tired of the food here."
"Roza doesn't cook you breakfast?" I gave him a wide eyed look. "Oh Lord—don't tell Mama… she will have a fit!"
"No… she wants to make me breakfast—that is the problem. You see, kotyonok... he leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper, "I love Roza… but she is quite possibly the worst cook on the planet."
I stared at him for a moment, thinking he was teasing. "No… but cooking is easy! Maybe she just needs a lesson or two, yes? I can teach her a few things—if you want."
"Christian has tried to teach her—and he agrees with me. The woman should not be allowed anywhere near a kitchen." He took my hand, widening his own eyes dramatically. "She blew up his microwave trying to boil water."
"What? Dimitri! You are lying! How could she even—"
"She put the water in the pot… the way you would to boil it on the stove…" his lips twitched, brown eyes sparkling with amusement, "then put the pot in the microwave and turned it on high for five minutes. If you do not believe me, ask Christian—but whatever you do… do not mention his stove. He is still furious about her setting it on fire."
I sat back, giggling. "I think you are making all this up Dimitri Belikov!"
"Making what up?"
I glanced up at the sound of Adrian's voice, smiling as he slid in beside me, trying to ignore the way my brother's eyes narrowed with displeasure—mentally praying that Dimitri wouldn't notice the scent of smoke on his clothes. "Dimitri is telling me that his girlfriend cannot cook."
"She can't—she almost set Lissa's kitchen on fire making cookies." Adrian reached over, grabbing my menu—oblivious to his slip.
I glanced over at my brother, fighting back the urge to wince at the confused expression on his face. Biting my lip, I tried to change the subject. "I was beginning to think you'd abandoned me, the way you disappeared."
"No I had to get some air and calm down—I didn't like the way that asshole was treating you." He flashed me a smile—aware that I could tell exactly where he'd been. "I never thought I'd be glad to see you Belikov… but I appreciate your stepping in. I let my anger get the better of me."
Had my brother not been sitting across the table, I would have buried my face in my hands—but then, if Dimitri hadn't been there, Adrian's comment wouldn't have mattered at all; it was enough to make me wonder if he was trying to get caught. "Oh come now, my brother might be big and scary looking, but there is no reason for you to avoid him."
"Huh?" Adrian looked up from the menu with a confused expression on his face, then his eyes flicked over to my brother—who was studying him intently.
"Tell me Guardian Johnson… how is it you know about what Rose did to the Queen's kitchen?" Dimitri leaned back, crossing his arms across his broad chest; the gesture made the muscles in his arms stand out prominently since he wasn't wearing his uniform or his coat—just a plain black t-shirt and jeans. The fact he used Lissa's title instead of her name wasn't lost on me—I just hoped Adrian would understand the significance and not deepen the hole he'd dug himself.
"What? Oh… uh… Abe told me—he thought it was hilarious. Apparently your girlfriend's mom can't cook either—must be an inherited thing. You should ask him about Janine trying to make pancakes the next time you see him—it's hilarious."
I had no idea if what he said was true—he did seem to be rather close to Abe, so it was entirely possible that in a moment of good natured banter, Roza's father had shared the story; more importantly, my brother couldn't seem to outright disprove it. Still, Dimitri's suspicious look did not fade—in fact, his jaw twitched, which was never a good sign. I sank down lower in my seat, sending up a silent prayer that Adrian would make it out of the café in one piece.
"I see… and Mr. Mazur has no problem with your using his first name—or the Queen's?"
"Not at all. Abe knew my parents—you could say I'm practically one of the family. You're right though—I shouldn't have referred to the Queen like that. Guess hearing everyone call her by her nickname has rubbed off on me—I did it without thinking. Sorry about that—it won't happen again."
Adrian's smile was contrite and full of apology—but Dimitri still wasn't through with him. I reached for my water glass, hoping neither man would notice the way my hand was trembling.
"If I may ask one more question… why is it you would not want to see me? Did I do something to offend you at lunch?"
"Seriously? Come on man—you were giving me the eye right up until you left. I completely get being protective of your kid sister—but not every guy she meets is out to steal her virtue."
I choked on the large swallow of water I had taken, spilling half of the glass down my chin. The statement was a loaded one, all things considered—he hadn't stolen my virtue, but he'd certainly taken it.
"You will have to forgive me—I suppose I am a bit too overprotective at times." Dimitri handed me a napkin, his stern expression fading. He looked almost contrite as he held his hand out to the man beside me. "We should start over from the beginning, yes? This time I promise I will try not to make assumptions."
"Sure thing—It'd certainly make working with Viktoria easier if I didn't have to worry about you dismembering me the whole time." Adrian shook my brother's hand, his lips curving up in a mischievous grin. "Besides—I think you actually might like me once you get to know me. After all… she tells me you have a thing for westerns— and I happen to know a thing or two about the genre."
I tried to keep my expression blank as I kicked him under the table; as much as I wanted him to win my brother over, he was treading on thin ice. He might be able to bluff his way through a discussion about Abe, but Dimitri's expertise when it came to the old west was way out of Adrian's league.
"Really? Do you have a favorite author? You should come by the apartment and look over my collection, I have some very rare books that are out of print. I just picked up a copy of—" His phone beeped loudly, interrupting him mid-sentence; he pulled it out of his pocket, the animated expression on his face giving way to a look of absolute dismay at whatever the message was he'd received.
"Mitya? Is everything alright?" I laid my hand on his arm, concerned by his demeanor.
"I am afraid you will have to excuse me—I need to get back with food before Rose attempts to make us omelets." He sighed, slipping the phone back into his pocket as he scooted out of the booth. "I regret the day she stumbled across the food network channel—the programs they air always inspires her to try new things."
"You better run—or else stop off for some antacids on your way home."
Dimitri chuckled at Adrian's quip, clasping him on the shoulder as he moved towards the door. "I will take that under advice—keep my sister out of trouble today, Johnson. I am counting on you to keep an eye on her for me."
"My pleasure big guy." Adrian waited until Dimitri's tall form disappeared out the door before turning to give me a look. "Why in the hell did you kick me?"
"I happen to know a thing or two about the genre," I imitated what he'd said, rolling my eyes with exasperation. "In case you were unaware, my brother is very serious about his westerns."
"Yeah I kind of got that impression, Vika. So what?"
"So what are you going to do when he wants to discuss novels with you? Or asks about what western movies you've seen?" I gave him a frustrated look, but held my tongue for a moment; the waitress was approaching our table and I didn't want her to overhear our quarrel.
My silence continued even after she took our orders and moved on; I didn't know how exactly to explain the kind of mistake he'd made. Dimitri would likely quiz him about the subject—not out of any sense of malice or mean spiritedness—just because he was enthusiastic when it came to his favorite things. "If he thinks you like the same things he does… he's going to want to talk about them. I don't want you to be embarrassed or caught in a fib."
"You do realize you don't know everything about me yet, right? Like… you don't know that I spent most of my free time as a child with my aunt—who happened to have a thing for watching old movies and TV shows. They were one of her guilty pleasures—the kind of thing she hid from everybody because she thought that watching television wasn't a queenly past time." He slid his arm along the back of the booth, his fingers brushing my shoulder; chills danced along my spine—making it hard to focus on what he was saying. "I've probably seen more episodes of Gunsmoke than your brother—and since Aunt Tati had a thing for John Wayne, I've got that covered too."
"I just want the two of you to get along—that's all." I frowned, tracing my fingers along the condensation that was beading up on the outside of my glass. I loved my brother—more than anything—but Adrian was rapidly earning an important place in my heart too. Knowing that there was animosity between them made my chest feel tight and achy—I couldn't be completely happy until things were good between them.
"I know Angel—your Grandmother warned me that I needed to make peace with Dimitri if I wanted to be a part of your life."
I glanced up at him, confused. "When did she say that?"
"Last night—when she was teaching me how to play Canasta."
"What! Are you serious? When—"
"She showed up about five minutes after you left. Said she was there to keep me out of trouble." He grinned, tugging at my ponytail. "You should have warned me she was a card shark—I owe her a hundred bucks."
"What else did she say," I asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
"That I needed to learn Russian," He chuckled, squeezing my shoulder before his arm slid away.
"Well that is true," I agreed. "It would certainly impress Mama and Dimitri. But it's a very difficult language to learn—I think you might have better things to do with your time."
"There's only one Belikov I'm worried about impressing—or rather, one Belikova." He grinned, glancing around us, then gave me a quick kiss. "And right at this moment… there's nothing I'd rather do than impress her—so when we get back from out little trip, you better be prepared to teach me."
"What time are we supposed to leave anyway? I still have to pack and help Grandmother get her things together."
"I don't know—give me your phone and I'll call Abe and ask."
I handed it to him, bumping him with my shoulder. "While you do that I'm going to the ladies room. Try not to get in any fights while I am gone please—I don't want you messing up that handsome profile."
He agreed—but still I hurried, not wanting to leave him on his own for too long. Our food arrived in my absence, but Adrian hadn't started eating; instead he was just… sitting there, with a confused look on his face.
"What's wrong?"
He glanced up, scooting further into the booth so I could sit down. "Want to tell me why Abe just informed me that you have some sort of foot fetish?"
"I do not! I was drunk and his bare feet were funny looking—they made me laugh, that's all!" I pricked at the thought that Abe would suggest I was attracted to anything about him.
"And you saw his bare feet because…?" He gave me a questioning look as he pulled his plate closer, dousing the waffles with syrup.
"I might have… thrown up on his shoes," I mumbled, feeling my face flush bright red.
"You threw up… on Zmey?" He spoke slowly, enunciating each word—making me reach out and smack his arm.
"Yes I did. Do you want to hear the graphic details—right before you eat?"
He glanced down at his plate, shrugging before he shot me a lopsided grin. "Good point—and speaking of eating, you better dig in. The Mazur express is leaving for middle of nowhere Montana in about an hour, give or take, so you need to eat fast. "
"Nice of him to give us a heads up." I eyed my plate for a minute, grimacing at the amount of grease that coated everything—then took his advice and dug in so we could hurry home and pack.
I had hoped we would be well away before my brother heard news of our impromptu trip; despite his change of attitude towards Guardian Johnson, I knew he wouldn't be pleased with our arrangements. As fate would have it, he found out right away—probably because my mother found it almost impossible to lie. I took my grandmother's advice and turned off my cellphone to stop its incessant ringing—foolishly thinking the action would help postpone a confrontation until we returned. Unfortunately for all of us, my big brother… well, let's just say he was far more determined than we thought.
Dimitri was waiting for us at the curb outside the building, leaning against the car we'd ordered with an angry scowl on his face—and while he held his tongue admirably well, his frustration was evident in the set of his jaw and the furrows of worry that gathered at the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. Still, as upset as he was, my brother was smart enough to realize that he couldn't protest too much without implying that I was untrustworthy—and that our grandmother was too. He remained silent until we reached the airstrip, waiting until or grandmother began arguing with 'Guardian Johnson' before voicing his objections— softly—so that there was no chance Yeva might overhear.
"I do not like this—not one bit Viktoria. You should have spoken up this morning and told me your plans. The whole thing is… highly improper."
"Improper for a young woman to go on a business trip with her grandmother serving as chaperone? Really Dimitri—you are acting ridiculous. As far as our escort is concerned, you should be pleased that Abe is so worried about my safety. I would think that you would appreciate the fact he is sending someone along to keep an eye on me while I run his errand." The lie slipped off my tongue gracefully—so smooth that I didn't falter at all. "Besides, what happened to the promise you made this morning—you were going to stop assuming things about Guardian Johnson, remember?"
"That was before I knew he was going away with you!" He shot a dark look in Adrian's direction—receiving a friendly grin in return. "I don't like you working for Ibrahim either—you and I both know that not all of his dealings are legitimate."
"This one is. He wants to set up a scholarship program in Roza's name to help under privileged students get the materials they need." It was the truth—at least partially. "Again, that is something I would think you would be pleased with, but instead you chose to growl at me like an angry, bristling tiger."
"And what exactly do you know about scholarships Vika?"
"Nothing—but I know enough about needy students to have spoken to the Royal Council at the Queen's request," I answered smugly. "I will assess what is lacking for those students and report back to him so he can gather the figures he needs to determine how much to give."
"How long do you plan to be gone? I told you I wanted to start training." Realizing he couldn't argue down my statement, he tried to change his tactic—but I was ready for him.
"A few days, no more. When I get back we can begin training immediately… and I do plan on watching a few classes while I am there—if they will let me—so I can compare the difference in the fighting styles they are teaching and see where I might be lacking."
"And what will our poor grandmother be doing while you work? Sit around bored with nothing to do—"
"Nonsense. I will have our handsome young Guardian Johnson to keep me company. I have taught him to play Canasta and am winning a small fortune." Yeva's voice cut him off, spinning his head around. "Do not worry about me grandson—I can always find things to amuse me. Come Viktoria—we must go."
I stretched up—tugging at his sleeve when he didn't bend to meet me half way. "You are going to punish me by not letting me kiss you goodbye? Really Dimitri—I am beginning to suspect that of the two of us, I am the more mature one."
The tanned skin along his cheeks flushed with a hint of color at my scolding; a moment later his arms slid around me, muscles bunching under his skin as he lifted me up to his level. "Maybe I am just tired of always having to bend, little sister. You should grow a few more inches to even things out."
"Bite your tongue! I am already the tallest girl in my class, Mitya!" Hugging him, I pressed my lips against his cheek, then whispered, "Do not be angry with me, please. I promise I will behave."
"I know you will, kotyonok—I trust you." He kissed the tip of my nose the way he always use to do when I was small, then set me down gently, hugging me close to his side. "May God keep you safe until we are together again."
"Do not even think of manhandling me like that boy—old bones are fragile, while yours are young and strong." Yeva nudged me out of the way, tilting her head up for her kiss.
"Do I get a kiss too—or would that be pushing things?" Adrian drawled, moving over to grab our bags from the back of the car.
Dimitri looked so taken aback that Yeva and I started laughing—defusing the remaining tension that was lingering in the air. "I am sorry to disappoint you Johnson, but my kisses are reserved for my family."
"And your Roza," Yeva pointed out, tugging me towards the plane.
"Ah yes—and she is a very greedy woman. She does not like to share." Dimitri smiled, nodding his head at Adrian, watching while the three of us hurried up the stairs and onto the plane.
The flight itself was uneventful for the most part; Adrian dozed most of the way, his fingers laced through mine. When he nodded off I was glad, not just because he was getting the rest he needed, but also because it gave me a chance to grill my grandmother on some of the questions that kept flicking through my mind. Of course, Yeva rarely gave more than brief, cryptic answers, so discussing anything with her was always a frustrating experience at best. I studied her, trying to decide the best way to begin—in other words, how to phrase my questions in a way that she might actually answer outright for a change.
"It is rude to stare, Viktoria Aleksandra." Her eyes darted up from her knitting, locking on my face. "You were raised better than that."
I didn't apologize—though I knew she wanted me to. Instead I just returned her gaze, trying not to frown. "You knew, didn't you? About Roza and Adrian."
"Of course—Ambrose told me the night of the party."
"And yet you said nothing to warn me—your flesh and blood."
"Is this about taking sides then? Is that why you are sulking?" She continued to knit, her eyes locked with mine—fingers flying, but never dropping a stitch. "You and Roza were close when she stayed with us… but now you can barely stand to say her name. Why is that Viktoria?"
I lost our silent battle of wills, dropping my eyes to my lap—not wanting to answer her question. "There are too many things to list."
"Try. We have what—five hours to spare, do we not? Unless you have something better to do with that time? Start at the very beginning and we will make our way through them all—shall I start for you? The party your little friend threw?"
"I got over that a long time ago," I mumbled, playing with a loose thread on the hem of my skirt. "She embarrassed me that night… but it was more than just that deep down. She assumed the worst of me… that I would do… things."
"Speak plainly child—you won't shock me, and I might die of old age by the time you fumble your way around the issue. Did you know the sort of place it was when you went there? If so you cannot fault Roza for assuming what she did."
"No I didn't—but you don't understand. She thought it because she already had a preconceived idea of what we were like—because we live in a commune," I said, scowling.
"You know my views on such things Viktoria—like sex, sharing blood should be an act of love. I will not judge women or men who feed the ones they are committed to… and I will not cast aspersions on what grown men and women chose to do with their lives. What goes on in establishments like that… it gives people the wrong idea of what life in a commune is like, but what is more important to me is how the people who go to places like that and the ones who work there are cheating themselves in the long run. They are missing out on the deeper meaning of such an exchange entirely—they are in it for the immediate pleasure they feel or for the money they make, or like my sister… they are addicted to the bite…so in the end, something that should be a beautiful expression of sharing between two people is sullied and made worthless, becoming nothing more than an act." She sighed, shaking her head, falling silent for a moment. "Perhaps I am just old fashioned, but I do not understand the way young people today lack the understanding of how priceless such a thing should be. They willingly give themselves to person after person as if they are worthless, not of recognizing the most important thing of all... that when you allow another person access to your body… it is the greatest gift you can give another being—it is something that should be honored and given the reverence it deserves."
I felt my cheeks flush; I ducked my head, trying to hide my face from her, but she leaned forward, slipping her finger underneath my chin—forcing me to look at her. "Do not hide from me, granddaughter. I know what you have done."
Glancing over at Adrian, I switched to Russian—even though he was asleep. "And you are ashamed of me, yes? I practically threw myself at him."
"No—I am not ashamed. I am proud that you followed your heart, for it led you to the very thing that fate meant for you to find," she murmured, her hand moving up to gently stroke my cheek. "Always listen closely to your heart, kotyonok and compare what it says to your dreams. The two combined will never lead you down the wrong path—I promise."
"But he loves her," I whispered, fighting against the prickling warmth I felt filling my eyes. "And it is part of the reason I hate her. What if he never breaks free of that love—what do I do then?"
"Love… is a very strange thing, Viktoria. Many people think they know what love is, when the truth is they do not. They want to love… they want to find that person they belong with—so sometimes they convince themselves that what they feel is real. I suppose in a way it is, but it is… a lesser love than the one they were meant to find—if that makes sense. Because the truth of the matter is that during your life… you will have one real love, granddaughter. One great love—so intense that all others seem like nothing more than pale imitations. It will fill you with a sense of perfection that nothing else can match—and when you feel that sense of completion… you will know without a doubt that you have found the soul who's resonance matches your own. That soul… it is the one yours was made for. The soul that God created in tandem with your own." Her dark eyes darted over to Adrian, then back to my face. "But I think perhaps… you know the exact feeling I am describing, yes? In my visions… when I saw him… his soul chimed the same melody as yours."
Her words were powerful, scary things, making me tremble; I understood what she was saying as clearly as I knew my name. "Yes… I know what you mean. But what I know does not matter—what he feels does."
"Give it time, little Vika—you are always so impatient. The things worth keeping are the things that you must work for… the things that take the longest to get. Besides… men are not as perceptive as women—they feel the same things, but do not recognize or acknowledge them right away. It took your grandfather three years to understand what he was feeling—by the time he did, I was so frustrated… I made him wait another forty days before admitting I felt the same."
I smiled—just a little—imagining how hard it must have to pretend she felt nothing for someone she loved so deeply. "I will remind myself of that when my impatience gets too strong."
"I am glad my words can help you—gladder still that you have the common sense to listen when wisdom speaks." She sat back, reclaiming the knitting that she'd set aside to comfort me. "You cannot hate Roza for how your kotik feels, Vika. It is beneath you to blame her for something that is not her fault"
"I can hate her for how she treats him—you heard her at lunch, talking as if he were trash. And she betrayed my brother!"
"I agree that her treatment of him is intolerable—which is why I sternly reprimanded her and put her in her place. I think that when it comes to our kotik… Roza is very bitter—what we must consider why. She admitted that she did not want him to hurt—that she still cares, even though he hates her—so surely that in itself is the answer that we seek? The anger between them is the source of the entire problem." She glanced over at Adrian, her brow furrowing as she spoke. "You tell me he is in love with her—but when you truly love someone, their happiness comes first, above all things… even your own. Your Dusha… he does not feel that for our Roza, Viktoria. So again… I assure you that what he feels for her isn't real love. Whatever it is that eats away at him… until he confronts it and lets go of the past, the both of them will continue to wallow in their bitterness until those old wounds are healed."
"I suppose," I murmured, playing with Adrian's fingers. "But that still does not excuse her for dishonoring Dimitri's love."
"Roza is very accomplished at many things Viktoria, but she is still very young. She does not have the benefit of a wise grandmother to council her and never did. Can you imagine what it must be like to grow up as she did—all alone, without a family? To not have anyone that loved you or a place to call home for the entirety of your life? Now picture that poor, unloved child growing into a young woman—and finally discovering the magic of loving someone and being loved in return after such a long, lonely time. She found the great love that we spoke of—only to have it stolen away by death. Think about the way something as simple as a name affected her—simply because it was the name of the monster who took Dimitri away from her."
"Yeva—"
"I am not finished. You will listen because you need to hear this—you need to learn to put yourself in another's place to understand what they feel. For those of us with the sight… empathy is a very, very important thing—it helps us know how to temper the predictions that we relay to others. If you saw that your sister's fiancé had a woman on the side, would you blurt it out all at once? Or would you try to convey the horrible truth in a way that spared her feelings? You must put yourself in the others place, so you think before you speak."
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as I thought about what she said. "So Roza had a bad childhood… but that is no reason for her to forsake the man who loved her."
"As I said… I am not finished. Such lessons are lengthy and your impatience often gets in the way. You know how I feel about interruptions, child—so you will hold your thoughts until I finish, yes?"
I nodded, slumping down in my seat—wondering if she'd get to the point before we reached Montana.
"Most women would have written Dimitri off as lost forever—but did Roza? No—she turned her back on her friends and everything she knew… setting off to hunt him down and give his soul peace. And when she found him… what did she have to do, granddaughter? She had to kill him with her own hand—driving a stake through his heart. Could you find the strength to do that? To kill your Dusha, even if her were Strigoi?" A single tear trailed down her cheek, but she made no move to wipe her face.
"So this young girl lost her great love twice—once by her own hand. We now know she failed—thank God above—but at the time, she had no such knowledge. She returned to the life she had abandoned during her quest, broken and weary—most probably wishing she could lay down and die, joining our Dimitri in the grave. But what was waiting for her when she went back? A man, who was good and kind—one of her dearest friends; perhaps he offered her the comfort her soul needed, distracting her from the horrific knowledge of what she had done. And maybe as time past, she felt guilt over his love for her—after all, she was far too familiar with the pain that comes from loving something that is out of reach—and she decided to spare him the agonizing grief by trying to give him what he needed as best she could. I do not know… I am not Roza. I have not walked her path—and neither have you."
I brushed away the tears that were flowing down my cheeks; the shame I felt in that moment was a hot, scalding thing. She was right—how dare I judge Roza when I had been spared the crushing agony that she must have felt. "Perhaps it is all just jealousy that I feel—over the fact that Adrian loves her… and over her replacing me as Dimitri's favorite."
"Out of all the things said today… only this upsets me. Do you think your brother's heart is so small that he must omit one to love another? Do you love Dimitri any less now that you have found your Dusha?"
"No—of course not. But—"
"There are no 'buts', Viktoria. I am ashamed of you, child. For a girl who has so many people to love that love her in return to be so petty over such a thing! Have you ever seen your brother so happy?"
"No—I haven't." I frowned, switching back to English now that the talk of Roza was done. It was a struggle to put my thoughts into words she might understand—but I tried my best. "I know that what you say is true in my head…but sometimes my feelings… they override my common sense."
She chuckled, shaking her head. "And that is the smartest thing you've said since we began. Sometimes we must conquer what we feel, using what we know to override the irrational things. Jealousy… it is like bitterness, kotyonok—it seeps into us slowly, poisoning all the joy and leaving only doubt. It is something you must banish before it can take root, otherwise—"
Something flitted across her face—an emotion I couldn't quite place; immediately, her eyes dropped to her knitting, her lips compressing in a thin, tight line. I stretched out my hand, laying it on her arm, but still, she would not look at me. "What's wrong?
"It is nothing—I simply thought about something that has not crossed my mind in a very long time."
"About me?"
"No—about your father. Jealousy was one of the things that plagued him. He was envious of the love in our household and how freely it was given."
"We would have loved him…but he never seemed to want it. He never gave us the chance."
"You are right—and he is a perfect example of how jealousy breeds destruction wherever it appears."
Her mentioning my father gave me the perfect opportunity to bring up the things that Zmey had said and the fears his words had given me—but in the past, whenever I tried to discuss the man, immediately she shut down. I chewed at the corner of my lip, hesitant to speak. "Zmey… he thinks my father is the one that killed Ivan. That he was so wicked and evil he drained his own son."
She didn't respond—seeming completely intent on the movement of her needles as they worked the yarn into shape. I sat back, sighing, taking her silence as an indication that the topic was off limits—that was when she cleared her throat, her voice the softest of murmurs.
"It is truth. I saw it many years before the event occurred."
"You did not speak up to warn Dimitri? He might have saved Ivan! You could have spared him the pain and guilt he felt over failing our brother that night!"
"No—some things cannot be changed Viktoria. To do so is to tempt fate, which is a very dangerous thing. There will come a time when your Sight is clearer…when you will see more than one path. One will be what is predestined—the other what will happen if you dare to interfere. Had I warned Dimitri… he would have died with Ivan. Your father had a gun—he was hoping your brother would show up… wanting to avenge himself for the beating Dimitri gave him. I chose to save my grandson—and I feel no shame over my actions. If given the same choice, I would not change a thing."
"You're right," I whispered, "I would have done it too."
"I have always prayed that you would never face such a choice, granddaughter… but I know that in time… you must. When you do… choose wisely. Think not only of yourself but of how your decision will affect the ones you love."
I frowned, troubled by the thought of being forced to decide who might live or die; it reaffirmed the one thing I honestly believed all the way down to the center of my soul—that the Sight was no gift, but a curse that rested on our heads. "Dusha… he said that when we have a vision, our aura looks like a spirit users. Only now… he is not sure if what he saw was real or a figment of his mind."
"Is that a question?"
I nodded. "Has Oksa ever commented on something like that? Mentioned it in passing, perhaps?"
"You assume that Oksana has seen me heavily ridden with vision. She hasn't."
"That's not an answer," I complained.
"It is." Yeva stared at me, her gaze sharp and penetrating.
I turned her words over in my head, trying to puzzle them out. "You are saying that yes—it is true…but only when a vision is particularly strong?"
"Very good—but only partially correct."
I waited for her to elaborate—but of course, she didn't. "So what part is incorrect?"
"I would say that it depends on the person and how strong their Gift might be. To be truthful… I do not know that Oksa ever tried to view my aura… or how strong her abilities in that area might be, kotyonok. I can tell you only what I remember reading and the things your grandfather shared."
"So you meant the Spirit users gift?"
"That plays into it, I would think—but mostly I refer to the seer."
"Does Mama have it?" I asked, remembering Adrian's questions. "Or my sisters?"
"No. If she had the same gift we share… things might have been very different for her. Karolina and Sonya… those two are all but head blind. They barely listen to their own good instincts, let alone outside sources."
"Dimitri?"
She thought about it for a moment, frowning. "My instinct is to say no… but he is very intuitive. Nothing like what we have, kotyonok. None of the men in our line have ever had the abilities we share… except, perhaps my nephew—but even then, it is not the same. He senses things—he can tell what people are feeling without really having to try. People enjoy being around him because his presence makes them feel better—not realizing it is because he has a gift for easing their emotions. Somehow he has the ability to take a measure of the troubles from their mind, giving them a bit of his cheer in return."
"Why is this the first I am hearing about this cousin?" It was strange, hearing her talk about family that I'd never met. "I would like to meet him… to get to know his branch of our family tree."
"You have met him, granddaughter. He lived with us when you were small—Zoya's age… perhaps a bit younger. And you will meet him again…. very soon."
"When we go home? But I have to return to school!"
"Do not whine child—it annoys me. I said very soon—and I meant it. My nephew used to write to me quite frequently… but his letters stopped, shortly after he changed jobs." Her face lit up as she smiled, her grin brighter than I'd seen it since the day my brother had returned home. "It is part of the reason I invited myself along on this—so I could scold him for worrying me. My Savva… he works at Saint Vladimir's."
"He worked with Mitya?"
"He did—I have often wondered if his letters stopped because he felt guilt over what happened to your brother that day. Soon I will find out—and if he does not have a good excuse for ignoring me, I will turn him over my knee."
I chuckled at the thought; my grandmother often threatened us with spankings—but she never followed through. "Are there any more mysterious relatives I should know about? A few Great Aunts and Uncles that you've been hiding away?"
"I am sorry… no. I am the last of nine, kotyonok. Many of my siblings… they died when I was small. Life was very hard back then—we wandered quite a bit." Her eyes were full of sadness as she spoke, her hands tightening around the needles she held. "Liliana, my sister—she was the only one who lived past twenty five. She was Savva's mother—for a time, I helped her raise him. We moved in with them when he was just a little thing—your mother was nine or ten."
"Did your sister have what we do? The visions?" I hated to prod her—but the more information Adrian had, the more likely he would find what we needed to figure out the mystery.
"No. My grandmother did… and her grandmother before her. My sister… she had a different father than I did, Viktoria."
"But if you have the same mother and grandmother then surely—"
"Must I spell everything out for you, child? The visions come to those of us that have—"Her voice trailed off, dark eyes darting over to Adrian's sleeping face. "No—I cannot say more. I cannot influence your choices—no matter how much I want to. There are some things you and your Dusha must discover on your own."
"I've already figured that part out—even if she hasn't." I jumped at the unexpected sound of Adrian's voice; he hadn't been sleeping—just pretending to. "You might as well tell her… or I will."
Yeva remained silent; Adrian sighed, shaking his head. "The visions manifest when the parents share similar gifts—or come from a line that has them. A seer… and a Spirit user. Yeva's father… was a Spirit user."
"But my father wasn't a Spirit user, so how—"
"Wasn't he?" Yeva arched ha brow. "At first he told Olena that he was an air user—the same thing Oksa claimed when I first met her. Think about his fits, Viktoria. One minute he was happy and cheerful—the most charming man you could meet. Then in the blink of an eye he was in a violent rage, lashing out at anyone he could. He tried to control it the way your kotik does—by drinking—but it did not work for him…it just made his insanity worse."
"But you said you helped my grandfather…couldn't you have helped him?" I fought against the tears that were prickling in my eyes, not understanding their cause. I hated my father more than anything—but the thought that he couldn't help what he did made me question everything I felt.
"No. I couldn't. Your mother tried but—"
"You said she didn't have the gift—of course she couldn't!"
"I told her that! She didn't listen—she hoped to prove me wrong. I do not know everything, granddaughter; some things I suspect, but there is no real way to prove them—but the one thing I know for certain is that the Gift has never passed from mother to child. It lies dormant within, waiting for the next generation—and even then, it only manifests for the one who's soul is strong enough to bear the burden of the visions."
"Lucky me," I whispered, caustically.
"Someday… you will realize the truth in what you just said, Viktoria. You will thank God above for how lucky you really are. When that happens, both of you will understand the ways of fate. You will remember the riddle I gave at lunch—and then you will give me the answer."
"How many generations back does it go, Ms. Belikova?" Adrian looked completely intrigued—though I couldn't understand why.
Yeva sighed, closing her eyes; she looked so very small and tired that I felt guilty for wearing her out. "Further back than Moroi records reach, kotik."
"I really wish one of you would tell me what the hell that means—"
"The answer is the same as it was when you asked last night—learn Russian," Yeva retorted, opening her eyes and giving him a pointed look.
"It means 'tom cat', moy Dusha," I said, gently squeezing his hand.
"Like… the animal?" He frowned, looking hurt. "So it's an insult—because of my reputation."
"It doesn't mean anything bad, Dusha—"
He pulled his hand out of mine, shifting to the other side of his chair—not looking at either of us. "Really? Cause tom cats are known for being unfaithful—when there were rumors around Court about someone cheating on their spouse, Aunt Tatiana always said they were out 'catting' around."
Yeva chuckled at his sullen expression. "Nonsense. I refer to you in such a manner for no such reason. For years I have had visions of my granddaughter with a cat—a strange thing to see when one considers how animals hate our kind—don't you agree?"
"So what does that have to do with me?" Adrian huffed, scowling at her amusement.
"If you listen you will learn the answer that you seek, boy." She rolled her eyes, her lips twitching up in a smile." "This cat… it was a very handsome creature—with dark silky fur that it groomed all the time. It's eyes were beautiful—big and green, like giant emeralds, though they were filled with the haughty arrogance that all cats seem to have. The more I dreamed of this cat, the bigger he grew—until one day, he changed, right in front of my eyes. Do you know what he turned into Lord Ivashkov?"
Adrian shook his head—listening respectfully, despite his irritation. "No, what?"
"That cat became you.Long before I saw your face in the ballroom that night, you were in my visions. The beautiful, proud cat that never strayed from my kotyonok's side."
"And that means?"
"It has always been Vika's nickname—she is our little kitten."
He laughed; it was a happy, joyous sound, contagious enough to make me smile. "The cat and the kitten… I like it."
"You see? I told you it was nothing bad," I murmured, my smile widening as he moved closer, his hand reclaiming mine.
"I have a question for you, now that you are done pretending to nap, kotik. When you gave Roza that name at lunch… the one that upset her so… was their malice in your heart?" Yeva's voice was soft, her face betraying nothing. It was a mask, hiding away whatever had prompted the question.
"No—Nathan is my father's name. As angry as I am with her about things… I'd never purposefully remind Rose of what happened that night—I know how much it hurt her." His smile faded, his hand tightening around mine. "I never knew the name of the Strigoi that turned your grandson."
"I thought as much… but I had to be sure. You do not want to hurt her and she does not want to hurt you… so perhaps the wounds are already starting to close." Her eyes found mine and she smiled, looking incredibly pleased. "The bitterness is already fading Viktoria… they just don't know how to let go of the hurt."
"I feel like I'm missing something," Adrian tugged at my hand, looking puzzled. "What is she talking about?"
It was not my place to explain things; my grandmother was right—sometimes you had to know when to remain silent, holding your tongue. As long as he believed that he still loved Roza, he wasn't ready for the truth; if I tried to tell him otherwise, it would do more harm than good. As much as I might want to guide him down the path, he had to discover it on his own—though I could certainly hold his hand and support him along the way.
Smiling, I leaned over, pressing my lips against his cheek. "Some things you have to discover on your own, moy Dusha. In time… you will understand everything—it just takes a little patience. But I promise… when you figure it out…it will be worth the wait."
It was the right thing to say—but as for whether or not I would actually have the patience to stand by my words and let him figure things out on his own was another matter entirely. I just hoped that between Yeva's wisdom and my common sense, I could survive however long it took.
A/N: I apologize for the delay in updating—I completely forgot that Nano (National Novel Writing Month) was coming up, or I would have posted a warning about updates being slow in November. December won't be much better with preparing for Christmas, but I swear I will try to get the next chapter up soon since it is already mostly written. This one is unedited because again… it's long… and I don't want to add any more.
Yeva had a lot to say in this one… and it is really hard shutting her up. -.-
Next Chapter is Saint Vlad's—wonder what will happen if Stan Alto makes the mistake of being rude to Yeva? ;o)
As always, thanks for the comments and messages—they always make me smile. *hugs*