Dear Diary,

I will never understand why people make jokes about women and girls taking a long time getting ready; unless I am preparing for a special event, I can usually be ready to walk out the door in less than five minutes time. Maybe it is different for other girls, but I don't see the point in spending an hour applying makeup and styling my hair—especially not for something like attending classes. I mean… we are there to learn, not to take part in a beauty pageant, you know? And why waste time getting all made up to run errands or go to the store? I can appreciate wanting to look your best, but in my opinion, to do so much that it requires hours of preparation is just plain foolish.

I certainly never realized that some men spend a ridiculous amount of time preparing themselves to face the world. I mean what in the hell do they have to do besides shower and shave and change clothes? The only man I ever shared living space with is my brother, and he is like me—ready to go at a moment's notice with minimal effort required.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for Adrian.

I was showered and dressed long before he was—in fact, he took so much time getting ready that I ended up having to leave him a note before sprinting across campus to the gym. Even with my rushing, I was late—the class was already in session; Emil was lead instructor again, but he was solo this time. To my immense relief, Maclamore was nowhere in sight—probably due to his dislocated knee and wounded male pride.

The group was made up of a completely different group of novices, however, I recognized a few of their faces from the academic classes I'd visited; several of them had been in Alto's classroom the day before—they were the ones that immediately started whispering the moment I walked in.

"What is this? Where are our manners?" When Emil held up his hands, silence filled the room. "I take it some of you have met Novice Belikova?"

"Her grandmother knocked Alto out," chirped a small blonde girl—she gazed over at me with awe. "I've never seen anyone move so fast!"

"She did?" Emil glanced over at me, arching his eyebrows.

I shrugged. "He tried to get the jump on her—she is old, but spry for her age."

"Can we practice the stalking exercise Guardian Belikova showed us yesterday?" This time it was a boy—the one who'd irritated Adrian by insinuating he was too old for me.

"Alright class—simmer down. I will visit with Novice Belikova to discuss what it is that has you all worked up while you finish your warm ups—then we will begin our lesson." He turned to me, a look of interest on his face. "What does this exercise entail?"

I explained briefly, my eyes darting around the gym; there was much more room to move about without fear of bumping into things—big enough that we could elaborate on the lesson, making it into a game. "Have they learned to stake yet?"

"The fundamentals, why?"

"I thought that perhaps if you wanted to do my grandmothers lesson… we could change it up a bit. They will expect us to just stand and stare at them the way I did yesterday—but we could actually attack them from the darkness… and perhaps give them practice stakes to defend themselves with. It would give you a chance to see how they respond and perhaps make note of who freezes up and needs more training."

He thought about it for a moment, glancing out at the students. "I like it… but we'll need more guardians for it to be effective. Can you watch them for a minute while I make a call and grab what we need from storage?"

"Certainly." I watched him head to the storage room, then began moving through the rows of students; I didn't try and engage them in conversation, I just monitored their warm ups—making sure that they were staying on task and not goofing off, though I did correct their form if I spotted someone goofing off.

"Where's your boyfriend? Is he coming to class too?" It was a whisper—Carslile, with a hopeful look on her face.

"He is having breakfast with my grandmother and Guardian Petrov—so no, I'm afraid he will not be joining us."

"Damn—I bet he looks really hot in gym shorts." She grinned, thought her cheeks flushed—someone had a crush.

"Trust me… he looks even better out of them." I winked, moving away, leaving her giggling softly behind me.

Emil took so long I began to worry; one by one the students finished their stretching, turning their eyes towards me expectantly—waiting for me to tell them what to do next. I was racking my brain for some sort of group activity when Emil reappeared—thank God— carrying two large cardboard boxes in his arms. I hurried over to help him, grabbing the top one and setting it on the ground. "Were any of the other guardians interested?"

"Yes—they'll be outside waiting for the lights to go out." He placed the box he held beside mine, clapping his hands as he turned to face the class. "Gather round! Today you will get your wish, but we will be adding to the lesson. Everyone will get a stake so you can practice using it in low light conditions. For safety reasons, you will not wield it above this level—" he held out his hand, chest height. "They are blunted—but we will be in the dark. I don't want any of you putting someone's eye out by accident. Understand?"

There was a chorus of 'yes sirs' from the novices; I began unloading the stakes—there were twelve in each box, along with faux leather sheaths that would strap around the student's waists. There was still one left when we were done passing them out—Emil offered it to me with a grin.

"Are you planning on attacking me?" I asked.

"No—but one of the students might. Better to be prepared I think, don't you?"

I strapped the sheath on as he moved to the light switch; as soon as the room went dark, I toed off my shoes—they would squeak on the highly polished floor, giving away my location. For the first few minutes, I didn't move, allowing myself ample time to adjust to the darkness. Every dhampir in the gymnasium had enhanced sight, but the guardians would have a distinct advantage on their side over the novices—years of experience. Had we been outdoors there would have been ambient light from the moon or the stars, but since we were in an enclosed space with no windows, that wasn't the case.

The gym was full of nervous murmuring—not everyone understood the game. Without Yeva's voice spinning tales of the past, every sound seemed amplified—from the rustle of clothing to the shuffling of the novices feet as they shifted from side to side. The air shifted beside me as Emil moved off into the darkness; in the distance, I heard a faint squeaking noise—the other guardians, sneaking inside to join us.

A girl screamed a few moments later—Emil chuckled, his voice a soft whisper as he told her to sit down since she was had just been 'killed'.

Immediately, the atmosphere in the room changed dramatically, the tension level rising. Now the novices knew that we weren't just lurking—we were on the hunt. I moved sideways, taking the long way around, wanting to approach the students from the back. There was another panicked shout from the other side of the gym—this time from a boy; I heard an unfamiliar male voice tell him to sit down.

"This isn't fair! How many of you are there?" A student called out.

"Do you think the Strigoi will send you a telegram announcing how many will be showing up for an attack Novice Berkley?" Alto's voice dripped with sarcasm.

I didn't have time to be amused by his quip—someone was approaching me in the darkness on my left. I ducked, sweeping my foot out to catch the persons ankles—they anticipated the movement, dodging backwards. I remained crouched down, slowly inching sideways—listening for the telltale rush of air that would betray their movement. When it came, it was a fast lunge directly at the area where I'd originally been standing—whoever my attacker was, they did not realize I had moved. I lashed out, but they jerked back before I connected—I'd given away my position without scoring a hit. Dropping back down, I rolled to my left, and then I lay there, completely frozen, holding my breath—waiting for the attack to begin again.

Our movements were like a well-choreographed dance—one of advance and retreat. For the entire class period, I held my attacker at bay; I didn't score a kill, but I managed to stay alive—something that was far, far more important to me. By the time the bell sounded, I was dripping with sweat—the muscles in legs and back were aching from the amount of time I'd spent hunched over in a crouched down position. When the lights came up suddenly, I blinked at the unexpected brightness, trying to focus on the figure that was barely a foot away from me.

"You said you weren't going to attack me!" It came out a growl as I swiped at my sweaty face.

"I lied." Emil smiled, reaching down to help me to my feet. "You're good—fast as an adder. You move like your brother."

"We had the same teacher—my grandmother," I muttered, scowling at him.

"From what I hear… she was one of the best." He turned away from me, still grinning. "Class—I believe our winner deserves a round of applause."

I glanced around, startled as the novices began to clap their hands. Out of the entire room, I was the only person still standing that wasn't a guardian. I looked down at the floor, my cheeks heating with embarrassment. "I cannot claim a victory since I was unaware I was participating. Besides, I have been doing this for years—they haven't."

"Regardless—you deserve it. Go sit down and catch your breath. Class—we will do this exercise again in the future. I certainly hope that next time there will be at least a few of you left on your feet."

While he dismissed the students I retrieved a bottle of water from my gym bag. As the guardians walked past me, they called out their compliments—one man even patting me on the shoulder and saying Dimitri would be proud of my performance. I smiled, not answering—barely having time to mop the sweat from my face and arms before the next group of novices rolled in and we started the lesson all over again.

For the next five hours, I was the hunted one; word of the game and my standoff with Emil spread, filtering through the guardians—and not just the ones on duty. Each class, a few more showed up, wanting a crack at taking down 'the Russian god's' little sister—hoping to achieve what Emil had been unable to. Each time, it was a stalemate—they were good, but when it came to defensive techniques, I wasn't exactly a slacker. They were professionals, each one of them excellent at their job, but I'd been doing this exercise for eleven years; Dimitri had played my attacker for more than half of them—and I am not at all biased when I say that my brother is the very best.

It was far easier to evade their attacks than it was to try and stake them, so I focused on staying alive, sticking close to the ground until the lights came up at the end of each period. The only break I had was during the Academy's lunch hour—but I didn't waste it eating. Instead, I opted to shower and change clothes, since mine were soaking wet with sweat—then I headed to the clinic, scheduling a time to meet with the doctor later in the afternoon before returning to the gym.

I was early enough that it was still empty when I arrived, which was exactly what I'd hoped for. Leaning against the wall, I studied the large buildings layout, trying to find something that I could use to my advantage. I was in shape, but I was tired, and my body was starting to ache—it was only a matter of time before I started to slow down. When that happened, I would lose—and that was something I couldn't allow to happen. It was obvious the guardians intended to keep on challenging me until they beat me—but for me, losing was not an option; I had to uphold the Belikov reputation and make my brother proud—nothing less would do.

As my eyes flicked around the room, I realized my only option was to catch the guardians completely by surprise. When it came to one thing, my grandmother was right—over the centuries, dhampirs had grown completely complacent to their instincts. We'd lost many of our natural protective intuition, focusing all our attention on being attacked on the ground—forgetting that very often in nature… predators attacked from above.

The climbing ropes were out—they'd been wrapped up over the rafters so they'd be out of the way until needed; there was no way I could reach them unless I sprouted wings. The only other option was the chin up bars along the far wall; there were several bolted to the wall in varying heights, the tallest appearing to be about seven feet off the ground. It would be hard to reach it—the way my legs were aching, I knew I'd never be able to jump high enough to grab it. I'd have to use one of the shorter one and climb my way across in the dark—they were evenly spaced, with about a foot and a half between each one. Risky—but the only feasible option I had.

Pulling off my shoes and socks, I balled up the latter and crammed them into my bag; it would be hard enough to balance on the narrow metal bars without shoes—doing it in slippery socks would be almost impossible. I shoved my feet back into my sneakers, not bothering to tighten the laces; as soon as the lights went out, I'd be kicking them off—the faster I could get it done the better—then I sank down to the floor, waiting for class to commence.

This time we had an audience; as the novices entered, guardians accompanied them. They stood, each surrounded by a cluster of students—I spotted Alto and Guardian Florescu, the communications instructor, trying to keep their classes together and in line. Obviously, they had decided to forego whatever lessons they'd planned in lieu of participating in the challenge. It hardly seemed fair since many of the students in their classes had already played earlier in the day, but I didn't have time to voice my concerns to Emil—he'd already launched into an explanation of what we were doing and was in the process of handing out stakes to the novices in his class. I glanced from him to the other students that were standing along the wall with their instructors—there weren't enough stakes for all of them. Apparently, my confusion was evident—Emil looked over at me and laughed.

"Some of them are just here to watch—there will be someone participating that everyone is extremely anxious to see."

I eyed him suspiciously. "Is it my grandmother? Because I can assure you… I'll lose. I can't beat her—I doubt even Dimitri could. And it will be dark… so they won't technically be able to see anything."

"If I told you, it would ruin the surprise, Miss Belikova." His dark eyes were full of barely contained amusement. "And though we may not actually be able to watch the fight itself… wondering what the outcome will be has us all breathless with anticipation."

I opened my mouth to protest, but at that moment, the lights went out; I could hear someone approaching me from behind—and they were moving fast. Whoever the mystery person was, they'd been waiting, intending to get the jump on me. I sprinted off into the darkness heading in the opposite direction from the chin up bars—hoping to buy myself some much needed extra time. It was immediately apparent to me that I'd been right in my assumption—I'd pushed myself too hard. My legs felt limp and shaky; the muscles in my right calf were bunching in painful knots, making it hard to run. The cramping was a sure sign of overexertion—now I was even more handicapped, and the exercise had only just begun.

I doubled back, sticking to the perimeter of the room, skirting along the wall as I made my way to the area where the bars were located, trying to ignore the shrieks and murmurs from the students and the guardians. I couldn't let myself be distracted by what was happening throughout the room—I had to focus on not getting caught by whoever it was that was stalking me. When I was sure that I was in the general vicinity I needed, I reached up, feeling around in the darkness—trying to locate the bars as best I could; at first I panicked when my hand didn't hit anything, but then I took a few steps backward and the back of my hand brushed against cool metal.

Kicking off my shoes, I tucked the practice stake down the front of my sports bra; my cleavage would keep it safely in place and it would be much less likely to hamper my movements there than it would in the stupid holster—the last thing I needed was for it to bang against the bar and give my location away. I pulled myself up quickly; from there it was just a matter of using my stomach to balance as I got my feet in place. I didn't stop to consider how foolish my plan might be—if I had, I might have lost my nerve; reaching out across the dark void, I felt for the next bar—repeating the entire process again, although this time a little slower. I was on the verge of moving to the tallest bar when a faint shuffling sound reached my ears; it was followed by a 'thump' and a whispered curse. My stalker was directly below me—they had obviously tripped over my discarded shoes, inadvertently giving away their location. They had been momentarily surprised, which meant they were off guard—giving me an opening to attack.

Lowering myself into a sitting position, I took a deep breath then dropped down on my attacker—but instead of hitting a body, I hit the ground, hard; my ankle buckled, rolling to the side. Hot waves of agony radiated up my leg; I had to bite down on my lip to hold back a moan of pain. They'd moved at the last minute, completely spoiling my plan—and now I'd sprained my damned ankle to boot.

'Move past the pain Vika—ignore it, it does not matter!' I grit my teeth as I admonished myself, trying—and failing—to put weight on my injured foot.

There was movement to my right—something passed within inches of my face; I jerked backwards—trying to sidestep the blow, but the defensive maneuver made me stumble, putting more weight on my ankle than I'd intended. It hampered my retreat, making escape impossible. They struck again, this time catching me in the small of my back, down low, by my tailbone. My breath hissed out as I fell to my knees—then something slammed into my temple with so much force that starburst of whiteness appeared before my eyes. Pain roared through my head as I collapsed—my cheek hit the cool gym floor. I fought to hang on to consciousness and shove the dizziness aside, forcing myself to roll over despite the nausea the movement stirred.

I might be down—but I wasn't giving up. To do so in the field would mean death—or worse, being made into a monster. Holding my breath, I waited for my attacker to move again; when the air shifted, I lashed upward with the practice stake—aiming directly for where I thought the heart would be.

"Lights! Turn on the lights!" The voice was familiar, but I couldn't place it—perhaps because of the strange gray dots that were growing larger as they ate away at my brain.

I blinked as the lights flicked on—the brightness made my eyes tear, increasing the nausea that was rolling through me in waves. Alberta Petrov stood over me, frozen in place—my stake was pressing against her body, just below her sternum. It was the perfect position for delivering a killing blow.

She was speaking, but I couldn't process the words; the world had turned to jelly, rippling and quivering around me. The last thing I remember clearly was a single thought that flickered through my mind—not about the extent of my injuries or to wonder why I felt so cold and numb. It was two vain, petty little words—but in that moment, they were all that I could focus on.

I won.

My head hit the floor with a sickening crack as everything faded into nothingness.

When I woke up, I panicked; my vision was hazy, and there was a blurry shape looming over me. Immediately, I sat up—not the smartest choice. The room titled off kilter as a wave of pain slammed into me; I collapsed backward, swallowing rapidly, on the verge of throwing up.

"Sudden movement isn't the best thing right now, dear. Stay still and the dizziness will pass—are you going to be sick?"

I turned my head—slowly—towards the voice, afraid that if I moved too fast, I'd answer the question in a very unpleasant way. "Where am I?"

"You're in the clinic. Guardian Petrov hit you much harder than she meant to." Olendzki pulled out a pen light, shining it into my eyes. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Viktoria Aleksandra Belikova. My mother is Olena Anastasia Belikova. My brother is Dimitri Nikolai Belikov—do I need to go on?" I knew the drill—it wasn't the first time I'd been knocked out in class. Though in all honestly, it usually happened when I was goofing off and not paying attention to my sparring partner—not when I was actively participating and focused.

She chuckled, clicking off the light. "No, that's fine. Your pupils are responsive and your reflexes are good; I don't think it's a concussion but—"

"I'll be fine. She got me in the temple—that's why I blacked out."

"Mhmm. Your ankle probably contributed too—it's a nasty sprain. I wrapped it while you were out but I couldn't give you anything for pain because of the head trauma. Now that you're awake—"

"I can live with it."

She narrowed her eyes, studying me. "Are you sure?"

"Yes ma'am—it has settled to a dull ache." It was a complete fabrication—my ankle was throbbing, but I refused to be medicated. Whatever drugs she gave me might linger in my bloodstream, and I didn't know what effect they might have on Adrian if he needed to feed.

"All right—if you're certain. We'll monitor you for a few hours just to be on the safe side—"

"No—I told you I'm fine. My grandmother can watch over me just as well as your staff can, and if she is doing it she is less likely to worry."

She sighed, shaking her head, her voice heavy with disapproval. "You're not a student, so I can't force you to stay—though I'd prefer it. Do you want to try and sit up again?"

I knew she was testing me, hoping I'd change my mind. I wouldn't. I moved much more slowly this time—relieved that the room didn't spin around me again. She pulled over a stool on wheels, sitting down and smiling. "Since you're already here, we might as well get your appointment out of the way. What was it you wanted to see me about?"

I blushed, knotting my hands together; my knuckles immediately turned white from how tightly I'd laced my fingers. "I need a prescription… for contraceptives."

"I see—well… normally, that requires a full exam—"

I cut her off, frowning. "I had one a few months ago—at Saint Basil's Dr. Szelsky requires them yearly for novices over the age of fourteen."

"As I was saying," she raised her eyebrows, ignoring my interruption, "I've known Valentina Szelsky for years—she's a very thorough physician, so I suppose we can forgo the formalities this time."

"Good—no offense, but I really don't want to repeat it any more than I have to. It's not the most fun thing, you know?"

"I agree with you completely. Did you fill out the information sheet they gave you when you came in? I'll need the date of your last cycle."

"I did."

"Fine. I'll go look it over and write you out a prescription. You'll have to get it filled at Court—we don't carry contraceptives here. I'll give you one for a mild pain reliever too, just in case you change your mind—and you need to stay off that foot as much as possible for the next few days."

"I won't argue—I've had my fill of being beaten up on by your guardians," I mumbled, scowling."

"I certainly understand that. When she brings in your prescriptions, Dahlia will have some crutches as well—you'll need to use them for at least a week, alright?" She stood, pushing the stool away and moving to the door. "Oh—and Viktoria? I'll forward a copy of the prescription to Dr. Szelsky—you'll need to follow up with her in two months, just to make sure you don't have an adverse reaction to the pills."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you."

"You're welcome—you're free to go as soon as Dahlia is done with you. Your shoes and bag are beside the bed—don't tie the right one too tightly. If you start feeling dizzy again or like you might pass out… call me—immediately."

By the time Olendzki's assistant was finished with me, I was more than ready to get out of there. I headed for the door as fast as I could—not an easy task on crutches and with a pounding headache—only to stop in my tracks when the nurse at the front desk called out my name, holding out a slip of paper. "Miss Belikova—Guardian Petrov called. She'd like you to stop by her office as soon as possible."

I sighed, retracing my steps and balancing on the stupid metal poles as I grabbed the note and glanced over it—it was a rough map to the office in question. I had a long, hobbling walk in front of me. "Thank you—if she calls back, please tell her I am on my way… though God only knows how long it will take me to get there."

"Would you like me to see if someone could drive you over? We have a few golf carts on hand for conveying visitors between campuses."

"No, that's quite all right—I have to get used to these stupid things anyway."

Ten minutes later, I was cursing my own ignorance. I always tried to do things on my own—not wanting to be a burden on others—but this was one time I should have swallowed my pride and accepted the help instead of attempting to tough it out on my own. My arms—already tired from training all day—were aching, and the stupid padded armrests on the crutches were rubbing my armpits raw—not to mention my stupid bag kept smacking into my back, throwing me off balance. By the time I reached the building that housed Petrov's office, I was well on my way to working myself into quite a cantankerous state. On top of all that, I was full of trepidation as I raised my hand to knock on the door to her office, wondering what she wanted.

"Come in—"

She was on the phone, so I leaned against the door, waiting—hesitant to interrupt.

"She just arrived," she said into the receiver. "I'll certainly pass that along. Enjoy the rest of your evening." Hanging up the phone, she waved me inside. "That was Guardian Zykov—I was filling him in on your performance today. He's extremely pleased to hear that you're upholding Saint Basil's reputation."

"I'm sure he mentioned the fact I need to make more of an effort in my own classes." I frowned; now Zykov would hound me—demanding I show the same enthusiasm when I returned to school.

"He did—though he didn't quite phrase it in that manner; he said you seem determined not to live up to your potential."

I shrugged. "I'm not an over achiever."

Her brow wrinkled as she gestured towards the chairs that faced her desk. "Please—sit. I hate it when people hover over me, don't you?"

"Not many people can hover over me," I pointed out drily as I dropped my bag and sank down in the nearest chair, leaning the crutches against her desk. "I'm pretty tall for a girl."

"I wish I'd had that problem when I was your age—I always envied the Moroi girls for their height."

I gazed at her without commenting, wishing she'd get to the point—it was obvious she had something on her mind other than idle chit chat. "Guardian Petrov… if this is about Adrian and me—"

"It's not," she interrupted smoothly, straightening up a stack of papers on her desk, "though I do have one piece of advice for you on that issue. Lying and sneaking around will get you nowhere—it doesn't prove your maturity, Viktoria—in fact… it does just the opposite. If you really want to prove to Dimitri that the two of you are serious about seeing each other… it's better to tackle the problem head on. The way you're handling it now makes it seem like you're ashamed of what's happening between you."

"That's ridiculous! You have no idea—"

"He healed your face, didn't he? When Maclamore hit you."

I didn't respond—the answer was obvious.

"You realize that it's dangerous" It can affect him mentally—"

I bristled, cutting her off. "Excuse me—but when it comes to Spirit, I probably know more than you do. One of my family's closest friends in Baia is a Spirit user."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"I know you didn't—but I do not appreciate your assuming that I would allow Adrian to harm himself just to ease my pain. I told him not to heal me—he did it anyway." I didn't add that we knew a way to counter the negative side effects—that was no one's business but our own. "You don't know anything about our situation—and I don't want to discuss it further."

"You're right, I don't… and it's none of my business." She cleared her throat, frowning. "I initially asked you here so I could apologize for what happened—"

"No apology is necessary—it was entirely my fault."

"Still—you were hurt badly, and that is my fault. I was aiming for your stomach, not your head."

"You had no way of knowing my position—I took a risk and tried a very foolish move in the dark. It failed—I got hurt. End of story." I wasn't being kind or magnanimous—it was just the plain, simple truth. "I'd prefer to just forget about it."

She studied me a moment, then nodded. "Fine—we'll move on to the second issue. Despite your stance on the matter… I spoke with Maclamore about what happened between the two of you. I'm sorry you were exposed to that side of him, but in a way it's a good thing it happened—the incident brought his true colors to light."

"What do you mean?"

"He's a closet misogynist. Of course… he didn't admit it outright—they never do. Throughout the conversation he let quite a bit slip out, probably because he's on pain meds. He doesn't like women very much—especially ones that are guardians. He seems to think we're all beneath him and should be cooking and cleaning and tending house." Her jaw tightened with anger. "I've contacted headquarters and put in a request that he be removed from the Academy—and he won't be transferring to another one. I mentioned the incident with you in my report, so they might contact you about it to confirm what I said."

"As deplorable as I find his mindset… if he is a good instructor, shouldn't he get another chance? He seemed pleasant enough at first—maybe it's just me he has a problem with since I am from a commune."

"Unfortunately, that's not the case." Alberta frowned, steepling her fingers together on her desk. "When he first arrived on campus… he requested not to be assigned any co-ed classes. He told me he didn't feel comfortable teaching young girls. I thought he was just being cautious—in light of what happened with Dimitri and Rose… several male Guardians have stated that they prefer not to do combat training with female novices unless there is a female guardian present at all times. Maclamore was using it as an excuse to hide his true feelings—deep down, he doesn't think girls should be in training."

"I do hope you pointed out to those gentlemen that what happened with my brother and Roza could happen just as easily between a male instructor and a male novice," I said, sarcasm coloring my words.

"I did, but at the same time, I can understand their concerns. The Guardian Council will be keeping a much closer eye on this campus for a while—I was severely reprimanded for it happening right under my nose."

"That's ridiculous—it's not like you knew it was going on and turned a blind eye to the situation."

Her eyes dropped to her hands, the corners of her mouth lifting. "As far as they know… you're right. That's why I still have my job."

I stared across the desk at her, narrowing my eyes as I processed the hidden innuendo. "You knew."

"I suspected."

"Then why—"

"Because it's extremely rare for a guardian to find love, Viktoria. The best we can hope for is to reach an arrangement with another guardian—and all that does is satisfy our physical needs. For those of us that were observant enough… watching your brother and Rose… it gave us hope that we might find the same thing in the future. And I care about them both—I wanted them to be happy."

I thought about her words, scowling. "We have to give up everything… and get nothing in return."

"It depends on the charge you're assigned. Some are more willing to let their guardians have a life than others. Which brings me to my final point—I wanted to talk about your plans."

"My… plans?" For a moment, as illogical as it was, I thought she had somehow overheard my side of the brief conversation I'd had with Abe. I took a deep breath, trying to control my panic. "I.. uh… plan on returning to school and graduating."

She chuckled, seeming to be completely unaware of my unease. "I meant long term—you don't have to accept a charge, you know. Have you given any thought to becoming an instructor?"

"No," I admitted, wiping my sweaty palms on my pants. "I don't exactly have the patience for something like that."

"I think you're wrong—several members of the staff have spoken very highly about how you interact with the students. Emil said you're a natural—that you presented your demonstration with Maclamore in a way that drew the entire class in… even the ones he normally has a problem with."

"Only because I was relaying a story—about how Yeva taught my brother a lesson. I hated every single minute of it—I don't like speaking in front of people. The idea of doing something like that everyday…" I shuddered, making a face, "just the thought makes me feel sick."

She didn't speak—not at first—she just sat, regarding me intently, her face completely expressionless. "I see… well… it does get easier the more you do it, like anything else… but if you're dead set against the idea, I won't push you. I'm disappointed, of course—it's a shame, since every year the number of instructors seems to drop. We need people who can grab the student's interest and hold it… I'm sure you know how hard it is to learn from someone who's dull and boring, reciting out of a book."

"Even if I were so inclined… it would be impossible, Madam. The women in my village do not become guardians—we return to Baia and settle down once we graduate."

My statement stunned her; she sat back in her chair, the furrows in her forehead deepening. "That seems like a waste —why bother spending so many years training if you don't intend to utilize your skills?"

"To protect our families and our community. Baia is a very long way from any major city, and there are often Strigoi attacks on the roads leading into the settlement. They haven't attacked my village… but they've attacked others—ones where the older dhampirs have left to serve the Moroi. They've wiped out communes all over Russia because there is no one there to protect the people. That will not happen to Baia—our women are warriors. You went to Saint Basil's—none of this should come as a surprise to you."

"It wasn't like that when I was a student… or maybe it was and I just never realized it. I never visited the smaller settlements in Siberia—I grew up close to Saint Petersburg." She sighed, rubbing her forehead., looking as weary as I felt. "I can understand your view about wanting to protect your home—"

I held up my hand, interrupting her silently; her words were stirring something in my mind—an epiphany explaining something that I'd never fully grasped until that very moment. "It is not my view, it is my grandmothers—but I am finally beginning to understand some of the reasons behind her insistence. It is not about protecting our homes," I said, fiercely, "but protecting our race. For years I have heard about how fewer and fewer dhampirs seem to be enrolling in the Academies, but has anyone stopped to truly question why that is? I think it has nothing to do with whether or not they want to serve—and everything to do with the fact we are systematically being driven into extinction. We die in the line of duty and it is expected… but think about this—if all the able-bodied dhampirs go into service, there is no one left behind to protect a settlement. The only ones left are the elderly and mothers and children—most of whom cannot defend themselves against Strigoi. If that settlement is wiped out… then there are no children to enroll in the Academies, Guardian Petrov. We may need to protect the Moroi, but we need to protect our future generations too, or else we will cease to exist. Once that happens… the Moroi will be next."

Her gray eyes widened as my sudden realization spread, affixing itself firmly in her mind too. "My God… you're right! The attacks here have been on Moroi households—but that's probably because there aren't many communes here in the states. The Badicas and Vodas were practically wiped out… and the attack on the Academy… it all makes sense! Jesus… that means—"

"That Strigoi banding together is not as new an occurrence as everyone thinks… it's only just been noticed because the attacks were on Moroi." I finished for her, feeling a shiver race through my mind. "It is a long term plan. They have been wiping out future generations of guardians where they are the most plentiful—in the settlements. Out of the way places that no one cares about. When that worked, they tried to move on to the next phase—trying take down the Academies."

"But why start here? Saint Basil's is closer—"

"Because Saint Basil's training is much more advanced—and there are a lot more guardians there. They would have to know that—I am willing to bet Saint Vladimir's was a test run. You're more isolated here than the other Academies, yes?" A dull throbbing started behind my eyes, sweeping up along my temples to gather in the center of my forehead. There was more to the equation—so much more that I could not grasp it all. I felt it, like an ache in my bones on a cold, icy winter's morning. "I have to go—I need to talk to my grandmother about this."

"Now? Vika, no—we need to contact the Guardian Council. We have to warn them—"

"You don't understand—and I can't explain it to you. Not until I talk to Yeva." And Dimitri, I added mentally; if anyone could shed light on the horrific situation, it would be my brother—the one person who may have been privy to the Strigoi's plans. "Before we leave the Academy tonight… there is something Yeva has to do. It might provide the missing link we need."

"What?" The guardian looked confused by my statement, but it could not be helped. "You're not making any sense… none at all."

How could I explain the gift that Yeva and I shared when I didn't fully understand it myself? How could I explain the flashes of the past we could sometimes access at will without laying my soul bare and exposing my deepest, darkest secret?

The answer was a simple one—I couldn't, but Yeva could. She had none of my fear of exposure, and her gift was a thousand times stronger than mine would probably ever be. It enabled her to talk to spirits and glimpse things that I hoped I would never see.

"We have to go there—to the cave where it happened. We have to take my grandmother to the spot where the Strigoi were hiding that night. You have to take us to where my brother died."

A/N: The two chapters I updated today were originally actually one gigantic chapter—I broke it up into two for those of you who don't want to tackle 15,752 words in one sitting. ;o)

Also…a couple updates ago, someone left a review asking for another sneak peek. Here you go—sorry it took so long, I've been meaning to do it, but keep forgetting.

WARNING: SPOILER TO FUTURE EVENTS BELOW!

I cannot say for certain exactly what happened next—though I can certainly hazard a guess; I've seen my grandmother fall into vision often enough to assume what I probably looked like—a statue, unmoving, with that eerie glazed look, as if I'd suddenly been struck blind. It struck suddenly, out of the blue—one minute I was laughing with mama, then the next I was filled with an all-consuming panic as an image played out in my mind.

I was running through the deepest part of the forest that surrounded the estate, not caring about the branches that scratched my face or the brambles and bushes that tore up my bare legs and feet. There was only one thing on my mind—my son was missing. I could hear him crying out for me—screaming out 'Mama'—his breath wheezing as he tried to force air into his lungs.

It lasted less than a minute—twenty seconds at most, no more—then I was back in my chair, blinking rapidly and fighting against the spaced out, hazy lethargy that always hits in the wake of such a spell. Mama was still chatting away happily in my ear—completely unaware that my consciousness had wandered—but the overwhelming panic was still there, increasing with every beat of my heart.

I sat up straighter, shaking my head, trying to center myself in reality and shove the vision aside. I focused on what was around me—the tangible things that I could feel— the things that would help anchor me in the present. The softness of the cushion in the chair I was sitting in; the faint breeze from the fan on the desk—the coolness of the tiles beneath my feet.

My feet.

My bare feet.

I lurched out of the chair, dropping the receiver without a word—immediately sprinting for the stairs as fast as I could. For once, I was thankful for my height—my long legs made it possible to take the steps three at a time. I slid around the corner; the long, narrow Oriental rug that covered the ceramic tile bunched up beneath my feet, tripping me and sending me sprawling to the floor. My knee throbbed painfully, but I ignored it, regaining my feet in an instant—then I was at the door to Zach's room, throwing it open with so much force that the handle imbedded itself in the wall.

I threw back my head and screamed; the sound that came out of me was primal and raw—a wordless roar of rage that echoed through the corridors, bouncing back off the marble and stone.

The crib was empty.

My son was gone.