As always, I suck at summaries, but please give it a go. Thank you!
Baia 1712
"I wish you pain, Dimitri Belikov."
Dimitri's knees hit the ground, his hands followed, landing by the bloody tresses of hair belonging to the love of his life—Roza. Her eyes, once so full of warmth and light, now dimmed; frozen wide with horror. Dimitri's heart had broken, splinted into thousands of pieces that sliced through him; the pain burned and felt endless.
The witch grinned, twisting her hand and circling the couple. She had fallen in love with Dimitri, and her scorn knew no bounds when she had learned he loved another. Ice-cold blue eyes pinned Dimitri in place as she crouched to place a hand over Roza's still chest. "You picked her over me," she sneered, "Let's see how far you will go to save her."
Fear seized his body, making him feel as cold as the snow that fell outside. He was frozen, every part of him was as the witch sunk her nails into Roza's skin. She would claw out her heart if she dug any deeper.
"One alive. One dead. Both caught between," the witch chanted, a gleam in her eyes that could only be pure evil. "If you wish to be with the one you love you must break her curse. Until then, you will only suffer."
A wind blew through the shattered door of their home; the candles were snuffed out, leaving them in complete darkness—until Roza's eye glowed red.
Prague 1789
Mozart stood in the orchestra pit, conducting music like Michelangelo would paint—a masterpiece. Dimitri peered over the balcony, high in the theatre; his charges would accept no less than the best. Royal Morois hadn't changed any more than his appearance had since his twenty-fifth summer.
He searched the audience below, curious if her curled hair would stand out. Or if she would turn and he would notice the blood-red eyes watching him.
For the first fifty years he wandered after his life ended, Dimitri stayed far from the Moroi, searching only for a way to break the curse. After the second time he had crossed paths with Roza, he'd returned to being a guardian. It was like experiencing the pain of losing her again each time he saw the woman he loved as a monster, the agony and grief twisted until he couldn't breathe. It seemed she wanted to remind him as well of what she was each time she killed him. He knew being a guardian was his best choice despite the torment it brought, but it was one small way he could prevent Roza from hurting another.
She was cursed to walk the earth as the undead. He used to hunt Strigoi, then return home to Roza—now she was the one he hunted. Dimitri was alive, yet felt like the dead walking. He couldn't die, and despite how hard Roza had tried, his body always healed. Cursed. It wasn't miraculous or a miracle that made his body stitch back together, nor was it painless. The curse kept him alive, but he felt every injury and was drained by the effort it took for the dark magic to heal. No matter how close to death he came, he continued to live his cursed life. They were caught between life and death, and as the years passed, Dimitri wondered if the only way to save Roza and himself was to welcome death with open arms.
The thought had often crossed his mind when his stake would be clenched tightly against his palm, and Roza's deadly grin would be aimed at him. Yet each time he chose to end their suffering he found himself hesitating to kill her. No matter how far she had fallen, Dimitri could never kill Roza.
Not yet. Not this time.
But next time—next time he would be ready.
Florence 1815
The Dragomirs were relatively calm despite the chaos around them. Moroi often found pleasure in acting above humans, finding calm when they had none—a way to feel superior when Dimitri knew they were no better. After walking the earth for over a hundred years, he learned there was no difference between any of them. Even Strigoi hardly differed, their only contrast was their lack of soul.
When faced with the chance of death, Moroi were the same as humans—they gladly let someone else die in their place. Dimitri's grim outlook fit his life as a guardian and prevented him from feeling any anger when he was abandoned by his charges and left to keep the Strigoi at bay. It was his purpose to die for them, and when life was as never-ending as his was, it was an easy task to accept.
He took some joy in his circumstances. Dimitri would try to deny it, but part of him looked forward to when his life hung in that balance because it meant he would see Roza again. Only she was allowed to kill him.
She stood before him in a crimson dress; at first, he assumed she wore matching gloves, but it was just stained skin. Her smile was the same so long as he didn't focus on her fangs. Her deep brown eyes shined the same, but the red glow distorted the beauty. Despite everything that warned him that she was a monster, Dimitri only wanted to embrace her and hear her sweet voice confess her love for him again.
"Here we are again, Dimitri," Roza laughed, finding her own sick joy in their rendezvous. "I really thought you would stay dead last time."
He chuckled, though it was hollow. "I thought I told you to ensure your enemy was dead before turning your back." A memory from their life before caused warmth to grow in his chest. It felt foreign compared to the ice that froze his heart.
"I hated your lessons," she complained, rolling her eyes. "Watching the grass grow was more exciting than listening to you talk." She crossed her arms with a look of disdain in her eyes. "Maybe if you spent more time training instead of talking, I wouldn't be like this."
Her words cut through him, almost bringing him to his knees from the overwhelming guilt weighing on his soul. "I'm truly sorry, Roza."
She clicked her tongue. "Maybe one day, I'll forgive you."
The conversation was over. Roza surged forward with her sharp nails aimed at Dimitri's neck. He didn't move as she struck. He never moved.
Bern 1869
It was in Switzerland, in the summer of 1869, that Dimitri first met a powerful spirit user. He had heard whispers of Moroi who could heal, Saints who would adorn the stained glass windows of churches. It wasn't simply that they could heal that drew Dimitri's interest. After all, he had lived for over a century and could survive any mortal wound. No, his interest was piqued when he heard a tale of a Moroi who could restore the undead.
Dimitri followed the rumours, travelling from city to city until he finally located the one who supposedly had the power—the one who could break the curse and set him and Roza free.
Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who hunted the Moroi down.
"Roza, please," Dimitri begged. Panicked made his heart beat faster, the fear showed clearly in his eyes. "Don't do this."
She laughed. A sound that once brought him comfort gave him chills instead. "I love it when you beg," Roza grinned as her fingers tightened around the Moroi's throat.
The man was in his fifties, with greying hair at his temple and lines etched into his face. He had barely spoken a word to Dimitri before Roza appeared, hidden in the shadows with her black lace dress more suited to a night at the Opera rather than murdering innocents. Dimitri had asked his one question, "Is it possible?" Then Roza had sunk in her claws, with the promise of death in her stare.
"I can't let you ruin my fun." Roza's eyes flicked to Dimitri and watched his hope shatter as she threw the Moroi to the floor with a sickening crack of his head.
Dimitri had lunged forward despite knowing it was futile. It was all for nothing in the end.
Where Roza had once stood was now empty. A trail of fingers down the side of his neck revealed her next target. "Join me," she whispered sweetly. We can be together again."
His breath stuttered. "I won't become a demon," Dimitri replied firmly; his hand gripped his stake but didn't move from his side. "I'll find a way to save you, Roza."
"Pity."
Cold hands wrapped around Dimitri's neck, and then everything went dark.
Boston 1901
The smell of dirt and wood told Dimitri where he was without having to open his eyes. Wooden planks dug into his back; not even a cushion or blanket was added. He was given the bare minimum. Darkness greeted him when he opened his eyes, and when he reached forward, his hands pressed to the wood surrounding him. Encased. Buried.
He was in a coffin again.
Dimitri tried to avoid being severely injured, while it wouldn't kill him, it did incapacitate him for some time. When his body needed to heal, he would be out cold, and to most, he appeared dead. He couldn't blame them, not after they witnessed a knife pierce his heart or his neck be broken. Some—not many—cared enough to give Dimitri a burial. The thought was nice but it left Dimitri with the unfortunate task of escaping said coffin.
Dirt fell through the cracks in the wood, and more tumbled down when he broke through the planks. The edges of his nails would remain black for a week at least despite how much he scrubbed. His knuckles split open, and splinters buried in his fingers—he had dealt with these injuries enough times to know how to mend his hands.
He had been buried four times. Twice, the coffin was solid wood with a satin lining. Once, his burial was simple, laid under a pile of dirt and rocks. The fourth was a mass burial after he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time in Prussia.
When he finally emerged from the earth, the air was sweet; the chill and scent of rain in the distance were welcomed when Dimitri took deep breaths. The moon shone above, providing just enough light for Dimitri to climb out of his grave. His final resting place was only marked by a makeshift cross pushed into the ground, not even his name carved into it.
"Took you long enough."
Dimitri spun, blinking away the loose dirt that fell from his hair. Surprise made him pause. "What are you doing here?"
Roza shrugged her shoulders, the loose coat she wore was clearly for a man, as were the slacks she had stolen. Her hair had been pulled back from her face, save for one curl, while the rest was hidden under a paper-boy hat. "I thought I would come by and watch the show." She buried her hands in her pockets and nodded to the shovel on the ground by her feet. "If you didn't climb out soon, I was going to make sure they didn't succeed in killing you."
"I'm surprised you care," Dimitri replied in a cold tone; an attempt to detach himself from the feeling of love that continued to burn fiercely in his heart.
"Only I get to kill you, Dimitri."
It was as close to a declaration of love as Dimitri could get. He shook his head, "You will not be the one to kill me, Roza–"
"It's Rose now," she corrected with a scowl, "I've told you that."
The corner of his lips twitched at the familiarity of her expression, one he could recall from their life before their curse. "You'll always be Roza to me."
"You should give up. Go live your immortal life already! I've accepted the curse, and so should you."
"And I've told you," Dimitri lifted his chin to meet her glowing eyes, "I can't do that."
Their gazes remained locked for what felt like hours but were only seconds. Eventually, Dimitri turned, strolling through the graveyard with eyes up at the moon, grateful for the one constant in his bizarre life.
"I'll never give up on you, Roza."
Chicago 1937
Dimitri stared down at the knife protruding from his stomach. He had grown so used to only worrying about a Strigoi's attack, that he hadn't thought even to try to protect himself from the human. It was almost comical to look at. The blood that sept from the wound ruined his new suit, but the fact the human stabbed him in front of his charges ruined his cover. It was easier to lie about his past, and with a few key figures, who were part of the guardians calling the shots in America, and aware of his immortality, it was simple enough to pretend he wasn't born in the 1600s.
However, when he was stabbed in front of Moroi and didn't die, it created issues Dimitri preferred not to deal with. Despite finding a charge who was decent enough and with connections for Dimitri to find another spirit user, he knew he had to fake his death or risk rumours being spread about him.
When the human withdrew his knife and aimed for Dimitri's heart next, Dimitri let him. The world went dark and he felt the hard stone ground under him. Dimitri wondered for a moment what kind of coffin he would be breaking out of next.
Instead of the smell of the earth, Dimitri was met with the smell of whiskey and cigars.
"Are you going to sleep all day, comrade?"
Dimitri's eyes sprung open, sitting up with a gasp as he shook off the dizziness that always followed healing. Instead of the dirty street, Dimitri laid on a burgundy settee, the plush material soft under his palms. The room was dimly lit, a few lamps with blood-red scarves draped over them. One window lined the wall but was covered with thick black curtains, restricting any light from entering the room.
Heels clicked on the wooden floor as Roza rounded the settee to sit on the edge, a porcelain tea cup in hand with a strong scent of coffee. "I was told it's the perfect blend to wake you up in the morning," she explained; a twitch of her lips as she offered the cup to Dimitri, "I promise there's no blood in it."
"Where am I?" Dimitri questioned with wary eyes on the drink.
She pushed the cup into his hands. "You're at my place."
"Yours?"
"Well, technically, it belongs to a man I killed years ago," Roza replied as if talking about the weather rather than murder. "He was a tortured artist with a large inheritance. It's nice enough, but nothing compared to my townhome in Paris. Do you remember that one?"
Dimitri studied the coffee, sniffing it before taking a small sip. "I remember you shot me in Paris."
"I wanted to know if it would kill you."
Roza stood up with a roll of her eyes, crossing the room to check her reflection in a mirror that hung on the wall. Dimitri followed her with his eyes, looking for threats and searching for an exit. However, his eyes swept over her figure and studied the curled locks of hair draped over her shoulder. He could still remember how her skin felt under his hands. He watched her hands move across her body, fixing the forest green skirt that ended just past her knees. While the dress was loose-fitting, Dimitri knew exactly what her body looked like underneath.
"See something you like?"
Dimitri's eyes snapped to Roza's, they shined with mirth. He glared at his coffee again. "Why am I here?"
She sighed. "God, Dimitri. Just say thank you and drink your damn coffee."
"Roza–"
"Rose." She spun and placed her hands on her hips. "And you are here because the Moroi you so graciously offered to defend left you on the street to bleed out. They don't care about you. They never have and they never will."
"Why am I here?" he repeated firmly. Dimitri had heard Roza's thoughts on Moroi many times throughout the years but never agreed with it. How could he when a Moroi might be the only way to save them?
"You're here because I want to give you a chance." He raised a brow in question, and Roza returned to the settee. She rested her hand on his thigh and leaned close. "Join me, Dimitri. Think of everything we could do. The world would be ours. Being awoken isn't the terrible thing we always believed—it's freeing. I'm no longer chained by the Moroi or by the limitations of the dhampir. I'm free."
As he studied her face, Dimitri realised she truly believed her words and shook his head sadly. "You aren't free. You just don't care about the harm you cause." His hand caressed her cheek tenderly, fingers shaking from how he longed to touch her again. "The woman I love would never hurt anyone the way you do."
Roza pulled away from his touch with a scowl, the tips of fangs a horrible reminder of what she was. "The woman you loved is dead because of you," she cursed; each word cut into Dimitri like a knife. "I live like this because of you. All the harm I've caused is on your head."
She rose to her feet again, eyes cold as they pinned him in place. "Remember that the next time you claim I'm the demon."
The pain her words brought left him breathless, and his guilt left him cold. As much as he wished to retort, he knew she was right. In the end, it was Dimitri's fault.
Despite the sun still shining, Roza left the room without speaking another word to him. She hadn't needed to strike him once—not when she so easily broke him with the truth.
Moscow 2001
"You're being very secretive, Dimitri," Ivan joked, even though they had no secrets between them. Even Dimitri's long life wasn't a mystery to Ivan. He was the first Moroi charge Dimitri wanted to share the truth with and the first he called a friend.
Dimitri side-eyed Ivan with an exasperated sigh. "I'm being cautious. Looking for a spirit user is–"
Ivan patted him on the shoulder. "I know, but you really must relax. Besides, I already told you I'm willing to do anything to help. You know that."
"I know, but Roza is…" Dimitri trailed off, unsure how to explain his feelings towards her. He had only crossed paths with her three times in the past sixty years, and each time was more of a fleeting glance than a meeting. He knew the distance was on purpose and found himself both thankful and troubled by it. "It's best if we keep it quiet. No one else can know."
His friend smiled. "Of course, Dimitri. You have my word."
Baia 2007
Never had Dimitri believed he would return there—never alone. The remains of his home were separated from the town by a river and hidden by the trees. The area was treated with superstition, tales of the witch's curse, and the lovers who suffered.
Dimitri knew so much about suffering he wondered if he would ever feel the joy he once had again. In all his years in search for life, he only found death instead.
He stood in the centre of what was once his home—their home. The roof had caved many moons ago, the wooden floor rotten and choked by the vines reaching from the dirt below. The walls remained, the solid stones he had laid; he could remember placing each one to build a home for him and Roza to be happy in.
Despite the earth trying to reclaim the home, there was a patch in the middle of the room where nothing grew. It was darkened as if scorched and resembled the shape of a person lying on the ground.
"Dimitri."
He didn't turn, just stared at the spot void of life. "Leave me, Rose."
Rose. He couldn't call her Roza. Not anymore.
"I'm sorry about your friend."
"Don't!" Dimitri spun to fix a glare on Rose, his fists clenched in anger. "Do not talk about him."
Her expression barely shifted. A hint of sorrow tugged at the corner of her lips, but otherwise, she was unaffected by his fury. "This is how the world works, you know it."
He stalked forward, closing the distance between them and caging Rose against one of the walls he'd built for them. "Was it you? Did you kill him!" Dimitri demanded as his hand curled around her throat.
Rose didn't fight him, allowing herself to be pinned by him. "What would you do if I said yes? Would you finally stop trying to save me?"
Rage and grief burned through him, boiling his blood and whispering for him to take his revenge. His stake was suddenly in his hand, with no memory of removing it from his holster and pressing the tip to Rose's chest. "Was it you?"
Her hand slowly lifted to his face. Her fingertips traced the hard line of his jaw then moved to his cheek and wiped the tears that had fallen. "You can't kill me, Dimitri, no matter how far I've fallen."
The stake shook in his hand, the point sharp enough to slice through her clothes and skin if he put enough pressure behind it. He knew he should. Yet, Dimitri stepped away and dropped his hands in defeat. "I can't," he admitted with shame. "No matter what you do, I can't kill you."
He brushed past her, determined to leave behind the memories of a home he once had.
"I didn't kill him."
Dimitri never stopped or turned back to acknowledge Rose. His grief was too much to be consoled.
Bethlehem 2008
Lissa Dragomir was a quiet Moroi with more sorrow in her eyes than any he had met in years; she reminded Dimitri of children he'd met during the wars he witnessed. Losing so much when so young left a scar on the person. Despite what she had lost, she maintained a kind soul and bravery when forced to be in the Royal Court.
When Hans contacted Dimitri to be her guardian, he had been hesitant to take another position so soon after the loss of his friend but was quick to agree once he knew what magic Lissa specialised in—spirit. Dimitri had protected a few of the Dragomir line and even met Lissa's father before he became Ivan's guardian. They were most often respectful towards their guardians and didn't see them as just shields to use and discard as they pleased.
When he agreed to be the Princess's guardian, he swore to himself it wasn't to save Rose. She didn't want to be saved and he began to wonder if there was any part of her left to be saved. No, protecting Lissa was to keep her away from Rose.
Rose was the enemy.
Dimitri didn't allow himself to have more than a professional relationship with Lissa. He was there to do a job—that was it. He was cursed to live an endless life, and it would be easier if he hadn't formed attachments with people he could lose. Hundreds of years ago, Dimitri witnessed Roza die, and then his mother and sisters. As the years went on, he saw more friends die while he remained. Before, he hoped to reunite with Roza had kept him steady through the passage of time, but even that was lost.
Dimitri was alone, but he still had a purpose to lead him.
They come first.
Ensuring his charge survived was all that mattered.
In the 1800s, Dimitri discovered he needed to find a small amount of enjoyment each day, something to achieve that would give him a sense of accomplishment with the daunting knowledge of the endless days laid ahead. If he hadn't given himself something to look forward to, the days would bleed into one another and pass by as if mere seconds he held no care for.
That day, his entertainment came in the form of a book. The western was worn and at risk of losing a few loose pages, but it was one he had sought for some time and was glad to finally own. It was his night off and his chance to read the book without interruption. When in the world of the book, he could forget his own. He could forget about Rose and focus on just his memories of Roza.
Thoughts of Rose summoned her to him; Dimitri glimpsed the dark curls and glowing eyes from the corner of his eye. Dimitri spun, searching her out as his heart pounded in his chest from both longing and dread. Her smile drew his eyes first, the familiar curve of her lips that used to give him sweet smiles in the afternoon sun.
"Hey, comrade," Rose greeted fondly, "It's been a while."
"Not long enough," Dimitri grounded out each word. Memories of their last meeting brought back his rage. "What are you doing here?"
She shook her head as if he should already know the answer. "I came to find you," Rose answered as she stalked closer. The street was deserted and few cars passed. It was just Dimitri and Rose. "I heard you have a new charge."
"I'll kill you if you go near her."
She laughed at the empty threat. "I also heard she could use a certain kind of magic. You aren't still trying to save me, are you?"
"I'll protect my charge, even from you," Dimitri declared with his hand on the hilt of his stake. He accepted he might not be able to kill her, but he would stop her. Rose stepped closer, eyeing Dimitri as she closed the gap between them. Though he knew he should've kept his distance, he couldn't resist the need to be close to her again.
Rose reached towards him, brushing her fingers past the ends of his hair. "I like your hair long. It reminds me of before." Dimitri remained still, barely breathing as Rose continued to study him with the corner of her lips turned up in a smile. "I'm glad you kept your accent, I think I lost mine during the 50s. I brought less attention if they thought I was American."
Her hand traced the lines of Dimitri's face, down to his neck and the vee of his shirt, fingering at the buttons. Dimitri's hand gripped her wrist, denying her more.
"What do you want, Rose?"
Their eyes met. "I've missed you," she whispered. He wished she was sincere, but her eyes were hungry and her words were possessive. "I want you, Dimitri. Leave the Moroi, come back to me."
"I won't become like you–"
"You don't have to." Rose's fingers slipped under his shirt, her cool skin sent chills through him. "We can still be together."
It was a burst of impulse. A split-second decision that Dimitri didn't dare think through as he dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers. His hand remained on her wrist, gripping her tighter as they kissed. Dimitri expected Rose to pull back, but instead, she leaned into his touch with a moan of pleasure.
He should have stopped—fought the urge to give in and take everything Rose had to offer. Even when his tongue felt the sharp point of her fangs, Dimitri struggled to pull away. What made him stop was only the memory of Roza—when their love was sweet and pure. Kissing Roza was like being bathed in sunlight, its warmth reached every part of him until his soul felt light. The kiss they shared that night felt cold in comparison.
Dimitri staggered back, holding a hand to his lips as anguish threatened to tear him apart. "We can't be together," he told Rose, just as he had many times before. Slowly, he lifted his head, meeting her eyes with a steady gaze—a decision made. "We can't be together like this."
"You're making a mistake," Rose warned, eyes flashing dangerously.
Dimitri turned from her again and walked away. Though tears filled his eyes, a slight smile pulled at his lips. For the first time since Ivan's death, Dimitri remembered his true purpose.
Dimitri tried his best, concealed their intentions, planned decoys, and went over every possible outcome, but they still ended up cornered. Their car was totalled, and backup was unlikely to show. Dimitri was a good guardian—one of the best—but even he would struggle to defend two Moroi from seven Strigoi. Granted, it wouldn't be too difficult to kill them all; what caused him doubt was Rose.
She stood among them, watching Dimitri with cold eyes. Rose knew he would likely defeat the others and decided to wait for him to be worn out and then strike.
It was a gruesome battle. The two guardians travelling with them were killed, pinned down and feasted on, the Strigoi climbed from the lifeless bodies with blood dripping from their lips. Lissa stayed behind Christian, and Christian remained behind Dimitri; it was agreed upon that restoring Rose was too dangerous. Dimitri wanted the woman he loved back but he refused to risk Lissa's life for it.
There would be another time—another way. Dimitri just had to wait.
Rose ventured closer as the Strigoi thinned. Dimitri caught her eye in between punches and felt her stare weigh heavy on his back. Every plan formed in his mind ended the same way—Rose wouldn't let them escape. Dimitri thought he could wait, but the time he once believed endless had suddenly run out.
He had to choose between Rose and Lissa.
Only one could survive.
Every day since the curse was placed on their heads, Dimitri wished the witch had only killed him, only cursed him to suffer. He questioned the point of involving Roza. Why had the witch been determined to make her suffer with him? Now, he understood.
The witch knew Dimitri would be forced to kill Roza one day—one act that would torment Dimitri forever.
Dimitri staggered, a few too many good hits got past his defences leaving him wounded. They came too quick for him to heal, bone could only mend so fast. He wouldn't die, but if they severely injured him, Dimitri would be useless until his body regenerated.
One more Strigoi remained between him and Rose. The fight lasted longer than the others as Dimitri fought the fatigue of his body and the ache of his injuries. He breathed a sigh of relief when the stake finally pierced the Strigoi's heart; Dimitri stayed crouched over the body, staring at the bloodied stake in hand. It had one more heart to pierce.
Dimitri always hid his emotions, tamed them into submission so no one could guess how he felt. Showing emotions was a weakness. Dimitri tried to harden himself and forced every bit of grief, despair, and love down until none of it held him back. If even an ounce made it past the wall he had built around it, he wouldn't have been able to do what needed to be done.
With a steadying breath, Dimitri faced Rose with his stake held at the ready.
A knowing smile grew on her face. "You won't be able to do it, comrade. I know you."
"And I know you," he replied softly, "You never would have wanted to be a monster for this long. I'm sorry I didn't do this sooner. I'm sorry, Roza."
Dimitri raced towards Rose with the intent to kill, but before he was close enough to touch her, a wall of flames erupted between them. He jerked back, just barely saving his hand from being burned. The flames moved, shifting as if alive, until the fire encircled Rose, closing in tighter until she screamed from the burning heat. Thoughts moved slowly, Dimtiri was too overcome by the horror of seeing her pain to realise what was happening. He didn't understand until it was already too late.
Lissa stood before Rose with a charmed stake in hand, hesitating for a moment before plunging it through the flames and into Rose's heart. Blinding light exploded, sending a wave of energy out that knocked Dimitri down and left him bewildered. Suddenly, another wave of energy went through him; Dimitri screamed as pain tore through him as if he was being ripped in two and then stitched back together just to be ripped again. It felt like the agony continued for hours, yet was over in seconds, leaving him on the ground gasping with a hand clutching his chest.
His heart beat steadily in his chest. It always had, and yet, it felt…different.
"Dimitri?"
With a struggle, Dimitri rolled onto his side, squinting towards the voice. It sounded urgent but that feeling in him kept his mind from understanding why. Then he heard crying.
Everything snapped into place.
Dimitri laid a few feet away, staring in disbelief at Lissa as she sat on the ground cradling Rose's head. Tears streamed down Rose's face, and painful sobs escaped through clenched teeth as deep brown eyes stared back at him. Beautiful brown eyes without any red in them—eyes Dimitri fell in love with almost three hundred years ago.
"Roza."
The atmosphere was sombre. What should have been a joyful reunion was instead shrouded by trepidation.
A moment wasn't allowed to let everything sink in, or the magnitude of what happened to settle. As soon as Rose could walk steadily, they quickly left the bloodied battleground and took shelter at a motel. Only once he and Rose were seated on separate beds had Dimitri let the realisation hit.
Deep down, he knew the curse had broken. A weight had lifted from his shoulders, and the feeling of agelessness eased its iron-clad grip until he felt he could breathe again. He had sliced the tip of his finger and watched blood beed and drip—the wound didn't heal. Dimitri had never been so happy to bleed.
Yet, when he met Rose's eyes, all happiness turned cold. Her skin had lost the pallor, almost glowing in the dim light of the motel room. It brought focus to what no longer shined menacingly in the dark—the red in her eyes. Dimitri should have felt exhilarated to meet her eyes and know the demon was gone. Instead, he saw the harrowed expression Rose wore and his stomach twisted with guilt.
Dimitri shifted to the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned towards her. His fingertips could brush her leg if he tried. "Can I get you something? Anything?" he offered desperately, as eager for a task to focus his mind on as he was for her to speak.
Rose didn't answer or react at all. Instead, she stared at her hands with a clenched jaw.
After a moment of uncertainty, Dimitri moved to her bed, seated far enough away they didn't touch, but close enough that he could feel her body heat. "The curse is broken," he began weakly. It should have been happy news, but it fell flat in the grand scheme of it all. Dimitri lowered his head as his lip shook, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you were cursed and had to endure so long as…" His voice broke as a tear slipped down his cheek. "It's all my fault. I'm so sorry, Rose–"
"Don't."
Dimitri's eyes snapped to Rose's and flinched at the fury in them. "I…"
Tears ran down her cheeks. "Don't call me Rose. That was—I was…" She shook her head and looked back at her hands as they trembled. "Don't call me that. That isn't my name."
"Roza," Dimitri called softly, his voice catching. She bit her lip in response, the familiarity of it eased the constriction in Dimitri's chest. Roza had always tried to contain her emotions, biting her lips as if she could keep them from breaking free. It gave him hope.
Tentatively, Dimitri reached for Roza's hand, sliding his fingers between hers and curling against her palm. More tears fell from her eyes, but she didn't pull away.
"I'm sorry, Roza. I wish I could have saved you sooner."
The dam broke. Roza sobbed, throwing her arms around Dimitri and curled against him, her head against his chest as tears soaked his shirt. He held her close as her body shook; Dimitri would never let her go again.
Baia 2010
The sun shone through the leaves; the light scattered across the grass and blanket underneath the tree. Roza held a hand over her eyes with a soft moan, shifting to the side to use Dimitri's body as a shield. "What are you thinking about?" she asked and threw an arm over his stomach.
Dimitri hummed, tapping the cover of his book laid against his thigh. He looked past the long grass blowing in the wind at the yellow house built by the tree line. "I'm thinking of the croissants I had in Venice."
A smile pulled at Roza's lips. "I miss the Carnival of Venice. Do you remember–"
"I do," he replied fondly. "I knew it was you straight away." His mind returned to a night spent dancing among others in masks, pretending not to notice the red gleam in the eyes of his dance partner. "It's being held again."
"Maybe we could go," she suggested as she curled closer to Dimitri, "I'm sure there's a lot there you could show me."