Books and Other Things

I hadn't expected to be back in Russia so soon. I certainly didn't want to be.

It wasn't that I had anything against the place. It was a nice enough country, with rainbow-colored architecture and vodka that could double as rocket fuel. I was fine with those things. My problem was that the last time I'd been here, I'd nearly gotten killed (on multiple occasions) and had ended up being drugged and kidnapped by vampires. That's enough to turn you off to any place.

And yet, as my plane began circling for its landing in Moscow, I knew coming back here was definitely the right thing to do.

"Do you see that, Rose?" Dimitri tapped the window's glass, and although I couldn't see his face, the note of wonder in his voice told me plenty. "St. Basil's."

I leaned over him, just barely catching a glimpse of the famous multicolored cathedral that looked more like something you'd find in Candy Land, not the Kremlin. To me, it was another tourist attraction, but to him, I knew it meant so much more. This was his homecoming, the return to a land he had believed he'd never see again in the sun, let alone through the eyes of the living. That building, the cities here ... they weren't just pretty postcard shots for him. They represented more than that. They represented his second chance at life.

Smiling, I settled back in my seat. I had the middle one, but there was no way it could be more uncomfortable than his. Putting a six-foot-seven-inch man by the window in coach was just cruel. He hadn't complained this entire time, though. He never did.

"Too bad we won't have time to hang out here," I said. Moscow was just a layover for us. "We'll have to save all our sightseeing for Siberia. You know, tundra. Polar bears."

Dimitri turned from the window, and I expected to be chastised for furthering stereotypes. Instead, I could tell from his expression that he hadn't heard anything after "Siberia." Morning light illuminated the sculpted features of his face and shone off his sleek brown hair. None of it could compare to the radiance within him.

"It's been so long since I've seen Baia," he murmured, his dark eyes filled with memories. "So long since I've seen them. Do you think ..." He glanced at me, betraying the first glimpse of nervousness I'd observed since beginning this trip. "Do you think they'll be glad to see me?"

I squeezed his hand and felt a small pang in my chest. It was so unusual to see Dimitri uncertain about anything. I could count on my hand the number of times I'd ever witnessed him truly vulnerable. From the moment we'd met, he'd always stood out as one of the most decisive, confident people I'd known. He was always in motion, never afraid to take on any threat, even if it meant risking his own life. Even now, if some bloodthirsty monster sprang out of the cockpit, Dimitri would calmly jump up and battle it while armed only with the safety card in his seat pocket. Impossible, dire fights were of no concern to him. But seeing his family after he'd spent time as an evil, undead vampire? Yeah, that scared him.

"Of course they'll be glad," I assured him, marveling at the change in our relationship. I'd started off as his student, in need of his reassurance. I'd graduated to become his lover and equal. "They know we're coming. Hell, you should've seen the party they threw when they thought you were dead, comrade. Imagine what they'll do when they find out you're actually alive."

He gave me one of those small, rare smiles of his, the kind that made me feel warm all over. "Let's hope so," he said, turning to gaze back out the window. "Let's hope so."

The only sights we saw in Moscow were inside its airport while we waited to catch our next flight. That one took us to Omsk, a middle-sized city in Siberia. From there, we rented a car and made the rest of our journey on land-no planes went where we were going. It was a beautiful drive, the land full of life and greenery that proved all my tundra jokes wrong. Dimitri's mood fluctuated between nostalgia and anxiety as we traveled, and I found myself restless to reach our destination. The sooner we got there, the sooner he'd see he had nothing to worry about.

Baia was a little less than a day's drive from Omsk and looked pretty much the same as it had on my last visit. It was out of the way enough that people rarely stumbled across it by accident. If you found yourself in Baia, there was a reason. And more often than not, that reason had to do with the large number of dhampirs living there. Like Dimitri and me, these dhampirs were half-human, half-vampire. Unlike Dimitri and me, most of these dhampirs had chosen to live apart from the Moroi-living, magic-wielding vampires-and instead mingled with human society. Dimitri and I were both guardians, pledged to guard the Moroi from Strigoi: the evil, undead vampires who killed to sustain their immortal existence.

Days were longer during this part of summer, and darkness had only just begun to fall when we reached Dimitri's family's house. Strigoi rarely ventured into Baia itself, but they liked to stalk the roads leading into town. The fleeting rays of sunlight ensured our safety and gave Dimitri a good view of the house. Even once he'd turned off the car, he sat for a long time, gazing out at the old, two-story structure. Red and gold light bathed it, giving it the appearance of something otherworldly. I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Showtime, comrade. They're waiting for you."

He sat for a few moments in silence, then gave a resolute nod and put on the kind of expression I'd seen him wear into battle. We left the car and had barely made it halfway through the yard when the front door burst open. Bright light spilled into the dusky shadows, and a young female silhouette appeared.

"Dimka!"

If a Strigoi had sprung out and attacked, Dimitri would have had to respond instantly. But seeing his youngest sister stunned his lightning-fast reflexes, and he could only stand there as Viktoria flung her arms around him and began uttering a torrent of Russian words too fast for me to follow.

It took Dimitri a few more shocked moments to come to life, but then he returned her fierce embrace, answering her back in Russian. I stood there awkwardly until Viktoria noticed me. With a cry of joy, she hurried over and gave me a hug as tight as the one she'd bestowed upon her brother. I admit, I was almost as shocked as him. When we'd last parted, Viktoria and I hadn't been on good terms. I'd made it clear I didn't approve of her relationship with a certain Moroi guy. She'd made it equally clear she didn't appreciate my input. It seemed now that was all forgotten, and although I couldn't translate the words she spoke, I got the impression she was thanking me for restoring Dimitri to her.

Viktoria's exuberant arrival was followed by the rest of the Belikov family. Dimitri's other two sisters, Karolina and Sonya, joined Viktoria in embracing both him and me. Their mother was right behind them. Russian flew fast and furious. Normally, a haphazard doorstep reunion like this would've made me roll my eyes, but I found myself tearing up instead. Dimitri had been through too much. We'd all been through too much, and honestly, I don't think any of us had ever expected to be sharing this moment.

At last, Dimitri's mother, Olena, recovered herself and laughed while wiping tears from her eyes. "Come in, come in," she said, remembering that I didn't know much Russian. "Let's sit down and talk."

Through more tears and laughter, we made our way into the house and cozy living room. It too was the same as my last visit, surrounded in warm wood paneling and shelves of leather-bound books with Cyrillic titles. There, we found more of the family. Karolina's son, Paul, regarded his uncle with fascination. Paul had barely known Dimitri before he struck out into the world, and most of what the boy knew came from fantastic-sounding stories. Sitting on a blanket nearby was Paul's baby sister, and another, much tinier baby lay sleeping in a bassinet. Sonya's baby, I realized. She'd been pregnant when I'd visited earlier that summer.

I was used to always being near Dimitri's side, but this was a moment when I knew I had to yield him. He sat on the sofa, and Karolina and Sonya immediately flanked him, wearing expressions that said they were afraid to let him out of their sight. Viktoria, irked at having lost a prime seat, settled down on the floor and leaned her head against his knee. She was seventeen, only a year younger than me, but as she gazed up at him adoringly, she looked much younger. All of the siblings had brown hair and eyes, making a pretty portrait as they sat together.

Olena scurried about, certain we must be famished, and finally settled down when we assured her we were fine. She sat in a chair opposite Dimitri, her hands clasped in her lap as she leaned forward eagerly.

"This is a miracle," she said in accented English. "I didn't believe it. When I received the message, I thought it was a mistake. Or a lie." She sighed happily. "But here you are. Alive. The same."

"The same," Dimitri confirmed.

"Was the first story ..." Karolina paused, a small frown crossing her pretty features as she carefully chose her words. "Was the first story a mistake, then? You weren't truly ... truly a Strigoi?"

The word hung in the air for a moment, casting a chill over the warm summer evening. For the space of a heartbeat, I couldn't breathe. I was suddenly far away from here, trapped in a different house with a very different Dimitri. He'd been one of the undead, with chalk-white skin and red-ringed pupils. His strength and speed had far surpassed what he had now, and he'd used those skills to hunt for victims and drink their blood. He'd been terrifying-and had nearly killed me.

A few seconds later, I began to breathe again. That Dimitri was gone. This one-warm, loving, and alive-was here now. Yet, before he answered, Dimitri's dark eyes met mine, and I knew he was thinking of the same things I was. That past was a horrible, difficult thing to shake.

"No," he said. "I was Strigoi. I was one of them. I did ... terrible things." The words were mild, but the tone of his voice spoke legions. The radiant faces of his family turned sober. "I was lost. Beyond hope. Except ... Rose believed in me. Rose never gave up."

"As I predicted."

A new voice rang through the living room, and we all looked up at the woman who had suddenly appeared in the doorway. She was considerably shorter than me but carried the kind of personality that could fill up a room. She was Yeva, Dimitri's grandmother. Small and frail with wispy white hair, she was believed by many around here to be a kind of wisewoman or witch. A different word usually came to my mind when I thought of Yeva, though it did sound a lot like "witch."

"You did not," I said, unable to stop myself. "All you did was tell me to get out of here so that I could 'do something else.' "

"Exactly," she said, a smug smile on her wrinkled face. "You needed to go restore my Dimka." She made her way across the living room, but Dimitri met her in the middle. He carefully wrapped her in his arms and murmured what I think was Russian for "grandmother." The insane difference in their heights made it kind of a comical scene.

"But you never said that's what I was going to do," I argued, once she was seated in a rocking chair. I knew I should just drop this subject, but something about Yeva always rubbed me the wrong away. "You can't take credit for that."

"I knew," she said adamantly. Her dark eyes seemed to bore right through me.

"Then why didn't you tell me that's what I had to do?" I demanded.

Yeva considered her answer for a moment. "Too easy. You needed to work for it."

I felt my jaw start to drop. Across the room, Dimitri caught my eye. Don't do it, Rose, his look seemed to say. Let it go. There was a glint of amusement on his face, as well as something that reminded me of our old teacher-student days. He knew me too well. He knew if given half a chance, I would totally battle this out with his ancient grandmother. Likely I would lose. With a quick nod, I clamped my mouth shut. Okay, witch, I thought. You win this one. Yeva shot me a gap-toothed grin.

"But how did it happen?" asked Sonya, tactfully shifting us into less dangerous waters. "The change back to a dhampir, I mean."

Dimitri and I glanced at each other again, but his earlier mirth was gone. "Spirit," he said quietly. This caused a quick intake of breath from his sisters. The Moroi wielded elemental magic, but most of them used only the four physical elements: earth, air, water, and fire. Recently, however, a very rare element had been discovered: spirit. It was tied to psychic abilities and healing and was still something many Moroi and dhampirs had a hard time accepting.

"My friend Lissa used spirit while, um, stabbing him with a silver stake," I explained. While I would gladly go through it all again to save Dimitri, the image of him being staked through the heart was still a little troubling for me. Up until the last moment, none of us had really known if it would just kill him or not.

Paul's eyes widened. "Lissa? Do you mean Queen Vasilisa?"

"Oh, yeah," I said. "Her." It was still hard sometimes to remember that my best friend since kindergarten was now queen of the entire Moroi world. Thinking of her now caused a slight knot in my stomach. Her election to the throne a couple weeks ago had been controversial in the eyes of many. Some of her enemies weren't above violence, and leaving her for a week to come here had made me extremely nervous. It was only the guarantee that she'd be surrounded by guardians - along with the need for Dimitri's family to see he was no longer one of the undead - that had made me consent to this trip.

The Belikovs and I stayed up late, answering their many questions. Even before he'd been forcibly turned into a Strigoi, Dimitri had been away from home for a while. He kept trying to find out what his family had been up to these last few years, but they brushed him off. They didn't consider their own experiences important. He was their miracle. And they couldn't get enough of him.

I knew the feeling.

When Paul and his sister were both fast asleep on the floor, we finally realized it was time for the rest of us to go to bed too. Tomorrow was a big day. I'd teased Dimitri that his family would have to outdo the memorial party they'd thrown him before, and it turned out I was right.

"Everyone wants to see you," Olena explained as she showed us to our bedroom. I knew "everyone" meant Baia's dhampir community. "As incredible as it is for us, it's even more unbelievable for them. So ... we just told them to stop by tomorrow. All of them."

I cast a glance at Dimitri, curious as to how he'd respond. He wasn't the type who really reveled in being the center of attention-I could only guess how he felt when it involved the most terrible, traumatizing events of his life. For a second, his face wore that calm, emotionless look he excelled at. Then it relaxed into a smile.

"Of course," he told his mother. "I look forward to it."

Olena returned his smile with a relieved one and then bid us good night. Once she was gone, Dimitri sat down on the edge of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. He set his head in his hands and muttered something in Russian. I didn't know exactly what he said, but I was guessing it was along the lines of "What have I gotten myself into?"

I walked over to him and sat on his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck so that I could face him. "Why so blue, comrade?"

"You know why," he said, playing with a lock of my hair. "I'm going to have to keep talking about ... that time." Sympathy burned in me. I knew he felt guilty for what he'd done as a Strigoi and had only recently accepted that it wasn't his fault. He'd been turned against his will by another Strigoi and hadn't been fully in control of himself. Still, it was a hard thing to come to terms with.

"It's true," I said. "But they're only going to talk about that in order to find out the rest of the story. No one's going to focus on what you did as Strigoi. They're going to want to know about how you came back. The miracle. I saw these people earlier this year. They mourned you as dead. Now they're going to want to celebrate you being alive. That's what the focus will be." I brushed my lips against his. "That's certainly my favorite part of the story."

He pulled me closer. "My favorite part was when you slapped some sense into me and got me to stop feeling sorry for myself."

"Slapped? That's not exactly how I remember it." To be fair, Dimitri and I had hit and kicked each other plenty of times in the past. It was inevitable with the kind of strict training regimen guardians had. But getting him to overcome his Strigoi days ... well, that had required less in the way of hitting and more of me trying not to be too argumentative while he healed on his own. And yeah, there'd also been one incident involving a hotel room and clothing removal, but I don't really think it had been all that essential in the healing process.

Still, when Dimitri fell backward and took me down on the bed with him, I had a feeling it was that particular memory that was fresh in his mind too. "Maybe you just need to help remind me," he said diplomatically.

"'Remind,' huh?" Wrapped in his arms, I cast an anxious glance at the door. "I feel bad enough having our own room in your mom's house! It's like we're getting away with something."

He cupped my face between his hands. "They're very open-minded," he said. "Besides, after everything we've been through? I think we might as well be married, as far as most of them are concerned."

"I got that impression too," I admitted. When I'd been here for his memorial service, a lot of the other dhampirs had practically treated me like his widow. Dhampir relationships didn't stand much on ceremony.

"Not a bad idea," he teased.

I tried to elbow him, which was kind of difficult, considering how entwined we were. "Nope. Don't go there, comrade." I loved Dimitri more than anything, but despite his occasional suggestions, I'd made it clear I had no intention of getting married until there was a "2" at the beginning of my age. He was seven years older than me, so marriage was more of a reasonable idea for him. For me, even though there was no one else I wanted, eighteen was too young to be a wife just yet.

"You say that now," he said, trying to keep from laughing, "but one of these days you'll crack."

"No way," I said. His fingertips traced patterns against my neck, filling my skin with heat. "You've given some pretty convincing arguments, but you're still a long way from winning me over."

"I haven't even really tried," he said, in a rare moment of arrogance. "When I want to, I can be very persuasive."

"Yeah? Prove it."

His lips moved toward mine. "I was hoping you'd say that."

The guests began arriving early. Of course, the Belikov women had been up and awake even earlier - far earlier than Dimitri and me, who were still coping with the time change. The kitchen was a flurry of activity, filling the house with all sorts of mouth-watering scents. Admittedly, Russian food wasn't my favorite cuisine, but there were a few dishes - especially ones Olena made - that I'd grown attached to. She and her daughters baked and cooked enormous quantities of everything, which seemed excessive since almost every person who stopped by also brought a dish to share. The experience was a mirror of Dimitri's memorial service, save that the mood was understandably more upbeat.

At first, there was a little awkwardness on everyone's part. Despite his resolve to focus on the positive, Dimitri still had a little trouble getting over the fact that his Strigoi time was the central focus. Some of the guests were equally nervous, as though maybe the rest of us had made a terrible mistake and he really was still a bloodthirsty undead creature. Of course, you only had to spend about five minutes with him to know that wasn't true, and soon the tension melted away. Dimitri knew almost everyone from his childhood and grew more and more delighted to see familiar faces. They in turn were more than happy to rejoice in his being saved.

I watched a lot of this from the sidelines. I'd met many of the visitors before, and while several greeted me, it was clear Dimitri took center stage. Most of the conversation was in Russian too, but it was enough for me to simply watch his face. Once he settled into being among his old friends and family, a quiet joy spread over him. The tension that always seemed to crackle through his body eased a little, and my heart melted to see him at such a moment.

"Rose?"

I'd been watching with amusement while some children interrogated him very seriously. Turning at the sound of my name, I was surprised to find two familiar and welcome faces.

"Mark, Oksana!" I exclaimed, embracing the couple. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"How could we not?" asked Oksana. She was Moroi, nearly thirty years older than me but still very beautiful. She was also one of the few spirit users I knew about. Beside her, her husband Mark smiled down at me. He was a dhampir, which made their relationship scandalous and was why they tended to keep to themselves. Oksana had used her spirit powers to bring Mark back after he was killed in a fight, a feat of healing that rivaled Dimitri's return from the Strigoi. It was called being shadow-kissed.

"We wanted to see you again," Mark told me. He inclined his head toward Dimitri. "And of course, we wanted to see the miracle for ourselves."

"You did it," said Oksana, her gentle face filled with wonder. "You saved him after all."

"And not how I originally intended either," I remarked. When I'd last come to Russia, my goal had been to hunt and kill Dimitri, in order to save his soul from that dark state. I hadn't known then that there was an alternative.

Oksana was understandably curious about the role of spirit in Dimitri's salvation, and I gave her as much information as I was able to. Time flew by. The day gave way to early evening, and people began breaking out the lethal vodka that had been my downfall last time. Mark and Oksana were teasing me about giving it another try, when a new voice suddenly got my attention. The voice's owner wasn't speaking to me, but I was immediately able to pick him out over the hum of the now-crowded house-because he was speaking English.

"Olena? Olena? Where are you? We need to talk about the Blood King."

Following the voice, I soon spotted a guy about five years older than me trying to squeeze his way through the crowd to where Olena stood near her son. Most paid little attention to him, but a few paused and regarded him with a surprise that I shared. He was human - the only human here, from what I could tell. Humans and dhampirs looked virtually indistinguishable from each other, but it was an ability of my race to be able to tell each other apart.

"Olena." Breathless, the human guy reached Olena and gave me my first clear view of him. He had neatly trimmed black hair and wore a very prim gray suit that somehow enhanced his gangly build. When he turned his head a certain way, the light caught one of his cheeks, revealing a golden lily tattoo. And that's what explained his presence. He was an Alchemist.

Olena had been chatting with a neighbor woman and finally turned when the Alchemist said her name three more times. Dimitri's mother remained smiling and pleasant, but I caught the faintest glimpse of exasperation in her eyes.

"Henry," she said. "How nice to see you again."

He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. "We need to talk about the Blood King." The more he spoke, the more I could pick out a faint accent. He was British, not American like me.

"This is hardly the time," said Olena. She gestured to Dimitri, who was gazing at Henry with intense scrutiny. "My son is visiting. He hasn't been here in years."

Henry gave Dimitri a polite but curt nod of greeting and then turned back to Olena. "It's never the time. The longer we put this off, the more people are going to be hurt. Another human was killed last night, you know." This brought silence to several people standing nearby. It also brought me striding over to stand beside Dimitri and Olena. "Who was killed?" I demanded. "And who's doing the killing?"

Henry gave me a once-over. It wasn't like a checking-to-see-if-I-was-hot once-over, though. It was more like he was trying to decide if I was worth responding to. Apparently not. His attention went back to Olena.

"You have to do something," he said.

Olena threw up her hands. "Why do you think I can do it?"

"Because you're ... well, you're kind of what passes for a leader around here. Who else is going to organize dhampirs to take care of this menace?"

"I don't lead anyone," said Olena, shaking her head. "And the people here ... they certainly can't be ordered into battle on a moment's notice."

"But they know how to fight," countered Henry. "You're all trained, even if you didn't become guardians."

"We're trained to defend," she corrected him. "Certainly everyone here would turn out if Strigoi invaded our town. We don't go out seeking trouble, though. Well, except for the Unmarked. But they're all away right now. Once they return in the autumn, I'm sure they'll happily do this for you."

Henry sighed in frustration. "We can't wait until autumn! Humans are dying now." "Humans who are too stupid to stay out of trouble," said a grizzled dhampir woman. "This so-called Blood King is just an ordinary Strigoi," added another man who'd been listening. "Nothing special. Humans need to simply stay away, and he'll leave."

I didn't exactly know what was happening here, but pieces were coming together. Alchemists were among the few humans who knew about the existence of vampires and dhampirs. Although we often lived and interacted with humans, my kind generally did an excellent job of hiding our true natures. Alchemists believed all vampires and dhampirs were dark and unnatural and that humanity was better off without contact. Likewise, the Alchemists feared that if our existence was public knowledge, certain weak-willed humans would jump at the chance to become immortal Strigoi and corrupt their souls. As a result, Alchemists helped us stay hidden and also assisted in covering up Strigoi kills and other ugly business those monsters caused. At the end of the day, though, Alchemists made it clear they were helping humans first and us second. So, if there was something out there threatening his kind, it was no wonder Henry was so worked up.

"Start from the beginning," said Dimitri, stepping forward. He'd listened patiently so far, but even he had limits when someone was trying to order his mother around. "Someone explain who this Blood King is and why he's killing humans." Henry gave Dimitri an assessment similar to the one he'd given me. Only, Dimitri apparently passed. "The Blood King is a Strigoi who lives northwest of here. There are some foothills with several caves and twisting paths, and he's taken up residence in there. We don't know exactly which cave, but evidence suggests he's very old and very powerful."

"And so ... he's what, preying on human hikers that happen to wander nearby?" I asked.

Henry seemed surprised that I'd spoken, but at least answered this time. "No wandering involved. They seek him out. All the people in these villages are superstitious and deluded. They've built up this legendary reputation for him - gave him that Blood King name. They don't fully understand what he is, of course. Anyway, all he has to do is wait around, because every so often, someone gets it into his head that he's going to be the one to defeat the Blood King. They rush headlong into those mountain paths-and never come back."

"Stupid," said the woman who'd spoken earlier. I was inclined to agree.

"You have to do something," repeated Henry. This time, he was looking at everyone as he spoke, desperate for help wherever he could get it. "My people can't kill this Strigoi. You need to. I've talked to guardians in the larger cities, but they won't leave their Moroi. That means it's up to you locals."

"Maybe word will eventually get around and humans will stay away," said Olena reasonably.

"We keep hoping that'll happen, but it doesn't," said Henry. Something in the way he spoke made me think he'd explained this many times. If he didn't have such an arrogant demeanor, I'd almost feel sorry for him. "And before anyone suggests it: no, I don't think any human's going to get lucky and kill the Blood King either."

"Of course not."

The room had pretty much gone silent by this point, but Yeva's entrance ensured it stayed that way. How did she always make it seem like she'd appeared out of thin air? She came forward, using a gnarled cane that I suspected she kept on hand just to poke people with. She focused on Henry but seemed pleased to have gotten everyone else's attention.

"Only someone who has walked the road of death can kill the Blood King." She paused dramatically. "I have foreseen it."

From the awed expressions this elicited, it was obvious that no one else was going to question her. As usual, it was up to me. "Oh for God's sake," I said. "That could mean a hundred different things."

Henry was frowning. "I'd have to agree. Walking the road of death could be anything ... someone who has nearly died, someone who has killed, any warrior or fighter who's-"

"Dimka," said Viktoria. I hadn't even noticed her standing near us. A few people had been in front of her but now moved aside as she spoke. "Grandmother means Dimka. He's walked the road of death and returned."

Murmurs filled the room as all eyes shifted to Dimitri. Many were nodding at Viktoria's declaration. I heard one man say, "Dimitri's the one. He's destined to kill the Blood King." I was pretty sure it was the same guy who'd earlier scoffed and said the Blood King wasn't anything special. Others were in agreement. "Yeva Belikova has declared it to be so," someone else said. "She's never wrong."

"That's not what she said at all!" I cried.

"I'll do it," said Dimitri resolutely. "I'll put an end to this Strigoi."

Cheers broke out, so no one heard me say, "But you don't have to! She never said you did."

Correction - one person heard me. Dimitri. "Roza," he said, his voice carrying through the growing noise. It was only one word, but as often happened, he managed to convey a thousand messages in it, most of which could be summed up as "We'll talk later."

"I'd like to come with you," said Mark. He straightened up to his full height. "If you'll have me." Despite his graying hair, Mark was still lean and muscled, with a look about him that said he was more than capable of kicking Strigoi ass.

"Of course. I'd be honored," said Dimitri gravely. "But that's it." This last part was added because suddenly half the room wanted to go with him. They'd rolled their eyes at Henry's initial request, but with Dimitri on board now, this had just hit heroic odyssey status.

"What about me?" I asked dryly.

A smile twitched at Dimitri's lips. "I figured that was a given."

I wasn't able to speak privately with him until much later. After all, people were still celebrating his return to the living, and now there was this quest to cheer on. The only one more impatient than me, I think, was Henry. He was pleased to have finally gotten help, but it was clear he wanted to start going over logistics and plans with Dimitri right now. That obviously wasn't going to happen, and at last, Henry left and said he'd be back tomorrow.

It was nearly the middle of the night when the remaining guests departed and Dimitri and I returned to our room. I was exhausted but still had enough energy left to chastise him.

"You know Yeva didn't specifically say you had to be the one to kill this Blood King guy," I said, crossing my arms to look imposing. "Viktoria - and everyone else-jumped to that conclusion."

"I know," said Dimitri, stifling a yawn. "But someone has to kill him. Even if these humans are bringing it on themselves, the threat needs to be removed. My mother's right that dhampirs around here are mostly focused on defense. You and I are the only ones who've gone through an entire guardian's training. And Mark."

I nodded slowly. "That's why you said he could come. I figured it was just because he was the first to ask and not one of those other wannabes trying to get in on your awesomeness."

Dimitri smiled and sat down on the bed. "These people can fight. They'd fight to the death if their homes were attacked. But to go into battle? Mark's the only one of them I'd take. And he's still no match for you."

"Well," I said, coming to sit beside him. "That's the smartest thing I've heard all night." Another realization hit me. "Mark can sense Strigoi too." It was a side effect of being brought back from the dead. "Huh. I guess this might be crazy enough to work."

Dimitri kissed the top of my head. "Admit it. You don't mind going after this Strigoi. It's the right thing to do. Even if they're walking into it, innocents are still dying because of him."

"Yeah, yeah, it's the right thing. I would've volunteered myself eventually." I sighed. "I just hate giving Yeva one more reason to think she controls the fate of the universe." He chuckled. "If you plan on being a part of this family, then you'd better get used to it."

Dimitri and I had no hangover effects to deal with, fortunately, but neither of us was too thrilled when Henry showed up at the crack of dawn so that we could "get down to business." Like the other Alchemists I'd met, Henry wasn't the type to get his hands dirty. He had no intention of going with us to take on this Blood King. Also like other Alchemists, Henry was swimming in paperwork and plans.

He brought us tons of maps and diagrams of the cavernous area the Blood King inhabited, as well as every report the Alchemists had about sightings and attacks. Alchemists loved reports. Olena made us all some extremely strong coffee that tasted only slightly less toxic than the regional vodka, but the coffee's caffeine buzz went a long way to help us wake up and strategize.

"It's not that big a region," remarked Henry, tapping one of the maps. "I don't understand why no one can ever find him in daylight. This area's small enough that someone could search out every single cave within a day. Yet, they all still end up trapped there at night and get killed."

My mind spun back to another set of caves, halfway around the world. "The caves are connected," I said slowly, tracing the dots that one map used to mark the entrances. "You can search all day and never find him because he moves around underground."

"Brilliant, Roza," murmured Dimitri in approval.

Henry looked startled. "How do you know?"

I shrugged. "It's the only thing that makes sense." I flipped through the pieces of paper. "Do you have an underground map? Did anyone ever do a ... I don't know ... a geological survey or something?" It seemed like every other representation of the area was there: satellite images, topographical drawings, analyses of the minerals ... everything but a glimpse of what was happening below the surface. Henry confirmed as much.

"No," he admitted sheepishly. "I don't have anything like that." Then, as though to save face for Alchemists and their usually meticulous style, he added, "Probably because no one ever actually made one. If it existed, we'd have it."

"That's going to be a disadvantage," I mused.

"Not so much," said Dimitri, finishing off the last of his coffee. "I have an idea. I don't think we need to go underground at all. Especially with Mark."

I met his eyes and felt a jolt of electricity jump between us. Part of what drew us together was a mutual love of excitement and danger. It wasn't that we sought it out, exactly, but when there was a need to respond, we were both always ready to take on whatever was necessary. I felt that spark kindling between us now as this task loomed closer, and suddenly had a good idea of what his plan was.

"Bold move, comrade," I teased.

"Not by your standards," he returned.

Henry glanced back and forth between us, totally lost. "What are you two talking about?"

Dimitri and I just grinned.

Of course, there weren't many smiles when we set out before dawn the next day. Dimitri's family displayed a conflicting mix of confidence and nervousness. Ostensibly, Yeva's proclamation that Dimitri would triumph guaranteed victory. Yet neither his sisters nor his mother were totally carefree about sending him off to face an old and powerful Strigoi with a long history of kills. The women showered him with hugs and well wishes, and all the while, Yeva looked on in her smug, knowing manner.

Mark was with us, looking tough and battle ready. Henry had said the Baia dhampirs were "local" to the Blood King, but that was kind of a relative term, as the caverns were still about a six-hour drive away. We were simply the closest, since the caves lay in a remote area with little surrounding civilization. In fact, part of the drive's length was a result of the roads in that region being so poorly maintained.

We reached the caverns around midday, which was all according to plan. It was a desolate place and really only a small blip as far as elevation went, hardly able to compete with much grander ranges like the Ural Mountains far to the east. Still, it was higher and steeper than most of the surrounding lowlands, with rock-faced cliffsides that were going to require some sure footing. None of the caves were visible from where we parked the car, but a small, worn footpath meandered off between some of the cliffs. From what we'd seen of Henry's map, this led into the heart of the complex.

"Nothing like a little rock climbing," I said cheerfully, hoisting my backpack over my shoulder. "This could almost be a vacation, if not for the, you know, potentially dying part."

Mark held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he regarded Dimitri and me. "Something tells me you're the kind of people whose vacations always end up that way."

"True," said Dimitri, heading out toward the path. "Besides, we're safe today. We have my grandmother's guarantee, remember?"

I rolled my eyes at the teasing in his voice. Dimitri might love and revere Yeva, but I knew he wouldn't count on any vague prophecy to get this task done. His faith was in the silver stake he carried at his belt.

The path started out easy but soon became a challenge as the elevation rose and more obstacles appeared in our way. We had to climb around boulders and manage some tricky parts where the path all but disappeared, forcing us to cling to the rocky sides. When we reached what was apparently the center of the complex, I was surprised to see how level it was. Cliff faces rose up all around us, like we were in some kind of fortress, but this area provided a small measure of tranquility. I wasn't tired - dhampirs are hardy, after all-but was glad we had reached our destination.

And that was where ... we stopped.

We settled down on the ground, sorting out the contents of our backpacks, and proceeded to pretty much lounge around for the rest of the day. Despite the wind blowing up here, the temperature was still summer-warm, and this would've almost made a perfect picnic scene. True, the weathered rock and scattered vegetation were hardly idyllic, but we spread out a blanket and ate a lunch consisting of Olena's fabulous cooking. When we were finished, I lay down next to Dimitri while Mark began whittling a piece of wood.

We kept up a steady stream of small talk. This was all part of the plan too. After Henry had said adventuring humans had gone hunting and been killed, we'd realized that was the downfall: going off and getting trapped inside caves that this Blood King guy obviously knew better than us. We weren't going to do it. We would stay out in the open, making no effort to hide our presence. While Strigoi loved human blood, they loved Moroi and dhampir blood even more. There was no way this Strigoi would be able to ignore us hanging out on his turf. If the violation didn't draw him out, the lure of our blood would. He'd eventually come after us when darkness fell, and we'd fight him on our terms.

"Mark, you and Oksana should come to the U.S.," I said. "Lissa would love to meet you and talk spirit. Lots of people would."

Mark didn't look up from his carving. "That's the problem," he said good-naturedly. "We're worried too many people would, now that everyone's interested in spirit. We don't want to become science experiments."

"Lissa wouldn't let that happen," I said adamantly. "And think of all the amazing things we might learn. Spirit seems to be able to do something new every day." Before I even knew it, my hand found Dimitri's. In saving him, spirit had already done the greatest thing it ever could in my eyes.

"We'll see," said Mark. "Oksana likes her privacy, but I know she's curious about-"

Dimitri shot up from his lounging position, instantly rigid and focused in that way he had. Mark had fallen silent as soon as Dimitri twitched, and now I sat up too. My hand went to my stake, and I saw the guys' hands do the same. Even as I did, the logical part of me knew there was no need-not when we were out in broad daylight. Whatever had spooked Dimitri wasn't Strigoi, but the instinct was hard to shake. His gaze fell on a large pile of rocks and boulders sitting near a cliff face. Wordlessly, he pointed to it and then tapped his ear. Mark and I nodded in understanding.

Glancing down at one of Henry's maps that we'd left open, I immediately spotted the rock formation Dimitri had indicated. It was large and sprawling, with what looked like a small gap between it and the cliff. If there was something lurking and spying on us, it would be possible to sneak behind the formation and catch the spy unawares. I tapped my chest and pointed to the formation on the map. Dimitri shook his head and tapped his chest instead. I glared and started to protest, but then he gestured between Mark and me. In that uncanny way we had of thinking alike sometimes, I immediately knew what Dimitri was saying. Mark and I had been talking when Dimitri had heard whatever startled him. We needed to continue that in order to keep the cover and surprise this potential threat. Reluctantly, I nodded defeat to Dimitri.

He crept away, silent as a cat, and I turned to Mark and tried to remember what we'd been talking about. The U.S. - I'd been trying to convince him he should visit for some reason. Talk. I needed to talk and create a distraction. So I frantically blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"So, yeah, Mark ... if you, um, come visit ... we can go out to eat and you can try some American food. No more cabbage." I gave an uneasy laugh and tried not to stare at Dimitri as he disappeared around a rocky corner. "We could, you know, go out for hot dogs. Don't worry - they're not actually dogs. It's just a name. They're these meat things that you put on buns - that's a kind of bread-and then you top them with other things and-"

"I know what a hot dog is," interrupted Mark. His tone was light for the sake of our observer, but his stake had replaced the whittling knife.

"You do?" I asked, legitimately surprised. "How?"

"We're not that remote. We have TV and movies. Besides, I've left Siberia, you know. I've been to the U.S."

"Really?" I hadn't known that. I knew very little about his history, really. "Did you try a hot dog?"

Chapter 5

"No," he said. His eyes were on the spot where Dimitri had vanished, but they briefly flicked to me. "I was offered one ... but it didn't look that appetizing."

"What!" I exclaimed. "Blasphemy. They're delicious."

"Aren't they compressed animal parts?" he pushed.

"Well, yeah ... I think so. But so is sausage."

Mark shook his head. "I don't know. Something's just not right about a hot dog."

"Not right? I think you mean so right. They're like the-"

My righteous indignation was interrupted by a yelp, reminding me that there'd been another purpose here besides my defense of one of the greatest foods in the universe. Mark and I moved as one, both sprinting over to the rock pile and source of the noise. There, we found Dimitri pinning down a wriggling guy in a leather jacket and worn blue jeans. I couldn't tell much else about him because Dimitri had the guy's faced pressed into the dirt. Seeing us, Dimitri eased his hold so that the guy could look up. When he did, I saw that he was my age - and human.

He glanced between me and Mark - or, more accurately, he glanced between the silver stakes we both held. Gray-blue eyes went wide, and the captive began babbling in Russian. Mark frowned and asked a question, but didn't lower his stake. The human answered, sounding near-panicked. Dimitri scoffed and released his grip altogether. The human scrambled away, only to trip and land hard on his butt. Mark made some comment in Russian, which Dimitri responded to with a laugh.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" I demanded. "In English?"

To my surprise, it wasn't either of my colleagues that answered. "You ... you're American!" exclaimed the boy, regarding me wonderingly. He spoke with a heavy accent. "I knew the Blood King's reputation had spread, but I didn't know it had gone that far! "

"Well, it hasn't. Not exactly," I said. I noticed then that both Dimitri and Mark had put their stakes away. "I just happened to be in the neighborhood."

"I told you," said Dimitri, speaking to the human. "This is no place for you. Leave now."

The boy shook his head, making his unruly blond hair seem that much messier. "No! We can work together. We're all here for the same reason. We're here to kill the Blood King."

I met Dimitri's eyes questioningly but received no help. "What's your name?" I asked.

"Ivan. Ivan Grigorovitch."

"Well, Ivan, I'm Rose, and while we appreciate the offer of help, we've got this under control. There's no need for you to stick around."

Ivan looked skeptical. "You didn't look like you had it under control. You looked like you were having a picnic."

I repressed a grimace. "We were, uh, just getting ready to go into action."

He brightened. "Then I'm in time."

Mark sighed, clearly out of patience with this. "Boy, this isn't a game. Do you have anything like this?" He pulled out his silver stake again, making sure the point caught the light. Ivan gaped. "I didn't think so. Let me guess. You have a wooden stake, right?"

Ivan flushed. "Well, yes, but I'm very good at-"

"Very good at getting yourself killed," declared Mark. "You don't have the skills or weapons for this."

"Teach me," Ivan said eagerly. "I told you, I'm willing to help! It's what I've dreamed of - being a famous vampire hunter! "

"This isn't a field trip," said Dimitri. Like Mark, he no longer found Ivan so comical. "If you don't leave this area now, we'll carry you out ourselves."

Ivan jumped to his feet. "I can go ... I can go ... but are you sure you don't want my help? I know all there is to know about vampires. Nobody in my village has read as much as I have-"

"Go," said Mark and Dimitri in unison.

Ivan went. The three of us watched as he hurried down the path, toward where it had to make its way through rocky obstacles in order to get back out to the main road.

"Idiot," muttered Mark. He put the stake away again and trudged back over to where we'd been sitting before. After a few moments, Dimitri and I followed.

"I feel kind of bad for him," I remarked. "He seemed so ... I don't know, enthusiastic. But I also start to get why Henry was freaking out so much. If all the other human 'vampire experts' that come here are like him, I can see why they're getting killed off."

"Exactly," said Dimitri. His gaze was on Ivan's retreating figure, almost impossible to see now as he walked around a stony outcropping. "Hopefully he'll go back to his village and make up some fantastic story about how he killed the Blood King himself."

"True," I said. "The fact that we'll have done it will just back him up when people come here and see no more vampire."

Still, as I settled back down in our makeshift camp, I couldn't forget the zealous look in Ivan's eyes as he'd talked about killing the Blood King. How many others had come in with that same naive attitude? It was disheartening. I'd grown up with the idea that fighting Strigoi was a duty and a responsibility. It wasn't something you treated as a game.

Mark and I eventually picked up our hot dog debate, much to Dimitri's amusement. Dimitri tended to agree with Mark, which I found shocking. I could only blame the cuisine they'd been raised with for such misguided views. Despite the easy nature of the conversation, though, I could feel the tension building within all of us as the sun began moving down toward the horizon. The silver stakes had returned, and even before darkness fell, our eyes were constantly scanning our surroundings. Shadows darkened the stone walls around us, turning them into something mysterious and ominous.

We'd brought along a couple of electric lanterns and turned them on once it grew too dark to see comfortably. As dhampirs, we didn't need as much light as humans, but we needed some. The lanterns cast just enough to help our eyes without blinding us to our periphery, like a campfire would have. Soon, the skies were completely dark, and we knew we'd entered the time when Strigoi could walk freely. None of us doubted he'd come for us. The question was whether he would wait and try to wear us down or strike suddenly. As more time passed, it appeared as though it would be the former.

"Do you sense anything?" I whispered to Mark. Those who were shadow-kissed felt nauseous when Strigoi were close.

"Not yet," he murmured back.

"We should've brought marshmallows," I joked. "Of course, then we'd have to build a fire for sure -"

An earsplitting scream ripped through the night.

I jumped to my feet, wincing. The problem with superior hearing is that loud noises are really loud. My companions were up too, stakes ready. Mark frowned.

"Some Strigoi trick?"

"No," I said, moving toward where the scream had originated. "That was Ivan."

Mark swore in Russian, something I'd gotten used to from Dimitri. "He never left," said Mark.

Dimitri grabbed my arm to slow me down. "Rose, he's in one of the caves."

"I know," I said. I'd already figured that out and turned to face Dimitri. "But what choice do we have? We can't leave him in there."

"This is exactly what we wanted to avoid," said Dimitri grimly.

"And likely a trap set by the Blood King," added Mark, just as another scream sounded. "He wants us but is too smart to come out and get us."

I grimaced, knowing Mark was right. "But that also means he's probably not going to kill Ivan right away. He's just going to mess with him to lure us in. There's a chance we can save Ivan." I threw my hands up when nobody responded. "Come on! Can you really leave that inept kid in there to die?"

No, of course they couldn't. Dimitri sighed. "This is where we could've used a map of the caves. Better to set up an ambush."

"No such luxury, comrade," I said, walking toward the cave again. "We've got to go in the front door. At least Mark can give us warning."

A debate then broke out between the three of us over who would lead and who would go last to carry a lantern. Dimitri and Mark came up with lame arguments about why they should go ahead of me. Mark's was that, as the oldest, his life was more expendable, which was ridiculous. Dimitri's reasoning was that he was safe, thanks to Yeva's prophecy. That was even more ridiculous, and I knew he was only saying so to protect me. Yet in the end, I was overruled and ended up behind them.

Darkness far deeper than the night engulfed us as we stepped inside. The lantern helped a little but only illuminated a short distance in front of us as we walked further and further into the unknown. None of us spoke, but I had a feeling we were all thinking the same thing. The screams had stopped. It could mean Ivan was dead. It almost certainly meant the Blood King wanted to lead us as far into the caves as possible.

Trouble came when we reached a fork in the tunnel. It not only meant we had to choose a path; it also meant the Blood King had the potential to double back on us. "Which way?" murmured Dimitri.

I glanced between the two options. One was narrower, but that meant nothing. Lines of thought filled Mark's face, and then he indicated the larger tunnel. "There. It's faint, but I can feel him there."

The three of us hurried forward, and the tunnel soon grew wider and wider, finally opening into a large "room" with three other tunnels feeding into it. Before any of us had a chance to question where to go next, something heavy slammed into me and knocked me to the ground. The lantern flew from my grasp and miraculously rolled away, unbroken.

Instinct made me follow suit. I had no clue where my attacker was, but I rolled away as soon as I hit the cave's floor. It was a good decision, because half a second later, I got my first glimpse of the Blood King. The stories were true. He was old. Admittedly, Strigoi didn't age once they turned, and at a glance, this guy had the appearance of someone in his mid-forties. Like all Strigoi, he had ghastly white skin and the look of death about him. If the light had been a little better, I knew I'd see red in his eyes too. His long mustache and shoulder-length hair were black with gray streaks, looking like something you'd see from the imperial days of Russia. But it was more than the antiquated haircut that marked his age. There was something about a Strigoi you could feel, an ancient evilness that went straight to the bone. Also, as age increased, so did their speed and strength.

And man, this guy was fast. He'd lunged at the place I'd fallen, striking out with more than enough force to break my neck. Seeing he'd missed me, he didn't waste a moment in coming after me in my new spot, and I hurried to get away. I was fast, but not as fast as him, and he caught hold of my sleeve. Before he could pull me to him, Dimitri and Mark were on his back, forcing the Blood King to release me. My companions were good-among the best - but it took every ounce of their skill to keep pace with him. He dodged every swipe of their stakes with the effortless ease of a dancer.

I sprang to my feet, ready to join in and assist, when I heard a moan coming from one of the tunnels. Ivan. I wanted to join the fray, but Dimitri and Mark had just parried some of the Blood King's attacks, forcing the whole group to move to the far side and put my friends between me and the Strigoi. With no obvious opening for me, I made the decision to rescue the innocent and trust Dimitri's and Mark's skills. Yet, as I moved toward the branching tunnel, I cast an uneasy glance back at Dimitri. Again, I was reminded of that time long ago, in other tunnels. It was there that Dimitri had been bitten and forcibly turned into a Strigoi. Panic seized me, along with an intense, irrational need to go throw myself in front of Dimitri.

No, I told myself. Dimitri and Mark can handle this. There's two of them and only one Strigoi. It's not like it was last time. Another moan from Ivan spurred me to action. For all I knew, he could be bleeding to death somewhere. The sooner I got to him and helped, the more likely he'd survive. Going after him meant abandoning the lantern, since Dimitri and Mark needed it more than me. Besides, this tunnel was narrow enough that I could reach out and touch both sides with my hands, giving me some measure of guidance as I entered the darkness.

"Ivan?" I called, half afraid I'd trip over him.

"Here," came an answering voice. It was astonishingly close, and I slowed my pace, reaching out in front of me in the hopes I'd feel him. Moments later, I touched hair and a forehead. I stopped and knelt.

"Ivan, are you okay? Can you stand?" I asked.

"I ... I think so ..."

I hoped so. Unable to see him, I had no idea if his blood was gushing out right in front of me. I found his hand and helped him up. He leaned heavily against me but seemed to have control of his legs, which I took as a good sign. Slowly, we made our way back toward the fight, our maneuvers awkward in the tight tunnel. When we emerged into the light, I was dismayed to see the Blood King still alive.

"Rest here," I told Ivan, moving him toward a wall. He wasn't in as critical a condition as I'd feared. He looked as though the Blood King had literally-thrown him around a few times, but none of the cuts and bruises looked dire. I expected him to sit so that I could lend my strength to the fight, but instead, Ivan's eyes went wide as he took in the battle. With an energy I hadn't believed possible, he sprang forward with his ridiculous wooden stake and aimed it for the Blood King's back.

"No!" I yelled, hurrying after him.

His stake didn't pierce flesh, of course. It didn't even hurt the Blood King. What it did do, however, was cause the Strigoi to pause for a split second and swat away Ivan. He flew across the cave, landing hard against a wall. In the space of that heartbeat, Dimitri and Mark acted with flawless, wordless efficiency. Dimitri's foot snaked out and knocked the Blood King's legs from under him. Mark surged forward, plunging his stake into the ancient Strigoi's heart. The Blood King froze, and we all held a collective breath as a look of total shock crossed his features. Then death seized him, and his body slumped forward.

I exhaled in relief and immediately looked at Dimitri first, needing to make sure he was okay. But of course he was. He was my badass battle god. It'd take more than some super tough Strigoi - even one with a dramatic name - to take him down. Mark seemed equally fine. Across the cave, Ivan looked stunned but otherwise uninjured. He was watching us with wonder, and his eyes lit up when he met my gaze. He held his wooden stake in the air in kind of a mock salute and grinned.

"You're welcome," he said.

It turned out part of the reason Ivan hadn't left when we told him - aside from his idiotic sense of heroism - was that he had no means to leave. Some friends from his village had dropped him off, with the intent of coming back in two days to see if he was dead or alive. We could hardly leave him there in such a beaten-up state, so we made the two-hour drive to take him home. The entire time, Ivan kept going on and on about how he'd saved Dimitri and Mark in the nick of time and how they would've met certain death if not for him.

Pointing out that it was only sheer luck that he hadn't gotten them killed seemed useless at this point. We let him talk and were all relieved when we reached his village, a place that made Baia look like New York City.

"Sometimes I hear reports of other vampires," he told us as he got out of the car. "If you want to team up again, I'll let you come along with me next time too."

"Noted," I said.

The only person more infuriating than Ivan was Yeva. After five minutes with her, I was suddenly wishing I was back in the car with him.

"So," she said, sitting in her rocking chair in the Belikov house like it was a throne. "It seems I was right."

I collapsed onto the couch beside Dimitri, bone weary and wishing I could sleep for about twelve hours. Mark had already gone home to Oksana. Still, I had enough spunk in me to argue back.

"No, actually," I retorted, trying to keep a smug smile off my face, "you said Dimitri would kill the Blood King. He didn't. Mark did."

"I said one who had walked the road of death would succeed," she said. "Mark has faced death and survived."

I opened my mouth to deny it, but she had a point. "Okay. But when Viktoria said Dimitri would do it, you didn't deny it."

"I didn't confirm it either."

I groaned. "This is ridiculous! That 'prediction' meant nothing! Hell, it could've applied to Ivan, since he nearly died because of the Blood King."

"My prophecies see many things," responded Yeva - which was really no response at all. "My next one is particularly interesting."

"Uh-huh," I said. "Let me guess. 'A journey.' That could mean me and Dimitri going home. Or Olena going to the grocery store."

"Actually," said Yeva, "I see a wedding in the future."

Viktoria had been listening to the exchange with amusement and clapped her hands together. "Oh! Rose and Dimka!" Her sisters nodded excitedly.

I stared incredulously. "How can you even say that? That can mean anything too! Someone in town is probably getting married right now. Or maybe it'll be Karolina - didn't you say you're getting serious with your boyfriend? If it is me and Dimitri, it'll be years from now - which, of course, you'll claim you foresaw since it was 'the future.' "

No one was listening to me anymore, though. The Belikov women were already chattering excitedly about plans, speculating if the wedding would be here or in the U.S. and how nice it would be to see Dimitri "finally settle down."

I groaned again and leaned against him. "Unbelievable."

Dimitri smiled and put his arm around me. "Don't you believe in fate, Roza?"

"Sure," I said. "Just not in your grandmother's crazy vague predictions."

"Doesn't sound that crazy to me," he teased.

"You're as crazy as her."

January 11

It’s starting to happen more often. Rose tries to hide it from me, but it’s becoming too much, even for her. After school yesterday, I found some old pictures of Andre and me. They broke me. I spent most of the night crying. Hating life. Hating that I’d survived. At breakfast the next day, Rose rushed right over and hugged me. “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “You survived for a reason.” I broke away and demanded to know how she knew what I’d been thinking last night. She claimed she could see it in my face, how sad I was … but I could tell she was lying. She’s in my head somehow. More and more each day. And neither of us likes it.

January 15

One month since the accident. It doesn’t seem real. I keep thinking that as soon as we have our next break at school, they’ll all show up for a visit. It’s like they’re just away somewhere, maybe traveling in Europe. No one talks about them much anymore, and why should they? No one else lost their entire family in an instant. Rose knew today was the anniversary, of course. I don’t have to be in her mind to know how that night haunts her. It’s in her eyes, even though she pretends like she doesn’t care about much of anything. She’s partying more than she used to. I try not to scold her for it. I’m not her keeper, but I’m worried.

Uncle Victor knew what today was too. He sent me a nice card telling me I was in his thoughts.

January 16

Someone said “Princess Dragomir” today, and I looked around, expecting to see Mom. Then I realized they were talking to me. I am the princess now. I am the oldest in the Dragomir family. I am the Dragomir family.

January 17

I’ve been feeling worse and worse. So much so that I actually stopped to talk to a counselor after classes. She said that it was normal to feel sad, especially with the accident’s anniversary this week. I tried to tell her it’s more than sadness. More than depression. It’s like a creature living inside me that’s trying to take control. Rose can feel it too—not as much as I do. I think it’s more of an echo in her. Or maybe she’s able to block it with all the crazy things she keeps doing. Last night she and some other novices had a party in the woods with a stolen bottle of vodka. They all started climbing high trees and daring one another to jump down. Rose made out with someone but can’t remember who.

January 18

It’s bad today.

January 19

I finally lost it yesterday. That awful, hungry despair inside me was just too much. I had to get it out of me, but I didn’t know how. And before I realized it, I was scratching my own arms. Clawing at my own skin. The only thing that came out was blood, but this morning I feel better. And that scares me.

January 21

During all the darkness last week, I completely forgot about a paper that was due for Mr. Nagy. He isn’t very forgiving about that kind of thing, not even to girls recently orphaned. I stayed after class to plead my case and at least try for partial credit … and he didn’t chastise me at all. He smiled and nodded as I stuttered out a lame excuse about having a weeklong headache. He said he completely understood and gave me an extra week to get the paper in for full credit. He added that if I needed more time, that would be no problem. I said one week was fine and hurried out of the room. I should’ve been happy, but the whole incident really weirded me out.

January 27

I haven’t felt much like writing. I feel like I’m going through the motions every day, pretending to live an ordinary life while I’m falling apart inside. Rose knows, but she doesn’t know what to do for me, and it’s driving her crazy. She isn’t used to feeling helpless. She always has some plan—maybe not one that’s thought out very well, but at least it’s something. She watches me. She feels my emotions. She says everything will be okay—but she doesn’t believe it.

January 31

Rose got caught visiting me after hours by the front desk attendant, and I managed to talk her out of trouble with hardly any effort. It was just like with Mr. Nagy and the paper, and I realize now that I compelled them. But I wasn’t even trying to! I’d never do that on purpose. No one should exert their will on another person. I’ve seen other kids do it once in a while for minor things—things very much like getting out of trouble and homework. But none of them has ever been able to pull it off like I can.

February 9

I guess there’s a Valentine’s Day dance coming up. Aaron says we have to go. I asked him why, and he said, “Because.” God, he’s getting annoying.

February 14

I went to the dance tonight. I wore one of the new dresses I bought with Mom just before the accident. It’s long and lavender and has little crystals on the bodice. Everyone kept telling me how pretty I looked. Aaron couldn’t stop staring at my cleavage. And the whole time, I just kept getting madder and madder. I’m still not sure why. It was that thing in me, that building darkness rearing its ugly head again. I thought about Mom picking out the dress. I thought about how tomorrow is another anniversary. When the dance ended and Aaron said we should go to Camille’s after-party, I blew up. I told him I was tired of listening to him talk about what we should do. I told him I was tired of listening to him talk, period. He looked like I’d slapped him. I went back to my room, ready to explode … and that was when I did it again. I let the mental pain out physically. But this time I didn’t use my nails. I used a blade to cut myself. Just enough to hurt. Just enough to distract from what was going on in my head. Rose showed up right away, and she yelled at me. I don’t think that’s ever happened before. She kept going on and on about how I should never do that again and that I needed to come to her for help. She wasn’t angry, though. She was scared. And I don’t think that’s ever happened before either.

February 15

Two months.

February 19

Elemental testing with Ms. Carmack today. Surprise, surprise: no sign of me specializing. What’s weird is I’ve actually improved a little in all the elements. I can work with each of them at about the same level. My control in each of them is better than what any specialized Moroi can do with their nondominant elements, but it’s still nowhere near a true specialization. Ms. Carmack was really diplomatic about it all. She gave me the old line about how it just takes time and how it’s not surprising after everything I’ve been through. Later, I heard her telling Headmistress Kirova that she’s concerned. Apparently, it’s actually really weird. Welcome to my life.

February 21

I don’t understand what happened today. I guess I should start at the beginning.

It’s not really spring yet, but the weather warmed up a lot. Rose insisted we go outside. She’s been worried about me ever since the dance and keeps going out of her way to find fun things for us to do. She got a bottle of peach schnapps from Abby Badica somehow, and we sneaked out to drink it. And actually, it was fun … at first. It was just the two of us, laughing and drinking. It was like the old days.

Then we got busted by Ms. Karp. She was as weird as usual but was actually pretty nice about it all and didn’t report us. As we were walking back to the school, we found this raven on the ground. And it was dead. But … I couldn’t stay away from it. I’ve always loved animals, but that wasn’t what drew me. Maybe it was that otherness in me. Rose got worked up about how the raven was probably diseased, but I couldn’t help myself. I touched it, and suddenly … it wasn’t dead. It started moving. And it flew away.

I know that sounds crazy. I might have questioned whether it had really been dead in the first place, except when I touched it, I felt … amazing. Like the complete and total opposite of that darkness that drags me down. I felt energized, light. Like a goddess. Like I could do anything.

Ms. Karp freaked out. She actually grabbed me and began ranting about how nothing had happened. But at the same time, she also kept saying we couldn’t tell anyone what had happened. She said they’d start looking for me, but she didn’t say who “they” were. I’ve always thought Ms. Karp was weird, but for the first time, I think she might be insane. And yet who am I to judge? After what I saw—or think I saw—maybe I am too.

February 22

Rose and I haven’t talked about the raven. I still felt high and glorious, but I also felt exhausted. I went to the feeders, even though I’d just been there before school. And then I was exhausted. I slept hard and almost missed my first class today. And I don’t feel wonderful anymore. I’m back in that hole. Rose can tell and hasn’t wanted to leave my side all day. She’s afraid I’ll hurt myself again. I am too, so I’m trying to resist it. It’s a little easier with her around. She makes me feel stronger.

February 28

I feel like I’m being watched.

March 2

I’m tired of people. I’m tired of smiling and dealing with the drama and expectations surrounding me. I feel like I can’t breathe at St. Vladimir’s anymore. There’s just too much. Too much everything.

March 5

Ms. Karp is gone, and no one will tell us why. There’s a new biology instructor, and all the other teachers act like Ms. Karp never existed.

March 8

Uncle Victor came to visit Natalie today and spent some time with me. He kept wanting to know how I was. He’d ask it in different ways—how my grades were, how Aaron was, how I was coping being the only Dragomir. I’ve been trying to hide how strange I feel lately, but I wonder if someone noticed and told him. It makes me feel bad. He has so many of his own problems to deal with, and I don’t want him to worry about me too.

March 15

It’s been three months.

March 17

I lost it again. Only this time I lost it in public. It’s kind of a blur. Rose and I went to this party last night. Wade had a feeder there, and she was pretty out of it—even more than a normal feeder. And he wanted to do things to her … things he shouldn’t have … and I couldn’t let him. He had to stop. And I was the one who made him stop. I made him suffer. I made him break a window. I made him hurt himself. Part of me knew it was awful. I hate violence. But at the same time, I knew he deserved it. He had to be punished, and that strange exhilaration burned through me the whole time. I lost myself, and Rose had to talk me back.

Afterward, when the party had been broken up because of the commotion, no one could really explain what had happened. They’d all been drunk and probably thought they were imagining things. Rose took the blame for the damage, and I can tell something’s changed in her.

March 18

Rose is frightened again, but this time it’s different. She isn’t trying to distract herself from it. She isn’t trying to distract me. She’s quiet and calculating. She doesn’t joke. I can tell from her eyes that she’s planning something, but she won’t say what. I wish I could see into her mind.

March 19

A bunch of council members visited from Court earlier, so we got to have a special schoolwide reception in their honor. Even Rose got to come while on detention. I’m still furious that she has to pay for what Wade did. For what I did. It’s been tearing me up, and after the reception, I sort of went off about it to Rose and how much I hate Wade and his smug attitude. I didn’t think I was acting that weird, but the more I talked, the more Rose looked like she didn’t even recognize me.

Before I knew it, she was leading me out of the school, out to the parking lot. She told me we were leaving St. Vladimir’s right now. That we had to. One of the council member’s chauffeurs was getting his car ready, and Rose had me compel him to help hide us in the trunk. We found out he works for Maisie Lazar’s dad and that they were actually leaving around dawn, so Rose and I each had time to race back to our respective dorms and gather a few essentials. I’m waiting for her now near the parking lot, and I still don’t really understand what’s happening. When I asked her why we were leaving, she just said, “I’m taking care of you. You don’t need to know anything else.”

March 20

We did it. We left last night.

After I met back up again with Rose at the parking lot, I made the chauffeur let us into the trunk and then forget he’d ever seen us. I felt guilty over that compulsion, but blurring his memory was nowhere near as bad as making Wade do all of those terrible things. Mr. Lazar arrived at dawn, and we got on the road. It was a miserable trip. The trunk was hot and stuffy and smelled like gasoline. I should’ve demanded answers from Rose. I should’ve told her leaving was crazy and that we needed to go back. But I didn’t because, somehow, I knew we were doing the right thing. We had to get away from St. Vladimir’s.

In Missoula, Rose and I climbed out of the trunk when Mr. Lazar stopped for food. The first place we went to was the bank that’s always held my family’s accounts. Part of my inheritance is frozen until I’m eighteen, but I still have a huge fund I can draw from as needed. Rose told me to empty it. She’d even brought a bag specifically to carry the cash. It was like a bank heist in a movie. After that, we went straight to the bus station and got on the first bus that was leaving. “Everyone’s still asleep at school,” Rose kept saying. “We’ve got to get far away before they realize we’ve left. And we’ve got to keep changing it up.”

That first bus took us to Billings. Then we took another to Rapid City. That was when Rose really got tense. “They know we’re gone by now. They’ll check every public transportation place in a day’s radius and put out our descriptions.” Now we’re on an overnight bus to Milwaukee. I can hardly think anymore. I’m not really on a human or Moroi schedule, just an exhausted one. I’m going to try to get some rest. Rose looks like she can stay awake forever.

March 21

We made it to Milwaukee this morning, and Rose immediately got us a ride to Madison by hitchhiking with some college kids. She never took her eyes off them the whole time. She doesn’t trust hitchhiking, but getting away from bus stations makes us harder to track. We made it to Madison without any incident. I’ve never been to Wisconsin before. It’s very flat. Our plan is to live around large universities. It’s easier to blend in, and no one questions two girls on their own—or who pay rent in cash. A lot of students are looking for roommates and sublets, and by this evening, we had a room in a house with five other people. Our room had belonged to someone who’d studied abroad in France last semester and ended up staying in Paris with an artist she’d met.

We ordered a pizza for dinner, and while we were eating, I suddenly realized that today is Rose’s birthday. Sweet sixteen. I still feel horrible for forgetting. “I don’t have a present for you,” I told her. She responded: “You’re alive. That’s all I need.”

March 22

We went shopping today. Our room came with bunk beds, and the rest of the house has furniture and kitchen utensils, but we don’t have anything personal, like sheets or towels. Rose was paranoid the whole time we were out. She kept peeking around corners and store displays and glared at anyone who came too close to us. I found some unicorn sheets that were on clearance, but when I picked them up, she said, without even looking at me: “Don’t even think about it, Liss. Just because I’m on watch for guardians doesn’t mean I’m oblivious to poor retail decisions.”

March 23

We cooked our first meal today. I didn’t know it was possible to burn spaghetti.

March 25

It turns out you can’t put aluminum foil in the microwave. We have to go shopping again to buy a new one for the house.

March 27

I think I’ve adjusted to a human schedule, though going to bed when it’s dark will never feel normal. I don’t know what kind of schedule Rose is on. She’s worried about Strigoi, not just guardians, so she stays up a lot of the night and naps most of the morning away.

March 29

Rose is still paranoid, but I’m starting to relax. It’s so much easier here than at St. Vladimir’s. I don’t have all those people watching me or expecting me to do things. I’m not constantly reminded that I’m the last in my family. I just blend in with all the other students. Rose and I make a point of getting out of the house every day so that our housemates think we’re taking classes. Sometimes we do go to classes. It’s easy to sneak into giant lecture halls and listen. I’ve found a political science class I really like. Rose usually sleeps through it. Other times, we go for walks or even leave campus to explore the city. This new life seems to be keeping the darkness at bay, but I’m tired all the time. I keep going to bed earlier and earlier.

March 30

I was so tired today that I didn’t want to go out at all. I spent most of the day on the couch watching talk shows.

March 31

We’re starting to believe we might have really pulled off this escape. But we have a new problem: blood. It’s why I’m always so wiped out. I’ve never gone this long without blood, and I’m even starting to dream about it. When our housemates cooked out on the grill last night, I had them make my hamburger extra rare. Rose and I aren’t sure what to do. We know feeders are recruited from the underbelly of human society, and when she planned our escape, Rose thought we’d somehow just stumble across willing volunteers. It turns out that’s not how it works.

April 1

I woke up feeling so awful that I could barely get out of bed. When I did, I threw up. One of our roommates is convinced I’m pregnant. Rose finally told me I needed to drink her blood. And, of course, I told her even I’m not that crazy. Moroi can survive off dhampir blood, sure, but it’s wrong to do it. Beyond wrong. I still can’t even believe she would have suggested it. Dhampirs guard us. They don’t feed us. And there’s no way I’d risk Rose getting addicted to bites.

April 2

Still sick.

April 3

I did it. I didn’t want to. I swore I wouldn’t. But I was so far gone today that I barely knew my own name or where I was. And when Rose offered me her neck, I didn’t hesitate. I feel so much better now, though I’m still not fully recovered after so much deprivation. I drank more from her than I should have and could have easily done more. She’s sleeping it off now. Watching her, I don’t know how I’m going to live with the guilt. I can’t do it again. We have to find another solution.

April 4

Rose says she is our solution. She says drinking from her isn’t just convenient—it helps keep our presence in Madison a secret. What if we found a feeder who also feeds other Moroi? What if that person gave out our descriptions? It seems unlikely, but Rose is dead set on this. She swears giving blood doesn’t bother her and that all she needs is food and a little rest. I finally caved but haggled with her all day until we reached a compromise on how we’d manage things from now on. I’ll drink from her enough to keep my strength up but much less often than I would with a normal feeder. I can handle a little lethargy. It took a while to get Rose to agree to this. She wants me to be as strong as possible, but I told her she needs to be strong too in order to keep us safe. She couldn’t argue against that, so I guess this is our life now.

April 9

Rose made pancakes this morning without burning them like the last five times she tried. She strutted around all day. You would’ve thought she’d staked her first Strigoi.

April 15

Four months.

April 29

I can’t believe I haven’t written in two weeks. I still feel good. We found a children’s museum looking for volunteers, and after listening to me beg for two weeks, Rose finally agreed that I could do a few hours each week. It makes me feel like I have purpose. She comes with me, of course, and always takes a walk through the building before I start my shift. Then she waits outside for me, and I’m pretty sure she never takes her eyes off the front door. I told her she should find some kind of hobby and that she shouldn’t always base her life around mine. She just said: “I’m a guardian.”

May 2

Rose has a hobby. Some of our housemates are on an Ultimate Frisbee team and needed an extra player yesterday. Rose subbed in, and, surprise, surprise, she’s really good—so good, she had to hold back so her dhampir abilities wouldn’t attract any attention. They asked her to be a regular player, and she accepted. She claims in private that it’s an embarrassment for someone of her “professional status” to participate in such a silly sport, but her eyes lit up when she saw the game schedule. She’s needed something like this more than she realizes. I understand why she has to be so serious and always on guard, but I miss the old, carefree Rose.

May 11

Classes are done for the term, and the attitude around campus has completely changed. There’s a break this month, and then summer session starts. I’m excited. A whole bunch of new classes will be starting, and I can actually sneak in and hear them from the very beginning. After going over the summer schedule, I found the two I want. One’s about ethics in politics. The other’s the history of Eastern Europe after World War II. I showed their descriptions to Rose, and she said she looked forward to having some extra time to catch up on sleep.

May 14

Our housemates have been trying to get us amped up for football, even though it doesn’t start until the fall. I guess it’s kind of a big deal here. I don’t get it, but Rose is hooked. I think she’s in withdrawal from all the punching and hitting of guardian training. One of the guys in the house is so obsessed that he records past games and analyzes them. Rose has started watching with him, and sometimes I’ll hear her yelling at the TV: “What are you doing? He threw it right to you!” I’m glad we’re both starting to find our way here. I think this life is going to be good for us.

May 15

Five months.

May 20

I screwed up.

June 5

I’m only writing today because Rose made me. She says un-burdening myself will make me feel better. I asked how she knew, and she said she saw it on a talk show. But there isn’t much to tell. I’ve spent the last week in bed, not because I’m tired, but because I’m worthless. I ruined everything.

June 9

I’ll try again.

We’re not in Madison anymore. We’re just outside Chicago now, living on the campus of Northwestern University. One day when I was volunteering at the children’s museum back in Madison, a Moroi man and his little daughter came by. Of course they noticed I was Moroi, but the little girl was too caught up in one of the activities to really care. Not the man. He kept trying to strike up a conversation and was saying I looked familiar, even though I very clearly acted busy. Finally, he said that I reminded him of the Dragomirs. It was more of a trivia thing for him—not like he’d been hunting me. He seemed friendly enough and was just on vacation. Probably nothing would have happened, but I freaked out. I compelled him—on purpose—to forget he’d ever seen me. I ordered him to take his daughter out for ice cream and then leave Madison and never come back. And that was exactly what he did. Well, I didn’t see the ice cream or him leaving Madison, but he turned right around as soon as I released him and took his daughter out of the museum. I can’t explain how I know the compulsion worked, but it did.

As soon as Rose heard what had happened, she started making plans for us to leave. We went back to the house and packed up our essentials. We left an envelope with next month’s rent for one of our roommates, and then we were on a bus. Rose has had a backup plan in place for a while, so she already knew where to go.

I was numb the whole time. If I hadn’t made such a big deal about wanting to volunteer and be “useful,” I never would have run into that Moroi. Rose said that’s stupid logic and that we could have run into him anywhere else in the city—unless we never left our room. And then our roommates might report that for being weird too. She kept assuring me I didn’t do anything wrong, that the risk was small, and that it’s just better to be safe. But of course I did something wrong. We had a good thing in Madison. Both of us did. And I ruined it. Not only that, I compelled someone—majorly compelled. Giving a series of orders like that and making them stick long after they’ve been issued is almost impossible for a Moroi to do, especially to another Moroi. No one can do that. Except for maybe Strigoi. But I did it, and I know it worked. Rose said I shouldn’t feel guilty and that I needed to do whatever I could to survive. “If he forgets you, then that’s a good thing. And what’s so wrong about making a guy take his kid out for ice cream? For all we know, he’s one of those health food nuts and only lets her eat celery.”

But no one should be able to do what I did. No one should be able to play God. The worst part is, it felt so good. I had that wonderful high rushing through me, just like when I touched the raven. But that feeling didn’t last. As soon as we had a new house on a new campus in Chicago, I crashed. I sat in my room and stewed in that darkness. Rose could feel it and knew how badly I wanted to cut myself. Days and days we went like that, and this is the first one I’ve finally been able to do something more than just feel lost. I wish I knew what was wrong with me.

June 15

Six months.

June 21

I’m starting to feel hopeful again. The darkness has finally lifted. I feel stupid about swinging to these extremes all the time, but ruminating won’t help. I need to look toward the future. We’re starting to build a life here. Our room is bigger than the last place, which is nice, though Rose says she might concede to each of us getting our own room the next time we move. I was surprised to hear her talk about moving. When I told her I wouldn’t screw things up again, she said that wasn’t what she meant. She claims moving around regularly is simply a smart strategy. We need to stay hidden until I’m eighteen, and then no one can make me go anywhere I don’t want to be. But that’s almost two years away.

June 27

I’ve found more summer lectures to sit in on. There was another political science one I wanted to take, but then I found a class at the same time that was on weapons and warfare in ancient Greece. It’s not my thing at all, but I thought Rose might be into it. And is she ever! I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen her pay so much attention in a history class before. Yesterday’s lecture was about this Spartan spear called a dory, and now Rose is trying to figure out how she can get one of her own.

June 30

All our housemates are girls, but one of them has a brother named Jeff who’s also a student. He stops by sometimes and is totally in love with Rose. He doesn’t even hang around his sister anymore and is always trying to ask Rose out. I’ve teased her that she should accept a date and have some fun, even if he’s human. She said if I could read her mind, I’d know he wasn’t her type. I asked what her type was, and all she could come up with was “really, really tall.”

July 4

Our house had a barbecue today, and Jeff lit off fireworks in our backyard. It was fun, but I kept thinking about that summer my family stayed by Lake Tahoe and Andre tried to smuggle in fireworks without Mom knowing. Of course she found out and told him to get rid of them. He did so by destroying them with fire magic, and it practically burned our house down. It was a pretty amazing show, even though he was grounded for a month afterward. Remembering that made me sadder and sadder, and I left the party early. In the kitchen, I ran into Jeff. He’d burned his hand. I helped him wrap it up. When his sister found out, she lectured him on safety. He swore it wasn’t that bad and even unwrapped it to show her. And it actually wasn’t that bad. It was practically nonexistent, compared to what I’d seen earlier. I swear, sometimes I don’t think I can trust my own eyes. How much am I imagining these days?

July 10

I’m sixteen today. It’s hard to believe. To celebrate, Rose and I went into downtown Chicago and broke our normal budget to go on a shopping spree. Afterward, we ate at a fancy restaurant, and Rose ordered everything on the dessert tray. Even she couldn’t finish it. We had them pack it up, and now our refrigerator is full of leftover crème brûlée and tiramisu.

July 14

I’ve got another volunteer job, this time at a nursing home, so I’m working at the other end of the age spectrum. I was nervous about it after what had happened last time, but Rose pushed me into it and even offered to volunteer with me. She’s not usually the public service type, but her job there is “entertainment,” so she sits around and plays poker with the residents. They actually put money on the line when the nurses and attendants aren’t looking.

July 15

Seven months since I lost them all.

July 22

There’s so much going on now, and it’s all good. I’m happy again. Rose is too, though she never lets down her guard. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She found some people who go out to Lake Michigan to play volleyball on the weekends, so we do that now. She teases me that if she’s going to do good work like I do at the nursing home, then I owe it to her to give sports a try. I honestly would, if it wasn’t for the sun. I stay in the shade while she plays. She loves the sun, but as usual, she has to hold back how good she is.

July 29

I don’t feel like writing as much, but it’s mostly because I’m so content and distracted by other things. There’s not a lot to report, and honestly? I kind of love it that way.

August 6

I’ve been practicing the elements in my free time. I keep hoping that Ms. Carmack was right and that it was just the stress of the accident delaying me. But nothing’s changed. I have limited control of all four but nothing extraordinary. When I told Rose that, she said that I was extra, extra extraordinary and that my magic was too lame to even try to catch up.

August 16

I missed the anniversary of the accident yesterday. Rose and I spent most of the day at this film festival that was really weird but lots of fun. I was so caught up that the date slipped my mind. Rose says it means that I’m moving on with my life, but it doesn’t seem fair when Mom, Dad, and Andre never got that chance.

September 13

Regular term is back in session at Northwestern, and it feels like there are a million more people on campus. Rose likes it because it’s easier for us to lose ourselves in the crowd. Also, football season is back, and Rose is just as pumped up as she was watching those old games in Madison. Everyone in the house is. Now I know what Rose must have felt like sitting through those political science lectures. One of the classes I’m listening to this term is about American drama, so I’ve decided Saturday games are the perfect time to catch up on reading plays. I sit with everyone else around the TV, and then I read Arthur Miller and Tennessee Williams. No one even notices, so long as I cheer at the right times.

September 14

There’s a class on ancient Chinese warfare. Guess who wants to sit in on it?

September 18

I forgot the anniversary again.

September 20

Jeff finally got Rose to go out with him by offering her something she couldn’t resist: tickets to a live football game. And of course, Rose going out with him meant I had to go too since she wouldn’t leave me. Jeff brought a friend of his along, so it was sort of a double date. Jeff thought I’d like the guy—Cal—because he’s “artsy and political and doesn’t like football.” It was kind of true. Neither of us paid attention to the game, but all he talked about was how everything should be made of hemp and how some indie band he used to like is no good anymore because they sold out.

September 24

Jeff keeps wanting to go out again with Rose. None of the dates he’s offered involve football tickets, so she’s wondering how she can let him down easy.

October 1

We went out with some of the girls from our house to a Mexican restaurant a few nights ago. Jeff invited himself along and seemed to think he’d scored a date with Rose. He sat next to her and kept piling on the compliments. Then the food arrived, and he watched in horror as she put ketchup on her tacos. I’ve had years to get used to this, ever since that time the cafeteria ran out of salsa, but I guess it came as kind of a shock to him. He could barely say a word for the rest of the meal. Now he’s stopped calling.

October 9

Rose has had to give up joining casual sports leagues. She was playing basketball last night and didn’t check herself enough. She did this crazy maneuver, sprinting across the court and making an impossible shot. The coach of the university’s women’s team saw her and accosted us after the game. She thinks Rose is a student and was trying to get her name and set up a meeting. We managed to get out of there without answering any questions. Rose says it’s no big deal, but I can tell she’s sad to be cutting out the games. Sitting still is hard for a dhampir.

October 15

Ten months since the accident. I’ve been sad today—but not in the stay-in-bed-all-day way. Rose and I spent a lot of time sharing good memories about my family. It sounds like a cliché, but I really did laugh and cry. I still ache for them, but I feel like I can go on with my life now.

October 20

I have the flu. Moroi don’t catch human ailments very often, but I guess being around so many has taken its toll. I’ve needed extra blood, and of course, Rose has stepped up to give it. The result is that we’re both staying in and sleeping a lot more. Also, she’s gotten more vocal about offering, so I lied today and told her I’m feeling better, even though I’m not. She’s nowhere near the addiction a feeder experiences, but I recognize some of that eagerness in her eyes. I have to look after her, just like she looks after me.

October 31

Halloween. There are a ton of parties and events going on around campus, but Rose doesn’t like us to stay out too late at night. So we had our own party. We stayed home and dressed up like flappers. Rose loves feather boas. We also watched a bunch of “scary” vampire movies. They were hilarious.

November 12

Allison, one of our housemates, has this creepy ex-boyfriend who keeps bothering her. She actually changed her number because he wouldn’t stop calling. Last night, he showed up at our house and wouldn’t leave. When he tried to push past her and get through the front door, Rose came out and punched him so hard that he went flying off the porch and landed in the yard.

November 18

Allison’s boyfriend doesn’t bother her anymore, and she won’t stop talking about how Rose came to the rescue. Normally, Rose would eat up that kind of praise, but she hates it since we’re trying to keep a low profile. Blending in is a lot of work.

November 23

All our roommates went home for Thanksgiving, so we decided to celebrate on our own and cook a turkey. It didn’t end well.

November 30

One of our housemates was in a play yesterday. We went to see it, and afterward, a bunch of drunk frat guys hanging around outside started hitting on us. One of them grabbed me, and I freaked out. I can’t even explain what I felt. First panic, then that darkness, then that high. And I swear, he flew backward like I’d punched him, even though I hadn’t laid a hand on him. Then, Rose did actually punch one of the other guys. A whole bunch of people saw, but I don’t think anyone really grasped what happened with the guy who’d touched me. I don’t even grasp it, and I’m questioning my own sanity again. I’ve seen air users push people over without touching them, but this wasn’t air magic. Maybe he was drunker than he seemed and fell on his own. Rose didn’t really pay attention to that either. She’s more worried about us making a scene. I asked her if she really thought anyone who attended a college play would report us to the guardians. She said no, not directly, but that people mention things to other people, who then mention things to other people. Now she has that focused, hard expression again. She’s been online researching West Coast cities all day.

December 8

It’s exam week. Everyone is studying, so we’ve been staying in and pretending to as well. Mostly we sit in our room and play board games. Rose is obsessed with Clue. She also told me that for the first time ever, she wishes she could take an exam because she’s pretty sure she could ace the Chinese warfare one.

December 13

Exams are over, and most of our housemates are going home. Only Ellen is remaining on campus during break. Her boyfriend is over constantly, and they pretty much stay in her bedroom all day.

December 15

Another anniversary. But not just any anniversary. One year. One year since Mom, Dad, and Andre left me. Once year since my life stopped. Except it didn’t. I can’t believe how much things have changed. Rose reading my mind. The weird mood swings. Escaping St. Vladimir’s. Living with humans. It’s so strange—but still not as strange as not having my family around. I miss them so much. I miss Andre’s goofy jokes. I miss Mom braiding my hair. I miss Dad calling me “little queen” because he always said I ruled our family. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. We’re taught since birth to fear Strigoi. That’s the death that looms over everyone. Not an icy road.

December 24

Nothing like last-minute shopping. I don’t know why we waited so long. Rose and I went downtown earlier today to get each other Christmas presents—which was kind of difficult since we never stray too far apart. So we’d go into stores, and then one of us would have to turn around and not look while the other shopped. What made it especially ridiculous was that sometimes, Rose could “see” what I was buying her anyway with her mind.

It was later than Rose wanted when we finally left. She was keyed up the whole time we waited for a train and was constantly watching our surroundings. It was hard to tell with all the people and city noise, but she swears she heard a psi-hound. I heard a howl in the distance too, but it seemed like an ordinary dog to me. I tried to calm her down, but now she’s in a panic. She says one of her novice classes visited a psi-hound trainer a couple of years ago and that she recognizes the call. I only know the basics about psi-hounds, like how they were bred in Siberia by Moroi centuries ago and will obey Moroi with strong compulsion abilities. Sometimes they’re used for tracking, but it’s pretty rare for guardians to use them since a Moroi has to do the controlling. Rose was probably on edge because of how late it was.

December 25

Christmas. After the Thanksgiving incident, we didn’t attempt any gourmet holiday meals. Instead, we had frozen pizza and cherry pie. Rose got me a fluffy pink scarf with a unicorn embroidered on it because she claims I’ve always wished I could’ve bought those unicorn sheets back in Madison. I got her a letter opener shaped like a Spartan spear. She doesn’t really have any letters to open, but she loved it. I can’t help but think she’s holding something back from me, though. I don’t know why. Just a vibe. I asked her about it this afternoon, and she just said, “It’s Christmas, Liss. It’s not the time for serious thoughts.”

December 26

Today apparently was the time for serious thoughts. While we were eating leftover cherry pie for breakfast, Rose told me we’re moving again. She still thinks we heard psi-hounds the other night. At the very least, she says, there are Moroi in the area. At the very worst, someone’s looking for us. And so we’re doing it again. Packing up, moving on.

December 27

We’re heading west. Rose doesn’t want to push any farther east because it’s too close to Court for her comfort. So we got on a train today going to Portland, Oregon. It’s a long trip, but at least it’s more comfortable than a bus. Rose is a little uneasy about being only a few states away from Montana, but if we went south, it might be too sunny for me. There are no Moroi schools or notable gatherings in Portland, so we’re optimistic. I know caution is best, but I’m going to miss Chicago.

December 30

Portland’s a lot warmer than Chicago or Montana. Not tropical, of course. But there’s no snow, and the vibe is friendly and quirky. We stayed in a hotel while we looked for a home and now have a house with some students at Portland State University. Apparently, someone else came by just before us and wanted to rent it, but I used a little compulsion to get the landlord to give the room to us. I like it here, but that darkness keeps creeping in on me. It gets wearying sometimes, thinking of how we have months and months of looking over our shoulders and moving from city to city. Sometimes I’m still not even sure why we ran in the first place.

December 31

One of our housemates has a cat named Oscar. He seems to love me, and I love him back. Rose doesn’t share my affection, to put it mildly.

January 1

“DIMITRI!”

            I turned instantly at the sound of my name, shooting a glare at the guardian approaching in the darkness. What was he thinking? Everyone out here tonight knew how essential secrecy was. It didn’t matter that he was young and simply excited about his first big mission. We had no room for errors, not when this was the only break we’d had in over a year. Realizing his mistake, he grew apologetic, though not nearly enough.

            “Sorry.” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper and tapped his ear. “Headset’s not working. We checked the house, and they’re already gone. They must have had warning, maybe a perimeter of spies on the streets.” As his excitement returned, the young guardian—Laurence—began speaking rapidly. “I was thinking about it. They probably have a whole network of people working with them! It makes sense, right? How else have they managed to stay ahead of us for so long? There’s no telling how deep this conspiracy goes! We might be facing an army tonight!”

            I said nothing and showed nothing as I mulled over his words. It was something of a mystery how a couple of teenage girls had managed to escape detection for two years, especially when one of them was a privileged Moroi princess and the other a delinquent dhampir with a disciplinary file so long that it broke school records. When I’d joined the teaching staff of St. Vladimir’s last year and learned of the princess’s case, I’d honestly been surprised the girls hadn’t slipped up sooner. Being in league with others might explain how they’d remained hidden . . . and yet, in all our data gathering, we’d never once had even the slightest hint that they had one accomplice, let alone “a whole network” or “army.”

            My silence made Laurence nervous, and he no longer smiled. “It’s irrelevant now,” I told him. “And there’s no point jumping to conclusions when—”

            “Dimitri?” A female voice crackled in my earpiece. “We’ve got visuals on them. They’re approaching the intersection of Brown and Boudreaux, from the north.”

            Without another word to Laurence, I turned and headed toward the streets indicated. I heard him running after me, but his stride was shorter, and he couldn’t quite keep up. I tried to force calm as my heart rate increased, but it was difficult. This was it. This was it. We might finally have her: Vasilisa Dragomir, the missing princess, last of her line. Although I knew all guardian work was honorable—including the instruction of future guardians—part of me had longed for something more at St. Vladimir’s. When I’d learned about the Dragomir princess and how she’d escaped the school, I’d made finding her a personal project, pushing leads that others had said were hopeless.

            Me? I didn’t believe in hopeless.

            I slowed my pace as the intersection neared, allowing Laurence to catch up. A quick scan revealed the dark shapes of other guardians lurking in shadows and behind objects. This was the spot they’d chosen for the interception. Quickly, I stepped off the road and hid in the cover of a tree, urging Laurence to do the same with a jerk of my head. We didn’t have to wait long. As I peered around the tree’s edge, I saw two female figures approaching, one practically dragging the other along. At first, I assumed it must be the stronger dhampir helping the princess, but as they grew closer, their heights and builds revealed that it was exactly the opposite.

            I had no time to ponder this oddity. When they were about six feet from me, I quickly stepped out from the tree and blocked their path. They came to a halt, and whatever weaknesses the dhampir girl had now vanished. She grabbed the princess roughly by the arm and jerked her back, so that the dhampir’s own body served as a shield keeping me away. Around us, other guardians fanned out, taking defensive positions but not advancing without my command. The dhampir girl’s dark eyes made note of them, but she kept her attention focused squarely on me.

            I didn’t entirely know what to expect from her, maybe that she’d try to run away or beg for her freedom. Instead, she shifted into an even more defensive position in front of the princess and spoke in a voice that was barely more than a growl: “Leave her alone. Don’t touch her.”

            The girl was hopelessly outmatched yet still defiant, as though I were the one at a disadvantage. In moments like these, I was glad my old instructors in Russia had grilled me into concealing my feelings—because I was surprised. Very surprised. And as I took this dhampir girl in, I suddenly understood with perfect clarity how they’d eluded us for so long. A network of accomplices? An army? Laurence was a fool. The princess didn’t need a network or army, not when she had this protector.

            Rose Hathaway.

            There was a passion and intensity that radiated off of her, almost like a palpable thing. Tension filled every part of her body as she regarded me, daring me to make a move. She possessed a fierceness I hadn’t expected—that no one had expected, I realized, most likely because they couldn’t see past that delinquent record of hers. But there was a look in her eyes now that said this was no joke, that she would die a thousand times over before she let anyone harm the princess at her back. She reminded me of a cornered wildcat, sleek and beautiful—but fully capable of clawing your face out if provoked.

            And yes, even in the poor lighting, I could see that she was beautiful—in a deadly way—and that struck me too. Her pictures hadn’t done her justice. Long, dark hair framed a face filled with the sort of hard-edged beauty a man might easily dash his heart against. Her eyes, though filled with hatred for me, still managed to be alluring—which only added to her danger. She might be unarmed, but Rose Hathaway was in possession of many weapons.

            I didn’t want to fight her and held out my hands in a placating gesture as I took a step forward. “I’m not going to—”

            She attacked.

            I saw it coming and wasn’t surprised by the action itself so much as that she’d even try it with the odds stacked against her. Should I have been surprised? Probably not. As I’d observed, it was clear that Rose was willing to do anything and fight anyone to protect her friend. I admired that—I admired that a lot—but it didn’t stop me from striking out to block her. The princess was still my goal tonight. And although Rose might have passion and defiance, her attack was clumsy and easy to deflect. She’d been gone too long from formal training. She recovered badly and started to fall, and I remembered how she’d stumbled earlier. Out of instinct, I reached out and caught her before she could hit the ground, keeping her steady on her feet. That long, marvelous hair fell away from her face, revealing two bloody marks on the side of her neck. Another surprise—but it explained her fatigue and pale complexion. Apparently her devotion to the princess went beyond just defense. Noticing my scrutiny, Rose knocked some of her tangled hair forward to cover her neck.

            Despite the hopelessness of her situation, I could see her lithe body preparing for another attack. I tensed in response, even though I didn’t want this brave, beautiful, and wild girl to be my enemy. I wanted her as . . . what? I wasn’t sure. Something more than an outmatched scuffle on a Portland street. There was too much potential here. This girl could be unstoppable if her talents were properly cultivated. I wanted to help her.

            But I would fight her if I had to.

            Suddenly, Princess Vasilisa caught hold of her friend’s hand. “Rose. Don’t.”

            For a moment, nothing happened, and we all stood frozen. Then, slowly, the tension and hostility eased out of Rose’s body. Well, not all of the hostility. There was still a dangerous glint in her eyes that kept me on guard. The rest of her body language said that although she hadn’t exactly admitted defeat , she had conceded to a truce—so long as I gave her no cause for alarm.

            I didn’t plan to. I also don’t plan on ever underestimating you again, wild girl, I thought, momentarily locking eyes with her. And I’ll make sure no one else ever underestimates you either.

            Satisfied that she was pacified—at least momentarily—I dragged my eyes from her dark gaze and focused on the princess. After all, runaway or not, Vasilisa Dragomir was the last of a royal line, and certain protocols had to be followed. I bowed before her.

I knew it was going to happen. I just didn’t expect it to happen so fast.

“Hey, Rose, would you like to–”

                “No.”

                “Rose, did you see that scav – ”

                “No.”

                I don’t know if anyone’s asked you yet – ”

                “No.”

                “Rose you’re doing this with us, right?”

                The last request had come from Mason Ashford. So out of respect for our friendship and his puppy dog eyes, I actually let him finish his question before I turned him down.

                “No.”

                He fell into step with me as I continued walking toward our first guardian class of the day. “Why not? Did you already join someone else’s team?”

                “I didn’t join anyone’s team,” I said. “I’m not doing it this year.”

                “Seriously? Why not? Have you seen what’s up for grabs?”

                I came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the field, pivoting so I faced him. I’d missed breakfast, and low blood sugar always made me grumpy. “No, and I don’t care. How can you even think I’d do it?”

                  Mason looked so utterly confused that it was almost cute. “Because you’ve done it every other year. I mean, before you left.”

                “Yeas, but that was also before I was on Kirova’s shit list and caught up in a deranged scheme involving a power-hungry madman who tortures my best friend and persuaded his daughter to turn Strigoi! Can you see why I’d maybe – just maybe – want to lie low for a while?”

                “Yeah, but …” He reached into his backpack and pulled out a piece of paper that had been folded into quarters. “Look at the prizes.”

                I snatched it from him and read as we continued walking. “’Bootleg movies. Passcode for extra internet time. Dark chocolate bacon truffles’? That’s not even a real thing.”

                “You didn’t read it all,” he said when I handed it back. “There’s wine on here too.”

                “What kind?”

                “Parkland.”

                “Ugh. That’s that warehouse store’s crappy generic brand. I’m not going to risk getting in trouble for that.”

                We reached the building that held novice classes, and he pulled the door open for me. “It’ll be fun. Me, you, and Eddie. So what if you don’t care about the prizes? I figured you’d do it for the thrill of it. You haven’t lost your edge, have you?”

                I jabbed a finger in his chest. “I haven’t lost anything, Ashford. I just have better things to do tonight than sneak around and risk detention. Look, I’m sorry. If I were going to do it, it’d be with you guys. Really. But I’m going to try to walk the straight and narrow here. You’ve got to have some respect for that.”

                “I have plenty of respect for that,” he grumbled. “I’d just also like to have some crappy boxed wine.”

                “It’s a box too? Come on.”

                Mason wasn’t the last one to hit me up that day. I supposed I should’ve been flattered that so many people wanted me on their team, but I wasn’t sure it was because they liked me so much as they thought my reputation for crazy and reckless behavior would be a good asset.  

                The St. Varvara’s Day scavenger hunt was a tradition at our school – an unofficial one. Every year, St. Vladimir’s Academy put on enormous carnivals for both the lower and upper campuses in celebration of a Moroi saint who’d allegedly battled ghosts centuries ago. These days, no one in the Moroi world really believed she’d fought against ghosts. Hardly anyone even celebrated the holiday anymore, and those who did in America had sort of ended up making it a second Halloween. It actually took place a little less than a month after Halloween, so it was a handy to reuse decorations and costumes. If the weather was decent – which, for Montana in late November, meant less than five feet of snow – the teachers held the upper and lower school carnivals outdoors. The carnivals pretty much contained every clichéd Halloween activity you could think of: bobbing for apples, costume contests, and even pumpkin carving. It was also packed with junk food. And behind all that merriment, the scavenger hunt ran in secret on upper campus.  

                The students who organized that hunt changed from year to year. The group usually considered of a mix of Moroi and dhampirs who pooled together a set of prize goods that were either hard to get at school or outright banned. Teams of three competed by scurrying around campus for two hours, gathering as much as they could from a list of illicit items. Said items varied in difficulty to obtain, but stealing any one of them would get you in big trouble if you were caught. Teachers’ personal possessions were a popular choice, as were classroom supplies and hallway displays. Everything had a point value based on how much effort getting it would look. That last time I’d participated, one of the list’s goals had been a cafeteria tray. It wasn’t a high-stakes object, and it had a low point value since there were lots of them available. That same yar, Mr. Nagy’s Holy Mount Athos poster had been on the list – a one-of-a-kind item. Not only was breaking into his classroom difficult, you also ran the risk of getting there and finding another team had beat you to it.

                I felt like I’d turned down every novice on campus by the time I went to lunch and hoped  there was no one left of bug me. So it was a total shock when Lissa sat down  across from me, and carting a pair of angel wings, and sked, “You’re doing the scavenger hunt, right?”

                For half a second, I thought maybe she’d heard about all my refusals and just wanted to tease me. Now that she regularly took meds to keep spirit in check, I couldn’t see her mind as clearly as I used to. But just then, her eagerness and excitement came through loud and clear. “Why does everyone keep asking that? You of all people should understand why I need to stay out of trouble right now.”

                She drummed her nails against the table. “Well… you’re only in trouble if you get caught.”  

                “Liss, I expected this from everyone else. Not you. You’re the queen of sensible thinking.” I pointed to the wings. “You’re even dressing up like a freaking angel tonight. You can’t help yourself from being good.”

                “Yeah, I know. And normally I am against something like this. It’s stupid. It’s childish. And even though everything gets returned, I think it’s wrong to steal and break into rooms. But it’s just…”

                Nervousness and resolve in the bond now. I could’ve probed further and discovered exactly what was driving her, but I decided to wait her out. “And?” I prompted.

                “And…” She took a deep breath. “One of the prizes is dark chocolate bacon truffles.”

                Had I misheard? No. It wasn’t like there was really anything you could mistake that for. “Since when do you like dark chocolate bacon truffles, Liss? Scratch that – I know the answer. You don’t.”

                “No… but Christian does .”

                “Ugh.” I tossed my sandwich down and started to stand up. “That’s what this is about? I think I just lost my appetite, and amazingly, it’s not just because some mad scientist decided to put bacon into truffles.”

                Lissa grabbed my arm and pulled me back down. “Stop being melodramatic.”

                “I’m not! God didn’t intend for chocolate and bacon to be mixed together. But I’m zero percent surprised that if anyone would want to eat it, it’s be Christian.”

                “Rose, listen to me.” She rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “He loves them. Seriously. And this brand is his favorite! Haberlin’s Imported from Switzerland.”

                “They have bacon in Switzerland?”

                “Why wouldn’t they? Look, his birthday is next week, and there’s no way I could get any delivered out here in time. This is a perfect solution. Please?”                 “Liss –”

                “Please?” Those big jade-colored eyes met mine pleadingly. No compulsion necessary. “It’s a big milestone in our relationship. The first birthday since we’ve been a couple. And look at everything he’s been through in his life. He lost his parents in the worst way possible. He nearly got killed trying to save me from Victor. Don’t you think that after all that, the universe wants to make it up to him? I mean, what are the odds  that –”

                “Fine, fine.” I buried my face in my hands, unable to handle any more – because, truthfully, I was starting to feel bad for Christian. “If you want to do the scavenger hunt, I’ll do it with you.”

                “Oh. Well. I can’t do it.”

                “I lifted my head. “What?”

                “Christian and I volunteered to help out with the elementary kids’ carnival. I’m going to paint faces, and he’s going to make balloon animals.”

                “Someone would actually let Christian – never mind. Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. You want to send me off – on my own – to risk my recently salvaged reputation in order to win some disgusting abomination candy as a birthday present for your boyfriend, whom I can’t stand?”

                “That’s not true. You like him more than you’ll admit. And you secretly like the risk too.” A mischievous smile spread over Lissa’s face. She knew she had me. “And most important, you’re my best friend and a good person.”

                A good person? I wasn’t sure about that sometimes. But I was her best friend, and it was hard for me to tell her no, especially when I could read her feelings. She was so full of hope, not to mention pure, uncomplicated affection for me – and for Christian. And who could turn down that angelic face? The wings were overkill.

                “Okay. I’ll win this stupid scavenger hunt for you. But I may have to do it on my own since I’ve pretty much blown any chance of getting a team.” Eddie walked by just then, almost as though the universe really did think it owed Christian an act of kindness. “Hey!” I called. “Do you and Mason have a third yet?”

                Eddie stopped and tilted he head to the right. “He’s asking Charlie Hunt right now.”

                Sure enough, there was Mason on the other side of the room, five steps away from Charlie’s table. I jumped up and sprinted across the cafeteria, nearly knocking three people over in the process. Mason had reached the table and was opening his mouth to speak when I grabbed his sleeve and jerked him away. He stumbled, and someone who wasn’t a nimble dhampir would have dropped his tray.

                “Mason, I need to be on your team,” I blurted out.

                He stared at first, dumbfounded, and then slowly began to grin. “I knew you hadn’t lost your edge.”

                As classes wrapped up that day the carnival neared, I had two tasks. One was not to overthink what kind of crazy things I’d have to hunt down tonight. The organizers wouldn’t release the list until the carnival started, to make it harder. No one would have all day to plan strategy or even just swipe one of the classroom items while the school was still open.

                My other job was to figure out a costume.

                I hadn’t planned on waring one tonight, thought I had intended to go to that carnival. I mean, people had said a lot of outlandish things about me over the years, but only a fool would think I’d pass up a bunch of free candy. I’d wanted to just duck in, play a few games, and then slink back to my room, but now I had to look committed. Most of the teachers would be bus chaperoning and running the carnival, but they all knew the scavenger hunt was taking place. Some would be specifically tasked with locating players, and all would be watchful. I needed to blend in with the rest of the innocent fun-seekers.

                An internet search for “half-ass costumes” turned up a solid hit in about five minutes. I donned black skinny jeans and a black turtleneck and then wavered on wearing a jacket. We were actually having unseasonably warm weather, with temperatures in the fifties and now snow. Still, my clothing choices were tight and thin. That meant more maneuverability for daring deeds, thought, so I skipped a coat and moved on to assembling the rest of my costume. That involved stealing a marker and a bunch of guest name tags on my way out of the dorm. By the time I reached the central quad – where the upper school’s carnival was taking place – I was covered in HELLO, MY NAME IS … stickers with all sorts of different names written on them.

                Christian looked me over, puzzled, when I met up with him and Lissa. “What are you supposed to be?”

                She had on the full angel costume now, a vision in silver and white. Christian was, unoriginally, dressed up like a devil that really liked polyester. They’d never get me to admit it, but they actually looked pretty adorable.

                “I’m an identity thief,” I explained, pointing to the different tags. “Get it?”

                “Did you just some up with that five minutes ago?” he asked.

                “It’s more work than it looks like,” I countered. “I had to think up a lot of names.”

                Christian leaned forward to read. “Vladimir. Mitzy. Amelia Earhart. Kip. Gandhi. Mary Sue.”

                Eddie strolled up to us, dressed as Batman. A figure draped in a white sheet with cutout eyeholes walked next to him. “Geez, Mason,” I said. “And here I just got accused of a last-minute costume.

                Mason pulled the sheet up over head. He too wore dark clothing underneath. “Are you kidding? I’ve been planning this for weeks.”

                Say what you wanted about St. Vlad’s, but the school sometimes did try to make up for being out in the middle of nowhere, Montana. The carnival was a pretty serious affair, and I realized I’d been a little jaded in dismissing it so easily. They’d hauled in Skee-Ball and Whack-A-Mole machines. Booths held all sorts of other games, everything from ring-toss to darts-and-balloons to archery. Mr. Colfax was guessing people’s weights, Students had already lined up in front of a dunk tank, and Guardian Kolobkov climbed up its ladder with grim resignation. An entire pavilion held materials and space for pumpkin carving, and everyone who wanted to enter the costume contest had to get their pictures taken. Orange lanterns were strung around the booths, and tents cast a magical glow. Heat lamps ringed the area, boosting the mild temperatures. There was even live music – although, unfortunately, it was just from Jesse Zeklos’s crap cover band, Dagger Fang. What the hell was that supposed to mean, anyway? And the food… there was food everywhere. Cotton candy and funnel cake. French fries and corn dogs. Candy for prizes. Candy simply given away by passing teachers. Honestly, why would anyone ever want to compete for the scavenger hunt’s contraband? The carnival was packed with all sorts for goodness.

                But no dark chocolate bacon truffles. Lissa watched me intensely, and the bond buzzed with her wondering if I would come through for her. I gave her a small nod and turned to the other dhampirs. “Well, we’d better get started on our pumpkin-carving entries. Right, guys?”

                “And Christian and I have to go over to the lower campus,” said Lissa.

                I’d forgotten she was volunteering at the younger students’ carnival. Some of the activities were the same. Others weren’t. They couldn’t have darts or bows, for example, but they did have pony rides, which I thought was totally unfair.

                “Try not to corrupt anyone,” I called as Lissa and Christian walked away hand in hand.

                Mason turned deadly earnest as soon as they were gone. “The lists are coming out in fifteen minutes. We’ve got to be ready to work on strategy.”

                “Fifteen minutes sounds like enough time for funnel cake,” I said.

                Apparently, everyone else thought it was time for funnel cake too because there were twenty people in line for it. Eddie shifted restlessly from the foot as we waited and finally couldn’t take it anymore. “I don’t want to miss it. I’ll go get the list from Camille and meet you back here. Save me some.”

                “He’s pretty worked up about this,” I noted. “He must want that cheap-ass wine pretty badly.”

                Mason laughed. “No, he wants Raptorbot.”

                “What?”

                “One of the bootleg movies. I guess it came out a while ago, but he never got to see it because… well, you know. Because we’re here. Anyway, he wants to catch up before the sequel comes out. That one’s called Rampaging-something, I think.”

                “Huh.” The delicious scent of funnel cake was heady. Only two people stood ahead of us now. “I never took Eddie for a movie fanatic.”

                “I think it’s one of those so-bad-it’s-good things. If you want to check it out – after we win – We can set up a secret screening this week.”

I caught the suggestion in his voice. “With Eddie?”

“With you and me. By the time we’re done with the hunt, we’ll probably has sneaked into every part of campus tonight. Finding a quiet dark room after that’ll be a piece of cake.”

“Oh, hey. On the topic of cake – looks like it’s our turn.”

I stepped ahead so I wouldn’t have to see his reaction to my dodging the invitation. It wasn’t the first time Mason had dropped something like that on me. He liked me and wasn’t shy about it. Me? I liked him too. A lot. The problem was, when I thought about a private movie screening in a dark room, it wasn’t someone from my class who I wanted to curl up with.

“Nice ghost costume, Mr. Ashford. And Miss Hathaway… will you enlighten me?”

In an image I’d neve be able to bot from my mid, Alberta – captain of the campus guardians – smiled at us from behind the funnel cake counter. She wore an apron and chef’s hat and had smudges of powdered sugar on her face. I had to blink a few times and remind myself that this was the same deadly woman who’d faced down two psi-hounds.

“I’m and identity thief.”

“Ah. I see. ‘Zeus.’ ‘Marilyn Monroe.’ Who’s ‘Chet’?”

“Just a random name I thought up. They can’t all be celebrities.” I turned around and pointed to my back. “You’re on here too.”

“I’m flattered. I hope identities are the only things you plan on stealing tonight.”

Her smile remained, but those eyes were shrewd. She might have been assigned to funnel cake duty, but Alberta was no fool. She knew what went on during the carnival, and she also knew that dhampirs took part in the scavenger hunt much more than Moroi did. Who could blame us? We were literally trained to seek danger. For all I knew, the campus guardians had crunched all sorts of data about student personalities and analyses of past hunts to calculate the suspects most likely to participate this year. And yeah, statistically speaking, my name being at the top of that list wouldn’t exactly e a surprise.

“Guardian Petrov, the only thing we plan on stealing are the hearts and minds of the costume contest judges,” Mason told her.

                “And a few extra helpings of funnel cake,” I added. “We’re getting some for out friends. Like, a whole bunch of friends.”

                Whether she believed us or not, Alberta loaded us up with deep-fried deliciousness. “You should go get your picture taken right now,” she said as we started to walk away. “There’s no line.”

                “Picture?” I asked.

                She pointed. “For the costume contest.

                “Right. Hearts and brains.”

                “Hearts and minds,” corrected Mason. “We’ll go over there right now, ma’am. Thank you for the helpful tip – and for sharing your outstanding culinary skills.”

                “Suck-up,” I told him when we were out of earshot.

                “Did you see her face? She doesn’t trust us. There’s probably a deep-fried tracking device under all this powered sugar that we’re about to swallow. Besides, I really do want to enter the contest.”

                “You think you can win with a sheet?”

                “It’s retro.”

                We let Abby Badica take our picture, and after I’d given yet another explanation about my costume, we finally headed off to a grassy patch of the quad just beyond some of the carnival games. We’d barely sat down when Eddie came jogging up to us with a piece of paper. After checking for spies, we huddled over the note to read it as we munched on the cake.

                20 – ONE SET OF BOXING GLOVES

                5 – CASE OF CHOCOLATE PUDDING

                25 – FOYER PORTRAIT OF A PAST HEADMASTER

                25 – GUARDIAN JACKET

                20 – TEACHER’S FORMAL ROBE

                15 – ONE VOLUME FROM THE SLAVIC CULTURE ENCYCLOPEDIA SET

                35 – ONE OF MR. DWITHGT’S TIES

                5 – SNORKEL MASK

                50 – HEADMISTRESS KIROVA’S CAT EARRINGS*

                5 – DARMA DEPARTMENT WIG

                5 – ONE MARACA

                40 – ONE OF GUARDIAN BELIKOV’S CDs

30 – COPY OF MISS FEDIN’S NEXT WEEK ALGEBRA QUIZ

                45 – QUEEN TATIANA’S MESSASGE OF BLESSING*

45 – GUARDIAN COJOCARU’S COLOGNE*

                Eddie let out a low whistle. “They aren’t messing around this year.”

“Are you kidding?” I asked between bites. “Apparently, this is amateur night. We should’ve let Lissa and Christian take this down to the lower campus for the kids to do.”

Beside me, Mason scoffed. “Okay, Captain Confidence. What’s your strategy?”

“The five-pointers aren’t worth out time. The earring are impossible – I head Kirova’s home tonight – so they’re off the table. The other starred one-of-a-kinds are what we want. We grab those and a couple of the mid-levels, and we’re done. The headmaster portraits are around the corner form the queen’s blessing, so we can get one of those on our way out. This’ll be an hour, tops. We’ve got to get the jump on everyone.” I finished off an enormous chunk of funnel cake and wiped powdered sugar off my hands. “Then we can come back and eat some more.”

                Mason produced a key ring from his pocket. Veterans of this game usually tried to acquire keys and access cards in advance of the list. It usually resulted in a campus-wide lock change the next day. “The cologne might be off the table too. I’ve got the main building, rec building, and guardian building. Sorry, no cards.”

                That was unfortunate. Access cards would get us into more rooms within the buildings. “Hey, I’m impressed you got the guardian building,” I said. That wasn’t an easy key to steal.

                “Yeah, but getting anything from there is almost as impossible as Kirova’s place,” Eddie pointed out. “The guardians are all in and out of there on patrol tonight.”

                “We don’t really need any of those items anyway,” I said. “I’ll go back to our dorm and get the cologne. Maybe Cojocaru keeps his jacket in there too.”

                Mason shook his head. “How are you going to pull that off? His room’s right by the front desk.”

                “Are you doubting my edge already? Let me worry about Cojocaru. You guys get over to the main building before everyone’s there and it’s too hard to sneak around. You know they’ll be patrolling it. Get the blessing and a portrait and then either the quiz or tie. Whichever’s fastest. I’ll meet you by the Chapel, and we’ll see what we’ve got.”

                I jogged back across campus, over to dhampir housing. There were fewer of us on campus, and dhampir staff and students shared the same residence call. When I entered the dorm, I found the same attendant on duty from earlier. He looked me over and narrowed his eyes.

                “Did you take those name tags from here? Mine are missing.”

                “Nope,” I lied. “This is my personal stash. A bunch of people wanted to copy me sweet costume, though, so maybe they took them.”

                “What is your costume?”

                That voice came from behind me, and I jumped when I turned around and saw Mason. Well, it seemed like Mason at first glance, seeing as the figure standing motionless in the corner worse a white sheet with cut-out eyes. But there was no way Mason had beat be back here. Also, Mason didn’t have a woman’s voice.

                The ghostly sentinel lifted the sheet and revealed Guardian Mertens. “Just me.”

                “Geez,” I said. “No offense, Guardian, but that’s pretty creepy, just standing there like that. Are you waiting for someone?”

                “Just hanging out. Taking in the costumes.” She kept her tone and posture casual, but I knew better. She was on guard for scavenger hunt players, and her position put her right between the lobby and the hall containing the teachers’ residences. I could even see Guardian Cojocaru’s door from here – which meant she could too.

                I smiled back. “Well, good luck finding one better than mine. I’m an identity thief.”

                “Does that tag say ‘Jesus’?”

                “It’s Spanish.” I backed up toward the stairwell. “Forgot something in my room. I’ll see you around. Have fun scaring people.”

                I glanced back once when I reached the stairs and saw she’d put the sheet back over herself. I couldn’t make out her real eyes but knew without a doubt she was watching me.

                Her presence was a complication, but it didn’t mean this plan was dead in the water. I’d hoped to steal a master key from the front desk, but even if I’d pulled that off, I could hardly enter Guardian Cojocaru’s room with Guardian Mertens right there. Ground-floor windows were pretty impervious from the outside, something I knew from past experience. I could always break the glad, but one thing the scavenger hunt usually managed was mayhem without a lot of permanent damage. If that ever changed, security would get a lot worse at future carnivals. The school might even call off the  carnivals, and that’d be a damned shame since it wasn’t like I was going to find funnel cake anywhere else in the middle of the wilderness.

                I’d wanted to do everything quietly tonight, but it looked like quiet wasn’t going to cut it.

                I reached for the next floor, walked to the far side of the building, and then headed from the back staircase. Around the corner from it, a door labeled EMERGENCY EXIT loomed before me. I stared back at it, did a few calculations, and then kicked it open. Immediately, the alarm blared. I stuck around only long enough to push the doorstop down before tearing back up to the second floor. AS I ran to the front staircase, I could imagine Guardian Mertens sprinting in the opposite direction beneath me. I hoped the desk attendant followed. Everyone was jumpy tonight.

                I took the steps down two at a time and found a suspiciously locked drawer, just as the alarm went quiet. Crap.

                No – wait. A small set of metal keys lay near the attendant’s coffee cup. The guy hadn’t brought them to check out the alarm. The mystery drawer opened with the third key I tried, rewarding me with an envelope labeled MASTERS. I snatched one of the key cards from within it, put everything back to its previous state, and then raced over to Guardian Cojocaru’s door. The card admitted me, and I slipped inside before anyone returned.

                Even if his name hadn’t been on the door, I would’ve known I had the right place just by the smell alone. Every guardian knew you wanted your scent as nondescript as possible when out in a situation that might pit you against Strigoi. That was a novice kindergarten lesson. And we had it on good authority that in the field, Guardian Cojocaru did not, in fact, feel the need to torture everyone with obnoxious odors. In the safety of the school, while teaching guardian theory, he apparently didn’t have to adhere to normal protocols.

                I followed my nose to the bathroom and found the culprit sitting right out in the middle of his counter. The cologne came in a black art deco-style bottle and was called Oblivion.

                “More like ‘Oblivious.’” I muttered. Honestly, how could he not know how bad this stuff smelled? Was he purposely trying to discourage any change of ever getting a date? The cologne smelled like furniture polish and low self-esteem.

                I put it in a paper bad I’d found and then poked my head into his closet. There, neatly pressed, hung his formal black jacket, the one guardians wore on special occasions and for official duty. Often, the school’s laundry service stored these, but he’d hung on to his. This universe really was pulling for Christian.

                With the jacket and cologne in hand, I pressed my ear to the door and could hear voices in the lobby. Fortunately, getting out was easier than getting in. I unlocked the room’s window and removed the screen so I could climb out. Once outside, I nearly slid the glass back down but then decided against it. That room could use a little airing out.

                After that, it was a matter of making sure no one noticed my loot as I cut over to the Chapel. Laughter and music from the carnival filled the air, and I looked longingly at the glittering centra quad as I passed. I couldn’t smell any of the food, thanks to Oblivion. “Soon, cotton candy,” I muttered. “Soon.”

                I found a secluded spot near the Chapel, sandwiched between a statue and a tree. Settling down in the shadows, I put my back to the trunk ad kept and eye out for Mason and Eddie. I hoped they’d com soon. Temperatures were cooling off as the night progressed, and I shivered in my thin getup. As I waited, I let the bond pull me over to Lissa. The connection was weak, but I could see how she sat at a table down on the lower campus, all her attention focused on painting a butterfly on the cheek of a small Moroi girl who regarded Princess Dragomir with awe. Neither Christian nor the scavenger hunt was on Lissa’s mind just them. She burned with happiness, her feeling lovingly turned toward the children before her as her small acts brought them such joy.

                An angel indeed. Her contentedness echoed back into me, and I was glad I’d taken on this task for her tonight. My feelings for Christian – whom I could hear in Lissa’s periphery, telling some kid it was impossible to make a manatee out of a balloon – didn’t even enter into it.

I blinked back into my surrounding and saw two giggling Morori girls dressed as witches walk by. Still no Mason or Eddie. They were starting to worry me. If everything had worked out, they should’ve been able to get in and out of the main building quickly. That was the whole point of arriving there before any of the other players did.

What if everything didn’t work out? What if they were caught? Plenty of detentions and other punishments always followed the scavenger hunt. That was a fact of the game.

“Rose?” I turned toward the whispers and waved. “Over here.”

Mason and Eddie materialized from the shadows; their arms full of objects. At least I thought Mason’s were. He had the sheet on.

“I could smell you but couldn’t see you,” Eddie said, crouching down. “You got it.”

“I did. Is that one of the encyclopedias? That’s only fifteen points. You were supposed to just snag the big items.”

“Yeah, well, they weren’t all ripe for the snagging,” Mason said, pushing the sheet back. His read hair stuck up at odd angles. He held up a framed portrait of a wizened Moroi man with a unibrow. A small plaque identified him as Gerard Trotter, St. Vladimir’s headmaster from 1977 to 1981. “We got this, but the queen’s blessing was already gone.”

“What? Who beat us to it?”

“Shane’s team. He’s got Andy Brewer with him and Charlene Conta.”

“Air user,” I said. “That’s lucky.”

“That’s only part of their luck.” Mason took the sheet off altogether and lay back in the grass. “We’re actually ahead of them when Guardian Kier stopped to question us outside. I watched Shane and Charlene actually walk behind him and go right into the building, thanks to our distraction. When we got in, they had the blessing and their own portrait and were on their way upstairs. We figured we’d get the tie and the quiz to make up for it and pretty much followed along with them.”

I glanced down. “I see a tie but no quiz.”

“Miss Fedin’s printer ran out of ink just as they finished printing theirs,” said Eddie. “Even Shane was surprised. He actually looked sorry for us and was starting to tell us where the ink suppl was when we heard a bunch of noise. One of the other teams got caught, and we had to get out before the guardians found us too. Took us a while to get a clear shot on an exit, and we detoured through the library to grab and encyclopedia. Figured we should at least get something.”

I stared up at the sky and did some math. “Well, I got a jacket from Cojocaru’s room, so that helps.”

                “Sort of. Miss Fedin’s robes were in her room, so Shane got those too,” said Eddie, almost apologetically. “Easy score.”

                “Goddammit!” I exclaimed. “Lissa was wrong. The universe hates Christian. Let’s go deliver this stuff and check the tallies. We’ll figure out Plan B.”

                No one wanted to haul their loot around throughout the hunt, so the coordinators set up a secret drop point to collect the goods and keep track of the current team standings. It was also a way to get out finds counted; in case we couldn’t make it back right at the two-hour mark. We located the drop-off out in the woods, on the outskirts of the main campus. Camille Conta took inventory of what we had and then passed them on to Otto Sterling, a novice in our grade, to transport somewhere else. They didn’t want to be caught with a stand of contraband any more than we did. She turned on a small flashlight and let us look at the current standings.

                Mason pulled back in disgust and began pacing around. “Figures. They grabbed an encyclopedia on their way out too.”

                We were in second, a full twenty-five points behind Shane’s team. The next closest team had an even bigger point gap between them and us. Other teams hadn’t reported in yet, but it seemed unlikely anyone else could be a contender based on what was left.

                “I think the second-place team gets a smaller box of wine,” Eddie remarked.

                “I don’t want a smaller box of wine. I want the crappy full-size one. I’m getting those bacon truffles, and you’re getting your reptile movie.”

                “Raptor,” he corrected.

                Camille, listening to us, asked, “You like those truffles? Wish I’d known. I’m the one who donated them as a prize. My grandparents sent me some from Switzerland, and I gave then all away. By the way… what’s your costume, Rose?”

                Later, as my team walked back to campus, Mason pressed a hand to his forehead and pondered our situation. “We’ve still got an hour. We’re going to have to try to pull it out with the little scores. The next-biggest thing’s in Belikov’s room, and no one’s going to risk getting caught by him.”

                I’d seen Dimitri’s name right away, of course. I noticed everything that had to do with the mentor I was inconveniently in love with, whether it was a wisp of brown hair escaping his ponytail or a new Western novel for him to read on his breaks. ONE OF GUARDIAN BELIKOV’S CDS, the list had read. I’d immediately dismissed it because I also didn’t want to risk getting caught by Dimitri. That item also hadn’t seemed necessary in the initial version of our plan, back when we thought we’d be able to score so much from the main building.

                “He doesn’t keep them in his room,” I said, earning astonishment from my companions.

                “How do you know that?” asked Eddie.

                Because I’ve been in his room. Naked. Making out with him in his bed.

                I’d been under the influence of a lust charm at the time – not that it had been entirely necessary – but, even still, I’d taken in all the details of his room and noted the absence of his infamous 1980s music collection. I’d also seen him produce CDs pretty quickly when we were in the indoor training areas, far from the residence hall.

                “Because he’s my mentor.” I certainly wasn’t going to give these two any specifics. “I’m pretty sure he keeps them near the weight room.”

                Mason stopped walking. “That’s right by all the training supplies. By the boxing gloves.”

                “The exterior entrance is too secure,” said Eddie. “They won’t risk anyone getting into the stakes. But you can access it from the other side – by the guardian offices and meeting rooms.”

                “Which we have a key to,” I added.

                We stood there staring at one another. Cheers from the carnival made me think someone must have successfully dunked a teacher.

                “The key doesn’t matter,” Eddie said at last. “There are too many guardians. You can’t walk in there without them noticing.”

                My eyes fell on Mason. “Actually… maybe I can. Anyone else crazy enough to go for the CD will think it’s in Dimitri’s room like you guys did. If I can get into the training center from the guardian offices, I can get it and the boxing gloves. You guys round up what you can from the rec building, just be safe,” I didn’t elaborate that “just be safe” actually meant “in case I’m caught.”

                Mason regarded me with awe and affection – and also concern. “Rose, I love it when you’re crazy, but this might even be beyond you.”

                I snatched the sheet he had draped over his arm. “Not if I have this.”

                Ideally, I would’ve spent a lot longer than five minutes studying the entrance to the guardians’ building before making my move. But with the clock racing, recon time was limited. In my brief surveillance, I saw two guardians leave and one enter. All were costumed. None of them was Guardian Mertens.

                Showtime, Rose.

                I pulled the sheet over me and emerged from my hiding place. A cluster of students carrying cotton candy crossed my path but paid little attention to me. Throwing my shoulders back, I strode up to the building’s doorway as thought I worked there and entered all the time – as if I most certainly weren’t a student posing as a guardian who was hopefully still on watch back in the dorm’s lobby.

                I used my purloined key to unlock the door and swung it open, revealing Guardian McKay – dressed as a goblin. I froze, terrified by both his reaching toward me and his cheap rubber mask. He caught the door and gave me a friendly nod as he walked out. “Hey, Wanda.”

                I nodded back, not that he could probably even tell under the sheet. The she also at least hid the fact that I was hyperventilating, so that as a bonus. Moving forward, I tried to get my bearings. I’d been in here a couple of times and had a general sense of how the building connected over to the gym and training center. I expected there to be a hallway branching to the left at some point. This facility held offices for guardians to work and grade in, as well as meeting rooms. Those were all dark tonight. A room straight ahead, at the end of the hall I walked, held most of the action: the guardian break room.

                I could see three guardians in there and heard what sound like show tunes playing. Two guardians stood chatting by a coffeepot while another waited for the microwave to finish. That one nodded when he caught sight of me in the hall, and I gave another concealed nod back. Was it going to look weird if I didn’t go in and have a doughnut or something? I had the height, build, and attire to pass myself off as Mertens, but once I had to speak, it would be game over.

                A whiteboard hung above the coffeepot, containing a grid of all the guardians, their posts tonight, and scheduled bras. That actually would’ve been incredibly useful for scavenger hunt players, but right now, it could pose another serious problem for me. Mertens had her break in fifteen minutes. If anyone questioned why she was here early, my cover would be blown. And if I was somehow still here when she showed up, m cover would also be blown.

                “Hey, hold up!”

                I jumped at the voice behind me. Busted already. I turned slowly toward the building’s entrance, ready to face my fate. But although I was the one being addressed, I wasn’t the one who’s actually been busted. Alberta came storming down the hall, with three mortified students in tow. One carried a portrait of some ancient headmistress. My night would’ve become a lot simpler if it had been Shane’s team that had been captured, but this was a group of Moroi. No surprise they’d been caught. Moroi magic was handy in some challenges, but dhampirs were the ones who exceled in stealthy operations. Without one of us to guide them, this team had just been asking for failure.

                “Emil caught them trying to sneak into the rec building.” Alberta still wore her apron and had even more powdered sugar than before on her. But she smelled incredible. “Joe’s supposed to be doing the processing, but I’ve lost him Can you stay with them while I figure out where he went?”

                “Mmm-hmm.”

                My muffled response wasn’t questioned in her agitated state. She stomped off, and while this saved me from making conversation over coffee in the break room, I wasn’t sure if being stuck on guard duty for my fellow competitors was that much better.

                “We were set up, Guardian,” one of the Moroi blurted out. “Honest.”

                “Yeah,” said another. “We were, uh, just holding this for someone.”

                “Quiet.” I changed my voice to something gravelly, deep, and – hopefully – terrifying. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves and beg Guardian Petrov for mercy. St. Vladimir’s is an institute of fine education. This childish behavior is a disgrace to all it and this carnival represent.”

                “Doesn’t the carnival represent candy and costumes?” the first one asked.

                “Quiet!” I barked.

                Alberta hurried back a minute later and had Guardian Cojocaru with her. He was dressed as a jester and had been pretty heavy-handed with the cologne tonight. His Oblivion completely overpowered Albert’s eau de funnel cake.

                “Here they are,” she said to him. “Write them up and send them on their way. They’re Kirova’s. she can deal with them tomorrow. And I’ll take this.” She snatched the portrait away. “Thank you for watching them, Wanda. Don’t let me delay you from your break.”

                I turned toward the break room and barely heard one of the Moroi behind me saying something to Alberta about mercy. Just as I reached the break room’s entrance, I made a quick check to confirm no one was watching me from inside of from the hall. I veered left, down a corridor that forked in the direction I needed. After about ten steps, I paused, waiting to her if anyone would call back and ask why I wasn’t on my way to the coffee. No one did, and I took off at a run.

                One two conference rooms flanked this walkway, but soon, as expected, it opened up to a room I recognized: the training center’s office. I had two doors, one of which I’d just walked through. The other door, directly opposite me, led to the training room itself. This was the office I’d seen Dimitri disappear into when he went looking for music.

                The glow shining from the hallway was all the light I needed, and I immediately set to searching the room. I found the CDs in a cardboard box labeled PROPERTY OF D.B. that had been tucked under a table. Pulling off my sheet and kneeling down, I flipped through the CDs and saw they all had D.B. on them, which would help prove I had the authentic item – not that it was probably even possible to get a B-52’s or After the Fire CD anywhere else on campus. Since they were alphabetized, I left the rest undisturbed in the box and just selected one from the beginning. I’d never read of a group called Animotion, but anyone who looked at their picture would immediately know whose CD collection this had come from. Shane couldn’t match this. Now I just had to get the boxing gloves, and Christian would be eating disgusting bacon truffles in no time.

                I stood up, turned around, and found myself looking right at Dimitri.

                And not just any Dimitri. Dimitri dressed as a cowboy.

                Now, to be fair, Dimitri always kind of dressed like a cowboy. I mean, he wore a leather duster as part of his everyday attire. The crazy thing was, he wasn’t wearing it now. He had on a different coat, deep dray wool that fell to his knees and was worn open to show a black-and-gray checked vest buttoned across a crisp white dress shirt. It was accented with a blue paisley tie and, so help me, a gold pocket watch, its chain draping over the vest. And, of course, he had a hat, because what kind of lame cowboy wouldn’t? A wide-brimmed gray hat that matched the coat. I supposed he wasn’t so much a cowboy who rounded up cattle on a ranch as he was a sharp-eyed sheriff who stalked the streets of lawless towns.

                It was ridiculous how gorgeous he was in that getup. No one had a right to look that good in a cowboy costume. He was even waring his hair loose! If Dimitri needed a volunteer to be lassoed or handcuffed or whatever it was swanky lawmen did, I’d be the first to step up. I might as well have been wearing a, HELLO, MY NAME IS SMITTEN tag.

                “Rose,” he said, jolting me out of my fantasies. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

                “Sure, lots of things. Starting with how to download music. It’s take up a lot less space, you know.”

                He gave me a look I knew well, a hybrid of exasperation and amusement, “Rose, you’re doing the scavenger hunt, aren’t you?”

                “What makes you say that?” When his gaze fell on the CD in my hand, I added, “Jesse’s band is terrible. Did you ever consider that maybe I wanted to change things up? Bring a new vibe to the carnival?”

                “No, that’s something I would never consider.” He reached into an inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a piece of paper I recognized. “Also, I’ve seen this.”

                I sighed. “Damn it. Someone’s always stupid enough to have it on them when they get caught. They need to burn that thing. Or eat it.” Mason, Eddie, and I had made sure to memorize our copy of the list before disposing of it. Once the teachers knew what we were actually after, the hunt became all but impossible.

                “This is serious.” Dimitry had on his stern face, and it just went along beautifully with that suit. “I thought you’d learned your lesson about reckless stunts – that you intended to take your duty to Lissa seriously from now on.”

                “I am! I am doing this for her.”

                “Rose, don’t start –”

                “No, I’m serious! One of the prizes for winning this thing is chocolate bacon truffles. Now, I know what you’re thinking: disgusting.”

                “Actually, I wasn’t thinking that.”

                I grimaced. “Don’t say anything else. If you’re into those, I don’t want to know. I’d rather live in ignorance. Anyway. Christian really is into them. They’re apparently, like, one of his favorite things ever. And his birthday’s coming up, and Lissa really wants to give them to him as a present.”

                Dimitri studied me for a long moment, and it was hard not to squirm under the power of those dark brown eyes. “Do you really except me to believe that?”

                “Do you really think I’d make that up? Come on, comrade. I know you’re honor bound to uphold the laws to this school and all that, but can’t you cut me some slack? Think of everything Christian’s been through. His parents. Victor. All he asks for in this world – aside from liberties with my best friend – is some candy that was probably created as a horrible accident.” I tried my best to channel the irresistible, beseeching manner Lissa had used on me earlier. “Don’t you think he deserves something good for once? Don’t you think it’s about time the universe gives back?”

                “Rules are rules. They can’t be manipulated because of one person’s wants and this isn’t a small thing. This scavenger hunt is the worst kind of chaos. Theft, breaking and entering. It’s a terrible tradition.”

                I clasped my hands in front of me and widened my eyes. “More terrible than seeing your own parents hunted down in front of you? More terrible than being mauled by psi-hounds? More terrible than finally having friends to share a birthday with after years of loneliness, only to be deprived of your favorite –”

                “Enough.” Dimitri turned away and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Go. Get out of here. I won’t report you, but if another guardian catches you, I can’t do anything for you.”

                I nearly fainted in relief. “Thank you, thank you. I swear, this is a onetime thing. Just a quick throwback to the old Rose in order to serve a greater good.”

                “I already said yes. You don’t have to keep convincing me.” Despite the gruff tone, he was smiling.  “But why do you need two CDs? The list says one.”

                I held up Animotion. “That’s all I’ve got.”

                He crouched down and pulled out the box. “A-ha is missing. It should be right at the beginning.”

                “Maybe you didn’t put them in the right order?”

                “I always put them in alphabetical order. Look, you can even see the gap. One there, and one here for what you took.”

                A cold, awful realization crept over me. “Someone’s already been in here. It’s impossible. There’s no way to get in.”

                He gave me a meaningful look. “Isn’t there? You did.”

                I held up the ghostly sheet I’d dropped on the floor earlier. “I disguised myself as Mertens. How could anyone have an idea that good?”

                “It doesn’t have to be that good.” He straightened up and pushed the box back under the table with his foot. His boot was made of elaborately tooled leather. Where did he find this stuff? “It only had to be good enough to get in here and take my CD.”

                I gasped. “If they were in here, they’ve been in the training room!”

                “Rose –”

                I left him behind and took off for the door opposite the one I’d entered. The training room contained pretty much everything a novice vampire hunter needed to become even more badass. Weights, weapons, targets. Also, boxing gloves. I flung open the cabinet that contained them and found twelve hooks and eleven pairs of gloves.

                “Aah!” I slammed the door and collapsed against it, sinking to the floor. “Sixty points! I sneaked in here, right under Alberta’s nose, for sixty points – which now mean nothing if Shane’s team was the one that got these. And considering they’re kicking everyone’s ass tonight, that seem pretty likely. We can’t close those twenty-five points with whatever Mason and Eddie dredge up from the rec building. Maybe there’s a chance to win if we can score a teacher’s robe, but that’s not a big margin, and it only works if Shane doesn’t get anything else. And I doubt he’s given up. Ugh.” I leaned my head back and shook my fist at the ceiling. “Universe, you’re a bitch.”

                Dimitri stood over me and unfolded the list. “I can’t believe I’m saying this… but aren’t there other things you can get that are worth more? The headmaster portraits are right in the school’s foyer. And Mr. Dwight keeps his tie collection in plain sight in his classroom.”

                “Got it. Got it. And a guardian jacket. And Cojocaru’s gross cologne.”

                “You stole his Oblivion?” Dimitri would never openly admit it, but he sounded impressed.

                “The only thing that could guarantee the win for us is Kirova’s cat earrings Getting into her room’s impossible under normal circumstances, and everyone knows she stayed home sick tonight. The earrings got put on the list before anyone realized that. Rose Hathaway can do a lot of things, but that might really, truly be where I have to draw the line.”

                I expected Dimitri to agree with me. I expected him to tell me it was just as well that I couldn’t win and that there was some valuable lesson to be learned here. Instead, he walked back to the office and returned with a pen and a piece of paper. He sat down beside me, so close that our legs touched, and I momentarily forgot about my failure.

                Ever since Dimitri had told me that age and shared duty to Lissa would never allow us to truly be together, we’d had minimal physical contact. We trained together, we saw each other daily… but always, always we both took great care in keeping a mutually understood distance between us. Until this moment, connected with just our knees, I hadn’t realized how much that distance had affected me. No matter how sound that logic about us staying apart was, no matter how much his feelings foe me had changed – and I really didn’t believe they had – there was something inside me that still cried out for him. And I didn’t think it would ever stop.

                Did he share my reaction? Hard to say. He was better at concealing his feelings than I was, but then, almost everyone was.

                He leaned forward and sketched a large rectangle with a smaller square embedded in one corner, then more squares within that. “Kirova has a bigger suite than the other teachers, but they all have the same layout. Living room, bedroom, kitchen –”

                “Kitchen? The Moroi teaches have their own kitchens?” I knew the dhampir instructors didn’t. They had private group dining rooms but still had to eat the same food the students did.

                “That’s just how the way it is. But look. This room right here? That’s her bedroom and the wall looks like this.” He drew another line so that the wall he indicated became thicker. “That’s because there’s a hidden staircase in it.”

                I looked up from the sketch. “Since when?”

                “Since always. It’s part of the emergency escape system.”

                I’d known there were various exits and secure rooms in place, in the impossible event of a Strigoi attack, but this came as a surprise. “The headmistress – or headmaster – has their own private escape? I sure don’t.”

                He shrugged. “The school’s builders made those decisions a long time ago. Don’t get caught up in the politics right now. If you came through one of the secret tunnels and up the stairs, you could slip into Kirova’s bedroom and take her earrings.”

                “Pfft. Well, year. If I could go through the secret tunnels, I would’ve finished this scavenger hunt eons ago, comrade. We’ve all heard rumors about those doors. They don’t even take keys, right?”

                “They require a thumbprint to access. Every teacher – Moroi and dhampir – had authorization to enter.”

                “I’m a big fan of the James Bond stuff, but unless you’re suggesting I cut off a teacher’s hand, I don’t really see how I’m going to get an authorized thumbprint.”

                Dimitri stayed silent. I felt my jaw start to drop, and I clamped it shut as I began to grasp his insinuation. “Are you… are you offering to help me break the rules? Rules are rules. Someone told me that once.”

                He gave me that trademark look again, but this time it contained a lot more exasperation than amusement. “Rose, you’re making me change my mind.”

                “No, no,” I said quickly. “I’m grateful. Really. But you’ve got to understand my shock. You’re Dimitri Belikov. Campus badass. Defender of justice. You’re even dressed like a sheriff, for God’s sake! It’s like Lissa being an angel. Your personalities run so deep you can’t even escape them when you’re in costume. You’re supposed to dress up like who you want to be on Halloween and St. Varvara’s Day. Not who you already are.”

                “You want to be an identity thief?”

                “Hell, no,” I said, impressed he’d correctly identified the costume. “I’m Rose Hathaway. Why would I want to be anyone else?”

                His smile returned, and I wished I could reach out and trace the edge of his lips. I clenched my hands to prevent me from doing anything stupid.

                “You’re running out of time if you want to pull this off,” he said. “Don’t tell me it’s too risky for you.”

                I jumped to my feet. “Why does everyone doubt me? You’re just like Mason.”

                Except he wasn’t anything like Mason. Mason made me laugh with his stupid jokes and always brought an effortless comfort when we were together. When I was with him… I just was. But Dimitri… Dimitri caused my breath to catch and my heart to do gymnastics. Around him, I wanted greatness. I pushed myself to be better, smarter, fast, sharper. And when I wasn’t with him, I felt like the world was incomplete. Like I walked around with a void beside me.

                “Why are you doing this?” I asked as I picked up the CD and boxing gloves. “I can’t even imagine what kind of trouble a teacher would get into if you’re caught.”

                Dimitri wouldn’t meet my gaze and instead played with the chain of his pocket watch. “Well. I suppose the universe really does owe Christian. And I’d better get and CD back undamaged.”

                But as we walked out of the room, I knew the truth. He was doing this for me.

                It wasn’t surprising that the guardian facilities had multiple access points to the tunnel system. The panels that read thumbprints blended seamlessly into the doors. No wonder students knew so little about them. Once we were inside, I couldn’t learn much more about this legendary labyrinth because Dimitri insisted on leaving the lights off.

                “Everything about these is tracked,” he explained. “Already, there’s a record that I’ve entered tonight, but it’s not the kind of things that would catch anyone’s attention. We do regular checks of the door. But start tuning on lights, using power… that’ll raise a few questions when the logs are reviewed.”

                So we walked through the underground tunnels in darkness – true darkness, nothing to help dhampir eyes along. Dimitri moved effortlessly, like he knew them by heart, probably before he did. He probably studies campus blueprints for fun. After a third time I ran into a wall, he took my hand and led me along. I had a vague sense of crossing campus but lost all sense of direction. When he brought us to a stop, I stuck my foot out and hit a staircase.

                “This is the Moroi staff building,” he told me. “She’s on the top floor.”

We climbed up four flights and faced another barrier. Dimitri stood behind me and guided my hand forward to a small button. I waited for him to explain what came next, but instead, we stayed like that for several moments, our bodies close and his hand over mine. I closed my eyes and wished that I could lean back into him. That I could fade into him. This close, his scent wrapped around me. I felt like I was drunk on it. No bad cologne here. He smelled like sweat and leather and a body that could make a girl melt.

                Dimitri finally took a deep breath and found his voice. “You don’t need a thumbprint to get out of here, but don’t push that button yet. We don’t know if Kirova’s in her bedroom. I’m going to get out of here and pay her a friendly visit. You’re going to have to gauge the time it’ll take me to get back up the main stair before you make your move.”

                “I can do that.” I couldn’t believe how calm I sounded while standing so close to him – and while preparing to break into my headmistress’s home. My pulse rate was off the charts. “But how do I get out without your thumbprint?”

                “Put something in the door when you enter the room. The sensor’ll stop it from closing. When you’re finished, go back to the bottom of these stairs, and I’ll meet you. There’s a nearby exit.”

                “Got it.”

Editor’s Note: When Richelle first sat down to write Bloodlines, each chapter was narrated by a different character.

This is Adrian’s Story

CHAPTER 1

Adrian Ivashkov was not having a good twenty-first birthday.

Hitting the legal drinking age wasn’t a big deal to him, seeing as he’s been sneaking alcohol from his parents’ liquor cabinet since he was thirteen. Before long, sneaking wasn’t even necessary. Charm and status could get him a drink in almost any bar – vampire or human. That had certainly proven true last night, judging by the hangover he had today. He’s had one yesterday too. And the day before that. In fact, Adrian was pretty sure he’s been on a liquid diet for the last few weeks. It was getting hard to tell where one hangover ended and another began.

Part of the “liquid diet” was blood, of course. He needed it for normal survival, and it actually helped with the hangovers. Well, kind of. Stepping outside his parents’ townhouse now, he winced as the last light of the setting sun hit his overly sensitive eyes, promptly triggering a headache in the back of his skull. What time was it? Seven? Eight? Whatever it was, he’d slept in late, which was fine by him. The light would be gone that much sooner, and there’d be few people over at the feeders. Adrian had long stopped caring about what others thought of him, but that didn’t mean he wanted to face the mixed looks of scorn and pity he received so much lately.

Getting up late also meant he hadn’t had to see his parents before they’d left. He had little interest in speaking to them most of the time anyway – particularly his father – and certainly not on the day his mother was being sentenced for perjury and theft. Not that Adrian was too worried about her. Lady Daniella Ivashkov wouldn’t see the inside of a cell. She’d be fined, maybe given some community service. Her status would protect her from anything more than that, and really, with the murder and other law-breaking going on around here lately, her crimes were the least of anyone’s worries.

As he walked across one of the wide, beautifully manicured lawns that comprised the heart of the Moroi Royal Court, Adrian couldn’t help but wonder if his mother would still remember that it was his birthday. She usually did (being very meticulous about writing important dates down in her appointment book) and would magnanimously tell him to “pick out something nice” for himself. Then she would always remind his father, who would give Adrian some gruff well-wishes, promptly followed by a lecture on how Adrian should figure out what he was going to do with his life.

Aunt Tatiana had never lectured him, though. She remembered his birthday every year, with no prompting, and had always given him a hand-picked present. As queen of the Moroi, she’d never shopped for the presents personally, of course, but she’d always given her servants very specific instructions on what she wanted to give him. Her gifts were always extravagant and pretty, with little practical use. “Just like you,” she’d once teased him. Last year, she’d given him ruby-encrusted cufflinks. Recalling that day, Adrian frowned and wondered where the cufflinks were now. He’d never expected to wear them much and had been careless. But then he’d never expected her to die either.

He'd find them later, he decided. After he got blood from the feeders. And after a drink, of course. He couldn’t start his birthday off without a drink, and besides, he owed a toast to the only person who, if alive, would have known that it was a special day.

“Happy birthday.”

Adrian came to a sudden halt. The words were soft and small, spoken tentatively, but easily discerned by vampire ears. Slowly, he turned and found Jill Mastrano standing shyly before him. She was tall for her age – fifteen, if he recalled correctly – and managed her long limbs with an uncertain grace that made her seem coltish and taller still. Her hair was a mass of long, light-brown curls, and her eyes, watching him nervously, were the color of polished jade.

“Little Jill,” he said, putting on a smile that came second nature, no matter how irritable he felt or how much his head pounded. He shuffled toward her, moving into the shade of an apple tree that blocked out most of the western sky. “Who on earth are you talking to?”

“You,” she said. A small smile crept over her face, and some of her shyness abated. “Don’t hide it. I know what day it is.”

“What makes you so sure? Do I look older? That’s a cruel thing to say. Next you’ll be telling me I’m going gray. You’re a heartbreaker, Mastrano. A real heartbreaker.”

Adrian itched to leave. The feeders called to him, his body bedding for the warm, salty taste of human blood. Then – scotch. Yes. That was what he wanted afterward. But Jill was one of the few – very few – people he wasn’t mad at lately, and he was curious about how she knew it was his birthday when no one else did. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter, hoping one vice might take away the craving of another.

At the word “heartbreaker,” Jill’s pale cheeks turned bright pink. He shouldn’t have said that, he realized. He wasn’t oblivious. He knew Jill had a crush on him for a while, one he hoped she’d outgrown, since nothing could ever come of it. There were only a few lines Adrian wouldn’t cross. Fifteen-year-old girls were one of them. He shouldn’t encourage her. He’d even tried to stop using her old nickname: Jailbait. Still, flirting was an unconscious habit for him, and it often crept out.

“You told me,” she explained. “You told a group of us. A long time ago. At St. Valdimir’s. We were handing out one day, and I had a horoscope book and was looking everyone up. You’re a Leo. Outgoing. Showy. Confident. Arro –”

She bit her lip abruptly, and he laughed. “You can say it. Arrogant. I’m and arrogant bastard.”

“No! I don’t think you are,” she said adamantly, eyes widening. “Not at all. I mean it’s just a bunch of stars.”

He words stirred up an odd mix of feelings in him, both good and bad. It was nice to see her like this, the way she used to be: an innocent, shy girl given to bursts of excitement and rambling. He’d seen very little of that in her lately. More remarkable still, he could guess who had been that “group of us,” and out of all of them, only she had noted his birthday. Flattering. Sad.

“Well,” he told her, after taking a long drag of his cigarette, “the starts are right, and so are you. It is my birthday.”

She beamed. “Are you going to have a party?”

He carefully kept his expression exactly the same, casual and wry. “Nah, what’s special ‘bout it? Every day’s a party for me. No point in dragging people out on a weeknight.”

Also no point in mentioning that his friends were probably too preoccupied to do anything anyway. Aunt Tatiana, he thought, Aunt Tatiana would have had be over for dinner. He supposed it he really wanted to celebrate, he could find any number of “friends” – particularly female ones – more than happy to enjoy an impromptu party tonight. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea – bt not one for Jill’s delicate sensibilities.

“Besides,” he added gently, “I’m sure you couldn’t make it. Bet you’ve got some hot date tonight?”

Something in her face shifted, the infatuated, eager expression dimming a little. Her nervous mode returned, and Adrian felt his eyebrows rise. This was unexpected.

“You do have a date!”

Jill slowly shook her head. “No. Not that… not that kind. I’m having dinner with… with L-Lissa and my family.” Her lips had difficulty forming the name. “We’re going to discuss my, um,  future.”

For a brief moment, Adrian allowed himself to consider the thought that there might be someone in the world whose lift was more messed up than his. Jill’s face was brave, but her eyes betrayed here. A month ago, Jill had been on summer vacation at her parents’ home in Michigan, looking forward to moving up to secondary school at St. Vladimir’s Academy. Then, she’d found out a deeply buried secret – the very one his mother was being punished for suppressing. Jill’s biological father was royalty, part of a rapidly disappearing family line. He had died years ago, and only one other member of the family now remained: Jill’s half-sister, Lissa Dragomir – also know as Queen Vasilisa, first of her name, the recently elected ruler of the Moroi.

Out of curiosity, Adrian summoned up some of the magic that lived within him in order to see Jill’s aura, the field of light surrounding all living beings. The magic same sluggishly, a little stunted from last night’s drinking binge, but still brought the rush and exhilaration it always did. All Moroi wielded some sort of elemental magic, with the basic four being the most common: fire, water, earth, and air. Only a “lucky” few like Adrian possessed the fifth, spirit, which offered greater reach than any other element. It also eventually resulted in insanity.

It turned out he couldn’t get a good fix on Jill’s aura. His control of spirit wasn’t that great today. She sported a range of colors, but they were muted and flickering. Fear, he presumed. Nervousness. Nothing he couldn’t have read from her face. Sonya Karp, another spirit user, could’ve probably deciphered more. She kept trying to teach him, but he had little patience for learning lately – or even for her, at times. Her upbeat attitude and renewed love life didn’t mesh well with his dark moods. He dropped the magic, and Jill’s aura faded from his sight.

“Maybe you could go too,” she suddenly said. Eagerness lit her features again, though it was tempered with caution. She was worried about overstepping her bounds, “Then you’d king of get a birthday party.”

Adrian chuckled and dropped the cigarette butt to the ground, grinding it with the toe of his shoe. “Doesn’t sound like a party. Sounds like a family meeting.”

“But other people’ll be there!” exclaimed Jill. “And Lissa wouldn’t mind.”

No, Lissa probably wouldn’t, but Jill ‘s other words sent alarms ringing in his head. “What other people?”

“Well, like I said. Lissa. My parents. Christian. Ro–” 

Once again, Jill stopped herself from finishing a dangerous word, but it was too late. He heard the name in his head and in his heart, where it pierced him like a dagger. Rose. Images of dark eyes flashed through his mind, piercing eyes and a mane of equally dark hair. A body crackling with tension, beautiful in both its shape and the danger it presented. Adrian fumbled for another cigarette, looking down so that Jill wouldn’t see his shaking intake of breath or the grief and anger in his eyes would undoubtedly show.

Rose.

She would be wherever Lissa was. And wherever Rose was, he would be there too. Rose and Dimitri Belikov were hardly ever apart at Court. Adrian had gone out of his way to avoid them since Lissa’s coronation and had only run into them twice. The first time, they’d been on guardian duty, accompanying Lissa to a Council meeting. Rose and Dimitri moved almost as one entity, like a matched pair of wolves or lions, both wary and deadly as they studied their surroundings, taking no detail or person for granted.

The second time, Adrian had seen them off-duty. They hadn’t noticed him. They’d been too wrapped up in each other, stilling outside on a sunny day. She’d leaned against Dimitri, looking content in a way Adrian had never seen – certainly not while he’s dated her. She’d said something that made Dimitri laugh, bringing a smile to the other man’s hard features, a smile that Adrian hadn’t thought was possible. Adrian still didn’t know which sighting has bothered him most, the formal or the casual one.

He wanted to tell Jill that he could come up with a list of a hundred other things he’d rather do than sit through a dinner at which Rose and Dimitri were present. “Being in a coma” and “gouging myself in the eye” were near the list’s top. A dinner like that was no way to spend his birthday. It was no way to spend any day. The earlier notion to find random female company tonight seemed like a better and better idea. But first, the blood. Then, the drink. Good God, did he need the drink.

The words were on his lips, the polite refusal of Jill’s dinner offer. He could see from her face that she was expecting it too. But then, in an odd moment of clarity, he realized something she didn’t. We’re going to discuss my future, she had said. No. He knew, without knowing how he knew, they were going to tell her her future. There had been much speculation about what would happen to Jill, who hadn’t even been a princess for a month yet, and whose existence was all that kept Lissa on the throne.

Someone has finally decided, he realized. The group had decided. Or maybe just some of them. Adrian wasn’t sure of the logistics, but he could almost perfectly picture the scene tonight. Lissa would deliver the news in that practiced, regal way of hers, while Jill’s mother and stepfather – who had undoubtedly been won over by now, or else they wouldn’t be meeting – nodded mutely along. And Rose… Rose would be there to ease the tension as best she could, smiling and joking, telling Jill that whatever they had planned was going to be great and wonderful.

Jill couldn’t gith a group like that. Adrian couldn’t even fight a group like that, but for reasons he didn’t entirely understand, he decided he wouldn’t let Jill walk into it alone. Maybe he was still drunk and didn’t realize it. “What time is dinner?” he asked.

Jill was stunned to hear his words as he was to speak them. Stuttering, she gave him the time and location, and he promised to be there. She left him then, her face radiant, and he wondered what he’d just gotten himself into. With a snort, he walked off, deciding it didn’t matter. What was one more foolish decision in a life full of them? He’d go to dinner. He’d help Jill by being more miserable than she was.

Tasha Ozera didn’t like dresses. Or high heels. Or meaningless conversation. Really, she didn’t like anything to do with fancy parties. She knew, however, that there was a game to play, and she’d learned how to play it long ago.

“Tasha, please stop sulking. It’ll give you wrinkles.”

That, unsurprisingly, came from Tasha’s sister-in-law, Moira. Moira Ozera—formerly Moira Szelsky—had been a celebrated beauty back in her day. She was still beautiful. Tasha could never forget Moira and Lucas’s wedding and how everyone in the ballroom had held a collective breath when the two of them whirled around on the dance floor. Tasha, only seven, had stood with the other awestruck guests and felt certain that no couple could ever be more dazzling than her brother and his bride.

Tasha trudged barefoot through the living room, uncaring that the hem of her sparkling gown dragged along the floor, and flounced onto the sofa. “I’m not sulking. I’m just thinking.”

Moira paused in front of an antique mirror framed in brass vines. She smoothed a wisp of chestnut hair back into place and pursed her lips to check if she should reapply her lipstick. She decided she should.

Observing, Tasha couldn’t help but think that she hadn’t put even half as much care into her appearance as Moira had into hers. And Moira wasn’t even going to a party. She, Lucas, and Christian were simply driving back to their country house tonight.

“Well then, little sister, I hope you’re thinking about how you’ll be the star of the ball tonight.” That was Lucas, striding in with his easy smile. He set a suitcase down on the floor and kissed his wife’s cheek. “I remember when we were at the Summer’s End Ball. You wouldn’t believe how many of us were desperately following Moira around, willing to do anything just for a smile. Or even a second glance.”

Tasha could believe it because she’d heard this story many times, but she smiled anyway. Lucas hadn’t been this upbeat in a while, and she liked the change. “I don’t think that’ll happen to me tonight,” she replied. “But I’ll try not to embarrass the family name.”

Lucas winked. “That’s all we can hope for.”

“No,” said Moira, turning from the mirror. “That is not all we can hope for. We should hope that she’ll get engaged. Or, at the very least, that some young man from a prestigious family might visit once in a while instead of those bohemians who are always stopping by. And why aren’t you wearing your shoes, Tasha?”

The family’s two guardians entered the room just then, carrying the last of the luggage. Tasha didn’t like seeing them relegated to bellhops, but she knew they’d both die before uttering a word of complaint.

“Everything’s ready,” said Nolan. “The car’s out front, and then we’ll meet up with Guardian Locke and his car at the gate. Your feeder’s waiting there as well.”

“I don’t know why we need two cars or a borrowed guardian,” said Moira. “It seems like a waste.”

Lucas frowned as well. “Really, we’ll be fine. Send Locke somewhere else.”

“We’re just looking out for your safety, Lady Moira,” replied Vinh in his quiet, respectful way. “A nighttime drive is dangerous, and Guardian Locke happens to have an assignment nearby. He’ll remain with you at the house until Lady Tasha and I can join you tomorrow.”

“You’re staying here instead of Nolan?” asked Lucas, his tone mild. A very slight furrowing of his brow was the only sign of his displeasure.

Tasha stood up and quickly said, “If you’re so worried about it, Moira, just wait until tomorrow. Then we can all leave together.” As she’d hoped, it deflected the conversation away from Vinh.

“Driving in daylight is always safer,” added Nolan diplomatically. “It wouldn’t be difficult to change our plans.”

“No, no,” said Moira, with more insistence than Tasha thought was needed. “Nothing’s changing. I want to be back home tonight. I’m tired of Court.”

“Tonight it is, then.” Lucas glanced around. “Where’s Christian?”

Moira sighed. “Why is he always skulking away? And why can’t anyone ever keep track of him?”

Vinh’s face remained neutral, but Tasha could see the amusement sparkling in his eyes. “I’ll find him.”

A couple minutes later, Vinh returned with Christian. At nine years old, the boy was a miniature version of his father, sporting the black hair and pale blue eyes shared by so many Ozeras, including Tasha. Normally quiet and introspective, Christian’s face was alight with glee as he clung to the tall guardian’s back in a piggyback ride and then was gently deposited next to his parents. Vinh immediately straightened up and became his proper self once more.

“I don’t want to go out to the house,” said Christian. “It’s boring. I want to go back to school. Or stay here with Aunt Tasha and see the ball. They’re lighting fireworks when it’s done!”

Tasha grinned. “You want to be my date tonight? You’ll probably be the best company there.”

“Tasha, you need to be more serious about all this,” Moira scolded. “Youth and beauty are fleeting. You take them for granted now, but one day you’ll wish you could hold on to them forever.”

Lucas put an arm around her and walked her toward the door. “Leave her alone, dear. It’s not important now. The rest of us need to go—and yes, Christian, that includes you. To the country house. Not the ball.”

Tasha hugged her nephew goodbye, laughing when he complained about the prickly crystals on her dress. Moira was already getting in the car, directing the guardians on where to set the luggage and ascertaining that the feeder would ride with her. Lucas wrapped Tasha in a hug and then regarded her with a look that was equal parts affection and sorrow.

“Can we talk more about St. Croix when I see you tomorrow?” she asked eagerly.

He hesitated. “Ah, sure. For now … try to have fun, little sister. And I hope … I hope when you look back on tonight, you’ll remember how much I love you. How much we all love you.”

“It’s just another party, Luke,” she said, puzzled at his shift in demeanor. But then, Lucas had been behaving strangely for the last few months, his moods often darkening without warning. Two of his old classmates had died unexpectedly, one by Strigoi and one in a skiing accident. The two deaths were completely opposite in cause, but they’d hit her brother hard. She’d often find him looking at old pictures and getting caught up in philosophical discussions about mortality. She worried about him and hoped relaxing in the country would do him some good.

When the car finally left, Tasha reluctantly put on her silver high-heeled shoes and locked the door to her family’s town house. The Summer’s End Ball was being held on the opposite side of Court, and even in her uncomfortable shoes, Tasha didn’t mind the walk on such a warm and breezy night. She and Vinh matched each other’s steps, both quiet but at ease in the other’s company as they strolled along one of the many tree-lined paths that zigzagged among the buildings of the expansive Royal Court. With its venerable architecture and grassy courtyards, it resembled a university more than a sanctuary for living vampires, but that was exactly how the Moroi wanted it. It attracted less outside attention.

“I think it’ll rain later,” said Tasha. There were other Moroi and dhampirs out tonight, and it wouldn’t do for a young royal lady to speak even remotely informally with her guardian.

Vinh glanced up and took note of the scattered clouds drifting across the stars and moon. “I think you’re right, but it may hold off until the ball ends. If it doesn’t, I’ll come back and get an umbrella.”

“You don’t need to trek through the rain for me. No one’s going to hold you accountable if I get a little wet. It’s not going to bother me that much.”

“I’d hold myself accountable if anything bothered you at all.”

A rush of heat swept over her, and she fidgeted with her bracelet so she wouldn’t have to respond. It happened all the time with him. Just a few words or a small look, and she became flustered in the most wonderful way. It used to embarrass her. She used to try to ignore it. After all, a Moroi of her station shouldn’t think of a dhampir that way, especially now that they were out of school and in the real world. Except … every once in a while, she’d see him watching her in a way that made her think she wasn’t the only one who had trouble letting go of their past.

The Summer’s End Ball took place in the palace, a building that matched the Court’s others on the outside but contained all the grandeur and decadence of the Moroi’s glorious history. That was part of what made this such a big event. The queen herself hosted it, and only royals attended. Ostensibly, it was to celebrate the waning of summer and the approach of fall—meaning longer nights and shorter days. Everyone knew, though, it was a chance for young, eligible royals to be paraded around one another. Engagements often followed in subsequent weeks.

Vinh held out his hand to Tasha when they reached the steps to the palace entrance. Tasha accepted it and lifted her skirt with her other hand. That small touch of their fingers was the only contact they ever had now, but it was everything to Tasha.

“Thank you, Vinh,” she said when she let go.

Inside, the ballroom had become a fantasyland of colors and flowers. Real plants and trees filled the space, and glittering, star-shaped lights on the ceiling cast rainbow patterns on the party below. The guests themselves rivaled the lavish decor, with everyone seeming to try to outdo one another. Tasha’s simply cut silver-and-blue dress was one of the tamer ones.

Around the sides of the room, mixed among the tropical splendor, guardians stood at attention, unmoving and identical in black suits and white shirts. They blended in with one another and the room—as was intended. But not Vinh. Tasha knew exactly where he was no matter where she went.

A lot of the royals she’d graduated with at St. Vladimir’s were here, as well as Moroi from other schools or those who’d received their education at Court. They all sized one another up, checking out both prospective mates and possible rivals.

Despite her earlier flippancy with Lucas, Tasha wasn’t immune to the role she played in her family. The Ozeras were one of the twelve royal houses, with a lineage and history honored throughout the Moroi world. No one in her family would force her to do anything she didn’t want, but she knew her friendships and romances could all affect her family’s standing and how they navigated the complex battlefield of Moroi politics. She wanted to do the right thing—truly. She worked her way through the party, speaking to as many important people as she could, dancing with young men who could be advantageous matches. She smiled. She made all the pleasant, demure conversations a royal young lady was expected to.

But it felt hollow. There was no one she really connected with, and her heart wasn’t in her words. It must have shown to others because once, while passing a group of elderly Moroi who’d come to observe the “youngsters,” she overhead a man say, “Have you seen that up-and-coming Ozera girl? David’s daughter, God rest his soul. They haven’t put out a beauty like that in years—and they’re a good-looking bunch. But she’s just so … odd.”

Tasha started to smile and then felt guilty. She needed to try harder. She needed to stop being odd, whatever that meant.

“Tasha? Where have you been?”

Jacob Zeklos, another St. Vladimir’s alum, stepped into her path and handed her a flute of champagne.

“Tonight?” she asked.

“No. All summer. This is supposed to be our time to party and relax before we go on to grown-up life.”

“I’ve been here sometimes. At our estate other times.” She shrugged. “Mostly, I’m just spending time with my family.”

“You can hang out with them anytime. But this? The prime of our lives?” He raised his own glass high, sloshing the contents, and she wondered how much champagne he’d had tonight. “This won’t last. Nobody stays young forever, and we should enjoy it. My family’s going to Bucharest next month. Come with us.”

Tasha’s interest was momentarily piqued. Her last visit to Romania had been as a child, and she was curious to see it through more mature eyes. “Any reason? Or just taking in the galleries and castles?”

“Only one castle—we never have to leave. One of my cousins is getting married and hosting a whole week of festivities. Party after party. Old World luxury. Unspeakable decadence.” He grinned, confirming rumors she’d heard about him getting his canines filed into narrower points. It looked ridiculous. “You won’t believe what they get the feeders to do.”

“Thank you, but I can’t. I’m trying to talk Lucas into letting me go snorkeling in St. Croix next month.”

“St. Croix? Like in the Caribbean?” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “But it’s so sunny there.”

The sun was one of the reasons why Lucas was being obstinate, as was the fact that the group wasn’t royal. They were some of Tasha’s “bohemian” friends whom Moira thought were so unworthy. Tasha didn’t need her brother’s permission exactly, but she did need his money since he held control of their inheritance.

“It’s worth it,” she said. “There are some amazing reefs and sea life there.”

Jacob still looked baffled. “Do you want to be a marine biologist or something?”

“No. I just want to see it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s there. Because it’s something in the world I haven’t experienced yet.” It was obvious this conversation was going nowhere, and Tasha searched for an escape. “Excuse me—I see my uncle and need to say hello. Good talking to you.”

She hurried away before Jacob could stop her and waved a hand of greeting to Ronald Ozera. He wasn’t actually her uncle, but he was one of the oldest and most respected members of the Ozera clan. It was an informal custom among royals to call all older relatives “aunt” or “uncle,” just as peers often referred to each other as “cousin.”

“Tasha.” Ronald kissed her on the cheek. “You’re a vision. I’ve been hearing your praises sung all night. Did I just see you talking to Jacob Zeklos?”

A knowing glint shone in the older man’s eyes. He was as bad as Moira. “Yes.”

“He’s a fine-looking young fellow, isn’t he? And his father’s building up quite a lot of influence among the Zekloses.”

“You don’t need to do any matchmaking for me. I don’t want to make any hasty decisions.”

It was no secret in the Ozera clan—or probably in any other—that Ronald had his eye on the throne. It wasn’t going to be vacant anytime soon, but he believed in building connections and alliances well in advance of the complicated selection process monarchs endured. She might only be his distant cousin, but she was still an Ozera and therefore of use. Like a tool, she thought.

“Of course, of course,” Ronald said. “In fact, it might be a good idea for you to wait a while for marriage. Maybe … several years.”

Tasha didn’t trust the oh-so-casual tone in his voice. “Uncle, what are you suggesting?”

“Nothing at all. Just trying to help you out. But did you notice Eric Dragomir is here tonight?”

Tasha followed Ronald’s nod to a cluster of people speaking with Queen Tatiana. Eric was easy to pick out. Their family, like the Ozeras, tended to have distinct features—for the Dragomirs, it was platinum hair and green eyes.

“He doesn’t get out very much,” she noted.

“Indeed. He keeps his family close—which is understandable.”

Yes, it was. Eric and his two children were the only Dragomirs left, which was astonishing compared to the tangle of cousins in all the other houses. There were dozens and dozens of Ozeras.

“He’s married,” Tasha pointed out, unsure of where Ronald was going with this.

“Yes, but his son isn’t.”

She turned to him incredulously. “His son is twelve years old!”

“Which is why I said you should wait several years. Once he’s a young man, I’m sure you’d hit it off wonderfully, and who wouldn’t be charmed by your loveliness? Rhea Dragomir is half Ozera, and we’ve got Dragomirs in our tree—they’d love to make a match that can boost their bloodline.”

Tasha shook her head in amazement and groped for a polite response. After all, an elder member of the family deserved respect. “That is … an interesting suggestion.”

“It’s a very reasonable suggestion. Eric’s influence is staggering. He doesn’t have to get the consensus of his house to push his opinions into the council—he is his house. He’s their de facto council member.” He paused at that and frowned. It was another well-known fact that Ronald hoped to be elected as the Ozera council representative. Currently, another family member held that position. “He’d be a powerful ally for anyone hoping to seize the throne—which, of course, we hope Queen Tatiana will remain on for a long, long time.”

“Probably for the rest of our lives. She doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere—ever.”

“Well, I hope she doesn’t. Truly. But she is much older than me, and there’s no point in wasting time while I wait out natural causes. Now, let’s go over there and say hello—just so you’re on Eric’s radar.”

Fury flared in Tasha at Ronald’s presumptuous tone. Just like that, he expected her to jump at his command, to play a role in his convoluted quest for power. He could call her a vision and laud her loveliness all he wanted, but her real value was in what she could offer him. She wanted to call him out on his selfishness and very explicitly let him know how insulting she found his treatment of her, but one didn’t act that way around respected elders. She took a deep breath and swallowed her anger.

“Uncle, you are … always thinking.”

“Indeed. Can’t let any opportunity slip away. Come along.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “You and I might be from far-flung branches of the family tree, but we are all one family. All Ozeras. We need to look out for each other.”

Tasha went with him and consoled herself with the thought that this would be more entertaining than talking to any more of her classmates. She and Ronald waited politely at the edge of Tatiana’s circle—all men his age or older—until the queen’s eyes fell on them. They offered a proper bow and curtsy and were rewarded with a nod of acceptance.

“Your Majesty, this party is magnificent. Even grander than last year,” Ronald said as he straightened up. “You of course remember Natasha, David and Blanche’s daughter.”

“Yes, of course.” Queen Tatiana was an impressive woman, even when she wasn’t decked out in a brocade gown and crown heavy with diamonds and rubies. She carried a presence that dwarfed everyone else’s, and her eyes never missed anything. “I noticed your brother isn’t with us tonight.”

“No, Your Majesty,” said Tasha. “He left with Moira and Christian for our country house tonight. I’ll be joining them tomorrow.”

Tatiana didn’t frown, but her disapproval came through clearly. “It’s strange, missing one of the biggest celebrations of the year. Surely they could have waited until tomorrow as well.”

Tasha had thought so too but now felt obligated to defend Lucas. “Moira was eager to be home. I think she’s been over-tired.”

“Not surprising. I always remember her being a fussy little thing. Quite vain too.”

Again, Tasha secretly agreed but refused to give voice to anything that would slight her family in public. Others in the circle, hoping to win the queen’s favor, were quick to jump in.

“Making a trip like that at this time of night is reckless,” said Nathan Ivashkov. “Especially in light of what just happened.”

“A family in St. Louis was ambushed by Strigoi last week,” Eric Dragomir explained for Tasha and Ronald’s benefit.

“How awful,” said Ronald. “Were their guardians overpowered?”

“No guardians. They weren’t royal,” said Eric.

“No doubt they were careless too.” Nathan glanced at Tasha and Ronald, reminding everyone of Lucas Ozera’s behavior. “It’s unfortunate that there aren’t enough guardians to go around, but that just means one has to stay extra diligent.”

“It seems like there should be some extra guardians available for non-royals, though,” interjected Tasha. She gestured around the room. “My family’s are split tonight, but I’m sure most royals here have their full allotment just hanging around. Why hoard them? Court’s already well guarded. Any royal who knows they’ll be here for an extended period of time should let their guardians take on temporary assignments elsewhere. There still wouldn’t be enough for every Moroi, of course, but it could help any non-royals who happened to be in potentially dangerous situations.”

Everyone stared at her. Ronald looked as though he very much regretted putting her on anyone’s radar.

The queen smiled, but there was no warmth to it. “Natasha, might I have a word alone with you?”

It was the kind of statement that normally preceded the speaker stepping away. Instead, everyone else in the circle immediately moved back to give Tatiana and Tasha space.

Tasha tried not to gulp. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“I like you,” Tatiana said in a tone that expressed exactly the opposite. “And I liked your parents very much. I’d like to see you do well here tonight. I’d like to see you do well in general. As queen, my love extends to all the royal families, not just the Ivashkovs. When my people are happy, I’m happy. Therefore, I’m going to give you some advice that will make both of us happier.”

Tasha, petrified, gave a jerky nod.

Tatiana leaned closer. “You’re only here to look pretty, dear. Not to give your opinions. See that you remember that.”

There were a million possible responses to that, but there was only one that Tasha was allowed to make: “Th-thank you, Your Majesty.”

No one had heard what Tatiana had said, but the others in the earlier conversation knew she’d been chastised. Tasha was more than happy to slink back into the crowd and disappear, though Ronald caught up with her later.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, Uncle. I was just speaking my mind.”

“Sharing our guardians among non-royals is something that’s on your mind?”

“Well …” He wasn’t angry, exactly, but his disapproval unsettled her. Still, she found her courage. “Yes, actually. There are plenty of ways guardians could be better distributed without compromising protection and—”

Ronald groaned. “Tasha, stop. Not tonight. Not in polite company. You know this is a controversial topic. No royal wants to hear about spreading our guardians thin. If you want to gain favor, start coming up with ideas on how to increase protection for royals.”

Tasha nearly suggested one then and there. She’d long thought Moroi would benefit from learning to protect themselves, but Ronald’s face told her now wasn’t the time. In fact, it would probably never be the time. No one wanted to hear about change. The world was marching on, but the Moroi were locked in the past. And young ladies attending the Summer’s End Ball, ones who wanted to make a good impression, did not challenge the status quo.

“I’m sorry, Uncle. I hope I didn’t cause you any trouble.” The words left a bad taste in her mouth, but her contrite tone appeared to soften him.

“Probably not. They’ve all been into so much champagne no one will even remember.”

It was a relief when the party wrapped up and the guests spilled out of the ballroom and into the palace’s massive courtyard to watch the fireworks. Tasha kept away from the others and found a wrought-iron bench tucked away in a corner of the old stone walls, surrounded by honeysuckles that filled the humid air with their perfume. She soon felt a familiar presence stand behind her.

“No rain yet,” she said without turning around.

“No, Lady Tasha,” came Vinh’s quiet reply. Once he’d graduated and been assigned to her family, he’d started using her title. Even here, alone in the shadows, he never broke protocol. She was Lady Ozera in public and Lady Tasha in private. Never anything more familiar. The only concession he’d made was using Tasha instead of Natasha. She stared off at the clusters of other partygoers, laughing and drinking as they gazed skyward for the show to start. She felt like she was a million miles away from them. “I don’t think I did very well tonight, Vinh.”

“What was it you were trying to—”

She heard him move behind her, and then there was a rustle of leaves and a yelp. Tasha spun around just in time to see Vinh lift a squirming Christian out of a hydrangea bush. Tasha jumped to her feet.

“Christian! What are you doing? Are your parents here?” She glanced around, half expecting Lucas and Moira to emerge from the bush too. Christian shook his head as Vinh set him on his feet. “N-no. They’re probably at the house by now.”

“And you aren’t with them because …?”

He obviously knew he was in trouble but still met her eyes boldly. “Mom and Dad wanted the feeder to ride with them and Nolan. I think Mom was hungry because she kept going on and on about it. Anyway, it was crowded, so I told them I’d ride in the other car, with Guardian Locke, that borrowed guardian from the Badicas. Except I told him I was riding in the other car with Mom and Dad. So no one knew I was gone. And here I am.”

“To watch the fireworks,” Tasha guessed. “You shouldn’t look so pleased with yourself. Your mother’s going to have a panic attack. If she hasn’t already.”

Before Christian could answer back, a burst of red and gold stars exploded in the dark sky overhead and rained down in a brilliant shower of sparks. Christian’s eyes went wide, and Tasha gave up on scolding him. She leaned toward Vinh. “Get word to Nolan, will you? Maybe we can at least minimize Moira’s outrage.”

Vinh gave a curt nod and disappeared into the darkness. Tasha sat back down and beckoned Christian to join her. He leaned his head against her, and Tasha felt happier than she had all night as she put her arm around him.

“This is all fire magic?” he asked.

“This show, yes. Sometimes they’ll mix it. Use conventional fireworks and then have fire users enhance it.” Enormous blue flowers glittered above them, changed to silver, and then faded into sparkles.

“Can you do that?”

“No,” she said. “But then I’ve never tried. Maybe we could work on it together one day.”

He turned and looked up at her hopefully. “Do you think I’ll be a fire user too?”

“I do. It’s your best element, and the fact that it’s showing so early means you’ll probably be very powerful.”

He settled back against her. “Maybe I can use that power to make fireworks.”

“I should hope you could use it for something more,” she said, but he was too transfixed to hear her.

Vinh’s wordless return told her he’d reported the unexpected itinerary change. Later, as the three walked back home, he explained, “Nolan didn’t pick up, but I left a message about what happened. I said we’d bring Lord Christian when we drive down tomorrow.” Christian yawned, his steps growing slow. The eastern sky was purpling. “Aunt Tasha, do you think we could practice making fireworks back at the house?”

She laughed and ruffled his hair. “Haven’t you put your mother through enough tonight?”

A raindrop landed on Tasha’s cheek. Then another, and another. Suddenly, the foreseen shower was on them in full force. “No time for umbrellas,” she called to Vinh as she took off her shoes. “Grab him, and run for it!”

Vinh hoisted Christian onto his back, and they raced through the deluge. Vinh matched her stride, even though Tasha knew he could have easily outrun her. They reached the town house, soaked but laughing. Tasha found towels for all of them and tried to pat her silk dress dry. It stuck to her like a second skin, and mud covered the hem. A few crystals had come loose.

“We’re all going to be in trouble. Hopefully, I can get a cleaner to salvage this tomorrow.”

“Change,” Vinh told her. “I’ll take care of him.” Tasha gratefully went to her room but soon found the tiny hooks on the back of her sodden dress were impossible to grasp while wet. She peered into the hall and saw Vinh emerging from Christian’s room. He put a finger to his lips and then raised an eyebrow in surprise when she beckoned him to her.

“Help me?” she asked, turning around.

Silence. Stillness. Then, carefully, his fingers brushed the back of her neck and began to work their way down her spine as he effortlessly undid the clasps. She held her breath and couldn’t help but wryly recall that he’d never had trouble taking her clothes off. In the old days, he wouldn’t have stopped when the clasps ended below her shoulders. He certainly wouldn’t have stepped away so quickly. Tasha pressed a hand to her chest to keep the dress from falling off, not that it seemed to be going anywhere in its sticky state. As she turned back, she just barely caught sight of his eyes traveling the length of her body before politely glancing away.

“Do you need anything else, Lady Tasha?” All sorts of things, she thought. She wondered what he’d do if she asked him to help peel the rest of the gown away. What would he do if she took it off herself and ordered him to watch?

She let out the breath she’d been holding. “No, Vinh. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Out of respect for him, she put on the most modest pajamas she owned. When she softly crept down the stairs later, she saw that he’d switched on the small credenza lamp, providing just enough light for Moroi and dhampir eyes to see by. He looked over her wardrobe choice, and Tasha couldn’t tell if he felt relieved or disappointed.

“Lord Christian fell asleep before I’d even finished buttoning up his pajamas.” A rare, easy smile spread over Vinh’s face. “I hope it’s all right that I just put him straight to bed. I didn’t bother drying his hair or anything.” Vinh’s black hair, always cut short, was already starting to dry.

Tasha’s was still lank and dripping, and she pushed it back. “No different from me. You know, someone called me an ‘effortless beauty’ tonight. I wonder what he’d say now. This is pretty effortless.”

Vinh crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watchful but still relaxed. “He wouldn’t say a word. He’d be too enthralled at the real you, stripped of all the makeup and jewelry and glamour. Nothing to distract. Just the pure, steady flame of who you are.” He could control their physical contact, but sometimes, in private, he left his words unguarded.

Tasha gave a brief smile at the warrior-turned-poet, but the heat of his earlier touch had faded now that she reflected on the evening’s events. She stared off at the rain beating against the living room window. “I don’t know what that flame is. Who the real me is. I keep trying to be who Natasha Ozera is supposed to be. I go to all the places I’m supposed to. I say the things I’m supposed to—well, most of the time. I do everything I’m meant to … but it turns out that I’m not actually doing them right. Maybe because I don’t really feel that they’re right.”

“Maybe you need a new definition of what ‘right’ is.”

“It’s hard to do anything new around here. You should have seen their faces tonight—including the queen’s—when I suggested a way to reallocate guardians to serve royal and non-royal Moroi. And that’s just the beginning! I think all Moroi should learn some basic fighting. I nearly said it. But then I backed down. I was too intimidated. The rules, the traditions, the judgment … no one can fight against that.”

“Maybe because no one’s tried.”

She glanced back up and couldn’t help another smile. “You’re acting very rebellious tonight.”

“Not me. My role is defined, and I don’t mind following the rules. It suits me. But you? I think you’re something different. I think your role, whatever it is, has yet to be discovered. You’re more than the ‘effortless beauty’ who says the right things … that aren’t actually right.”

Despite the amusement in his last words, his face stayed completely, intensely serious. She felt pinned by his gaze and had no desire to break free of it. “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she said.

“Start small. Don’t worry about all Moroi learning to defend themselves. You learn it first.”

Tasha laughed outright at that. “If I walked over to the guardians’ office right now, do you think anyone would teach me? Would you?”

He hesitated, caught by his own words. “You don’t need guardians to teach you. Go to any city, and you’ll find endless options. Walk down a street and turn into the first place you find that can teach you any semblance of self-defense. A dojo. A jujitsu studio. A kickboxing class. It doesn’t matter what it is. Start with something, and go from there. Go until you’re unstoppable.”

“You want to send me off to wander alone among humans?”

“I never said alone. I’m your family’s guardian. Right now I’m assigned to you. You don’t need anyone’s permission to leave, and if you order me to come along and protect you, I will, and no rules will be broken.”

“It’s that easy, huh?” She watched the rain again and then gave him a sidelong look. “What if I command you to call me just Tasha, instead of Lady Tasha?” “That would be breaking a rule. And I can’t do that.” Again, hesitation. “Even if I wanted to.”

We do the right things too but don’t do them right either, she mused. In the course of this brief conversation, they’d already moved closer together without either of them realizing it. It happened all the time in these rare, clandestine talks of theirs when she could finally drop the façade the rest of the world expected of her and say what was really in her heart. Well, not everything in her heart. Otherwise, she’d tell him how standing near him still made her nervous and excited, just as it had when they used to slip away together at St. Vladimir’s. She’d tell him how now, deprived of those stolen kisses, she lived for the brief, casual touches that were all they could share anymore. She’d tell him there was no other person who made her feel so valued. So real. She’d tell him that she loved how he was real too, with none of the show and ego that muddled the rest of the world. And she’d tell him she loved him, too.

Instead, she said, “I wish you weren’t so good at your job.”

For a few fleeting seconds, his stoic guardian face faltered, and she saw a longing that matched her own. “Me too, Lady Tasha.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes for long, not with that look in them. It wasn’t fair that dhampirs were forced to serve Moroi at all costs. It wasn’t fair that their society wouldn’t legitimize relationships between Moroi and dhampirs, no matter the indiscretions that took place on the side. His own birth had come about that way when a royal vacationing in Vietnam had been smitten by Vinh’s dhampir mother. He’d wooed her into a brief affair and then never spoke to her again, not even when she sent word about their son.

Tasha’s eyes strayed to the window again, where the rain had slowed and was falling against the panes in long streaks, tears to match those she refused to shed. She saw the dark figure moving outside just a heartbeat before the glass shattered. A second window met the same fate, and then three guardians burst through the front door. Tasha screamed as all five of them fanned out around her and Vinh, their hands wielding guns and silver stakes. Tasha stepped back and bumped into the wall.

“Do you know where they are?” demanded one of the guardians.

“Know where who are?” she asked. She held her hands up, even though no one had asked her to. It seemed like the thing to do.

“Did you know what they had planned? Are you going to join them?”

Vinh faced a moment of indecision, stuck between obligation to Tasha and obedience to the guardian order. He chose her. He had no weapon, not on household duty at Court, but he positioned himself fearlessly between her and the five guardians.

“What’s going on?” he exclaimed. “How dare you break into this house and speak to her that way? She’s a scion of House Ozera! She and her brother—”

“She has no brother,” said the lead guardian bluntly. “He’s gone.”

“G-gone?” she stammered. “If you mean tonight, they were just driving to—”

“I mean, Lady Ozera, that he’s no longer among the living.”

The room began to spin around Tasha, and her knees gave out from under her. Vinh was by her side in an instant, his arm around her for support. “Lucas is … dead?” She could hardly hear her own voice.

“Not truly dead,” said another guardian. “Turned. He and his wife are Strigoi.”

“No … no! That’s … no. It’s impossible!” Or was it? They’d been warned of the dangers of traveling at night. Tasha leaned further into Vinh and tried to bring the room back into focus.

“Where were they attacked? On the road? At our house?” Both seemed unlikely. A moving car wasn’t an easy target, and heavy wards ringed the house.

“They weren’t attacked,” said the first guardian. “They chose to turn Strigoi.” Tasha’s moment of weakness vanished, and she pulled herself upright, suddenly recharged with fury. There was no greater sin in the Moroi world than purposely choosing the dark, undead path of the Strigoi, to give up one’s soul and morals in exchange for power and immortality. Suggesting it of Lucas and Moira insulted Tasha, her family, and the entire Ozera name.

She strode toward the guardians, fists clenched and fear gone. “You’re lying. There’s no way they would do that.”

The guardian who spoke didn’t flinch under her gaze. “The evidence is very clear. There’s no indication of any attack by outside Strigoi. We found one of their cars abandoned on the side of the highway. One of them had drained their feeder. The other snapped Nolan Orr’s neck and drained him.”

Tasha heard a sharp intake of breath from Vinh. He and Nolan had become close friends in the year they’d worked together. Nolan had protected her since she was a child.

“There was another guardian,” she said. “Locke. One who was—”

“He’s dead too, Lady Ozera. We found his body thrown into the brush nearby. The Strigoi took the second car.”

There were no words to describe what Tasha felt in that moment. Nothing she could say. Nothing she could even think. She started to tremble. Seeing that the news had finally sunk in, the lead guardian asked, “Do you have any idea at all of where they’d go? Did they say anything? They’re not at the house—it’s still warded.”

“Please, Lady Ozera,” said another. “I know this must be difficult, but we need to act while we can still track them. New Strigoi are careless.” We need to act while we can still track them.

Track them to kill them. Because that was the only thing to be done at this point.

“No.” The word barely came out. Tasha swallowed and tried again. “No. I have no idea where they’d be. All they said was that they were going home tonight. I was supposed to join them tomorrow. Today.” It was dawn, after all.

She didn’t know where they were, but she should have known something was up. Not this, of course … but something. They’d been so insistent they leave last night, despite the risk. Darkness, away from the safety of Court, was ideal for Strigoi—and apparently for their creation, too. Neither had wanted the extra guardian. And Moira had wanted the feeder close, an easy victim to drain and initiate the turning.

Try to have fun, little sister. And I hope … I hope when you look back on tonight, you’ll remember how much I love you. How much we all love you.

Tasha didn’t realize she was getting dizzy again until Vinh returned to her side. “Breathe,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”

“I’m sorry, Lady Ozera.” The lead guardian, calmer now, appeared sincere. “I believe that you didn’t know anything. But we’ll still have to interrogate you back in our headquarters, just in case there’s some detail you don’t realize is important.”

Again, she had no words. How could she? Not when—

“Aunt Tasha?”

She whirled around and saw Christian peering around the bannister at the top of the stairs, his young face drawn and uneasy.

“Christian! Go back to bed. Everything …” Tasha could feel herself choking up. “Everything’s going to be okay. …”

But nothing was okay. Nothing would ever be okay again.

Christian stepped out of the shadows, fully revealing himself. He looked beyond Tasha, to the group of guardians. Uncertain, he finally settled his gaze on Vinh.

“You have to hunt down my parents, don’t you?”

Vinh didn’t blink, but Tasha knew his heart was breaking, just as hers was. “Yes, Lord Christian.”

“Because you have to kill them.”

Tasha turned away and buried her face in her hands, not wanting to hear the rest. And she knew that Christian was addressing Vinh because Vinh had always treated him like an adult and would always tell him the truth.

“Yes, Lord Christian.”

Word spread quickly at Court. Gossip usually did, and this was the sort of horror that people often speculated about but never expected to happen. Tasha and Christian were allowed to clean up and change, and by the time the guardians escorted the two of them away for questioning, curious onlookers had gathered outside both the town house and the guardians’ office.

Except most everyone was trying very hard not to appear like an onlooker. They acted as though they were casually out and about, that they’d just happened to be strolling around at noon—when most Moroi were asleep. Some even tried to pretend that they hadn’t noticed Tasha and Christian. Others had no such tact. But Tasha felt the weight of all their eyes. She saw them lean their heads together to speak covertly. She heard the whispers.

“Aunt Tasha, all these people are watching us.”

Tasha tightened her hold on Christian’s hand and quickened her step. “They don’t matter. None of them matters to us.”

It was a relief to reach the guardians’ headquarters, not that interrogation proved much better. A group of guardians questioned Tasha for almost two hours, and she had a hard time answering coherently when she herself was still having trouble coming to terms with what had happened. It seemed dreamlike. Or like it was happening to another person, and she was simply watching from the outside.

They interrogated Christian next, and although they warned her not to say anything, they at least allowed her to stay in the room. As the afternoon progressed, something new occurred to her as she analyzed both the line of questioning and the gawkers’ attitudes. There was more to this than just the shock of Lucas and Moira’s crime.

 “They think we might turn too, don’t they?” she asked Vinh once it was over. “Or, at least, that I will.”

He couldn’t lie to her any more than he could lie to Christian. “Most Moroi who turn by choice act alone. They’re mentally disturbed. Or desperate. Or too selfish to have ties to others. When pairs or groups turn … yes, sometimes there’s a larger conspiracy of loved ones doing it together.”

“And some people just think it’s in the blood,” she added. “That there’s something inherently evil in all of us.”

His silence was confirmation enough. As they were about to exit the building, Tasha caught sight of two guardians walking into a conference room. When the doors opened, she saw more guardians inside, gathered in front of a giant screen. Faces were tense. This wasn’t an ordinary patrol meeting.

She came to a halt. “That’s where they’re planning it, isn’t it? How to track Lucas and Moira down?”

Vinh gently touched her arm, but she was too distracted to experience any of the old thrill. “Lady Tasha, you should go home.”

“I want to see.” She pulled away. “I have a right to see, don’t I?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll go with you. But not him. I’ll get another guardian to take him back home.”

Tasha looked down at Christian and felt the ache inside her intensify. How did someone so young even begin to make sense of this? “No. He’s not going back out there without me—not while those vultures are still circling. He can wait in the hall. …” But she faltered, unsure if she wanted to leave him alone here either.

“Lady Ozera? I can wait with him while you meet with the others. I’ll make sure no one bothers him.”

The speaker was a dhampir a little younger than her, his Russian accent thick. He stood taller even than Vinh, with the kind of face that probably made girls swoon, and every bit of him was composed and respectful. “This is Dimitri Belikov,” said Vinh. “He’s part of a group of novices who are visiting Court. You can trust him.”

There weren’t many Tasha truly believed she could trust anymore, but if Vinh trusted this novice, then she would as well. She knelt down and brushed a kiss over Christian’s forehead. “I’ll be right back. I need to … check on something.”

Christian’s icy-blue eyes—Lucas’s eyes, her eyes—studied her without comment. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what was happening.

The guardians’ meeting was already in session when she and Vinh entered the room. It came to a standstill when the others noticed her, and the guardian taking charge at the podium—a short, fierce woman with red hair—cleared her throat. “Lady Ozera, we’re honored at your presence, but perhaps … this isn’t the best place for you to be right now.”

The more people stared at her today, the easier it became for Tasha to ignore them. “Thank you, but this is exactly where I should be right now, Guardian …”

“Hathaway,” Vinh murmured. “Janine Hathaway.”

“Guardian Hathaway,” Tasha said. “Please continue.”

Janine studied Tasha a beat more and then gave a sharp nod before pointing at the screen. It displayed a map of the area south of the Poconos and Court. “Here’s where the first car was found. Based on the estimated time of turning, we can accurately calculate the farthest they could have gone before sunrise. That’s still a big area, but at least it’s contained. For now. When nighttime comes, the radius gets larger and larger, and then it’s beyond our control. Studying the highways, we can also make some educated guesses on which way they went and start sending search parties. New Strigoi usually steer clear of Moroi areas because they don’t want to run into guardians. They do, however, have less control of their bloodlust than a more experienced Strigoi does. We can count on them to make at least one human kill tonight, and that’ll help us pinpoint the direction they went, if not their location.”

Tasha again had that strange detached feeling as she listened to more of the plan. It was all so logical, all so strategic. The guardians addressed the problem with total indifference, and Tasha could almost—almost—forget that it was Lucas and Moira being hunted and not some other monster.

Lucas. My big brother. Almost like a father because of the age difference, especially after our own passed. He used to spin me around until I was too dizzy to stand. He didn’t tease me when I was eleven and gave myself that terrible haircut. He loved cinnamon rolls. He binge-watched old TV sitcoms and would laugh and laugh at the stupidest jokes. …

But Lucas hadn’t laughed so much in recent days, not after his friends died. Knowing what she knew now, Tasha kicked herself for not having realized that when he grew quiet and stared off, he wasn’t reliving old memories. He was fearing for the future, and the inevitable end of his life. How could immortality not sound appealing? Especially with his vain wife constantly panicking about losing her youth and beauty …

“Let’s go,” she told Vinh when the guardians dispersed.

“I’ll find a more discreet way back.”

 “Not to our town house.” She peered around the hall and spied Dimitri speaking with Christian. The boy was smiling, but his smile had a haunted quality. “I want to leave Court, Vinh. I need to get away from here. I don’t want Christian around this anymore—around their judgment. And their condemnation.”

“The guardians won’t want you to go far,” Vinh warned. “And they’ll want you to go somewhere well guarded.”

“To protect me from myself, no doubt.”

But she had nowhere to go. The country house was out of the question. Statistics said Lucas and Moira wouldn’t return to it, but it was still suspect. Out of options, she trekked over to Ronald’s Court home. His eyes went wide when he found her and Christian at his door.

“Uncle, I want to go to your estate in Poughkeepsie.”

“Now, Tasha, let’s not do anything that—”

“There’s no time for your scheming or pandering! People saw me come here. You can’t avoid that. Give us the keys, and let us stay upstate for a while until this blows over.”

Some of Ronald’s shock faded. “Until this blows over? Do you realize what’s been done? Tasha, this is never going to blow over! The stain of this will be with your family forever.”

“Our family,” she snapped. “Remember what you told me last night? About how all the Ozeras look after one another?”

He cringed again. Did he think she was going to turn Strigoi before his very eyes? Or was he just unprepared to have her finally stand up to him? “Tasha, please. Try to understand where I’m coming from. It’s not too late for me. If I can distance myself from this … tragedy, my political career still has a chance.”

Tasha took a step forward and saw Ronald’s guardian tense in her periphery. “Your political career has a better chance if you make the council. And guess what. I am now the voting member of my branch of the Ozeras. And if you want to hold on to any hope of being elected to the Ozera council seat, you will give me those keys now.”

An hour later, she was on the road with Vinh, Christian, and another borrowed guardian, Jonas. Officially, he’d come along so that she and Christian could each have their own protection. In reality, she knew it was to put a double watch on her. Christian was too young to drain anyone and become Strigoi, but she was still suspect. And no feeder had been allowed to come with them.

Ronald hadn’t visited his other home in a while. Dust had gathered, and much of the furniture remained covered. Even still, the estate was bigger and more luxurious than Lucas’s, though it hadn’t been styled with Moira’s eye for detail. Tasha wondered how much of a person’s self vanished with the soul when becoming Strigoi. Even as a bloodthirsty creature of the night, was Moira still consumed by the latest fashions?

They arrived a couple of hours before sunset, prime time for Moroi, but their schedules were all thrown off from not sleeping the previous day. After a light dinner, Tasha let Christian run off to the house’s massive home theater. Jonas, unsure of the wards’ status, patrolled the house’s periphery. Tasha uncovered a sofa and collapsed onto it, too exhausted to do anything else. She didn’t intend to sleep, but the next thing she knew, she was yawning and blinking at the garden scene painted on Ronald’s vaulted ceiling. Vinh sat across from her on another couch.

She shot upright. “Where’s Christian?”

“He’s fine. Hiding.”

“Hiding?”

“Don’t worry, I know where he is. I found him upstairs but pretended I didn’t.” Vinh’s smile was short-lived. “He seemed like he wanted to be alone. I think … he has a lot to process.”

“Him and me both.” Tasha rubbed her eyes and noted the dark windows. “How long did I sleep?”

“Not long enough. Rest more if you want.”

“I can’t.” She yawned again and pushed hair out of her face. “I’m afraid of what I’ll see. I’m afraid that every time I close my eyes, I’ll see Lucas—as one of those monsters.”

“But it won’t actually be him,” Vinh reminded her. “He’s gone.”

“Is he? If he’d died—or even if he’d been forcibly turned—there would’ve been a line of mourners outside our door back there, offering condolences, bringing us flowers. But there was nothing. Not one word of acknowledgment. Even when they were staring at us … it was like we didn’t exist.”

“That’ll change with time.”

Tasha slumped forward, resting her face in her hands. “Will it, Vinh? You heard what Ronald said.”

He crossed the living room and sat beside her, first placing his gun and silver stake on a nearby table. “Ronald Ozera is a petty man who can’t see past his own ambition. This didn’t even happen to his brother and he’s ready to crumble right now. Whereas you? You’ll weather this. It’ll hurt, but you’ll come out stronger for it. You and Lord Christian both.”

“Really?” She uncovered her face and straightened again. “I don’t feel like I have much of anything left in me, let alone strength.”

“I can feel your strength.” He placed his hand over hers. “It shines around you. I feel it every time I’m near you. I have since the moment we met, back in our freshman history class.”

She looked into his eyes and saw that elusive and precious emotion that he usually kept concealed. The heat of his hand flowed into hers, and there was no obligation or utilitarian reason for that touch. When she laced her fingers in his, he didn’t pull away. “Will you still follow me if I run away?”

“Lady Tasha, I …” His other hand grazed her cheek, and she was surprised to feel him shake. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Tasha was swimming in the darkness of his eyes, melting at the closeness of his body. Moments later, stark understanding sent a jolt through her, and euphoria gave way to bitterness. “Because you have to. Because they ordered you to.”

He shook his head. “No. I was lucky when I graduated. I had a few families to choose from, and I requested yours.”

“Did you? But I know … I know how hard it’s been for you. I see it. How it tests your discipline. I always thought …” She cast her eyes downward. “I always thought being assigned to us, to me, was agony for you. Why would you choose it?”

“Because … because I can’t stay away from you.”

His fingers curled into her cheek, tilting her face upward as he brought his mouth to hers. She stiffened, almost wondering if she was dreaming, and then surrendered to the kiss. His lips were the same as she remembered, soft and full, but the way they moved against hers had changed. He tasted her. He devoured her. A new intensity had ignited between them, almost a desperation. They were both older now, past the stage of dares and experimentation. This was a connection to another soul.

But, so help her, it was also desire. He always said she had a flame within her, and just then, she believed him. Every caress of his lips, every bold touch of his hands against her body … it all set her ablaze. And suddenly, there was heat and life in a world that she’d thought would forever be filled with coldness and death. The world still felt dangerous and lonely, but if he loved her enough to finally break with the taboos that said their connection was wrong, then maybe—just maybe—there was still hope in the world. Maybe she could change it.

She wrapped herself against him, ready to let go of inhibition and fear and propriety. Her hands slid under his shirt, greedy to possess him like she used to. He’d succumbed as well and started to push the straps of her tank top down.

And then they heard the scream.

They instantly broke apart, and in a heartbeat, the lust within her was obliterated by fear. The sound had come from outside, and despite the distance, there was no mistaking the complete and almost primal terror in it. Vinh shot to his feet, the silver stake and gun back in his hands. When silence fell—almost more sinister than the scream—he scanned the living room intently, his gaze lingering longest on the windows and the doorway that led to a hall connecting to the foyer and kitchen.

He handed over the gun without looking at her. “Take this. Go upstairs.”

Tasha started to tell him she didn’t know how to use a gun, but when she saw her brother appear in the living room’s doorway, the whole world slowed down. Her mouth couldn’t form any words. Her body couldn’t move. She couldn’t draw breath.

Vinh moved in front of her, murmuring as he passed: “That’s not your brother. Go.”

Tasha, still frozen, tried to truly, clearly take Lucas in. That’s not your brother. But he looked like him. His hair was the same—her hair, Christian’s hair. The features of his face were the same, down to a small mole by his left ear. Even his clothes were the same as they’d been the last time she saw him.

But the eyes … those weren’t the Ozera eyes. They weren’t her eyes or Christian’s eyes. The crystalline blue was all but gone, obscured by the bloody ring of red surrounding his pupils. And he no longer had the fair skin of a Moroi. This went beyond fair, beyond pale. It went beyond life. Lucas’s pallor was that of someone already in the grave.

Even if his eye and hair color hadn’t changed, Tasha would’ve known her brother was gone simply by the way he regarded them. That malevolence, that complete detachment from any sort of compassion or empathy … That’s not your brother. She was looking at some other entity wearing Lucas’s skin.

Tasha felt his gaze slide over her, but Vinh, approaching with his stake, remained Lucas’s main focus. “You were the lucky one,” he told Vinh. Again, it was surreal. Lucas’s voice … but not. “You got to live an extra day. An extra day in my little sister’s company.”

Vinh didn’t speak as he strode forward, totally honed in on his foe. He was moving at an angle rather than a straight line, intentionally drawing the action away from Tasha and the stairs that offered her escape. Tension crackled through both men, every part of them poised and waiting for the other to strike. Lucas still had his slim and lean build, but she knew he now possessed a strength that surpassed all of theirs. He snapped Nolan’s neck. Could Vinh stand against that? He’d been trained to, and new Strigoi were supposed to be less lethal than more seasoned ones—but still very, very lethal.

There’s a chance, she thought. Vinh might be able to hold his own against one fresh Strigoi. He could stake him. Stake her brother.

That thing is not my brother.

The window behind them burst apart, and Moira leapt through it, landing in the living room with far more agility than she’d ever displayed in life. She paused to brush glass off her designer jacket, but if that fastidious nature really had carried over to the undead, it was one of the few things that had. Like Lucas, there was no question that this creature that looked so like Moira Ozera contained nothing but evil.

Vinh realized it was over seconds before Tasha did. Both Strigoi sprang toward him at once, and the guardian brought his stake down toward Lucas, yelling, “Tasha, get out of here!” And then she could hardly see him at all because Lucas and Moira had tackled him to the floor. Tasha heard his screams, could make out his legs flailing, and then she finally came back to herself.

Feeling like a traitor and a coward, she turned away from the grisly scene and raced up the stairs, only to realize she didn’t know where Christian had ended up hiding. Don’t worry, I know where he is, Vinh had said. But Vinh couldn’t help her anymore. For a frantic moment, she thought maybe it was better if Christian stayed hidden, but that was foolish. If a guardian had found him, two Strigoi with enhanced senses could. He needed her.

“Christian!” she shouted, staring around at the vast hall and adjacent rooms. “Christian, where are you?”

Below, the screams had stopped, and she couldn’t stand to think about what that meant. From a darkened doorway on the third floor, Christian stuck his head out, his eyes filled with terror. “What’s happening? They’re here, aren’t they?”

Tasha shot up the rest of the stairs. She shoved him back into the room and slammed the heavy wooden door behind them before turning on the light. They were in a rec room filled with vintage arcade games and various tabletop sports. There were no true windows, only a set of French doors that opened to a balcony. Another door, closed, looked like it was probably a storage closet.

“Help me,” she cried, grabbing a billiards table. She intended to buy them some time and block the door, but there was no time. There wasn’t time for anything. She hadn’t even gotten the table to budge when Moira and Lucas kicked through the wooden door. Tasha took hold of Christian’s hand and pulled him along as she backed up toward the balcony.

“Those aren’t your parents,” she said to Christian, just as Vinh had told her.

She’d spoken softly, but Strigoi had superior hearing. “Of course we are,” said Moira. “And we want to be with our son.”

Tasha shouldered open the French doors behind her. They didn’t offer much of an escape, not here on the third floor of a house with oversized stories, but it still meant she could put a few more feet between them and her. “I’ll die before I’ll let you kill him,” she said.

Lucas moved closer, an animal on the prowl. “We don’t want to kill him. We want him to join us. You can too, but that’s your choice. It makes no difference to us. With or without your consent, we’re leaving with Christian.”

“You want to turn him? Keep him nine forever?” Tasha exclaimed.

“We want to keep him,” clarified Moira. “Keep him until he’s of age. Then awaken him.”

Awaken. The word Strigoi used for turn, making it sound like some sort of holy act. As horrifying as Christian being turned into an eternally nine-year-old Strigoi was, the thought of him being held captive by Strigoi for years until he was “of age” turned Tasha’s stomach just as much.

“There’s nowhere else you can go,” Lucas said. He was right. Another step, and she’d be fully outside on the balcony and completely trapped. He and Moira were so close now she could see their fangs—sharper and larger than a Moroi’s.

Moira knelt down and smiled at Christian. Blood gleamed on her jacket, blood that hadn’t been there when she’d crashed through the window. Vinh’s blood.

“Christian, don’t you want to come with us? Don’t you want us to all go to a new home together? Tell Aunt Tasha to stop being so selfish.”

Tasha didn’t need to remind Christian that these weren’t his parents. He cringed against her, his nails digging into her palm. Tasha raised the gun she’d been holding in her other hand.

“Don’t talk to him. Don’t come any nearer. This might not kill you, but silver bullets hurt.”

Lucas laughed. “Since when can you use a gun? You’re not going to hurt anyone with the safety on.”

Was it on? Tasha wasn’t sure. And she certainly didn’t know how to take the safety off if it was. She threw the gun down and pulled Christian all the way outside with her until their backs hit the balcony’s rail. “I’ll throw us both off!” she cried. “We’ll be dead before you can turn anyone.”

That gave the Strigoi pause, and they stopped advancing. Christian’s death was the only power she held over them because it thwarted what they’d come for. It wasn’t a power she wanted, though. She didn’t want Christian to die. She didn’t want to die. But if it came down to that or letting them—

Before she could complete the thought, Lucas struck, and no matter how many stories she’d heard of Strigoi speed, even after seeing them pounce on Vinh, Tasha still wasn’t prepared for how quickly it happened. Lucas shot out the door and snatched her away from Christian, forcing her to lose her hold on the boy. Without pause, Lucas bent down and sank his teeth into the side of Tasha’s face. Tasha’s scream was lost in blood and the press of his body on hers as he held her down in the doorway. Pain ripped through her, so maddeningly intense that she nearly lost consciousness. Another scream—Christian’s—forced her to keep her grip on the present, no matter her agony. Moira had dragged him into the room.

Desperate for any weapon, Tasha sent a burst of fire magic toward Lucas. It wasn’t much. She rarely practiced and was certainly no creator of fireworks. She could do all the cute parlor tricks most fire-wielding Moroi could, like lighting candles. She’d even flambéed cherries at a party once. What she did now had no real force, and certainly no precision, but it was enough. Flames licked along the edge of Lucas’s sleeve, and he let go of her and staggered back inside as he tried to pull the jacket off.

Pressing a hand to her cheek, Tasha steadied herself against one of the French doors and watched as Moira let go of Christian. She hurried over to help Lucas pull his jacket off, cautious about getting too near the flames. A big enough fire could kill a Strigoi. The two of them blocked Tasha’s way to the room’s main exit, though Christian now had a clear path. Tasha tried to tell him to run, but her mouth and jaw no longer worked properly. Her nephew stared at her with wide eyes as she frantically gestured, and she could only imagine what the boy thought of her ghastly appearance. But then, instead of turning around and running away, he shot forward and clung to her leg.

“I won’t leave you,” he said fiercely.

Lucas’s jacket lay on the ground now, the fire stamped out. Tasha found herself in exactly the same situation as before: stuck between the Strigoi and the balcony. Well, not exactly the same situation. Now half her face was gone. But the smoldering jacket gave her a glimmer of hope. If she could use her magic to create a bigger blaze, she might be able to destroy one of them, or at least give her and Christian one last shot at escape.

Fighting through the pain, the fear, and so much more, Tasha summoned what power she could and directed it toward Moira, striving to create the greatest fire she’d ever made. And it was big. It surpassed Tasha’s last weak attempt, but the magic was sloppy. Tasha missed Moira and ended up setting the room’s large Persian rug on fire. It ignited quickly, the blaze spreading fast and far—and Tasha didn’t have the strength to control it.

She sensed a trickle of fire magic beside her, and the flames on the rug redirected slightly, settling into a barrier between the Strigoi and the balcony. Tasha looked down at Christian in surprise. “I’m sorry,” he said, his face strained with panic and exhaustion. “I can’t control it.”

Tasha patted his shoulder with her free hand and watched Lucas’s and Moira’s frustration as the flames grew higher and smoke filled the room. The Strigoi couldn’t get to the balcony through the fire and were going to have to cut their losses soon if they wanted to escape it themselves.

We can’t get through the fire either, Tasha thought. We’ll have to jump. But at least we’ll die with our souls intact.

Christian coughed and started to cover his mouth with his hand. Suddenly, he stiffened and pointed. It was hard to make out much in the hazy room anymore, but she soon caught sight of what he’d noticed. Other people streamed into the room now. Lots of people. Guardians. Janine Hathaway led them, and they all carried silver stakes.

Lucas and Moira turned their backs to Tasha and Christian and readied for the fight. But as the guardians descended, Tasha knew there was no question of how this was going to end. She took one last look at the monster wearing her brother’s face and then turned Christian away so that he wouldn’t have to see his parents’ second death.

They clung to each other, listening to shouts and cries and the crackling of burning wood. The smoke stung Tasha’s eyes, but she felt certain she would’ve been crying without it. The pain in her face was unbearable, but not as great as the pain in her heart, and she had that earlier urge to close her eyes and lie down forever.

“Lady Ozera!”

Tasha blinked her eyes open, thinking she’d imagined the voice. Christian pulled her closer to the balcony’s edge, and they saw a guardian waving at them below. Farther, across the estate’s vast grounds, more guardians were running from a garage used by maintenance workers—and they were carrying a massive ladder.

“Hang on,” the guardian below the balcony called. “This’ll all be over soon.”

But it was never going to be over.

Tasha knew that then. She knew it the next day and the next week. She even knew it two months later, on the day she decided to move away from Court. So long as she woke up every morning, replaying the events of that dark night, nothing about it could ever be over.

Her title ensured she would always be welcome at Court and provided with lodging when she visited. But when a royal formally gave up permanent residence at Court, custom dictated that an official farewell be made to the monarch. So, once she’d made sure the last of the town house’s possessions had either been moved or disposed of, Tasha turned the keys over to the royal land manager and trekked across the Court’s vast, beautiful grounds once more.

Autumn had taken hold, and the groundskeepers couldn’t keep up with the red and gold leaves that kept falling across the pathways. Gray clouds loomed overhead, but Tasha hadn’t brought an umbrella. She didn’t plan on going back for one either. There were no lines of spectators today. No one knew her exact plans or that she’d even be outside. But those who recognized her in passing still did a double take, staring without trying to make it look like they were staring.

The others waiting in the anteroom to be received by Tatiana stared as well, their expressions mixtures of curiosity and shock. Tasha wondered how much of their reaction still came from the speculation over whether the rest of Lucas’s relatives would turn.

She caught sight of her face in a polished silver vase and met that reflection unflinchingly. After treatments and surgeries, she’d been allowed to stop wearing bandages a week ago, though one doctor had tactfully said he’d understand if she wanted to keep her cheek covered. She didn’t. Angry red welts still showed in the side of her face, some from the original bite and some from reconstructive surgery. The skin covering it all was irregular—too tight or too wrinkled—and that also was a byproduct of reconstruction. It would be an ongoing process. Future surgeries could fix a lot of it, but all the doctors had reiterated that her face would never be as it was. She’d always have some sort of scar.

An effortless beauty, Tasha thought.

“Lady Natasha Ozera.”

Tasha entered at the sound of her name. Queen Tatiana was receiving visitors in the throne room today, which was a rarity. The Court, no matter where it was in the world, always maintained a throne room for the acting monarch, and in older days, that room would’ve been the chief location for all royal receptions. In modern times, the queen often listened to callers in less luxurious—but still very dignified—sitting rooms.

Tasha had been warned this morning about the venue change, the subtle message being that she should dress appropriately. But Tasha wore the same clothes she planned on wearing to the airport in two hours: jeans, T-shirt, suede jacket. A ponytail held her long hair back from her face. Courtiers whispered as she passed through the ostentatious red-and-gold room, and she realized she couldn’t even tell what particular kind of gossip she stirred up anymore.

Queen Tatiana sat atop the elaborately carved throne that had honored generations of monarchs before her. At least it was situated only slightly above ground level today. For truly formal occasions, the throne would sit high on a platform that required stairs. Even so, the queen had still very clearly dressed to impress, wearing a velvet gown in shades of red and rust that Tasha thought was better suited for something like the Summer’s End Ball, rather than business meetings with one’s subjects. The queen kept her expression serene, but Tasha could sense the other woman’s condemnation.

Tasha bowed, unable to curtsy in jeans.

“Natasha. We are pleased to see you in the palace. You haven’t been out recently. Are you feeling better?” Tatiana, wielding the royal we, spoke as though Tasha were getting over a cold.

“Yes, thank you, Your Majesty. I’ve come to officially request your leave. I’m surrendering my family’s residence and moving.” The request was a formality these days; Tatiana couldn’t stop her.

“Understandable. Where are you moving to?”

“Minneapolis.”

Surprise crept into Tatiana’s face. “There aren’t any Moroi strongholds there. Just a handful of feeders.”

“Correct, Your Majesty.”

Moroi tended to survive by clustering together with groups of their guardians or seeking isolation (while also well guarded), as Ronald had tried with his now half-burned estate. Minneapolis met none of those criteria. That was part of the reason why Tasha had chosen it as a new home. If she’d only had to worry about herself, she actually would’ve run as far and as fast as she could to the other side of the world. But she had to keep close to Christian, now back at school in Montana, and to Court as well. She wasn’t going to let the other royals forget her or think that they’d made her run away. She was leaving by choice.

“You’ll probably want a guardian to accompany you, then.”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

Tasha laughed, shocking everyone in the room. “Your Majesty, my own brother turned Strigoi and killed someone I cared about right in front of me. And then he tried to kill me.” She turned and pointed, making sure the queen got a good look at her cheek. “After that, I had to decide whether to burn to death with my nephew or just kill us both outright with a suicidal jump.”

When Tasha said no more, Tatiana waved an expectant hand. “Your point?”

“My point, Your Majesty, is that I have little left to be afraid of. Not anymore. Other Moroi? They’re afraid and endanger themselves further by choosing helplessness and depending on guardians for defense. If I’d known conventional fighting methods, if I’d had better control of my magic …” Tasha’s resolve faltered for just a moment. Could she have helped Vinh take down Lucas and Moira if she’d known more? Would it have been enough? “Well, Your Majesty, things would’ve turned out differently. I won’t make the mistake of ignorance again, and I’m not going to take a guardian from someone who needs one more than me. I will not rely on another for my safety. I’ll take charge of my own safety. You told me once that I just needed to look pretty and keep my opinions to myself, but since it turns out neither is possible now, I’ll give you my opinion on what I think should be done. I think other Moroi should start taking a stand for themselves and demand tools and training to fight Strigoi. And I think the council and the crown should be facilitating that as well.”

Until that moment, Tasha had never thought much about how silence had a sound. But it did. It was heavy and loud, and it filled the room. Tatiana studied her unblinkingly, and Tasha met that steely gaze with none of the fear she’d felt at the ball. As she’d said, she had little to be afraid of anymore.

“Your opinion is noted,” the queen said. “And your leave is granted. The Court will, of course, maintain a place for your nephew to return to on school holidays.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he will need to go somewhere. He’s a minor. No doubt your other family will look after—”

“I am his family,” Tasha stated, eliciting gasps at the impudence of interrupting the queen. “And I will look after him. He’ll either come to me in Minneapolis on breaks, or I’ll go to him and stay at St. Vladimir’s.”

Sending Christian back to school had been one of the hardest decisions Tasha had ever had to make. She could have homeschooled him; it wasn’t unheard of for Moroi in isolation. Or she could have stayed at Court and sent him to its schools, where she could keep a more watchful eye on him. Ultimately, he had made the choice.

It’s okay, Aunt Tasha. I’ll go back. I can handle whatever happens.

She believed him but wished it wasn’t a battle he had to face. His eyes—too old for someone so young—had told her that he knew what to expect. It would be like the reaction at Court, except adults had more tact than children. Usually.

“You take a lot of risks,” said Queen Tatiana. “But so be it. There are plenty of other Ozeras. If you want to throw your lives away and traipse around the world, defenseless, I won’t forbid it.”

“Not defenseless,” Tasha replied. “The Ozeras will never be defenseless again—the real Ozeras. My nephew and me. All the others? They just share the same name.”

Tatiana smiled, a thin, tight-lipped smile with all the warmth of a marble bust. “I’m sure Ronald will be very happy to hear that. And I’m sure the guardians’ personnel department will be glad they won’t have to reallocate guardians to you after having wasted five others on your family.”

“Four, Your Majesty. Four were killed.”

“Were there? I lost track. But still, it’s a relief. That’s one less we have to replace.”

“Vinh Duy Khuc. Nolan Orr. Jonas Nowicki. Ira Locke.”

Tatiana frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Those ‘ones’ you need to replace. Those are their names.” Tasha returned the queen’s earlier icy smile with one of her own. “I can write them down for you if it’ll help you keep track.”

“That won’t be necessary. Is there anything else you require before leaving, Natasha?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Then you shouldn’t delay your journey. I’m sure there are many … who will miss you.” Tatiana’s tone made it clear that she was not one of those people.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be back to visit. Like I said, I’m not going to keep my opinions to myself anymore, and I expect I’ll have a lot to say. I hope that won’t be a problem, Your Majesty.”

“Natasha, dear, you may posture all you like, but there’s very little you could say or do that would truly be a problem for me. Go.” The queen waved in dismissal, possibly even boredom. “Go off on whatever quest you think will make you feel better.”

Tasha left with her head held high, smiling at the scandalized onlookers. When she reached the antechamber, a young man held the door open. She looked over and recognized the visiting Russian novice who’d stayed with Christian.

“Lady Ozera.”

“Mr. Belikov.”

“You remembered my name,” he said in surprise. “Just like you remembered the others.”

“Of course.”

“You … you said some very brave things in there.” He spoke diplomatically, cautiously—well aware of the dangers of openly supporting controversial views—but something in his brown eyes told her he agreed with her. Just like Vinh, she thought. So controlled and so good at his duty. So good at sitting on his feelings.

“I said what needed to be said, Mr. Belikov. How much longer will you be at Court?”

“Another week.”

“Well, have a safe trip back. I hope we cross paths again.”

He bowed his head deferentially. “Me too, Lady Ozera.”

“No need for that. You don’t work for me. Just call me Tasha.”

Surprise flashed over him, and then the edges of his mouth turned up in amusement. “Then call me Dimitri … Tasha.”

Not like Vinh after all. Despite all her insistence on dropping the title, Vinh had obstinately kept with protocol—up until the last words he’d ever spoken to her.

Tasha, get out of here!

Tears stung her eyes, and the wound of his loss—still raw, still bleeding—tore at her. One moment we were in each other’s arms, finally ready to cast aside all those stupid, archaic rules. And then he was gone. Just like that. The ache of his loss followed her everywhere. It was her new companion, one that made her dream of Vinh’s face when the Strigoi had attacked and the screaming had followed. Tasha couldn’t imagine this hole in her heart—no, this hole in her life—would ever heal, but if by some miracle it did, she’d made a vow to herself. I will never endure this sort of pain again. If I’m able to love someone else one day, I will do whatever it takes to hold on to him. No matter the cost.

Realizing Dimitri was staring at her curiously, Tasha blinked a few times and tried to muster a pleasant tone and expression as she returned to the present.

“Goodbye, Dimitri.”

Her flight arrived in Minneapolis far too late at night for her to do much more than go to bed and try to adjust to a human schedule. But she was up with the sun, out and about as the rest of the city opened for business and began its day. She had plans to apartment-hunt later in the afternoon, but first, she had a more important task.

Coffee in hand, Tasha stood at her hotel’s main entrance and scanned both directions of the busy downtown street before her. At random, she chose to go left and walked two blocks before finding what she sought.

You don’t need guardians to teach you. Go to any city, and you’ll find endless options.

“Hello?” she called as she pushed open a glass door. The empty room’s interior was dark and dusty and smelled like old sweat. Punching bags and weights were arranged around the walls, and a makeshift ring took over the center. After a few moments, a middle-aged human man emerged from a back-room.

“Can I help you?” He was shorter than her, but his biceps looked bigger than her waist.

“You teach boxing?”

“That’s what the sign says.”

Walk down a street and turn into the first place you find that can teach you any semblance of self-defense.

“Can you teach me?” she asked.

The man tilted his head to one side and scratched his neck. “I can teach anyone. But you’re a skinny thing. We’d have to spend half our time just getting you stronger. You up for that?”

Start with something, and go from there. Go until you’re un-stoppable.

One

Emma wasn’t Eric Dragomir’s first girlfriend. Nor was she likely to be his last.

Of course, the latter statement was assuming Eric’s father didn’t interfere. As far as old Frederick Dragomir was concerned, Eric and Emma should have already been married. It was a wonder, Eric thought bitterly, that his father hadn’t simply planned on having the wedding the same day they graduated high school.

“What’s the problem? How many more girls are you going to go through?” Frederick had demanded the last time father and son had visited. “She’s from a good family. Pretty. Smart. Nice enough. What more do you want? I know you think you’re too young, but time’s running out! There’s hardly any of us left.”

Standing now on a Chilean beach that felt light-years away from Montana, watching the stars flicker against a deep purple sky, Eric wondered if that was what had driven his parents to get married. Fear that their kind was dwindling away. He’d never thought much about their relationship while he was growing up. They were just his parents. They existed. They would always be together. They would always be around. He’d taken that for granted, never pondering the more intimate feelings within their marriage. He realized, now that his mother was gone, that he hadn’t even really taken the time to get to know them as people. It was too late for her, and lately, with all the marriage pressure, Eric really wasn’t all that excited to learn much more about his father.

Emma appeared suddenly, like an apparition, linking her arm with his. “Aren’t you glad the sun went down? That light was literally killing me.”

Eric didn’t bother to correct her misuse of “literally”—or to tell her that he didn’t mind the sun, even though too much exposure irritated their kind. In fact, he always kind of regretted that they—as living vampires—couldn’t handle much of the light. He sometimes entertained fantasies of lying by a pool, wrapped in the sun’s golden embrace.

Instead he smiled down at Emma, taking in her long-lashed deep blue eyes and elaborately braided dark brown hair. The eyes and hair contrasted sharply with that pale, porcelain skin all Moroi had. Combined with her heart-shaped face and high cheekbones, Emma Drozdov made lots of guys stop and stare—Eric included.

You were wrong again, Dad, Eric thought. She isn’t pretty. She’s stunning.

Maybe settling down with Emma wouldn’t be such a bad thing. They always had a good time together, and his father had been right about her being nice and smart. She’d also demonstrated—on more than one occasion—her willingness and creativity when it came to certain physical acts. Life with her would never be boring, and Eric suspected she was as eager as his father for an engagement ring.

“Hey,” she said with a nudge. “What’s up? Why are you all serious?”

He groped for an answer that wouldn’t betray how moody he was—or how he kept going back and forth on their relationship. What else had his father said last time? You can’t wait forever. What if something happens to you? What’ll become of us then?

“Just pissed off at how long the boat’s taking,” Eric said at last, silencing his father’s nagging voice. “We were supposed to get out of here before sunset.”

“I know,” she said, her gaze scanning the area. Around them stood the other members of their graduating class—well, the elite members of their class. They were milling and chatting, waiting eagerly to board the yacht that would ferry them to what was supposedly the party of the year. “And now they’re taking forever.”

“The crew has to load supplies,” Eric pointed out. The boat had been tied up against a dock for a while as food and luggage were loaded. Weary-looking feeders—humans who willingly gave blood to Moroi vampires—were now being marched up the dock and onto the boat. Really, simply using the yacht for transport seemed like a waste. It was newly built and, according to rumor, filled with all sorts of luxury accommodations. Even in the fading light, the boat gleamed a brilliant white. Some might consider it small for a yacht, but it could have easily housed his class for a weeklong party.

“Still, we should have left an hour ago.” Emma’s eyes fell on Jared Zeklos—a royal whose father was behind the weekend-long celebration. She smirked, fangs just barely showing against her glossy red lips. “Jared acted so full of himself when this party was announced. Now people are going to turn on him.”

It was true. That was the nature of the circle they existed in. Eric almost felt sorry for the guy, who was clearly uncomfortable as the annoyed gazes of his classmates ran over him. “Well, I’m sure it’s not his—”

A scream cut the hum of chatter and laughter. Eric jerked toward the sound, instinctively pulling Emma against him. The beach and dock were in a fairly deserted area—as so many Moroi territories were—accessible only by a narrow dirt road cutting through a jungle that had hardly been touched by human or vampire hands.

And there, just near the tree line, Eric saw a face straight from his nightmares. A person—no, creature—was lunging toward a red-haired girl. The creature’s face was pale, but not in the manner of the Moroi. It had a sickly, chalky pallor. Eric could scarcely believe it, but he knew: It was one of the Strigoi, undead vampires who killed those they took blood from. They didn’t live and breed the way Moroi did. They were unnatural creatures who transformed from the living into a twisted, undead state. Sometimes, a Moroi could do this by choice if they drank all the blood of a victim. Other times, Strigoi were made forcefully when a Strigoi bit a victim and then fed Strigoi blood back. Really, the means of creation didn’t matter. Strigoi were lethal, with no sense of their previous lives. The paleness of the Strigoi’s face was that of death and decay, and Eric knew that up close, the Strigoi’s pupils would be ringed in red.

Snarling, the Strigoi aimed its fangs at the girl’s neck, and he was moving with a speed that didn’t seem physically possible. Eric had been taught about Strigoi his entire life, but nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. Emma apparently wasn’t prepared either, judging from the way she was clinging to him and digging her fingers into his arms. More screaming filled the air, and Eric caught sight of yet another Strigoi leaping out of the shadows and moving to the new Moroi graduates. Panic surged through the group, followed by the inevitable chaos that came whenever people were trapped and terrified. Trampling seemed inevitable.

Then, almost as quickly as the Strigoi had burst out, new figures suddenly emerged from the crowd. Their clothing was similar to that of Eric’s classmates, but there was no confusing them with the Moroi. They were dhampirs—guardians, to be specific—the half-human, half-vampire warriors who guarded Moroi. Shorter and more muscular than the living vampires they protected, the guardians had trained and honed their reflexes to as close to the Strigoi as possible. There were almost a dozen guardians on the beach and just two Strigoi. The guardians wasted no time in taking advantage of their numbers.

The scene lasted only a few moments, and yet Eric felt like he was watching it in slow motion. The guardians—who had been dispersed among the waiting group—split their forces and went after each Strigoi. The one attacking the red-haired girl was ripped away from her and staked before he could do any damage. The other Strigoi never even got a chance to go for a victim before he was taken down.

It took a few minutes for the crowd to settle down and see that the danger was gone. A great cheer went up when they realized what had happened, and suddenly it was as though the whole thing had been a nonevent. A few of the guardians dragged away the bodies of the staked Strigoi to be burned while the rest began shouting that the Moroi needed to be loaded onto the boat now. Herded along, Eric walked in a daze toward the dock, still trying to process what had happened.

Despite the cheers, a number of his classmates wore expressions mirroring how he felt. These were Moroi who had either run into Strigoi before or at least respected the risks. The rest of the group, having spent a good of part of their lives in the safety of their well-guarded school, had never seen a Strigoi. Sure, they’d been raised with all the stories, but the quick dispatch of these Strigoi had unfortunately diminished some people’s fears. It was a naive and dangerous mistake.

 “Did you see that?” exclaimed Emma. Despite her initial terror, she, too, seemed to be joining those letting down their guard. “Those Strigoi were there, and then bam! The guardians just took them out! What were they thinking? The Strigoi, I mean. They were totally outnumbered.”

Eric didn’t point out the obvious to her. Strigoi didn’t care about those kinds of odds—mostly because half the time, the odds didn’t matter. It had taken only two Strigoi to slaughter his mother and the group she’d been with, which had included six guardians. In a lot of situations, six would have been more than enough guardians. For her, it hadn’t been, and Eric was a bit surprised that Emma was so caught up in the sensational nature of the moment that she’d forgotten about his family history.

Since his mother’s death, he had seen the Strigoi all the time in his nightmares, nightmares that no one ever seemed to want to hear about. That the creatures in his nightmares had not matched his recent reality didn’t seem to make a difference. For a moment, he could hardly walk, so consumed was he by the memory of that horrible, snarling face. Was that what it had been like for his mother? Had she been attacked as suddenly and brutally? No warning…just fangs ripping out her neck…. His classmate had been pulled away just before those lethal teeth could make contact. His mother hadn’t been so lucky.

“Everyone’s talking to Ashley,” grumbled Emma, nodding toward where several people were gathered around the almost-victim as they boarded the boat. “I want to know what it was like.”

Awful, thought Eric. Terrifying. Yet Ashley seemed to be thriving on the attention. And the rest of their classmates were wound up and excited—as though the Strigoi attack had been staged as pre-entertainment for their party. He stared around dumbfounded. How could none of them take this seriously? The Strigoi had been picking off Moroi for centuries. How could no one remember his mother’s death—which had only been six months ago? How could Emma not remember that? She wasn’t a cruel person, but he was a bit appalled at how oblivious she was to his feelings after the “excitement.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. His own father didn’t appear to remember the past half the time. Everyone seemed to think Eric should be done mourning and ready to move on. That was certainly what his father thought. Eric sometimes wondered if his father’s fixation with Eric getting married young had taken the place of true mourning. Frederick Dragomir was obsessed with saving his royal bloodline, which was now down to only two people, father and son.

Emma grinned up at Eric, the half-moon’s light making her eyes shine. They suddenly seemed a little less beautiful to him than they had before. “Wasn’t that crazy?” she asked. “I can’t wait to see what happens next!”

Two

Rhea Daniels didn’t like boats. She’d always wondered if it had something to do with being a fire wielder. All Moroi used magic tied to one of the four elements—earth, air, water, or fire. Those who used water always seemed to love swimming and being in boats. Not Rhea. The rocking back and forth—even on a large boat like this—made her nauseous, and she had a recurrent fear of falling over the side and sinking into a cold, dark grave.

That didn’t stop her from standing near the edge tonight, far from the laughter of the others who were still going on about the attack on the beach. She didn’t mind the isolation; she didn’t know most of them anyway. Besides, the yacht’s outer sides received the most wind, and that cooling air made her feel a little less sick. Nonetheless, she still gripped the railing with a tightness that made her fingers cramp. Grimacing, she glanced ahead at their destination. Like all vampires, she had excellent night vision and could discern the island’s dark shape against the star-clustered sky. They weren’t moving nearly fast enough toward it, as far as she was concerned.

“Don’t your hands hurt?”

The voice startled her. Moroi had good hearing, too, but the newcomer had caught her off guard. Glancing over, she saw a guy watching her curiously as he shoved his hands into khaki pants. The wind was making a mess of his pale blond hair, but he didn’t seem to notice. That hair color was fascinating. Her own was a light shade of gold, but his was a platinum that would probably look white in the right lighting. There was also a regal air to him, like someone who’d been born and bred to power and prestige, but that description applied to most everyone on this trip.

“No,” she lied. Silence fell. Rhea hated silence. She always felt the need to make conversation and struggled now to think of what to say next. “Why are you over here?” The words came out harsh, and she winced.

He gave her a small smile. He had nice lips, she decided. “Do you want me to leave? Is this your private part of the ship?”

“No, no, of course not.” She hoped he couldn’t see her blush in the dark. “I just thought…I mean, I’m just surprised you aren’t with everyone else.”

She thought he might make some teasing remark, but then, to her surprise, the smile vanished. He averted his eyes and stared out to sea. She studied his clothes as he did. He wasn’t in a tux or anything, but the slacks and sweater screamed wealth and status. She felt self-conscious in her jeans. His next words brought her back from her fashion analysis.

“I guess I’m just tired of hearing the Strigoi stories,” he said at last, voice stiff. “Like how it was some kind of awesome sideshow.”

“Ah.” She glanced back to where that girl—Ashley?—was recounting her tale for the hundredth time. Rhea kept hearing snatches of it, and the story seemed to grow more elaborate with each telling. In this version, the Strigoi had actually thrown her to the ground, and all the guardians had been needed to rescue her. Rhea returned her attention to her odd companion. “Yeah…I don’t really find that interesting—at least not the way they do.”

“You don’t?” He turned back to her, eyes widening as though it was the strangest thing in the world that someone wouldn’t think a Strigoi attack was cool. She saw then that his eyes were jade-colored, as fascinating to her as his hair. That shade of green was beautiful and rare, only showing up in a few of the royal families. The Dashkovs were one, but she couldn’t recall the others.

“Of course not,” she scoffed, hoping her scrutiny of him hadn’t been too obvious. “They wouldn’t be so excited if someone had actually been hurt. I mean, God, don’t they remember that attack earlier this year in San Jose? When all those people died?”

The guy’s posture went rigid, his eyes still wide, and she suddenly regretted her words. Had he known one of the victims? She felt stupid and awkward, silently berating herself for not thinking before she spoke.

“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”

“You remember that?” he asked, his voice as puzzled as before.

“Yes…how couldn’t I? I mean…well, I didn’t know anyone personally, but all those people…most were Lazars, but there was that Szelsky lord…and Prince Dragomir’s wife. What was her name?”

“Alma,” he said softly, still regarding her wonderingly.

Rhea hesitated, not sure how much she should say about it. She was certain now that he’d known someone. “Well, it was horrible. Beyond horrible. I can’t even imagine how their families must feel….”

“It was six months ago,” he said abruptly.

Rhea frowned, trying to figure out the meaning in that statement. He wasn’t brushing it off or implying that six months was a long time—which, in her opinion, it wasn’t. He spoke as though he was testing her, which didn’t make much sense.

“I don’t think six months is a long enough time to get over losing someone you love,” she said at last. “I know I couldn’t. Did—did you know anyone there?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but a sudden wave jolted the boat. It lurched slightly, causing a few eager squeals from the crowd beyond them. Rhea gasped and squeezed the rail harder—which she honestly hadn’t thought was even possible—and lost her footing a little. Her companion caught hold of her, helping her stay steady as the boat righted itself and regained its smooth sailing.

Deep breaths, deep breaths, she told herself. Wasn’t that what people did to calm themselves? Heavy breathing didn’t seem to be a problem for her. She was on the verge of hyperventilating, and her heart felt like it was going to pound right out of her chest.

“Easy,” he said, voice low and soothing. “You’re okay. It was just a bad wave.”

Rhea couldn’t answer. Her body remained taut and locked, unable to move or react in her terror.

“Hey,” he tried again. “Everything’s fine. Look—we’re almost there, see?”

With much effort, Rhea turned to where he nodded. Sure enough, the island was much closer. A cluster of lights marked the dock, and figures along the shore seemed ready to guide them in.

Exhaling, she relaxed her grip—a tiny bit—and shifted her body. He still held on to her, apparently unsure if she really was okay.

“Thank you,” she managed at last. “I’m…I’m fine now.”

He waited a few more moments and then finally released her. As he lifted his hand from where it had been pressed against one of hers, he seemed surprised to notice the ring she wore. Its large marquise-cut diamond glittered like a star on her finger. He stared at it in shock as though she was wearing a cobra wrapped around her hand.

“Are you…are you engaged?”

“To Stephen Badica.”

“Seriously?”

The tone of his voice—his complete sense of disbelief—suddenly triggered a fierce spark of anger in her. Of course he was surprised. Why wouldn’t he be? Everyone else was.

They all wondered how it was possible that Rhea Daniels—who was only half-royal—could have caught the interest of someone who came from such a prestigious branch of his line. Her parents’ marriage had been a big enough scandal.

Everyone had thought her mother married beneath her, and Rhea knew the sting of that was what had caused her mother to encourage this engagement to Stephen.

Still, Rhea hated the insinuations. She’d heard the whispers; she knew people who wondered if maybe her parents had cut some kind of deal with Stephen’s parents, some bribe. Others said that Stephen was interested because she was easy—and that the engagement wouldn’t last once he tired of her. She knew they seemed like a weird match. Rhea was quiet—more of an observer of the world. Stephen was outgoing and boisterous, always at the center of the world—so much so that he was off now with the others, reliving the earlier excitement.

Rhea stepped back from the blond guy. “Yes,” she said crisply. “Seriously. He’s great. He invited me along.” She was one of the few people here who hadn’t attended St. Vladimir’s Academy.

“Yeah…” This guy didn’t sound entirely sure. Mostly, he still seemed baffled. “I just…I just can’t see you guys together.”

Of course not. He was obviously someone very elite. Even among royalty, there were those who were better than others. It was honestly a wonder he was even talking to her.

“Don’t you worry…don’t you worry you’re too young?” Again, he carried that wondering tone, further incensing her.

“When you’ve found someone good, you don’t need to jump from person to person.”

He flinched and seemed to fumble for a response, making her wonder if she’d hit a sensitive area. He was saved when a pretty brown-haired girl called to him to come join them. She addressed him as Eric.

“You’d better go,” said Rhea. “It was nice talking to you.”

He started to turn and then hesitated once more. “What’s your name?”

“Rhea Daniels.”

“Rhea…” He said the name as though he was analyzing each syllable. “I’m Eric.”

“Yeah, I heard.” She stared back over the boat’s edge, signaling that she was done talking to him. She had the impression he might say something more, but after several heavy seconds, she could just make out the sound of him walking away as the waves crashed alongside the boat.

Three

Everyone was ready to party as soon as they stepped off the dock. Despite the black sky, it was midday for the Moroi—a bit early for revelry, but no one seemed to care. And after everyone caught their first glimpse of the Zeklos beach house, it was easy to forgive Jared for the late start. Even Eric was in awe, and he’d been surrounded by luxury his entire life. The giant estate sprawled on a small bluff, the entire building covered in windows that promised a spectacular view from almost anywhere inside. Exotic trees partially covered the property, making it difficult for passing boats to discern many details. Moroi interacted with humans all the time but still sought out privacy when possible. Far beyond the house, on the other side of the island, were some rocky cliffs.

The guardians made everyone stay on the yacht while a safety sweep of the island was performed. Most of Eric’s classmates grumbled about this, Emma included. No one seemed to think Strigoi could have infiltrated the island, but Eric knew it was just as easy for Strigoi to get in a boat as anyone else. Jared’s father had his own guardians on the grounds, but that didn’t mean Strigoi couldn’t have slipped in on a previous night.

Eric was still a little disgusted at everyone’s flippant attitude about the Strigoi, but other thoughts pushed the disapproval to the back of his mind. Like Rhea Daniels.

Why had she gotten so mad at him? He’d replayed their conversation over and over, trying to figure out what he might have said. The only thing he could guess was that she’d taken some offense over his surprise about her being with Stephen. Maybe she’d thought Eric was insulting Stephen. That hadn’t been Eric’s intent—though he still believed the two were an unlikely couple. Stephen was always loud, always drawing attention to himself and making people laugh. Maybe opposites really did attract, but Eric thought it was telling that he’d never heard of Stephen having a fiancée until now. Of course, since they’d all just graduated, the engagement could have been a recent event.

In fact, thinking back to their wait on the beach, Eric recalled seeing Stephen telling jokes and entertaining the others. Rhea hadn’t been nearby. Or had she been? Maybe Eric had just overlooked her—not that that seemed possible. How could anyone overlook her? Even now, faced with the tantalizing prospect of parties to come, Eric found his mind consumed with his memories of her. The soft, golden blond hair that seemed so much more alive than his own, almost like the forbidden sunshine he so longed for. The faint scattering of freckles across her pale skin—a rarity among the Moroi. And the eyes…her eyes were a rich hazel, flecked with green and gold. There had been something infinitely wise and kind in those eyes, particularly when she’d spoken about the massacre. She hadn’t known anyone in it, but it had still pained her.

“Finally,” said Emma. The guardians were ushering the Moroi onto the dock and up into the island. “I can’t wait to see what kind of rooms we have. Miranda was here once and said they’re huge.”

They were indeed, but Eric didn’t spend much time in his. Moroi servants—nonroyals, of course—carried in the guests’ baggage and made sure everyone knew where their room assignments were. Enormous it might be, but the house couldn’t provide thirty bedrooms, so some people had to share. Eric was one of the lucky ones who had his own, which didn’t surprise him. With his father’s status and power, most royals wanted to get in good with him. Jared’s family would be no exception.

After that brief stop, everyone spilled out toward the back of the house, where the Zeklos servants had been hard at work. In a secluded, tiled area bordered by sheltering trees, tall torches were staked into the ground, lighting up the darkness with eerie, flickering light. The scents of roasting meat and other delicacies filled the air, and in the center of it all was a man-made lagoon, its water a deep, crystalline blue that was lit from within by cleverly embedded lights. The entire pool glowed like something otherworldly.

Jared’s father, a thin man with slanting black eyebrows and a waxed mustache, gave a brief speech congratulating them on their graduation from high school and wishing them luck on whatever roads they chose to follow. When he finished, the festivities kicked in immediately. Music blared from unseen speakers, and all thoughts of future responsibility and important plans were quickly forgotten.

Eric threw himself into the drinking and dancing, suddenly wanting nothing more than to forget everything for a while. He didn’t want to think about his mother or that awful, nightmarish face down on the beach. He didn’t want to think about the legacy left to him, of being the heir to a dying royal line. He didn’t want to think about his father’s plans for him. And above all, Eric most certainly didn’t want to think about the solemn girl he’d met on the boat. Sometimes he found parties like this trite, but other times…well, in the hardest moments of his life, crazy revelry was a welcome escape.

“This is the most fun you’ve been in a while,” exclaimed Emma, shouting to be heard over the music.

Eric grinned and pulled her close to him with one arm as they danced. His other hand was precariously holding a drink—and not doing a very good job of it. Considering it was his third, it probably didn’t matter if he lost some.

“You don’t think I’m usually fun?” he teased.

Emma shook her head. “No…you’ve just been so serious lately. Like you’re nervous about…I don’t know. Nervous about the future.” She knocked back some of her own drink and frowned prettily. “Are you?”

It was a surprisingly pensive moment for her, and Eric wasn’t sure how to respond. Emma was usually all about living in the now, about seeking as much fun and excitement as she could—without thinking of the consequences. It was one of the things he liked best about her when his own worries plagued him. “I don’t know,” he admitted, deciding he needed to finish his own drink if this conversation was going to continue. Both the music and topic made it difficult to continue. “There’s just so much pressure…so many decisions that could affect the rest of my life.”

Emma stood up on her tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss. “Just because you have to make a decision doesn’t mean it’s going to have bad consequences. And some of us don’t mind standing with you through it all.”

Through his haze of vodka martinis, he heard a subtle hint about their engagement in her statement. Eric decided then that he wished they hadn’t strayed onto this topic. He was going to suggest another drink, but a distraction of a different kind popped up.

“And now,” a voice declared, managing to carry over the heavy bass of the music, “I will attempt a feat never, ever before attempted by anyone in history. Not ever.”

Eric and Emma turned, finding Stephen Badica standing on a chair by the edge of the pool. Everyone in his vicinity stopped what they were doing to watch. Even without his theatrics, Stephen often drew eyes. He had a build that was a bit brawnier than the typically slim Moroi figure, giving him a look he joked was “rugged and manly.” He didn’t have pretty-boy features, but the strong lines of his chiseled face met with the approval of most girls—especially since he always seemed to be smiling.

Stephen held up a shot glass. “I’m going to jump into the pool and finish this shot before I hit the water.”

This was met with cheers and whistles, as well as the cries of a few naysayers protesting that he’d be spilling whiskey in the water. Stephen held up his free hand as though calling for silence—impossible in this situation—and then leaped off the chair. It all happened fast, but Eric was pretty sure he saw Stephen actually down the shot before hitting the water—in his clothes—cannonball-style. Water exploded everywhere, and there were a few squeals of surprise as several people got soaked. Emma was among them, her slinky red dress catching a particularly large wave.

More cheers erupted from the spectators, and Stephen emerged from the pool holding up his hands in victory. After a few whoops of joy, he then challenged others to do it. Naturally, there were several volunteers.

Watching Stephen, Eric realized he wasn’t going to be able to push aside all his cares tonight. There was a part of him that kept secretly hoping he’d see sunny blond hair in the crowd. Turning to Emma, who was futilely trying to wring water out of her skirt, he asked, “Hey, do you know anything about Stephen being engaged?”

“Huh?” Emma’s eyes were still on her skirt. “Oh, yeah. To some girl from…I don’t remember. Some other school. She’s here somewhere—she’s got blond hair. Kind of quiet. Why?”

Eric shrugged. “I just heard about it earlier and was surprised that Stephen was engaged. I never thought he was the settling down type.”

Emma gave up on her dress and looked back up. “More like he doesn’t seem the type to settle down with her.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s only half-royal.” Emma couldn’t keep the scorn out of her voice. “Her mom’s an Ozera, I think, but her dad’s a nobody.”

“That’s kind of harsh.”

“Hey, I’ve got nothing against her. And she’s done pretty good to snag Stephen. Nice work there. That’s definitely going to bring her up in the world.” Emma tugged at Eric’s shirt, Stephen and Rhea already forgotten. “Come on. My dress is ruined.”

“Huh? What are you—”

Maybe it was the abrupt change in topic—or just too much to drink—but Eric wasn’t able to stop Emma when she jerked him toward the pool. They landed ungracefully, sending more water up over the edge and onto the patterned tile. Other people had already followed Stephen’s example, and Eric thought it a miracle he hadn’t landed on anyone already in the pool.

“Ugh,” he said, looking down at his waterlogged clothes. Emma laughed in triumph and threw her arms around him.

“Gotcha,” she said.

He started to complain but soon discovered it was hard to with Emma pressed up against him. Uncaring of the others around, she kissed him, and Eric found the feel of her body, with its tightly clinging dress, was better than alcohol for forgetting his worries. He jerked her closer, running his hand over her hip.

“You want to call it an early night?” she asked huskily, breaking the kiss at last.

Eric hesitated, thinking that might be a very good idea. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the longed-for glimpse of shining gold hair. Rhea Daniels was here after all. She slipped inside the house’s elaborate glass doors, but not before her eyes flicked over to him. On her face, he saw…what? Disapproval? Scorn? He wasn’t sure, but suddenly, inexplicably, he knew he had to talk to her.

Reluctantly pulling away from Emma, he got his first good look at just how much her wet dress revealed. “I want to stay,” he said, forcing what he hoped was a reckless smile. “But not in these clothes.”

She tried to draw him back. “Want me to help take them off?”

“Later,” he said, kissing her forehead. He began climbing out of the pool. “I’m going to change. Be right back.”

Emma pouted, but as he’d suspected, she felt no need to put on dry clothes, despite the chill in the air. She didn’t mind showing off her body to others and would no doubt tolerate the cold in exchange for attention. “Fine, but don’t take long.” He helped her out. “I’m getting another drink.”

Once she was on her way to the bar, Eric hurried inside the house, hoping he could find Rhea in its labyrinthine setup. Others wandered through, either chatting or seeking privacy, but there was no sign of Rhea. He passed the kitchen, filled with bustling staff who were still working hard to keep up with the demand for appetizers and liquor. Frustrated, he pulled someone aside and asked if she’d seen anyone matching Rhea’s description.

“Sure,” said the serving girl. “She went toward the feeders.”

Eric offered his thanks and ran toward the wing of the house she directed him to. Visiting feeders at a party like this was strange. Sometimes feeders were actually kept in the middle of a party, but with the estate’s setup, getting blood meant leaving the festivities. Most people—including Eric—had fed beforehand.

Moving quickly, he reached the entrance to the feeders’ room just as Rhea was about to go inside. Hearing his footfall, she paused in the doorway. Those golden-green eyes widened in surprise. She’d changed out of her earlier jeans into a clingy green cashmere dress that seemed both demure and sexy to him. Seeing her in full light now, he was astonished at just how beautiful she was. And that hair, oh that hair.

He came to a halt, suddenly realizing he had no clue what it was he wanted to say.

Four

“What are you doing here?” he asked after an uneasy silence.

Rhea stared. That Eric guy was the last person she’d expected to see down in the feeders’ area, especially considering he’d just been making out with the brunette in the pool minutes before. It was only the totally stupid nature of his question that allowed her to quickly gather herself. Rhea put one hand on her hip.

“What do you think?” she responded.

“Er, yeah…I mean, I know why you’re here, but…” He was clearly struggling to save himself here, and she wondered how much he’d had to drink. “But I mean, it just seems kind of weird at a party.”

“I can’t have blood before I get on a boat. Otherwise, I get sick.” She reconsidered. “Sicker.”

“Oh. Yeah. That makes sense.”

Another awkward pause hung between them. Finally, Rhea turned toward the room. “Now that the interrogation’s over, can I go eat?”

“Sure…sure. Do you mind if I…if I hang out with you?”

Rhea couldn’t keep the surprise off her face as she tried to figure out why he would want to stay with her. Earlier on the boat, he’d obviously looked down on her the same way everyone else did for her flawed pedigree. Why show interest now? Not wanting to seem like she cared too much one way or another, she simply entered the room and called back, “Sure.”

There was a Moroi attendant on duty who seemed as surprised as Eric that she was there. The guy marked her off on the list that tracked how often Moroi fed and looked astonished when she asked how he was doing tonight. Rhea had a feeling that most of the royals around here tended to treat the servants like furniture.

“Can I have Dennis?” she asked. “Is he awake?”

The attendant was much more cheerful, now that she’d behaved civilly. “Yup. He’s the last one on the right.”

Rhea smiled and thanked him before walking down the rows of cubicles that sequestered the feeders. At a busier feeding time, all the spaces would have been full, but with the party going on, only a few of the cubicles were occupied. Some of the humans read while waiting for Moroi to come by; others simply stared off into space, blissfully gone on the high of a vampire bite. It was the rush all these humans lived for. They’d been taken from the fringes of human society, outcasts and homeless who were more than happy to give their blood in exchange for the ecstasy it brought. The Moroi also took care of them, giving the humans plenty of food and comfortable accommodations.

“Who’s Dennis?” asked Eric, walking beside Rhea. He smelled like chlorine and was dripping puddles with each step. Nonetheless, she still found him oddly attractive, which frustrated her.

“He’s a feeder who came from my school,” she explained. She couldn’t help a small smile when she thought of Dennis. “He’s sweet. He always asks for me to come back to him.”

The look Eric gave her told her that he thought it was all ridiculous. Her smile vanished, and she quickened her pace to Dennis’s cubicle. Dennis was one of the humans simply content to stare off and do nothing until his next fix. But as soon as he saw her, he straightened to attention, nearly leaping out of his chair.

“Rhea!” he exclaimed. “I thought you’d forgotten me. It’s been so long.”

Rhea sat down in the chair beside him. She felt the smile creeping back to her lips. He was only a little older than her, but there was something cute and childlike about him. She always wanted to pat his messy brown hair back into place.

“It hasn’t been that long,” she said. “It’s only been a day.”

Dennis frowned, apparently trying to decide if that was true or not. It was easy for feeders to lose track of time. His eyes lifted to where Eric leaned against the cubicle’s entrance. Dennis’s enraptured look changed to a frown.

“Who’s that?” Dennis asked suspiciously.

“That’s Eric,” she said soothingly. “He’s…my friend.” Was he? She wasn’t sure, but it was best not to agitate Dennis.

“I don’t like him,” Dennis declared. “He has weird eyes.”

“I like his eyes,” Rhea said, still trying to be gentle. “They’re neat.”

Dennis turned back to her, and seeing her face, his expression softened. He sighed happily. “I like your eyes. They’re beautiful. Like you.”

She shook her head ruefully. She was used to his dreamy behavior, but Eric seemed offended by it. Like so many, he regarded feeders as objects. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s do this.”

Dennis eagerly tilted his neck, giving her full access. The skin there might have been smooth once, but now it was covered with the faint bruises of constant biting. Still, Rhea had no trouble sinking her fangs into his flesh and drinking the warm, sweet blood that was as essential to her survival as the solid food she ate. Dennis managed a small, happy sigh, and both of them shared a minute or so of total joy.

When she finished and pulled away, Dennis turned to her with bright, ecstatic eyes. “You don’t have to stop,” he said. “You can take more.”

He always made that offer, but Moroi were trained from an early age about the strict limits to how much they could take. It was what allowed these humans to survive the constant feedings. Plus, limitations steered Moroi away from that ultimate sin: Becoming a Strigoi by drinking all of a person’s blood.

Rhea wiped her mouth and rose. Dennis started to stand as well and then sank back down, addled by the dizziness that usually followed a feeding. “Will you come back?” he pleaded. “Soon?”

“I’ll be back as soon as I always am,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

Dennis looked unhappy about this, like usual, but reluctantly nodded in acceptance as she left. Eric followed in her wake, thoughtful and quiet, but suddenly burst out at her the second they stepped back into the hall.

“Are you crazy?” he asked. Startled, she stopped so quickly that he bumped into her. They both froze at that contact, and then he hastily stepped back.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

Eric pointed at the door. “That. That guy’s out of his mind.”

“He’s a feeder,” she replied. “They’re all kind of that way.”

“No. He’s different. He’s obsessed with you.”

“He just knows me, that’s all. I told you—he’s from my school. I’ve been talking to him and feeding from him for the last couple of years.”

“That’s the problem.”

“What, feeding?”

Eric shook his head. “No. Talking to him. You should just get your blood and go.”

Rhea couldn’t believe she’d almost been reconsidering her first impression of Eric. “Oh, of course. Feeders aren’t people to you, right? Not worthy of your notice unless they’re part of your royal world?”

“No! I just think you’re encouraging him to…I don’t know. The way he looked at you. He doesn’t seem…safe.”

“He’s fine,” she argued. “He’s a feeder. He’s not going anywhere.”

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” Eric grumbled.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t think you have any right to tell me what to do!” she exclaimed, trying to keep her voice down. “You don’t even know me. And you made your feelings about me clear earlier.”

A sudden panicked look crossed his face. A moment later, he smoothed his features back to pseudo calmness. “What are you talking about?”

“Back on the yacht. It’s obvious you don’t think I have any right being with Stephen since my bloodline’s not as pure.”

“I—what?” Eric looked truly startled. “No! No, that’s not it at all. I didn’t even know about that when we met.”

“Sure,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Then why were you so surprised about our engagement?”

“Because…I mean, because you’re so different. You saw him out there in the pool. You just don’t seem like that type.”

“What type? The fun type? Are you saying I’m boring?”

“No!” Eric wore the desperate look of someone trying to dig himself out of a hole, only to see the sides cave in. “You’re so quiet and…serious. He’s not.”

“He has his moments. And I was out having fun too, you know. I had a drink. I danced.” Her words came out in more of a defensive tone than she intended, probably because Stephen was also always telling her she didn’t live it up enough. She really had been out there in the thick of the party, trying to share in his wild side just as he sometimes attempted her more decorous behavior. Stephen certainly excelled at making a spectacle of himself, but he did have a quieter side. “Just because I didn’t make an idiot of myself doesn’t mean I’m some kind of recluse.”

“That’s not what I—damn it!” Eric took a step toward her, frustration all over him. He raked a hand through his platinum hair. “This wasn’t how I wanted this to be at all.”

Her fury dimmed for a moment, turning to confusion. “What was it you wanted?”

“I—nothing, nothing. Forget it. Just be careful with Dennis. Go use a different feeder next time.”

“Thanks for the advice I didn’t ask for.”

He sighed and seemed to be working hard to control his temper. “I’m just looking out for you, that’s all.”

His eyes suddenly lifted to something beyond her. Turning around, Rhea saw the brown-haired girl he’d been with earlier standing farther down the hall, watching them. Like Eric, she was dripping water everywhere. Her expression was hard to identify exactly, but Rhea felt pretty confident it wasn’t happy.

“Hi, Emma,” he said, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but in that hall right now.

“Hey,” Emma replied stiffly. “I tried to find you, and someone said they saw you down here. Weren’t you going to change clothes?” “Yeah…I just ran into Rhea, and we started talking about Stephen’s amazing dive.”

Rhea arched an eyebrow and toyed with the idea of contradicting him. But the more she studied Emma, the more Rhea could now see that the other girl’s expression was obvious jealousy. It was nothing Rhea wanted to get involved in, so she allowed him his lie.

Eric put on a big smile, catching Rhea by surprise. In their brief acquaintance, his few smiles had always been small or melancholy. But this…this smile went a long way to win Emma over, and even Rhea felt her breath catch a little.

“See you around,” he told Rhea breezily. He walked past her and put an arm around Emma, leaning his face close to hers. “Now that you’re here, maybe you can help me change after all.”

Rhea repressed a grimace, but his remark erased the last signs of jealousy on Emma’s face. She cuddled up against Eric and made some vague good-bye to Rhea. Rhea watched the two of them stroll off, whispering and laughing, and was surprised to feel a pang of sadness inside her chest.

Immediately she shook it off and decided she’d just go to bed. Why should she care what this Eric guy said or did? She’d barely exchanged a dozen words with him. Resolved, she started to head upstairs toward her room. A moment later, she reconsidered and decided to tell Stephen good night.

Unsurprisingly, he was still outside, in the center of the party. He was soaked to the bone, and she wondered how many times he’d been in the lagoon. Vampires liked Chile in the winter because of the shorter sunlight, but the night was growing increasingly chilly. Liquor could only warm you up so much. Stephen didn’t seem to notice the temperature and was telling some story about the time he and some friends had broken into their math teacher’s office. The story involved vodka and ferrets.

Rhea smiled in spite of herself and waved at him as she emerged from the house. Catching sight of her, he gave her a big grin and put his story on hold.

“Hey, babe,” he said, coming over to her. He reached out for a dripping hug.

She laughed. “No way.”

He gave her an exaggerated sad face and then settled for a brief kiss on her lips, making sure to lean in far enough so she wouldn’t get wet.

“Acceptable?” he asked triumphantly.

“Very. I just wanted you to know I’m heading to bed.”

This time, his sad expression was real. “But we’re going to set some shots on fire. You could help.”

“That’s not quite the use of my magic I had in mind. At least being so soaked, you probably don’t have to worry about catching on fire yourself.”

“That’s true,” he agreed, apparently thinking of it for the first time. His face softened slightly. “We’ll talk tomorrow?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Eric might think Stephen was just some loud, in-your-face guy, but Rhea had learned long ago that her fiancé possessed a fair amount of vulnerability that few ever saw. As far as she could tell, she was the only one he ever showed that side to. He seemed to take comfort from her, like he needed to express his softer side in order to balance that other rowdy part of him. They’d grown up around each other, almost like siblings, and the engagement had seemed perfectly natural. They were both used to having the other around.

He squeezed her hand—his was wet, naturally—and then gave her another quick kiss before returning to his audience.

Five

Emma was easy enough to soothe once Eric brought her back to his bedroom. She seemed much more interested in helping take his clothes off than discussing what had happened with Rhea, particularly since neither of them ended up putting on dry clothes or returning to the party.

Alcohol eventually made Emma fall into a heavy sleep, but as he lay in bed with her in his arms, he discovered he wasn’t as lucky. The sounds of the party outside wound down. It was getting pretty late for the Moroi and he knew the dark-tinted windows would eventually be lightening, sending most of his friends to bed. He stared at the ceiling, growing more and more sober, thinking about Rhea Daniels.

And really, it made no sense. Aside from those first few moments when they met, the two of them had yet to have a friendly conversation. Everything he said seemed to make her mad, and he couldn’t figure out why. He knew he shouldn’t worry about it. Who cared if she was touchy about everything? If she wanted to keep picking a fight, that was her problem. He’d have nothing to do with her.

And yet…no matter how often he told himself that, he still couldn’t shake the image of her radiant hair or wise eyes. Who needed the sun if you were around her? In those first moments on the boat, when she’d truly seemed to get how he felt about his mother, he’d had a brief flash of someone really and sincerely understanding him. No, more than that. Someone who actually cared. Although her attentions hadn’t been directed at him, he’d sensed that same characteristic in her when she’d spoken to the feeding room attendant and even that crazy Dennis guy. Rhea paid attention to people, to individuals.

He finally fell asleep, only to wake to a pounding headache. Emma, as always, displayed no symptoms of a hangover. She gave him a long, lingering kiss and tugged back on her still damp dress, promising to meet up with him in an hour to get blood before the next set of activities. They didn’t know exactly what was going on, but Jared had promised something entertaining.

When Eric joined Emma, she had changed and was as fresh and beautiful as ever, with no sign of her earlier disarrayed state. Eric had discovered his own shower had erased most of his headache, and linking hands with her, he allowed himself to relax and make an effort to enjoy the day.

The feeding area was much busier in the vampiric morning, since that was a preferred time to take blood. Eric and Emma stood in line, chatting with friends who looked like they’d done a bit too much partying. Someone came by with a stash of doughnuts pilfered from the breakfast buffet and passed the pastries out to the waiting group as appetizers to the blood.

When they reached the front of the line, Eric saw that a different attendant was on duty today. She marked their names on her list and waited for the next opening. When it came, she turned to Emma and said, “Go ahead, down to Dennis on the right.”

Eric caught Emma’s arm as she took a step forward. “Don’t.” He turned to the attendant. “We’ll wait for the next one. Let someone else in line go.”

The attendant started to protest—probably not liking someone dictating her job—but after a moment, she just shrugged and waved in the next person. Emma gave Eric a puzzled look, but another feeder became available before she could question him.

When they finished, she immediately jumped on the topic while walking back to the main part of the house. “What was that about? The feeder thing? Why did you stop me?”

“Because that one’s crazy,” Eric replied.

“They’re feeders,” Emma said. “They’re all crazy.”

“Not like him. He was the one Rhea went to last night, and I would not want to be under the same roof as him if I were her. He was nuts. Total stalker obsessive type.”

Emma pondered this and then shook her head. “Yeah, well, it’s not like feeders are out socializing with us. She probably doesn’t have to worry.” There was a carefully calculated pause. “I’m kind of surprised you’re so worried about her.”

Eric recognized that tone and realized he’d stumbled into dangerous territory. “Not that worried. I hardly know her—but after talking to that guy last night, I would have warned anyone away from him.”

“You were asking a lot of questions about her yesterday.” Emma still apparently wasn’t convinced of his lack of interest. He sighed, realizing he’d put Rhea on Emma’s radar.

“All I asked was about Stephen being engaged. Come on, Em. Don’t dig up something that doesn’t even exist.”

“Okay.” She grinned and squeezed his hand, and he hoped the matter had truly been dropped. “Let’s see what Jared has planned.”

What Jared had planned was a scavenger hunt. Once the guests (those who had been able to get out of bed) were gathered outside, their host explained the rules. Everyone would be divided into teams of two and be randomly given a clue. That clue would lead to another clue and so on until one of the teams found the ultimate treasure and won the game’s prize: getting to stay in the beach house’s master suite, complete with a Jacuzzi and balcony.

Emma gripped Eric so tightly that her nails dug into his skin, kind of reminding him of last night in bed. “We are so winning that,” she hissed. “I just hope they don’t send us all over into crazy places. Did you see those cliffs on the other side of the island? Molly claims Jared goes rock climbing all the time. No way am I doing that.”

“And to make it more challenging,” Jared announced, “we’re going to randomly assign teams. Each person on the winning team gets one night in the suite.”

This was met with a mix of cheers and groans. Emma was one of the groaners until Jared drew her name along with a friend of hers named Fiona. Emma lit up and kissed Eric on the cheek. “Okay. We’ve got this. You and me are gonna be in that Jacuzzi tonight.” She scurried off to join Fiona.

Jared continued pulling out names from his hat, finally reaching, “Eric Dragomir.”

In spite of his best efforts to ignore it, Eric couldn’t help but notice the excited whispering among some of the gathered girls. They knew he and Emma weren’t engaged yet, so some still considered him open game. Even a few guys looked interested in being paired with Eric, in the hopes of currying favor with his family.

Jared read the next name. “Rhea Daniels.”

Eric froze.

He’d spotted Rhea as soon as he’d come outside earlier. She was standing with Stephen on the far side of the lagoon, seeming to be in a good mood. She and her fiancé had been having some kind of serious talk—not like a depressing talk, but just something warm and ordinary. Stephen had done most of the talking, his pleasant face earnest and thoughtful while she simply listened. The sun hadn’t quite gone down yet, and its rays made her hair shine like gold fire. Eric couldn’t look away from it and jealously wondered what they’d had to talk about.

Now, hearing her name, Rhea became puzzled and scanned the crowd. Stephen nudged her and pointed over at Eric. Her gaze fell on him, and her eyes widened in shock. For a moment, he was confused. If she was going to be shocked, it should have been when she heard their names called—not when she saw him. Then he understood. Rhea really didn’t know who he was. He’d suspected it that night on the yacht but had thought that surely she’d have learned since then. Apparently not.

Stephen grinned and motioned for her to go over to Eric. Biting her lip, she reluctantly walked over, looking as though each step was agony. Glancing back to where Emma stood by Fiona, Eric thought his girlfriend looked as though each of Rhea’s steps was agony for her, too.

Eric and Rhea said nothing to each other as more names were read off. They didn’t even speak when they were given their clue. As the rest of the group eagerly dispersed, Eric looked down at their slip of paper.

Find me where the palm trees bend

By the water that never ends.

He stared at it blankly, having no idea what it meant. Rhea sighed and took the clue from him.

“It’s a fountain,” she said. “I saw it last night. There’s a little path that goes out past the courtyard.”

She marched away from him, and he hurried to keep up. Wordlessly she led him to the fountain. Delicate and made of marble, it was crowned with swans that poured water from their mouths. Eric couldn’t decide if it was tacky or elegant. He and Rhea studied it for a while, trying to figure out what the next step was. Eric was the one who spotted it. A small piece of smooth, flat wood was embedded into a tiny gap in the sculpture. Words were engraved upon it.

Music, music everywhere

With sweeping sights that make you stare.

“The conservatory,” said Rhea promptly. “It’s on the upper floor.”

Again, she took off, with Eric quickening his pace to stay with her. “Have you been here before? How do you know where everything is?”

“I went exploring last night,” she explained tersely. It was clear she wasn’t in the mood for conversation. At least not with him.

Sure enough, they reached the conservatory, which was filled with windows showing breathtaking views of the ocean. Another team was just leaving, uncertain if they’d read the clue correctly. Everyone’s starting clue had sent them to a random place, and the goal was to eventually put them all together. The conservatory’s clue was hidden on the piano. Like before, Rhea interpreted it and started to leave, but Eric grabbed her arm.

“Wait, I need to talk to you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Talk about what?”

He sighed. “Look, I just want to know why you’re so mad at me today. What did I do this time? I already told you I wasn’t making fun of you and Stephen last night.”

Rhea studied him for several seconds, and he wondered if she’d just turn around and leave. Instead she answered his question with a question. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a Dragomir?”

He hadn’t expected that. “It…didn’t seem important. And I thought you probably knew.”

“Right. Because how could there be anyone in the world who doesn’t know who you are?” she asked sarcastically.

“I’m serious! And I…well, I kind of liked you not knowing. You talked to me like a real person…even if it was to yell at me most of the time.”

“I didn’t yell,” she countered. “And somehow, I don’t believe you just wanted to talk to me. I’ve heard about you. You go through lots of girls. You probably thought I’d be an easy one, desperate to hook up with as much royalty as I can.”

Eric gaped, wondering just what kind of reputation he had. It was true that he’d had a lot of girlfriends. But he’d never used them. He’d genuinely liked each of them, and he had intended to take his dad’s advice and get serious, but then…well, Eric just always lost interest.

“That’s not true at all! I like being with you because you’re easy to talk to.”

Rhea scoffed. “I thought you just said I yelled at you all the time.”

“Well, that’s not what I—I mean, that is, I like that you pay attention.”

“Pay attention?” she asked warily.

“You notice things. You notice people—and you get people. You’re the only one who thought about the massacre six months ago, you know. That’s where my mother died.”

She blanched, and all that annoyance and anger vanished. “Oh God, I’m sorry—”

He held up a hand. “I know you are. That’s the thing. I’ve never met anyone who thinks about those things. You think about the servants. About that crazy feeder. I mean, don’t get me wrong—a lot of these people are really nice. But there’s something real about you. Something different. And that’s why you’re with Stephen, isn’t it? I watched you guys earlier. You notice parts of him that no one else does, and he needs that. No one else cares about him that way.” Eric paused, bracing himself for the next part. “But here’s the thing, does anyone care about you? Who worries about you or asks how you feel?”

Rhea averted her eyes, which he thought was a damn shame. He could easily lose himself in them. “Plenty of people do,” she said evasively. But he knew even she didn’t believe that. She was quiet and went unnoticed, giving her energy to others and no doubt letting her parents urge her into a marriage that would save her from the disgrace they’d faced. Stephen, silly as he might seem, did care about her. That much was obvious. He was dependent on her to listen to what he was afraid to tell others. Eric doubted Stephen returned the favor.

“Not enough people do,” Eric replied. “Somehow I just…know. I can see it all over you. You don’t let people worry about you enough.”

And then, doing what was probably one of the stupidest things ever, he pulled her to him and kissed her. He fully expected her to jerk away or maybe even punch or kick him. Instead she pressed closer, kissing him with an intensity that surpassed his own. He was the one who broke the kiss, suddenly conscious of their situation.

“Oh God,” she breathed, face full of confusion. “I shouldn’t have—I don’t—”

“We should talk more,” he said, wanting badly to kiss her again. What was happening to him? How had this situation spun out of control so quickly with someone he barely knew? “But not here. People will be coming through. Will you meet me later? Say at…eleven? Back by the fountain? The game’ll be over.”

“I don’t know….” But he could see in her eyes that she would.

“Eleven,” he repeated.

At last, she nodded. Ecstatic, he kissed her one more time, wanting to leave on a high note. As he did, he heard a familiar voice call, “Hey, it’s over here!”

He hastily pulled away, but it was too late. Emma stood in the doorway. A few moments later, a breathless Fiona joined her. Emma, Eric, and Rhea stood frozen and stunned. Fiona, who had missed the incident, looked confused.

Then, without a word, Emma turned and ran off. Eric’s heart sank, and he remained motionless. It was Rhea—still always compassionate about others—who spurred him to action. She nudged him. “Go talk to her. She needs you. Forget the game.”

He hesitated, not wanting to leave Rhea, but he knew she was right. Eric wasn’t sure what was going on, what he felt for Rhea, but he owed Emma an explanation.

He hurried out of the room, past a still confused Fiona, just barely hearing her say to Rhea, “So, wait. Are we partners now?”

Emma had been fast. She was nowhere in sight, so he went to the most logical place he could think of: her room. He stood outside knocking for five minutes, but no answer came. She could have been ignoring him or simply hiding somewhere else.

Dejected, he returned to his room, unwilling to face anyone else. He spent the rest of the day lying on his bed, counting the minutes until eleven. Over and over, he thought about Emma and Rhea, coming to a final conclusion. He liked Emma a lot—but he didn’t love her. He didn’t love Rhea, either—but there was something about her that made him want to get to know her better, some electricity he felt in her presence. He couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe she wasn’t just another girl on his list.

Around ten, he made another attempt to find Emma—and failed. The game had long since ended, and everyone was too excited about it and that night’s party to pay much attention to him. So he headed to the fountain to wait for Rhea, hoping to figure out at least one part of this mess. At eleven exactly, he sat on the ground next to the swans and waited.

And waited. And waited.

Almost an hour went by with no sign of her. Sad realization hit him. She’d changed her mind. Really, he should have expected it. She was engaged to someone else, and Eric was an idiot to interfere with that. Dejected and embarrassed, he finally returned to the house, where he found Stephen sitting by the pool and drinking with friends from their school.

Eric—figuring Rhea had told her fiancé all about being assaulted in the conservatory—expected Stephen to attack him. Instead the other guy offered a friendly smile. “You want to join us, Dragomir?”

Eric swallowed and shook his head. Rhea had apparently kept earlier events secret. “Nah, got stuff to do. Um, hey, have you seen Rhea? I just wanted to congratulate her on us failing miserably.”

Stephen laughed. “Doesn’t surprise me. But no, not sure where she went.”

It didn’t surprise him? Rhea was so smart. She could have won that game, and Stephen had no clue. Eric kept his thoughts to himself and went inside, asking around to find out where Rhea’s room was. Someone gave him the location, and bracing himself for more rejection, he knocked on the door. The doorknob turned—but it wasn’t Rhea.

It was her roommate, who said she hadn’t seen Rhea since breakfast. An uneasy feeling bubbled up in Eric, though he didn’t know why. Emma had disappeared too, but he wasn’t worried about her. No doubt she was sequestered with friends. But Rhea? What about her?

He spent the rest of the night anxiously trying to get information about either girl and failing. The partying started up again, and he finally caught a glimpse of Emma in the crowd. She made eye contact and then pointedly ignored him. He let her be, glad he’d found one of them and that his instincts had been right. She was okay. Mad, but okay. Hating to bug Stephen again, Eric still forced himself to casually inquire about Rhea once more, saying he’d never caught up with her.

“She’s around,” Stephen replied easily. “Sometimes she just likes to be by herself. She’ll turn up.”

Eric wasn’t so sure. His sense of worry was growing, and he wished he could convince Stephen to share in it. Eric finally decided he’d try Rhea’s room one more time—but never got there. He was stopped when two guardians came charging out of the house.

“What’s wrong?” he asked them. Panic flooded him. “It’s not—it’s not Strigoi…?” Eric couldn’t face that again.

“Hardly,” said one of the guys, sighing. He looked fierce like all guardians—but also annoyed. “We’ve got a runaway feeder. He can’t get off the island, but with the way they are, he’ll probably fall off a cliff and drown. Mr. Zeklos would never let us hear the end of it.”

They pushed past Eric, leaving him wide eyed. Suddenly he knew where Rhea was.

Six

Rhea wasn’t sure how it had happened—probably because she’d been unconscious for most of it.

One minute she’d been leaving the feeding room, about to head down the hall and meet Eric at the fountain, even though she figured it would turn out to be the most idiotic thing she’d ever done. He probably wouldn’t even show. The next minute she’d heard a commotion from inside the feeding room and a strangled cry of surprise. Then Dennis had burst out of the room, wild eyed, and everything had gone black.

She’d woken up—with a headache—inside what appeared to be a cave. It was rocky and cramped, the uncomfortable ground only adding to her discomfort. At first, she could hardly make out anything, and then an opening in the stony walls became clearer. She could see the twinkling of stars—and a dark shape blocking some of them out.

“Dennis?” she asked tentatively.

The feeder turned around, a grin lighting his face at seeing her awake.

“Rhea! I’m glad you’re up. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but we had to get you out, and I was afraid someone would hear you. Are you okay?” He reached for her, and she took a hasty step back.

“Fine…fine…” She tried to stay calm and not betray the racing of her heart. “What’s going on? Why are we here?”

“I’ve freed us,” he said. “It was so easy. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. They were all so busy.”

Rhea tried to get a glimpse of what was outside the cave. More ocean and trees—but a different view than that of the Zeklos beach house. Recalling the cliffs on the other side of the island, she had a good idea of where they were.

“Dennis,” she said gently, using the soothing tone she always did with him, “we need to go back. People will be worried.”

He shook his head anxiously. “No, no. They’re oppressing us. Keeping us apart. Now we can be free. We’ll stay here for a while and then find a boat. We’ll run off together. Just you and me.”

Rhea’s gut response was: You’re joking. But the crazed look in his eyes told her he was dead serious.

“We can’t. We can’t live here. We can’t live back on the mainland.”

“I’ll take care of us,” he said. “It’ll be easy. That’s what the pretty brown-haired girl said.”

“The pretty—never mind. Look, it won’t work. We have to go back. Please.”

Dennis was undaunted. “You can feed off me as much as you want. You don’t have to worry about getting enough blood.”

“That’s…that’s not the problem,” she said.

“What is?” His enraptured tone suddenly took a dark turn. The abrupt change in his facial expression made her cringe. “Don’t you want to be with me? Don’t you like me?”

“Er, of course.” Rhea was desperately assessing her options. Part of her wondered if she could just charge past him. Judging by how the entire entrance was filled with sky, she had the uneasy feeling they were dangerously close to a cliff’s edge. “But I liked things the way they were. I…I thought you were happy.” Maybe playing his game would get her out of this

“We were being denied what we truly wanted. What we needed.” He moved closer, and this time, she couldn’t dodge. There simply wasn’t enough room. “They only let you feed once a day.”

“That’s all I need.” Her back hit the jagged wall. “It’s fine.”

“No. I know you want more. I want more. I want it now.” He pushed his body against hers, wrapping his hands around her waist. She struggled against him, hating the way she touched him, but he was stronger. “Do it. Do it now. Drink.”

He exposed his neck, and she just barely managed to shake her head. “No…”

“Do it!” he cried, his voice blasting her ears. His hands gripped her tighter, painfully so. “Drink!”

Terrified, Rhea consented, biting into his neck almost before she realized what she was doing. The blood tasted as sweet as ever, but she took no joy from it, not even when his hold on her loosened a little. Frantically, she wondered what she could do. What if she drank more than usual? What if she drank enough to incapacitate him? He might pass out. And yet…all the taboos and warnings came to her about feeding too much. She might accidentally kill him, turning herself into a Strigoi.

He took the choice from her. With astonishing self-control, he broke away, his face radiant. “That was…amazing…,” he breathed. He looked completely ecstatic—and dangerous. “See? I can give you everything you need. I’ll take care of you, and—ah!”

Something hit him in the back. Or, rather, someone. Eric Dragomir had crept into the cave, moving so quietly that neither Rhea nor Dennis had noticed. Glaring furiously, Dennis turned around and lashed out at Eric, slamming the Moroi into the wall. Rhea screamed. She would have expected Dennis to be mellow from the bite, but if anything he seemed supercharged, invincible in his high.

Miraculously, Eric remained standing. He charged Dennis again, and the two became locked in a fierce hold that neither seemed to gain ground on. Each struggled to shove away the other or at least get a punch in. Every so often Eric would manage to push Dennis back, and then Dennis would push Eric forward. The problem was, Eric’s back was at the cave opening. If he was pushed too far, he’d stumble onto the cliff’s edge that Rhea suspected was right outside.

With as little exercise as they got, feeders didn’t have much muscle. Nonetheless, that lack didn’t seem to hinder Dennis, and he began to slowly press Eric toward the opening, one step at a time. Eric sweated, his teeth clenched as he tried to fight back. Neither were trained like guardians, and there was something very brutal and primitive about the fight.

At last Dennis managed to get Eric to the cave’s entrance, and that was when Rhea knew she had to act. She just didn’t know what to do. If she tried to hit Dennis, Eric might get pushed farther out. Still, there seemed to be no other options, and it would be better if she took action sooner rather than later.

Running forward, she kicked Dennis in the leg, hoping to knock him off balance. She did, but not enough to make him fall. He shouldered her away but lost a few steps to Eric. If she could keep distracting Dennis, Eric might be able to make progress again. Only, everything she tried seemed useless. She didn’t have the strength to really land any punches. She didn’t really even know how to punch. Eric began moving closer to the edge once more.

Then she caught sight of a rock sitting in the corner, a little smaller than a bowling ball. Hoping she could knock Dennis out the way he’d done it to her, she hefted the stone up, struggling with its weight. She and Dennis were similar in height, and gathering all her strength, she swung out with the rock and smashed it against his head. He didn’t collapse like she’d hoped, but he did completely let go of Eric and stagger forward, disoriented. In fact, Dennis was so addled and badly coordinated that he kept stumbling farther and farther forward—toward the cliff’s edge.

Rhea screamed again. “Stop him!”

Eric reached for the man who had just been trying to kill him, face frantic. Dennis, realizing what was happening, reached out to try and grip Eric’s hands, but he’d lost his footing. The cliff’s edge began crumbling, bits of rock and dirt pouring over the edge. Dennis screamed, trying desperately to hold on to solid ground—but failing. He couldn’t reach Eric or secure footing. Realizing he might go over if he stayed at the edge, Eric thrust himself back to the cave, taking Rhea inside with him, away from the danger. Dennis disappeared over the edge, still screaming—and then a few seconds later, there was silence.

Rhea buried her head against Eric’s chest, surprised to find herself sobbing. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, stroking her hair. “You’re safe. You’re okay.”

It was eerily reminiscent of the night they’d met on the boat, when he’d comforted her there, too. Unbidden, she remembered his question from the conservatory, asking who was ever there to comfort her.

Lifting her head up, she saw that Eric’s face was stricken. He was as shaken as she was but putting on a good show for her. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“I am now that you’re safe,” he said, though there was a haunted look in his pale green eyes, one Rhea suspected she shared. Rhea had never seen anyone die before. Dennis had terrified her. She’d wanted desperately to escape…but she hadn’t wanted his death. Surely no one deserved to die like that. Swallowing, she focused on Eric again.

“How—what are you doing here?” she stuttered out.

“When I couldn’t find you…I just kept asking and looking. No one knew anything. No one thought anything was wrong.” The bitterness in his voice rang out. “Then the guardians said Dennis escaped, and I…I just knew. I knew he had you. The guardians were still sweeping the house and not finding anything, and I remembered Jared talking about how he went rock climbing here. I took a chance.”

Distantly, Rhea recalled Dennis saying a “pretty brown-haired girl” had encouraged him to run off with Rhea. Rhea had a good idea who that girl was but decided not to bring it up just yet.

“Why didn’t the guardians come here?” she asked instead.

“They didn’t believe me. They thought he was too drugged to be dangerous. They figured he was just hiding somewhere on the grounds. Plus Stephen said you take walks by yourself all the time, so no one thought you and Dennis were connected.”

Eric was still running his fingers through her hair, and it felt like the most perfect thing in the world. “You should have tried harder to convince them. You shouldn’t have come alone,” she argued. “With your family…if anything had happened to you…there’d be no more Dragomirs….”

He still seemed shaken by what had happened but mustered a small smile. “It was worth the risk. I was too afraid there’d be no more Rhea.” She stared up at him, hardly daring to believe anyone would do that much for her. A strange, wondrous feeling rose in her chest, and this time, she was the one who kissed him. It seemed so strange to be kissing in a place where death had just occurred before their eyes, and yet…it also seemed right. They were alive. The kiss was alive.

She wanted to keep kissing him forever and had a feeling he would have been happy to do the same. There were too many things to worry about, though. Horrible things. They had to get back and report what had happened. They had to…

“Emma and Stephen,” she murmured when she and Eric pulled apart. “What will we do?”

“We’ll talk to them,” said Eric. He hesitated. “If you…I mean, if you want to…”

She studied him, reminding herself that she barely knew him. What did she want? She and Stephen had been friends for a long time—almost like brother and sister. He loved her…but she wasn’t in love with him. Until now, she’d thought it didn’t matter, so long as she cared about him. Now she realized it did matter. Love had to be more than liking the other person. She didn’t want to break his heart…but she also didn’t want to regret taking this chance to be with someone who actually seemed to want to be with her and not just what she could do for him. Eric had been right about her always looking out for others. Now, for once, she would do what she wanted.

“We’ll talk to them,” she repeated.

He linked his hands in hers and led her out of the cave, steering her clear of the cliff’s edge. She had a feeling it was less about safety and more about making sure she didn’t catch a glimpse of Dennis’s body. The way back down to the house actually had a well-worn trail, explaining why both Eric and Dennis had managed to reach this height.

Halfway down, Eric stopped and stared at her, an awestruck look in his eyes. “What is it?” she asked.

“Your hair. Even in moonlight…it looks like sunshine. I’d never have to go outside again if I was with you.”

She tugged him forward. “I think you hit your head in your heroic struggles.”

“You were the heroic one,” Eric said, stepping around a rock bend. “Reminds me of the stories from Russia my grandmother used to tell me. You know any of them? Vasilisa the Brave?”