Vampire Academy 1. Paradise Lost & Found

_**A/N: This is long, but I promise it is the only A/N of this length I will post.**_

_**I have received numerous private messages both on Fan Fiction and on Tumbler asking (actually, that is far too polite a term. I should say demanding) that I write select portions of Aurora Borealis as one shots from Dimitri's Point of View. I will be posting them in order of when I received the request, so they will not go in chronological order—although when I am done with the story I will probably re-arrange them in their proper order. If anyone has a request as to a certain chapter/scene of Aurora Borealis you would like to see in Dimitri's Point of View, please either send me a pm or leave a review and I will add it to the list and acknowledge you as the person who requested it in the authors notes. Likewise, you can shoot me a message on Tumblr with your request. The link to my tumblr is on my profile.**_

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_**In the Vampire Academy series, when Dimitri is restored, he is haunted by the acts he committed as a Strigoi. Strangely enough, when Sonia Karp is later restored, her past actions do not hit her nearly as hard. It is hinted in the books that this is due in part to Dimitri being there to help her deal with the past transgressions she committed, but to me, that always seemed incomplete. When creating Aurora Borealis, I decided to take poetic license and slightly twist the reasoning behind Dimitri's torment, while at the same time giving Adrian a broader range of skills, as in my opinion, Adrian got the short end of the stick when it came to power. All the other spirit users were super powerful, and all Adrian could do was see auras, dream walk and minor healing—skills that the others could all master.**_

_**In Aurora Borealis, Adrian and Lissa discover additional spirit abilities while researching their element. In an attempt to master some of these new powers, Adrian experiments on Dimitri, which leaves the two men tied together by a mental link. Their link is not like Rose and Lissa's bond in the slightest, as it is uncontrollable and not always accessible.**_

**_In effect, the spirit Adrian used when experimenting on Dimitri links the dhampire part of him to Adrian even after Dimitri is awakened as Strigoi, leaving the 'good' side of his nature trapped inside when the dark side of his conscious takes control. The dhampire part of him (the 'pure' part of his nature) is forced to witness all the horrible acts he commits as Strigoi, and is forced to live with the actions slowly eating away at him day after day. Which is why, when he is restored, he is so bereft and inconsolable._**

_**Disclaimer for entire story: I own nothing but a horrible clove cigarette habit similar to Adrian's. Only the plot I have created and written are my own—the characters, select dialogue and VA belong to Richelle Mead in their entirety.**_

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**Paradise… Lost & Found**

**Aurora Borealis Chapters 61**

**DPOV**

**Requested by Anonymous on Tumblr**

The darker half of himself—the beast—was absent. He had no idea exactly _how _he knew this, the knowledge was just... there. It happened from time to time—one minute he would be trapped within himself, watching in horror as the Strigoi that controlled his body slaughtered at random. The next thing he knew he would find himself sitting in a chair or sprawled on a bed, unable to move, just staring off into space. In the beginning, it had happened regularly, almost like clockwork, but now—the periods between such times of reflection were rare, becoming fleeting and far spread.

He savored moments like this—during these few precious minutes of freedom, he was almost himself again. He still had no control of his body—try as he might, it remained unresponsive—but his mind was his own, without the slightest trace of the monster he'd become. He was able to remember and cherish the images he still held in his heart.

He pictured her sprawled beneath him in the cabin, her skin slick with sweat as her body tensed with her first rush of pleasure from the climax he had given her. He heard the tiny whimpering cries she'd made as she stared up at him, her eyes full of so much emotion, as well as the whispered words of love they'd exchanged. Had he been able to, he would have cried for all he'd lost. Rose… his beautiful, passionate Roza. Being in her arms had felt like Paradise.

His quiet reverie was interrupted by a tugging sensation within his mind, pulling him out of his thoughts about the woman he missed so desperately. Immediately he knew what the feeling meant, he recognized it from when he was… alive. Adrian Ivashkov was doing something—summoning him, somehow. He didn't understand how it was possible—he did not question it. Elemental spirit was a mysterious, amazing thing. Letting his consciousness drift, he followed the glistening spirit laced trail until he finally emerged in a dream.

Adrian's Dream.

He took in his surroundings with a cursory glance, immediately recognizing the location. Sunlight filtered down through the treetops and he reveled in the warm feeling of it on his skin. He was wandering along the faint path he'd often taken when patrolling the academy. A sudden anxious feeling raced through him, filling him with the desire to see what was just ahead, hidden from view by the dense thicket of trees.

The cabin. _Their_ cabin.

The place where he and Rose had finally given in to the ever growing love that flowed between them. The place where—for one brief moment of time—he'd found true happiness. In her eyes he had finally found peace. In her arms he had found the home he'd longed for—the sense of belonging; of being part of something greater than himself. He quickened his pace to a jog, eager to see if her sweet scent still lingered on the sheets. To see if perhaps he could find a few strands of her hair to hide away in his pocket—anything just to have a piece of her near him.

He was almost to the tree line when he heard voices. They were faint, but oh so familiar, igniting a steady burn of anger in his gut. His hands clenched, fingernails biting into the flesh of his palms as he heard her asking for a kiss.

It was Ivashkov. And Rose. _His Roza_.

Peering through the brush, he fought against the urge to burst into the clearing and attack the man, ripping him away from Roza. He managed to restrain the impulse, but it was difficult. Losing his soul had unbound the animal that lurked within him, all but destroying the control he had struggled to master for so many years. It left him a victim to the baser side of nature—something that dwelt deep inside the heart of every being, whether they be dhampire, Moroi or human.

He watched for a moment as they embraced, lying on a blanket near the bank of the pond. Ivashkov rolled on top of her and she slid her leg—the leg that had only recently been wrapped around _his_ waist—over the Moroi's hip as she pressed herself against the him. His already broken heart shattered even more at the sight. The sound of her passionate moans as Adrian's hands struggled with the buttons on the over sized white shirt that covered her luscious curves pushed him to the brink. He could take no more, his pain and anger snapping his fragile control. His voice echoed through the air, sounding almost like a low, threatening growl.

"You don't listen, do you?"

Ivashkov jerked his face away from Rose, his eyes scanning the area. "It's not really her—it's just a dream."

Dimitri stepped out of the forest, leaning against a tree as he glared at the other man. "I don't give a damn. I don't want you dreaming of her like this!" He studied Rose—well, this… dream version of Rose—and felt his heart constrict within his chest. She looked so real… so beautiful. Oh God, how he missed her. This wasn't fair on so many levels. She should be in _his_ arms. In _his _bed. She was his, the other half of him. He'd lost his soul in that fucking cave in more ways than one—the loss of his Roza felt so much worse than the even loss of his very life. "You can control dreams so I know this is _your _doing."

As the words left his mouth, he felt a… ripple deep within him. The other was stirring, nudged from its overly sated blood induced stupor by the heat of his anger. The motion reminded him that this reprieve was finite—all too soon the Strigoi would fully rouse itself from its coma like state and reclaim control, forcing him back into the blackness. He would once again be forced to witness himself doing deeds so horrific they haunted his every moment. He was wasting time—time that he could be using to relive his precious moments with Roza—all because of Adrian Ivashkov and his damned spirit dreams.

"This isn't Rose—the real Rose is gone."

The words snapped him out of his melancholic musings, feeling like a physical blow. His Roza—oh dear God, what had happened to her? Panic raced through his body, leaving him full of adrenaline and ready for a fight. He'd faltered. He'd failed to protect her—he'd left her alone. She would have been so vulnerable, mourning him and all that had been lost forever—an easy target for her enemies.

"What do you mean _gone_? Did something happen to her after they… after they changed me?"

Adrian pushed away Rose's hands as they tried to pull him back down. "She left the Academy. She's gone off looking for you."

"No! You have to stop her, Ivashkov. I left Montana so she would be safe—she can't…"

As he attempted to give voice to his fears he felt the beast pulling at the strings that bound him. Struggling, he tried to gain a few minutes more, his body wracked with pain as an internal war was waged within his mind. It was all in vain. He felt himself slipping into the void as the dark half of his ego—his id—won the battle. Rational thought fled, taking with it all sense of decency and honor, leaving the primal, animalistic part of him to reign supreme. When he spoke again, gone were the raging emotions that he'd felt at the sight of his Roza with another man, replaced instead by a tone that echoed with the coldness of death and destruction.

From deep within his being, Dimitri Belikov watched and waited, horrified by what he'd become.

* * *

He'd sensed the pathetic surge of grief felt by his lesser self, immediately reaching out to suffocate it with his powerful embrace. The lesser one had been in control for far too long, having chained him in a small, dark corner of their mind—never giving him freedom to whet his many appetites. Appetites that were now—sadly—for the most part gone, replaced instead with two things; the burning thirst for the elixir of life, and a need for complete and total power over others of his kind.

At the glorious moment of Awakening, the ties that had bound him in his dismal prison were snapped at precisely the moment their soul had vanished. Finally he was free to take over. Never again to be locked away, now all he desired was within his reach. He was filled with a hunger—a deep aching need—wanting to drain the world. To exert control over all, grasping the reins of the Moroi, taking whatever he wanted. He wanted to be a king… no, a god—ruling over every Strigoi in existence. And he would accomplish it. Soon.

The lesser one struggled against him, but in the end, he won—as always. It couldn't have happened at a better time, in his opinion. If he'd had to feel the simpering fool pining for his lost love for a single minute more, he would have awakened and gone on a rampage, glutting himself on blood and resulting in another dangerous bout of lethargy.

Staring at the pathetic Moroi in front of him, he recognized the man at once. It was the fool who had caused him the inconvenience of dealing with the lesser one in the first place. He glared at the man, knowing his mocking words would pain the creature that he had mastered and now kept trapped within. "Such a sentimental fool, wasting time mourning lost love like a fucking love struck poet."

"Why are you here?" The Moroi's terror laced each word, spicing the air with its delightful scent.

A movement behind Ivashkov caught his eye, pulling his gaze away from the trembling man. He studied the woman reclining on the blanket, amazed to feel a pleasant tightening in his groin as he processed who she was—it was _her,_ the lesser ones woman. In an instant, he was hard and ready, yearning to claim her.

"She is my mate—my perfect match in every way. I was planning on returning to collect her, but thanks to you, now I know all I have to do is sit back and wait for her to find me."

Emotions flowed across the Moroi's face, first terror then confusion. "How is this even possible? You shouldn't be able to enter my dreams—you can't be asleep."

"You're right. I don't sleep. But you don't have to be asleep to dream, you fool. Besides, this isn't a dream, per say, at least not on my end." He actually found he was enjoying this—enlightening the man who he planned on one day destroying. "Do you know the meaning of the word torpor, Ivashkov?"

He looked… befuddled. "No, I don't."

"Not very smart, are you? Torpor is a state of motor and mental inactivity with a partial suspension of sensibility. An inactivity resulting from lethargy. A lack of vigor or energy, if you will. All animated beings—even the undead—need a way to… recharge their batteries, so to speak. Right now, I am in torpor, my body overly sated from a recent… feast. Unfortunately, when I am in such a state, _he _sometimes gains the upper hand."

"That makes no sense. You're one and the same."

Fool. Moroi and dhampirs thought they knew the truth, but in fact, they knew nothing of the mechanics behind an Awakening. He'd taken the time to learn, gathering the knowledge from the eldest of his kind, never revealing the reason he needed it. If they knew that the lesser still resided within him, they would attempt to conquer him—it would be seen as a weakness, and among the Strigoi, only the strong survived.

"We are and yet we're not. When one is awakened, the soul leaves the body. The spirit remains behind, but it is broken at the separation from the soul, leaving it malleable to the… darker side of human nature. In the end it embraces the changes the darkness brings instead of fighting against them. _You_ have prevented that from happening because you are connected to our spirit. It causes us to have… feelings… emotions… that are not natural in this state."

He told the truth—to a point. There was no need to mention that once the spirit was broken, the lesser part was banished in the same manner as the soul. Likewise, there was no need to mention that the lesser somehow… influenced him, making him ponder things that were better left alone. He was doing it even now, causing him to contemplate how it would feel to hold that beautiful female creature close, protecting her and shielding her from the world. He felt a burning desire to do just that—all because she was important to the man he had once been. It angered him, making him feel the overwhelming desire to rip into tender flesh and drain the life force from within, adding it to his ever-growing reserve of power.

Suddenly his head throbbed as a strange thrumming filled him. It was unexpected, and for a moment,it almost made him panic. He realized the Moroi was calling on magic, preparing to defend himself. Just as suddenly he recalled exactly what Ivashkov specialized in, and any concern he felt drained away. He waited with a smirk on his handsome face, knowing that the fool could not harm him—he wasn't in command of a dangerous element—like fire, after all. Soon enough the smirk faded, and his eyes narrowed against the ever increasing brightness in the clearing. Ivashkov had done something different… the very scent in the air had changed, filling with an intoxicating fragrance that he somehow recognized, but could not quite place. He had almost latched onto what it was when the female spoke, the sound of her voice causing him to harden even more, until his body was tight with a burning, frenzied need to have her.

"What the _fuck _are you doing, Adrian? I told you to stay out of my dreams!"

The woman… Rose was different. She seemed so much more vibrant than she had just a moment before. More beautiful, as if she had somehow…. He bit back a laugh as he realized that Ivashkov had unknowingly pulled her into the dream.

"Oh God Rose—I'm sorry! It was an accident, I swear!"

"Get the hell off of me Ivashkov," she growled.

He watched with amusement as Ivashkov backed away from her, attempting to keep his puny body between them, and almost laughed at the sight. As if Ivashkov—who was a head shorter than he—could block the sight of his massive stature from her view. Smiling, he decided to play with the man—he _so_ enjoyed tormenting his prey before putting them out of their misery.

"Very good, Ivashkov. I would much rather see _my_ Roza—the real thing is so much more enjoyable than the simpering imitation you conjured up before. It's no wonder I still hang on to the memory of her— she is… amazing."

She froze, her eyes widening as her face expressed complete shock. "Di… Dimitri?"

"Rose!" Ivashkov reached over, trying to grab her chin. "Look at me!"

"Let me go! Let me see him, damn you! Dimitri!" She struggled in the Moroi's arms, and for a glorious moment, he actually thought she was going to succeed in breaking free and running towards him. He longed for it to happen—he would wrap his arms around her and hold her so close, inhaling the wonderful scent of her hair as he kissed her into breathlessness. He would... Frowning, he shook his head, trying to dispel the lesser ones thoughts from his mind. She was a means to an end—nothing more. He had no attachment to her other than the fact she would be his most powerful ally.

"No! You're not going to remember this, Rose. You had a bad dream—that's all. Now wake up!"

The accursed brightness dimmed, and he felt a twinge of regret as he watched his Roza fade away, once again no more than an animated imitation. No matter how lifelike, it could not hold a candle to the real woman. Hot rage filled him, tightening his jaw and causing his fangs to slice into the inside of soft skin of his lips. "You kept her safe this time, Ivashkov, but I'll be the victor in the end. She'll be with me soon enough. Now that I know she's coming, I'll have to prepare something… special for her. Something fitting for such a fierce, beautiful creature."

A cage, he thought to himself, to house my little tiger until I have her tamed.

Ivashkov spun to face him, his eyes filled with fury. It was almost amusing to watch, like a gazelle standing up to a lion. "If what you say is true—that you have feelings and emotions because you remember what you once were, there's no way you'd hurt her. You love her, just as much as I do."

He pondered the statement, testing it out in his mind. Did he love her? Was he capable of love? The burning warmth at the thought of her _felt _like it could be love…

Yes.

In his own way, he decided, he did. "Indeed. That is why she'll join me. We'll be together forever. We'll conquer the Moroi world and rule hand in hand. It will be the beginning of a new age—one in which the Strigoi will dominate the night." He arched a single dark eyebrow and smiled. "Goodbye Adrian. I'll see you soon. Sooner than you might imagine. Tell everyone I said hello, won't you? Especially the last Dragomir. She's taken advantage of my woman for far, far too long. I intend to free Roza from her clutches once and for all."

And he would. Because in the brief instant that he'd contemplated love he had done something unwarranted. For the first time since Awakening, he'd willingly let the lesser one mingle their thoughts, and he'd spent a moment reliving the memories that played throughout _his_ consciousness. He'd felt the sense of completeness… of belonging with her. He'd felt the Paradise of her touch… Her scent… The taste of her…

_YES._

He had found her, because of the lesser one. She was _theirs._ _His. _ She belonged at his side. He ignored the screams of fury that echoed through his being as the lesser one realized he had failed. He'd thought the memories would protect Rose, making him cherish the woman and value her _life_. But he'd been wrong—oh so wrong. Yes, he would protect her. Yes, he would cherish her—but her life held no value. When awakened, she would be his queen, wandering the blessed darkness of the night as they conquered the world. She would be his dark goddess, warming his bed, and once again he would feel the pleasure of burying himself in the warm, tight wetness of her body. Rose. Roza. Soon, she would be his forever, and no one would be able to separate them. Any who tried would find a slow, pain-filled death waiting for them at his hands.

He smiled to himself as he left the dream, deciding that Adrian Ivashkov would make a fine first kill for his Roza. Beautiful, glorious Roza, the woman that would be his eternal bride.


	2. A Lesson Learned

**A Lesson Learned  
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**Aurora Borealis Chapters 62**

**DPOV**

**Requested by ClarissaExplainsAlot on tumblr**

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He was pulled from his torpor by the sound of a door opening somewhere in the distance. He had given no one permission to access his room, so the sound immediately alerted him that trouble was at hand. Lying frozen, not moving a muscle, he kept up the appearance that he was still deep in lethargy as he waited for the interloper to appear.

The other Strigoi's scent hit him, tensing his muscles and adding fuel to the fiery rage that was already burning within him. A moment later, when the intruder paused beside the bed, Dimitri's hand shot out, fingers locking around the neck of his… sire. Nathan's eyes widened in shock, but only for a moment. Sneering down at his progeny, he spoke nonchalantly, as if his very existence were not in peril.

"We're going into the city to hunt."

"And I'm supposed to believe that's why you're creeping into my room—infringing on my space?"

The blonde man tried for a blasé shrug, but the movement was forced and unnatural looking. "Galina sent me to see if you were interested—I could care less if you believe it or not."

"Never enter my room again Nathan. If you do, I'll end you."

"You'll try," he shot back.

Dimitri's lips turned up in a feral grin as he exuded the minutest of efforts, squeezing his hand like a vice. Satisfied by the gurgling sounds the other man made, he shoved him away. "I'll succeed."

Rising from the bed with a fluid, cat like movement, he attempted to ignore the throbbing ache between his legs—a reminder of his brief encounter with Roza in the dream he'd just been pulled into. Had Ivashkov not interfered, he would have taken her then and there, achieving the sexual release his body demanded. The sexual frustration coupled with the irritation he felt towards the spirit user, increasing the slow burning rage that always lurked—threatening to erupt without provocation—inside him. Stalking out the door he almost growled when Nathan fell into step beside him—he hated the man with every fiber of his being. The blonde was weak; in time, despite Galina's threats, Dimitri knew he would destroy him.

"Does this mean you're going to grace us with your presence?"

Eyes narrowing at the sarcasm in the other man's voice, Dimitri contemplated what had been offered. A hunt might be just what he needed to satisfy the desires warring within him—well, one of them, at least. Nodding slowly, he collected his duster before making his way out of the mansion—Nathan following at his heels like a well-trained dog.

A short car ride later and he was once again blessedly alone. His tall, muscular body stalked the streets with no particular goal in mind. He wandered aimlessly, passing several people that would have made easy kills—a change from his usual behavior. For the first time since his Awakening, he passed them by without a second thought. After his most recent overindulgence he did not feel the burning thirst quite as strongly as he normally did; that in itself was enough to warn him. Should he drink too deeply, he might once again fall into another semi-conscious state. Now that he knew Nathan was trying to catch him unaware, he'd have to cut back on feeding. It would be better to suffer a bit from the pains of unmet thirst than to be staked or beheaded while in an unprotected lethargic state.

He wandered for perhaps an hour—more than a sufficient amount of time for the others to have satiated their hunger. With a sigh of boredom he glanced around him, realizing he'd been wandering aimlessly, with no set goal in mind. He turned, slowly making his way back to the car, his thoughts focusing around the woman that had held the key to his heart from the moment she'd entered his life. Roza. No matter what he did or where he was, she had always haunted him, even after his Awakening. Now that he had acknowledged the fact that he still had feelings for her, his mind kept revolving around her, try as he might to stop it.

He had only walked a few blocks when he felt a faint tickling sensation in his head, immediately followed by a strange feeling of fullness— as if his brain were somehow expanding within its cage of bone, smashing up against the confining protective walls of his cranium. Pressing the heels of his hands against his temples he snarled, enraged by the sharp, painful surge. As it slowly abated he sensed another presence merging with his consciousness. Letting out a low, furious growl, he realized at once who it was that dared spy on him.

Ivashkov.

He stood, frozen in place, unsure of what action to take for the first time since his Awakening. There was no way he could return to Nathan and the others with the Moroi in his head. Who knew what the spirit user might see—what he might overhear? The last thing he needed was for Ivashkov to ascertain the exact location of where he'd been staying—the drunken idiot would probably use his ties to the queen to launch an attack, sending out the cavalry in hopes of intercepting Rose before he could awaken her. Perhaps he should simply go to one of the many safe houses Galina kept around the city. Losing one of them to the guardians wouldn't really matter. But first… first he'd try to handle the situation here and now, before it became a problem.

Dimitri closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, using the meditative techniques that Rose used to poke so much fun at. Focusing his thoughts, he forged them into a black missile of rage, launching it strait at the area where he felt Ivashkov lurking, demanding he get the fuck out of his head.

Infuriatingly enough, nothing happened. It hadn't made a damned bit of difference.

The Moroi was unfazed, as if he were unaware his presence had even been noticed. Cocking his head to the side, Dimitri concentrated on the connection that joined them. Strangely enough, it felt… different. Focusing like this, he could feel the Moroi's thoughts racing through his mind. Amazement with the speed at which he'd been moving a few minutes before. Envy at the clarity of his sight.

Ivashkov's thoughts were as irritating as the man himself, and he wanted him gone. Determined that this time it would work, Dimitri sent a sharp slap at the invading presence, but again, it went unnoticed. He slowly realized that while the spirit user might be _in _his mind, for whatever reason, Adrian couldn't sense his thoughts. Even though he was receiving every moronic image that flitted through the Moroi's mind, his own secrets were safe enough, for the time being. Ivashkov clearly wasn't here by choice. The man had probably fallen back asleep, and with his defenses down, slipped across the fucking link that bound them together.

Damnation—he _did not _ need _another _problem to add to his ever growing list. What if the moron accidentally slipped in at an inopportune time? What if he…

He lost his train of thought as Adrian's next broadcast rippled through his head, forcing a predatory rumble from deep within his massive chest. While Moroi senses were advanced, they were nowhere near as enhanced as that of a Strigoi—just further proof that the race was inferior. Dimitri had learned to ignore the constant ebb and flow of external stimuli—it was almost like white noise to him, unless he _chose_ to acknowledge it. Ivashkov, on the other hand, unused to having such predatory senses at his disposal, had picked up on a distant scent, and his thoughts on the matter rekindled Dimitri's earlier rage. The fool was having entirely improper thoughts about _his _woman and the beauty of her natural scent.

Gnashing his teeth together in frustration at the images in his head, Dimitri narrowed his eyes, his lips curling up in a sly smile. Ivashkov was trapped within him, with no way of breaking free until someone woke him. Perhaps it was time to teach the Moroi a lesson—one he wouldn't forget anytime soon. By thinking about _his_ Roza, Adrian Ivashkov had just sealed some unknown strangers' fate. Determinedly ignoring his parasitical visitors ongoing rambling of awe over what he was seeing and sensing, Dimitri took off, tracking his soon to be victim via the faint scent that drifted in the air.

He saw the woman in the distance, standing on the sidewalk near a streetlight, and the first thing he noted was her eerie resemblance to his Roza. She didn't particularly _look_ like his beloved, but she had long dark hair and was of a similar height. For a moment, as he approached her, he contemplated satisfying his body's irritating demands by fucking her before bleeding her. He hadn't had a woman since Roza—hell, until Ivashkov's dream, he hadn't wanted one. Upon awakening he had lusted for two things, power and blood. Sex hadn't even figured into the equation. But now… since seeing Roza… smelling her… the desire for sex was constantly in the back of his mind like an irritating buzz.

Smiling to himself, he shook his head. No. If he couldn't have _her_, then he would wait. Only she could satisfy the urge. Only she could scratch the itch. It wasn't just _any _woman his body craved, it was _Roza._

Closing the distance between them, he approached the woman with a smile, careful to keep his fangs concealed. He didn't want to frighten her, not yet, anyway. "Excuse me, do you have the time?"

The woman glanced at her watch, then smiled up at him, fluttering her overly mascaraed eyelashes. "It is a little past two thirty. Still early."

His smile faded, replaced by a look of disgust. The insolent slut was flirting with him. "Yes, it is. Early enough that you could be considered as breakfast."

He was on her in an instant, being more savage than usual, his fangs ripping into the delicate skin of her throat. Latching on, he shifted his jaw, pulling downward, widening the small punctures into ragged gashes so the blood would flow freer and faster. He felt Adrian losing himself in the wave of bliss that came with feeding deeply. So good. The blood… consuming the life force… It was rapturous.

As the woman's life faded, Ivashkov somehow pulled free of his mind, leaving him once again to his blessed solitude. Dropping the rapidly cooling body into the gutter, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the slick residue that coated his lips. He'd been unusually messy tonight—and it irritated him for some reason. Studying the gaping wounds he'd made, he smiled; it looked as though she'd been mauled by a wild animal. The analogy pleased him—he was a predator, after all. He wondered for a moment if Adrian had noticed the faint resemblance to Roza. He hoped that he had—it would haunt the Moroi to know that he'd taken part—albeit as a long distance voyeur—in the death of a woman who reminded him of his _little dhampir_. Maybe it would drive him to drink more, disabling his use of fucking spirit. Then he would be unable to burrow his way into other people's heads.

The woman was already nothing more than a distant memory, even as her blood gave him energy and increased his strength. She didn't matter in the grand scheme of things—she was food, nothing more. Turning on heel, he left her there in the trash-strewn street without another though, setting off in search of his dark brethren.

* * *

Nathan couldn't hide his surprise when he voluntarily climbed into the back seat of the vehicle. Normally the two would quibble over driving—with Dimitri winning every time. Tonight, though, he had his reasons for not arguing. Having already been invaded by the spirit user twice in one night, he was leery that a third visit might occur while he was trapped in the car with the others. Not knowing if his expression betrayed anything when the Moroi visited, he'd decided the back seat was the safest bet—should he need to hide his face, he could simply stare out the window.

He spent the entire return trip glaring at the back of his nemesis head, his thoughts having taken a decidedly dark turn. Nathan knew of Roza's ties to the Dragomir bitch—he'd harped about it often enough since Awakening him in the cave—which meant that he'd seek to control her, should the opportunity present itself. If he knew she was in out in the world, unprotected, the blonde would hunt her. Dimitri's lip curled involuntarily at the thought, baring his fangs in a silent snarl. No. Nathan would not touch his Roza, unless he had a death wish. The only problem was that even when he found her, he wouldn't be able to protect her every hour of the day, and that was something that had to be done, as far as he was concerned. While he was out, taking care of Galina's many business ventures, he would have to be assured that she was being properly looked after, or else he would be in a constant state of worry.

If he Awakened her immediately, none of this would be a problem, but with Roza... she was headstrong. It had to be her choice. Even as a dhampir, she had a temper, and that temper would grow even more volatile when she was a Strigoi. She would make their eternal life together a living hell if she felt she hadn't had a say in the decision. He ignored the fact that he also wanted to keep her alive for as long as possible, because he didn't—couldn't— understand why he felt that way in the slightest. He simply knew that for some reason it was important that he get to spend time with her as she was now, warm and vibrant and…_Roza_, before the chance was lost forever.

Regardless, he couldn't keep her safe on his own. For his Roza's sake, he would have to belittle himself before Galina, and beg for her intercession. If Galina gave her blessing, no one would dare even _look _at his Roza. Thank God the woman still retained some of the maternal feelings she'd had for him when she'd been a dhampir and his mentor—feelings he would play on to help achieve his goal.

Realizing the car had come to a stop—the others were scurrying into the house as if dawn was snapping at their heels—he exited the car, lingering outside as long as possible, delaying his inevitable meeting with the owner of the estate. As the wind picked up, blowing loose strands of dark hair in his face, he noticed—for the first time—the sweet mingled fragrances coming from the direction of the large garden. As he wandered between the manicured flower beds, one aroma in particular penetrated his consciousness, touching the lesser being within. The man he'd once been was filled with the overwhelming desire to pluck one of the deep red roses and carry it inside with him, secreting it away to his room, where it would be a small reminder of what they were both waiting for… what they were longing for.

Reaching down he tugged one of the large blooms free, letting out a hissed breath between clenched teeth as one of the sharp thorns lodged deeply in his flesh of his thumb. As he licked away a bright drop of blood, he contemplated the flower. It was so deceptively beautiful, drawing one in with its scent and soft petals, making one forget about the hidden danger its thorns represented.

Just like his Roza.

Smiling, he stalked towards the mansion, ready to do whatever was necessary to convince Galina to aide him in protecting his perfect mate, once he brought her home.


	3. She Walks In Beauty

She Walks In Beauty

Aurora Borealis Chapters 5

The Voda Banquet

DPOV

Requested by lady luna2010

* * *

He stood, as was always required at these events, in the shadows, an unseen, silent presence, seemingly forgotten by the laughing, milling crowd of Moroi in the room. The Royals took no notice of the men and women who stood prepared to protect them; the guardians who would lay down their lives if need be might as well have been a part of the decor. In the Moroi's narrow, jaded minds, the dhampirs were not there; their presence was completely ignored. They would remain forgotten unless precious Moroi lives were in peril, and even then, they were not recognized as individuals with thoughts and dreams of their own—they were merely a means of defense, like a gun or a knife, inanimate objects that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

His back was to the wall, but it was not a relaxed pose; there was no leaning against it, or bracing himself to ease the strain on his tired feet throughout the long night's vigil. Instead, he stood ramrod straight, his back stiff and his arms at his sides. Had a human walked into the room and noticed the tall, somber man, they would take one look at his bearing and assume he had to be a member of some branch of the military. Of course, they'd have change their assessment if they saw the length of his dark brown hair.

His somber, ruggedly handsome face betrayed nothing of the inner turmoil he was feeling. Even as his eyes flicked around the room, watching for any hidden signs of danger, his mind raced, flipping from one thought to the next. None of them involved the current banquet, despite the fact that it should be the center and sole focus of his attention. Instead, he was thinking about _her_.

Rose.

She dominated his thoughts, just as she always did—she had from the moment she'd entered his life. In the blink of an eye she had taken his carefully constructed, organized world and turned it completely upside down. From the very first time they'd met, she had challenged him, making him question himself in ways he never dreamed were possible. Now she was an integral part of his life, one he could not imagine living without. It had happened slowly—almost unnoticed at first—then suddenly it had exploded into something unexplainable on the night he'd found her in the lounge with young Zeklos. It was then, struggling to contain a fury powered by sheer jealousy, that he realized just how deep his feelings for the sarcastic, outspoken girl ran. She had burrowed her way under his skin and straight into his heart, and he hadn't even seen it coming. It had blindsided him

He thought about the happy, carefree smiles she shot him, and the long, lingering looks filled with so much yearning. He replayed the way she would toss her hair—that gorgeous, thick hair that felt like silk between his fingers. He remembered the warm, soft press of her lips against his, and the sweet heaven that he had felt when her body writhed against him on that long ago night in his room; the night when they had been so close to giving in to the mutual desire that both had felt for such a long time. Day by day, each had refused to acknowledge the attraction, even as it continued to grow, until finally it was a raging fire, threatening to consume them and burn their very bones to ash as soon as it was set free by one single, solitary lust charm laced touch.

His tongue snaked out, wetting his lips as he remembered his dream from the night before. No, he couldn't stop thinking about her, even when on duty, and it disturbed him beyond belief. Despite all his years of intense training, her sultry dark eyes and the musical sound of her voice had shattered his mental focus forever. Uttering a hushed curse, he gave himself a sharp mental slap, attempting to pull his attention back to the present, but it was an effort in futility. The problem with Rose refused to go away, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do to change it.

Remembering the hurt look on her face when he'd dismissed her earlier in the day, he winced. Only Rose could get under his guard, making him speak without thinking. He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings, but her intense dislike of Tasha had been so glaringly obvious in the way she'd been mocking the older woman. At the time, his sole thought had been to separate the two before Rose became even more upset and accidentally let something slip. The hurt look in her eyes as she left them in the corridor had been playing through his mind for the rest of the day. It was a look he would've given anything to erase; making Rose happy was all he wanted, despite the fact that his actions so often seemed to directly contradict that fact.

Before he had met her, he'd thought himself content. He'd always been something of a loner, making work was his primary focus. When not on patrol or doing other small tasks around the academy, he'd sequestered himself in his room, his only company being his books. If he felt a pang of loneliness from time to time, he ignored it.

Until Rose.

Her mere presence had brightened the drab, dreary muted hues of his world, transforming it into vibrant Technicolor. She had opened his eyes and made him feel really, truly alive. It was as if he had been sleepwalking through his life, not living, but merely existing; going through the motions without taking the time to stop and appreciate all the beauty the world had to offer. For the first time in his life, he had found true, unmitigated happiness, and it had been in her arms.

No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that his feelings were wrong, there was simply no changing the facts. He was in love with her. It didn't really matter, because despite the intensity of his feelings and his longing to be with her, it was impossible. Even after facing that cold hard truth, the desire to declare his feeling and claim her as his own ate away at him, making him feel like a hormonal teenager. His emotions were in a constant swirl—from happiness to guilt, confusion to grief, grim acceptance to angry outrage at the world they lived in. They circled around and around in his head, slowly driving him crazy.

His thoughts once again drifted away from his problems, returning immediately to their favorite subject matter, remembering the few wonderful hours he'd spent alone in his room with Roza. Lately there had been so many angry words between them, so much hurt and pain, that losing himself in the sensory memory of the taste of her skin was a welcome relief from the frustration of reality. Deep in the grips of his reflection, he failed to notice a single Moroi breaking away from the crowd and heading in his direction. It wasn't until her hand ran up his arm in an unearned gesture of possessiveness that he even noticed her existence. Irritation swept through him as he looked over and caught the sly, determined smile on her face; he had to fight back the urge to knock her hand away, wanting nothing more than to express the annoyance he felt at being pulled from his musings.

Tasha.

She had been his friend and confidant for so many years, but in a single afternoon she had changed the dynamic of their friendship, leaving it in splinters. No longer did he feel at ease in her presence, instead, now he felt distinctively uncomfortable. Her long lingering glances and the casual way in which she touched him now all held a completely new meaning—and it was one he didn't like in the slightest. Just standing beside her made every fiber of his being scream out in protest, as if he were in some way betraying his Roza just by being in the presence of the woman who unknowingly sought to separate them.

Glancing down at the smug expression on her pale upturned face, his displeasure only increased. It was directed at his longtime friend, but also internally—he knew he should have simply given her his decision, but instead he had delayed, not realizing that in doing so, he had inadvertently led her to believe he was actually interested.

Every nuance of Tasha's body language telegraphed her confidence that he would be accepting her offer. In fact, she almost acted as though he had no say in the matter at all. Even without having received an answer to her question, she was attempting to stake her claim on him, determined to push him into an immediate intimacy that he didn't want. Perhaps she felt so self-assured because she knew she was proposing something that most dhampire men would give anything to obtain. It was the closest thing to a normal life that any of them could hope to achieve—a beautiful, good natured woman that loved them and who promised to give them the precious gift of children. Logically, he should have accepted in an instant. He should have thanked her on bended knees for her generosity, and grasped onto the promise of what their future together might bring.

But how could he? He didn't think of Tasha in that way, and he knew he never would. He simply did not love her. He was positive that he would never love another woman again, because Roza had his heart, and he never, ever wanted to reclaim it. Even if they could never be together in the way they wanted, his heart was hers to keep forever.

The single, solitary reason he'd hesitated to give her an answer was because it would be so, so easy to accept—to use Tasha's kindness in an attempt to run away from his feelings for Rose. To try and forget her, and to attempt to forget the constant pain he felt in longing for what could never be. He knew that every time he was with the Moroi woman, his eyes would be closed to reality and he would be kissing and embracing the woman he couldn't be with. He would always be picturing the only woman who heated his blood and inflamed him with a passion so great that it left him breathless. After days of contemplation, he was left more confused and frustrated than ever. Deep down he knew that the arrangement wouldn't be fair to either of them. He couldn't repay her years of friendship with empty, emotionless kisses and embraces. Because in all honesty, the single kiss he'd shared with Tasha had been nothing more than a brief, failed attempt to erase Rose from his mind. It had been a meaningless gesture, and he hadn't felt moved or aroused in the slightest. Instead of exciting him and heating his blood, it had left him feeling cold and withdrawn—and full of guilt that it had happened in the first place. With Rose, just the accidental brush of her hand against his arm had him hard and ready in an instant.

A faint feeling of alertness came over him, pulling his eyes towards the doorway. It was always the same whenever she was near, as if his senses had improved. His body tingled and became hyper-aware—just another sign of how in tune they were to each other. As she entered the room, everyone else melted away, vanishing into the background. There were no more Moroi, no more Tasha. There was only his Roza, looking more beautiful than ever. His heart rate increased, making his pulse pound in his ears as he watched her, and his breath caught in his throat as another memory slammed into him, increasing his arousal, causing him to close his eyes in an abortive attempt to override the images flashing through his head.

From the time he had first seen her through the window in Portland, he had fantasized about her body. Lying in bed at the end of each day, he would imagine what was hidden away beneath her clothes. His fascination with her filled him with guilt, because he knew he shouldn't be thinking about a student in such a manner, but he couldn't help it, nor could he stop himself. The brief glimpse he'd seen in the lounge of her in her bra had been like gasoline on a fire, only increasing his yearning to explore every inch of her, touching and tasting, committing her to memory. On the night of the lust charm, when he had seen her in all her glory, he'd realized that his imagination hadn't done her justice.

Opening his eyes, he knew there was only one answer he could give Tasha. The word had sprung into his mind as soon as she had made her offer, and now it was echoing through him, resonating like the deep, perfect tone of a church bell.

No.

It was absolutely impossible. He would never leave her, not for anything in the world. He would spend the rest of his life standing beside her guarding the princess, and he would cherish that small amount of togetherness. It would sustain him—it had to, because he couldn't have more, and he could accept no less than to grab onto whatever small chance he had to be near her.

All he could do was stare in amazement at the sight of her. It wasn't that her beauty was a surprise—he always thought she was beautiful, whether she was in a sweat suit with her hair in a ponytail and no make-up on her face as they trained or in jeans and a t-shirt, walking around campus. It was because tonight, she exceeded all expectation, redefining the word beautiful and reshaping it into so much more. She stood there in the dress that Tasha had so generously given her for Christmas, looking like a goddess. The red silk skimmed her curves in a way that drew the eye and flaunted them, and he was suddenly embarrassingly aware of his body's reaction to the mere sight of her, because it knew what was hidden away beneath that silky material.

Murmured voices reached his ears, and he bit back a growl of fury. They were talking about her, undressing her with their eyes and picturing _his_ Roza in their beds. He felt the urge to stalk to her side and cover her body with his coat, hiding her away from the Moroi and claiming her as his own before them all.

But he couldn't.

All he could do was watch her follow after the princess as she worked her way around the large room, uncomfortable and unwilling to be here. No one else would notice, seeing only the polite smile on her face, but he could tell by the tilt of her head and the set of her shoulders that she was anything but happy.

At some point, Tasha left his side, but as to when he had no idea—and in all honesty, he didn't give a damn. All he cared about was the curvy dhampir girl who was now sitting next to Lissa and staring at her empty plate with a hungry expression on her face. His lips twitched up in a fond smile, knowing she was wondering how the Moroi could survive on such a sparse meal.

With dinner over, the guest began mingling again, and he sighed in frustration, wondering why she hadn't even glanced in his direction. Had this afternoon been too much, driving an irreparable wedge between them? The thought brought piercing pain, and he found himself praying for a single, solitary glance. A sign—something, anything—that she still cared. However, none were forthcoming, no matter how pointedly he stared at her.

The only time she left his field of vision was when a man stepped in the way, blocking his view, frustrating him. He craned his neck, trying to see around the Moroi's lean body, his frustration rapidly switching to anger as he realized who it was—and that the man in question was heading towards him with a self-satisfied smirk on his handsome face.

"Good evening, Guardian Belikov." Adrian Ivashkov leaned against the wall next to him, his gaze intent.

Struggling to keep his dislike for the womanizing Moroi out of his voice, he stared straight ahead, refusing to play whatever game the man had in mind. "Lord Ivashkov."

"Doesn't our Rosebud look scrumptious tonight?"

His first impulse was to wrap his hands around the man's neck, but he refrained. He almost wished he hadn't controlled the urge when he heard Adrian's next comment.

"Your girlfriend did a superb job, picking out that dress for her. Every man in the place is imagining peeling it off of her, oh so slowly."

"Lady Ozera is not my girlfriend." He frowned, furious. If Rose heard the lie, she would believe it, and it would crush her.

Adrian rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Don't you think my little dhampire looks great? I like this dress much better than the short black one she wore to your room that night."

Shock slammed into him, widening his eyes as the words hit home. How the hell did he know about that? Struggling to regain his composure, he hid his emotions away behind a mask of bored indifference that gave absolutely nothing away. His mind was cataloging possible explanations, trying to latch onto any acceptable answer. In the end, there was only one, and it tore at his heart. The only way Ivashkov could know such details was if Roza had shared them with him.

He gritted his teeth together so tightly they ached, tensing his jaw as he imagined Rose confessing to their intimacies while wrapped in Ivashkov's arms. For a moment, the room around him was lost in a hazy sea of red as he struggled against the overwhelming desire to kill the Moroi lord, slowly ripping him apart, one piece at a time.

"To answer the question that's burning through your brain, no, she didn't tell me. You did."

He chanced a glance over at Adrian, his eyes locking with bright emerald ones that sparkled with amusement. "I have no idea—"

"Cut the crap. Your dream last night. I was there. I saw everything. It was really rather… impressive. So impressive that it made me start thinking. My dear Aunt has been trying to get me to accept a guardian. I'm thinking of agreeing, on the condition that Rosemarie is the one assigned to me. What do you think? Great idea, huh?"

Never. Only over his dead body would Rose fall prey to Ivashkov's lecherous ways. "Rose will be assigned to Princess Dragomir. The Princess has already filed a request with the Guardian Counsel."

"Huh. Well I guess it's a good thing that a Queen trumps a Princess then, isn't it? I'm sure whoever is assigned to Vasilisa will take good care of her, just like I'll take excellent care of Rose." Adrian smirked. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go see if my lovely little dhampire is wearing the perfume I gave her. It's called Amour, Amour. A fitting name, don't you think, for a love token?"

His watched Ivashkov saunter the room, his anger growing by leaps and bound when Tasha rushed over to his side a moment later, once again latching onto his arm.

"Dimka? Are you alright?"

He exhaled sharply, tugging his arm free as he scanned the room, trying to locate Rose. "I'm fine."

"Adrian said… he implied…" She broke off, and when he looked down at her, her eyes were searching his face.

He glanced away, immediately zeroing in on Ivashkov's back as the man made a beeline for Rose, who was standing in the corner talking to a server with a questioning look on her face. A sharp tugging on his arm made him growl with irritation as he shot a heated glare at the woman beside him. "WHAT?"

Tasha jerked back, looking shocked at his loud, angry voice. "What's wrong Dimka? I've never seen you like this!"

"What's wrong is that I am supposed to be working, Tasha, and I can't do that if I'm distracted!" His tone was sharp, his eyes already back on Rose. She was moving closer to Ivashkov, her arm brushing up against his body as she smiled up at him. No. This could not be happening.

"I hardly think I'm the one distracting you," she shot back. "It's certainly not me you've been drooling over all fucking night!"

He closed his eyes, his control—already pushed to almost its limits by the sight of Rose flirting with Adrian—slowly unraveling. Counting to ten he focused on his breathing , straining to rebuild his walls. When he could speak without shouting, he turned to meet her angry gaze with one of his own. "You don't know what you're talking about. As I said, I'm here to work, not socialize. I suggest you go mingle with the other guests, Lady Ozera."

The use of her formal title erased her anger and made her pale skin blanch even whiter. Again she slid her hand up his arm, this time resting her hand at the base of his neck, her cool palm pressed against the skin above his collar. "Dimka—"

"I suggest you leave before I say something you'll regret hearing, Lady Ozera." Reaching up he removed her hand, flicking it harshly away.

He turned away dismissing her, and as he moved he caught a sight of a familiar face making her way through the crowd like a heat seeking missile that was locked on a single target. He felt smug satisfaction, knowing that Ivashkov was about to be knocked down a peg or two. The woman's voice rang out over the quiet hushed conversations in the room—her accent almost masking the hostility in her voice.

_"Rose! What do you think you're doing?"_

His happiness at their being interrupted faded as he realized that Janine was doing the exact opposite of what he'd expected. Instead of being angry at the cocky young Moroi, she was furious with her own daughter. The embarrassed flush on Rose's cheeks attested to her humiliation as her mother dragged her out of the room by her arm as if she were a misbehaving five year old.

He was in motion before he even realized it, leaving his post unattended—something he never would have done in the past—as he followed after them, careful to keep a few Moroi between them and to lag far enough behind that he would remain unseen.

When he reached the door he could clearly hear Rose's raised voice, indicating that they were just outside. He leaned against the wall, listening to their conversation. He didn't feel guilty in the slightest for eavesdropping; after all, he'd be the one left to deal with Rose after Janine vented her anger and returned to her charge.

_"What do you think you're doing? This is silk. You could have ruined it."_

_"Good. Maybe it'll stop you from dressing up like a cheap whore."_

His blood boiled at the insult—he felt like throwing open the door and grabbing Janine. He wanted to shake some sense into her, forcing her to see what a brave, wonderful woman her daughter was. How could she be so blind? Didn't she realize her words did more harm than good? Wasn't it enough that she had abandoned her daughter almost in infancy, leaving her to grow up in an institutional environment, deprived of all the things a small child needed in order to thrive? Alberta Petrov had been the one to teach young Rose her letters and how to properly tie her shoes. She had been the one to bandage skinned knees and to calm Rose when she cried out in the night wanting the mother who had given her away without a second thought. He'd read the whole, sad story—Rose's file was almost five inches thick. Each entry he read made him mourn for the sad, lonely little girl who had never had a real home to call her own. By the time he'd finished reviewing the file, he'd wanted nothing more than to whisk her away to Baia, where his mother would welcome her and teach her how real families behaved. His mother would show her love and support and would be proud when she heard of all Rose had accomplished. His family would be her family, and they would give Roza all the things she'd missed out on when she was small.

When their angry voices died down he cracked the door, exiting into the hallway when he saw that it was empty. Looking both ways he spotted Rose perhaps a yard away, her shoulders slumped and her head bowed as she trudged towards a distant doorway. Following after her, he tried not to smile as he realized where she was headed. Once she reached her destination, there would be no guests wandering past to overhear them. No Tasha interrupting. They would be totally, blessedly alone for the first time in days.

She walked out the door into the bright sunlight and a moment later he stood in the same position, his hand curling around the knob. Ignoring his sweaty palms and the way his heart began to race at the thought of being alone with her, he took a deep breath, schooling his expression so as not to betray what he was feeling. Pushing open the door to the roof, he went out into the cold wintery morning to console his Roza.

* * *

**A/N: It took me awhile to complete this, for two reasons. One—in case you didn't notice, it is double the length of the original AB chapter. I think there are about 2000 words before Rose even makes her entrance to the event. Right about then, the second reason kicked in—Dimitri did not want to cooperate. Once Rose appeared, things kind of exploded, because the Dimitri in my head was still in Strigoi mode. He was enjoying the freedom of being uncontrolled and kept trying to take this in a _completely_ different direction. Finally I had to set this aside and jot down what was in my head to clear it. Eight pages of _VERY_ naughty/smutty notes later, I could get back to finishing this piece up. **

**On the plus side, in the future—once I write it and if I decide to post it— there will be an extremely +18 M rated one shot of what happened between Strigoi Dimitri and Rose when she was in that little room in Russia. **

**Sorry it took me so long to get this done lady luna2010. ** **I hope after reading it you decide it was worth the wait!**


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