Blood Promise va-4

by Richelle Mead

  “Fun isn’t the same as stupid,” Avery retorted, face serious. “You can’t go do stupid shit like that. I think we should get you home.”

  “I’m fine,” said Lissa. She stubbornly looked away from Avery and instead focused on some guys who were doing shots of tequila. They were having some sort of competition-and half of them looked ready to pass out.

  “Define ‘fine,’” said Adrian wryly. Yet he looked concerned too.

  “I’m fine,” Lissa repeated. Her gaze snapped back to Avery. “I didn’t get hurt at all.” She’d expected grief about Aaron and was surprised they hadn’t given it to her-which made it even more surprising when it came from another source.

  “You kissed that guy!” exclaimed Jill, leaning forward. Her face was aghast, and she displayed none of her usual reticence.

  “It was nothing,” said Lissa, who was irked to have Jill reprimanding her of all people. “Certainly none of your business.”

  “But you’re with Christian! How could you do that to him?”

  “Relax, Jailbait,” said Avery. “A drunken kiss is nothing compared to a drunken fall. God knows I’ve kissed plenty of guys drunk.”

  “And yet, I remain unkissed tonight,” mused Adrian, with a shake of his head.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Jill was really worked up. She’d grown to like and respect Christian. “You cheated on him.”

  With those words, Jill might as well have practiced her right hook on Lissa. “I did not!” Lissa exclaimed. “Don’t drag your crush on him into this and imagine things that aren’t there.”

  “I didn’t imagine that kiss,” said Jill, flushing.

  “That kiss is the least of our worries,” sighed Avery. “I’m serious-just let it go for now, you guys. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “But-” began Jill.

  “You heard her. Let it go,” a new voice growled. Reed Lazar had appeared out of nowhere and was looming over Jill, face as hard and scary as ever.

  Jill’s eyes went wide. “I’m just telling the truth…” I had to admire her courage here, considering her normally timid nature.

  “You’re pissing everyone off,” said Reed, leaning closer and clenching his fists. “And you’re pissing me off.” I was pretty sure this was the most I’d ever heard him say. I tended to kind of think of him as a caveman, stringing three-word sentences together.

  “Whoa.” Adrian leapt up and rushed to Jill’s side. “You need to let this go. What, are you going to start a fight with some girl?”

  Reed turned his glare on Adrian. “Stay out of this.”

  “The hell I will! You’re crazy.”

  If anyone had asked me to make up a list of people most likely to risk a fight in defense of a lady’s honor, Adrian Ivashkov would have been low on that list. Yet there he stood, face hard and hand sitting protectively on Jill’s shoulder. I was in awe. And impressed.

  “Reed,” cried Avery. She too had risen and now stood on Jill’s other side. “She didn’t mean anything. Back off.”

  The two siblings stood there, eyes locked in some kind of silent showdown. Avery wore the harshest look I’d ever seen on her, and at last, he glowered and stepped back. “Fine. Whatever.”

  The group stared in amazement as he walked abruptly away. The music was so loud that only a few of the partygoers had overhead the argument.

  They stopped and stared, and Avery looked embarrassed as she sank back in her chair. Adrian still stood by Jill. “What the hell was that?” Adrian demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Avery admitted. “He gets weird and overprotective sometimes.” She gave Jill an apologetic smile. “I’m really sorry.”

  Adrian shook his head. “I think it’s time for us to go.”

  Even in her drunken state, Lissa had to agree. The confrontation with Reed had shocked her into soberness, and she was suddenly uneasily evaluating her actions tonight. The glittering lights and fancy cocktails of the party had lost their charm. The drunken antics of the other royals seemed clumsy and stupid. She had a feeling she might regret this party tomorrow.

  Once back in my own head, I felt fear set in. Okay. Something was very wrong with Lissa, and no one else seemed to notice it-well, not to the extent they should have. Adrian and Avery did seem concerned, but I had the feeling they were blaming her behavior on the drinking. Lissa was still reminding me a lot of how she’d been when we’d first returned to St. Vladimir’s, when spirit had been seizing her and messing with her mind.

  Except… I knew enough about myself now to realize that my anger and fixation on punishing Strigoi was being influenced by spirit’s dark side too. That meant I was draining it away from her. It should have been leaving Lissa, not building up. So what was wrong with her? Where was this short-tempered, crazy, and jealous persona coming from? Was spirit’s darkness simply growing in intensity so that it spread to both of us? Were we splitting it? “Rose?”

  “Huh?” I glanced up from where I’d been staring blankly at the TV. Denis was looking down at me, his cell phone in his hand.

  “Tamara had to work late. She’s ready to go now, but…”

  He nodded toward the window. The sun was almost down, the sky purple, with only a little orange on the horizon. Tamara worked within walking distance, and while there probably wasn’t any real danger, I didn’t want her out alone after sunset. I stood up. “Come on, we’ll go get her.” To Lev and Artur I said, “You guys can stay here.”

  Denis and I walked the half-mile to the small office where Tamara worked. She did assorted clerical tasks, like filing and copying, and there’d apparently been some project that kept her there late tonight. We met her at the door and walked back to the apartment without incident, talking animatedly about our hunting plans for the evening. When we reached Tamara’s building, I heard a strange wailing across the street. We all turned, and Denis chuckled.

  “Good God, it’s that crazy woman again,” I muttered.

  Tamara didn’t live in a bad part of town but, as in any city, there were homeless people and panhandlers. The woman we watched was almost as ancient as Yeva, and she regularly walked up and down the street, muttering to herself. Today, she lay on her back on the sidewalk, making strange noises while waving her limbs like a turtle.

  “Is she hurt?” I asked.

  “Nope. Just crazy,” said Denis. He and Tamara turned to go inside, but some soft part of me couldn’t abandon her. I sighed.

  “I’ll be right in.”

  The street was quiet (aside from the old lady) and I cut across without fear of traffic. Reaching the woman, I held out my hand to help her out, trying not to think about how dirty hers was. Like Denis had said, she merely appeared to be in crazy mode today. She wasn’t hurt; she’d apparently just decided to lie down. I shuddered. I tossed the word crazy around a lot when it came to Lissa and me, but this was truly crazy. I really, really hoped spirit never took us this far. The homeless lady looked surprised at the help but took my hand and began talking excitedly in Russian. When she tried to hug me in gratitude, I stepped back and held up my hands in the international “back off” signal.

  She did indeed back off but continued chatting happily. She grabbed the sides of her long coat and held them out like a ball-room skirt and began spinning around and singing. I laughed, surprised that in my grim world, this would cheer me up. I started to cross back over to Tamara’s place.

  The old woman stopped dancing and began talking happily to me again.

  “Sorry, I have to go,” I told her. It didn’t seem to register.

  Then she froze mid-sentence. Her expression gave me warning only half a millisecond before my nausea did. In one fluid motion, I spun around to face what was behind me, pulling my stake out as I moved. There was a Strigoi there, tall and imposing, having sneaked up while I was distracted.

  Stupid, stupid. I’d refused to let Tamara walk home alone, but I’d never even considered danger right outside my “No…”

  I wasn’t sure if I said the word or
thought it. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered just then was what my eyes saw before me. Or, rather, what my eyes thought they saw. Because surely, surely, I had to be imagining this. It couldn’t be real. Not after all this time.

  Dimitri.

  I knew him instantly, even though he’d… changed. I think in a crowd of a million people, I would have recognized him. The connection between us would allow nothing else. And after being deprived of him for so long, I drank in every feature. The dark, chin-length hair, worn loose tonight and curling slightly around his face. The familiar set of lips, quirked now in an amused yet chilling smile. He even wore the duster he always wore, the long leather coat that could have come straight out of a cowboy movie.

  And then… there were the Strigoi features. His dark eyes-the eyes I loved-ringed in red. The pale, pale, death-white skin. In life, his complexion had been as tanned as mine, thanks to so much time outdoors. If he opened his mouth, I knew I’d see fangs.

  My whole assessment took place in the blink of an eye. I’d reacted fast when I’d felt him-faster than he’d probably expected. I still had the element of surprise, my stake poised and ready. It was perfectly lined up with his heart. I could tell, then and there, that I could make the hit faster than he could defend. But…

  The eyes. Oh God, the eyes.

  Even with that sickening red ring around his pupils, his eyes still reminded me of the Dimitri I’d known. The look in his eyes-the soulless, malicious gleam-that was nothing like him. But there was just enough resemblance to stir my heart, to overwhelm my senses and feelings. My stake was ready. All I had to do was keep swinging to make the kill. I had momentum on my side…

  But I couldn’t. I just needed a few more seconds, a few more seconds to drink him in before I killed him. And that’s when he spoke.

  “Roza.” His voice had that same wonderful lowness, the same accent… it was all just colder. “You forgot my first lesson: Don’t hesitate.”

  I just barely saw his fist striking out toward my head… and then I saw nothing at all.

  CHAPTER 18

  Unsurprisingly, I woke up with a headache.

  For a few addled seconds, I had no idea what had happened or where I was. As drowsiness wore off, the events on the street came slamming back to me. I sat upright, all of my defenses kicking into action, despite the slight wooziness in my head. Time to figure out where I was now.

  I sat up on an enormous bed in a darkened room. No-not just a room. More like a suite or a studio. I’d thought the hotel in Saint Petersburg was opulent, but this blew it away. The half of the studio I sat in contained the bed and usual bedroom accessories: a dresser, nightstands, etc. The other half looked like a living room area, with a couch and a television. Shelves were built into the walls, all of them filled with books. Off to my right was a short hall with a door at the end. Probably a bathroom. On my other side was a large picture window, tinted, as Moroi windows often were. This one had more tint than any I’d ever seen. It was almost solid black, nearly impossible to see through. Only the fact that I could differentiate the sky from the horizon-after a fair amount of squinting-let me know it was daytime out there.

  I slid off the bed, my senses on high alert as I tried to assess my danger. My stomach felt fine; there were no Strigoi in the area. That didn’t necessarily rule out some other person, however. I couldn’t take anything for granted-doing so was what had gotten me in trouble on the street.

  There was no time to ponder that, though. Not quite yet. If I did, my resolve here was going to falter.

  Sliding off the bed, I reached into my coat pocket for the stake. Gone, of course. I saw nothing else nearby that would pass as a weapon, meaning I’d have to rely on my own body to do my fighting. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a light switch on the wall. I flipped it on and froze, waiting to see what-or who-the overhead lights would unveil.

  Nothing unusual. No one else. Immediately, I did the first obvious thing and checked the door. It was locked, as I’d expected, and the only way of opening it was a numeric keypad. Plus, it was heavy and made of what looked like steel. It reminded me of a fire door. There was no getting past it, so I turned back around to continue my exploration. It was actually kind of ironic. A lot of my classes had gone over detailed ways of checking out a place. I’d always hated those; I’d wanted to learn about fighting. Now it appeared those lessons that had seemed useless at the time had real purpose.

  The light had brought the suite’s objects into sharper relief. The bed was covered in an ivory satin duvet, filled to maximum fluffiness with down.

  Creeping over to the living room, I saw that the TV was nice-really nice. Large-screen plasma. It looked brand-new. The couches were nice too, covered in matte green leather. It was an unusual color choice for leather, but it worked. All of the furniture in the place-tables, desk, dresser was made of a smooth, polished black wood. In a corner of the living room, I saw a small refrigerator. Kneeling down, I opened it up to find bottled water and juice, assorted fruits, and bags of perfectly cut cheeses. On top of the refrigerator was more snack-type food: nuts, crackers, and some type of glazed pastry. My stomach growled at the sight of it, but no way was I going to eat anything in this place.

  The bathroom was done in the same style as the rest of the studio. The shower and large Jacuzzi tub were made of black polished marble, and little soaps and shampoos lined the counter. A larger mirror hung over the sink, except… it wasn’t actually hanging. It was embedded so tightly into the wall that there was absolutely no way it could be removed. The material was strange too. It looked more like reflective metal than glass.

  At first I thought that was strange, until I raced back out to the main room and looked around. There was absolutely nothing here that could be turned into a weapon. The TV was too big to move or break, short of cracking the screen, which looked like it was made of some high-tech plastic.

  There was no glass in any of the tables. The shelves were embedded. The bottles in the refrigerator were all plastic. And the window…

  I ran over to it, feeling along its edges. Like the mirror, it was fitted perfectly into the wall. There were no panes. It was one smooth piece.

  Squinting again, I finally got a detailed view of my outer surroundings and saw… nothing. The land appeared to be rolling plains, with only a few scattered trees. It reminded me of the wilderness I’d traveled while going to Baia. I was no longer in Novosibirsk, apparently. And peering down, I saw that I was fairly high up. Fourth floor, maybe. Whatever it was, it was too high to jump without breaking a limb. Still, I had to take some sort of action. I couldn’t just sit here.

  I picked up the desk’s chair and slammed it into the window-and achieved little effect on either the chair or the glass. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered. I tried three more times and still had no luck. It was like they were both made of steel. Maybe the glass was some kind of bulletproof industrial strength stuff. And the chair… well, hell if I knew. It was all one piece of wood and showed no signs of splintering, even after what I’d just put it through. But since I’d spent my whole life doing things that weren’t that reasonable, I kept trying to break the glass.

  I was on my fifth try when my stomach warned me of a Strigoi’s approach. Spinning around, I kept a hold of the chair and charged the door. It opened, and I slammed into the intruder, with the chair’s legs pointing out.

  It was Dimitri.

  Those same conflicted feelings I’d felt on the street returned to me, love mingled with terror. This time, I pushed through the love, not flinching in my attack. Not that it did much good. Hitting him was like hitting the window. He shoved me back, and I staggered, still holding onto the chair. I kept my balance and charged once more. This time, when we collided, he grabbed a hold of the chair and ripped it from my hands. He then tossed it into the wall, like it weighed nothing.

  Without that meager weapon, it was back to relying on my own body’s strength. I’d been doing it for the last couple o
f weeks with our Strigoi questioning; this should have been the same. Of course, I’d had four other people then as backup. And none of those Strigoi had been Dimitri.

  Even as a dhampir, he’d been hard to beat. Now he was just as skilled-only faster and stronger. He also knew all my moves, seeing as he’d taught them to me. It was almost impossible to surprise him.

  But just like with the window, I couldn’t stay inactive. I was trapped in a room-the fact that it was a big, luxurious room didn’t matter-with a Strigoi. A Strigoi. That’s what I had to keep telling myself. There was a Strigoi in here. Not Dimitri. Everything I’d told Denis and the others applied here. Be smart. Be vigilant. Defend yourself.

  “Rose,” he said, deflecting one of my kicks effortlessly. “You’re wasting time. Stop.”

  Oh, that voice. Dimitri’s voice. The voice I heard when I fell asleep at night, the voice that had once told me he loved me…

  No! It’s not him. Dimitri is gone. This is a monster.

  Desperately, I tried to think of how I could win here. I even thought of the ghosts I’d summoned on the road. Mark had said I could do that in moments of wild emotion and that they’d fight for me. This was as wild as emotion could get, yet I couldn’t seem to call them. I honestly had no clue how I’d done it before, and all the wishing in the world couldn’t make it happen now. Damn. What good were terrifying powers if I couldn’t use them to my advantage?

  Instead, I pulled the DVD player off its shelf, cords ripping from the wall. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but I was desperate now. I heard a strange, primal battle scream, and some distant part of me realized I was making it. Again, I ran at Dimitri, swinging the DVD player as hard as I could. It probably would have hurt a little-if it had hit him. It didn’t. He intercepted it again, taking it from me, and throwing it down. It smashed to pieces on the floor. In the same motion, he grabbed a hold of my arms to stop me from hitting or reaching for something else. His grip was hard, like it could break my bones, but I kept struggling.