A/N: I'm really enjoying writing this, and I already have a few more chapters finished and ready to go up. I'd just like a little feedback first! I do fully intend to finish this story, so...

Thanks, hope you enjoy!

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"You will set out today. Do you have everything you will need for the hunt?" Headmistress Kirova inquired, her thin lips set in a hard line.

Hunt, I silently repeated. As if we were taking down a nest of Strigoi, instead of bringing two teenage girls back from their little runaway. I didn't say anything aloud, other than a simple, "Yes, Headmistress." I gave her a curt nod, my expression and tone of voice unchanging. I was respectful, down to business, ready to take on whatever duty she bestowed upon me. Because that was what a Guardian's job was; to serve and protect Moroi without question.

Headmistress Kirova nodded and strode back to her desk on her thin, lanky legs. Her pale face was twisted in distaste for the subject we were on. All Moroi had a similar build; tall, wispily thin bodies and pale, porcelain-doll features. Dhampirs were a general contrast for sure, looking more like humans than the Moroi ever could; though I knew my hulking frame looked ridiculous even in comparison to most other Dhampirs.

Kirova's eyes flicked up from her paperwork, as if wondering why I still stood silently in front of her desk, my hands clasped obediently in front of me. "Thank you, Guardian Belikov." It was a dismissal.

I made my way back to my room, letting my stiff posture relax slightly as I finished packing my bag. I'd only unpacked all of my things a week or so beforehand, after arriving at St. Vladimir's Academy, but I reminded myself as I checked all of the pockets for my extra weapons, that this was only for a few days away, and that I would be back soon. Hopefully with Rosemarie Hathaway and the last Dragomir Princess in tow.

After my first charge Ivan Zeklos had been killed on my watch, I had harbored a fair amount of uncertainty as to where I would end up next, and a great load of resentfulness towards myself for not being able to save him. Stop it, Belikov, I chastised myself. He wasn't killed on your watch.

I ran my hands through my shoulder length dark hair and eased myself onto the edge of my bed, thinking that perhaps that was my problem. I hadn't been there to save him, and that was almost worse than if I had been there and had gotten killed alongside my best friend. I'd taken time away to go visit my family in Russia, knowing Ivan was safe with the company of his two other Guardians. I remember bragging to my sisters and my mother about what a great charge I had, and how I was looking forward to guarding him for years and years to come. Mama had baked my favorite, and when I'd walked in the door Black Bread had been perched on a cutting board in the center of the kitchen table, so fresh it was still steaming. The memories of only a year ago were so light, and they seemed to glide over my mind tauntingly, reminding me that a part of myself had been lost, and was never returning.

Checking my bag once more, I slid a small western novel into a side pocket for the plane ride to and from our lead in Portland. Knowing I was nearly finished with that one, I contemplated packing a second, but decided that if I finished it before we returned, I could just read back through my favorite parts. It wasn't as if I would be chatting with the other Guardians much, anyway.

I turned the lights out and slid under the covers, not even bothering to change out of my uniform before falling into a fitful sleep.

In the morning, I woke covered in sweat. My hands shook slightly as I showered and dressed. When I glanced in the mirror, my eyes were faintly lined in dark circles. It was the nightmares—or memories, more like. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ivan's body, mutilated and cold, eyes vacant. And in my unconscious hours, my mind liked to imagine what I hadn't been there to see with my own eyes; in my dreams, it was always a surprise which way he would be killed next. I gave myself the satisfaction of a full body shiver before I let the mask of indifference slide down to cover my features. With that, I grabbed my bag, turned out the lights, and headed off to board the plane.

As I strode toward the runway of the Academy's private plane, a gruff female voice called out from behind me. "Hey, Belikov! Wait a minute."

It was Guardian Petrov, loping towards me. She was older than I was by quite a bit, probably somewhere in her fifties, whereas I was only twenty-four. Petrov was the Head of Guardians at the Academy. Her hair was close cropped to her face in order to show off the molnija marks tattooed onto the back of her neck. Molnija marks were like badges of honor to Guardians; something similar to lightning strikes crossed in the form of an 'X', one for each Strigoi a Guardian killed to protect their Moroi. They were placed right below our tattooed promise mark, which sanctioned us as official Guardians. I had six molnija marks, had killed six Strigoi in the last five years. I wasn't sure how many marks Petrov had.

"Dimitri," she said, stopping in front of me. "I just…I wanted to talk to you about Ms. Hathaway, the Dhampir girl you're going after?"

I nodded, quirking an eyebrow slightly. Of course I knew who Rosemarie Hathaway was; I'd studied her file restlessly, trying to predict what stunts she might pull. What would the Captain of the school's Guardians have to say about some rebel novice? Was she going to warn me about something?

Guardian Petrov was silent for a moment, seeming lost in thought. When she didn't speak for a moment, I placed a neutral hand on her shoulder. "Guardian Petrov?"

She seemed to snap out of it, and when her eyes found mine, the look of concern there reminded me startlingly of my own mother. "Please, Dimitri, call me Alberta." She fussed, momentarily distracted. She'd been reiterating this statement every time she'd seen me from the moment I'd arrived at the school. I allowed myself a small smile, and nodded.

"Okay, Alberta. What did you want to say about Rosemarie?"

The look of concern flooded back, and she continued. "I know it may not seem like it, but Rose is a good kid. I've watched the girl grow up, and she's always defending somebody. She's certainly got a fire to her, but I could guarantee the reason for her running away with Vasilisa mattered to her."

I opened my mouth to tell her I didn't necessarily care about the novice's motives—I only cared about getting my new Moroi charge back into safety—when she cut me off.

"I'm just saying, don't be too harsh on her if it's possible. We'll let Kirova take care of that." With a tight smile—laced with worry, I saw now—she strode away, back into the main building. Her words stewing in my mind, I climbed the steps of the plane, and made my place in the back, pulling my western from my bag as soon as it lifted from the ground. I tried to concentrate on the characters, but my eyes kept shifting out of focus, and I found myself reading the same passages over and over without really grasping them. With a sigh, I closed the book and leaned back in my seat, resting my eyes. We would be in Portland in less than two hours.

Rosemarie Hathaway.

I wondered if she was as well-meaning as Alberta had said. The girl's file certainly displayed a different story, but I trusted Guardian Petrov's judgment more than I trusted a file. And now that I thought back on it, the altercations recorded seemed to always be due to some act of justice on Ms. Hathaway's part. Maybe she was just a misunderstood kid, lashing out at whatever was near. Still, I could already tell she would be the biggest problem with getting the girls back to the Academy.

I hadn't even realized I'd drifted off until another one of the Guardians shook my shoulder, waking me. "Belikov, we're here." He said. I looked up. He was short, with a stocky build and a sandy-colored head of hair. Reynolds, I thought his name was.

"Okay." I cleared my throat and gathered my bag, stuffing my unread book haphazardly into it. When we stepped off the plane, the sunlight assaulted my eyes, and I groaned internally, knowing I would be jetlagged as hell by the time we made it back to the Academy. We got a few rooms at a nearby hotel, to freshen up and change into our gear. I highly doubted we'd be lucky enough to capture the girls on our first night, so we—a group of about ten Guardians—went ahead and planned to rent the rooms for the rest of the week.

That night as we headed out for our first stakeout, I grabbed a cup of coffee from the lobby of the hotel to wake myself up a bit. It was weak, and tasted like reused grounds, but it worked. Just before we exited our SUVs, I sent a message through my walkie talkie for them to split up into groups of two or three, and take up each side of the building, in case one of the girls saw us and tried an escape route. It was unlikely they'd catch sight of us, I knew, but I had to stay cautious.

I let out a heavy sigh as I stared into my own blank gaze in the rearview mirror. I was alone in the car, and I let myself notice how the deep brown color of my eyes had faded into something duller. "You've got this Belikov," I whispered to myself in the silence. "You won't lose this one, too."