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 dhampir 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 dhampir 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 dhampir 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!