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The Promise of the Moroi	By : TarnishedArmour Category: S through Z > Vampire Academy Views: 3209 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own or have rights to Vampire Acad., characters, etc. and I make no profit from this story; VA belongs to R. Mead & the publisher. You know that, I know that, the rock over there knows it, fish in the sea and birds in th

Chapter List
- 1-Hurry
- 2-Revelations
- 3-Then.
- 4-Now.
- 5-Then.
- 6-Now.
- 7-Returned
- 1
- 2
- 3
A/N: Most of this will be from Dimitri's point-of-view, a difficult undertaking for me because I am not male and writing the male perspective is a stretch. If I flub it, tell me...nicely...
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Svetlana opened the door to the cabin, a multi-roomed mansion made of heavy logs that glowed nearly golden in the midday light of the high places of Wyoming. Dimitri stepped in and was quickly enveloped in a hug.
“You came,” she whispered, trembling against him. “Dimka…Dimka…”
Dimitri held the woman he had known as a sweet, generous girl, then as a strong-willed woman able to meet--or surpass--her stubborn husband. What could possibly be wrong, he did not know, nor was he going to ask. Not yet. He simply made soothing sounds and murmurs for her, waiting until the fear inside her could be tamed enough for words.
“Forgive me,” she managed, stepping back from him and brushing the tears from her face. “I…I don’t know why I…” She shook her head sharply, looked up at him. “There was no one else to call.” The words were simply stated, starting in tremulous Russian, but ending with her native English as she gained control of herself. She opened her mouth again to tell him something, but was unwilling to speak. Dimitri recalled that words, like the swallows of spring, once freed were impossible to retrieve.
“Dimitri!” Sergei’s voice from the doorway overrode his concern for the moment.
“Seryi!” Dimitri replied, smiling widely at his old friend and laughed as the man stepped into the room. He moved away from Svetlana, ready to embrace his old friend moving into the brighter room from the shadows.
Pale skin--too pale, even for Moroi--greeted his eyes. Dark eyes with an odd rust-ring around the pupil. His hand moved before the thought reached him, before the denial of what he saw broke open in his heart. Silver stake suddenly in hand, the strides forward to greet his friend changed to an attack in less than a breath.
“NO!” Svetlana screamed, diving between Dimitri and her husband, nearly staking herself in the effort to prevent what had to be done. “No, Dimitri! Please. PLEASE!”
Dimitri paused, but did not look down at her, did not break eye contact with the thing that called to him with all the warmth of an old friend. He knew too well how that warm voice was a lie covering a cold emptiness inside, where once his love had lived. Disengaging Svetlana from the stake in his hand, Dimitri waited, the past few seconds replaying themselves in his mind.
Svetlana had attacked him, rather prevented him from attacking, in order to guard her husband, who was now Strigoi. Why? She was the size of Rose, small and lush for a Moroi woman, her Irish heritage giving her a more earthy build than the ethereal Eastern European Moroi that filled the Court to bursting. Beautiful red hair and dark blue eyes completed the striking look, but she was strong, considerably more strong than any Moroi woman he had known--even Tasha There was no red in her eyes. Sergei, though, if Sergei chose to attack, his old friend would be impossible to subdue. Almost exactly his own height and build, trained to be a warrior in an attempt to meet Svetlana’s expectations of her man not long after the wedding, Sergei was a formidable man--a match for any damphir as a Moroi. As Strigoi? He would know what it was to fight himself, as Strigoi. He did not desire the knowledge. Yet, his old friend did nothing. Why?
“Explain,” he spat out, voice cold and remote as he watched the man he had known--the man whose reactions should have been to destroy on sight a guardian, especially one who had been so close to him--simply stand there. What was wrong with the creature? Did he not know that Dimitri truly would kill him, even if it meant sacrificing Svetlana, an innocent?
“You come into my house and attack me, yet you demand an explanation, old friend?” Sergei’s tone was mild and surprised. Had the shock frozen him? No. Strigoi are immune to shock. Of all the people in the world against whom Sergei would be unlikely to defend himself, the only two adults were standing in the room. The other three were his sons.
“Seryi, my love, please,” Svetlana said, pressing back against her husband. The arms that wrapped around her waist were gentle, supportive. “Dimitri, he is not what you think. I don’t know why, but he is not. Something went wrong. And even more wrong.” She bit her lip, her fangs leaving scratches on the skin under her lip. “He does not even know.”
At that, Dimitri looked down, seeing the stress lines, the dark circles under her eyes. He took a step back, bowed his head for a long minute, and managed to speak almost normally. The strangling feeling in his throat was not a scream of rage trying to get out, nor tears attempting to escape. No, it was simply the journey, the long hours without much water. Or perhaps it was the aftereffects of a night with his uninhibited Roza. Much screaming was done, and not all from her.
“Why did you call me, Lady Szelsky?” he asked, the formality of his address as good as a slap in the face.
Wincing slightly, Svetlana answered. “We need to know why--what happened.” She licked her lips. “You were brought back. Perhaps…perhaps he could be returned, as well.”
Sergei frowned. “Brought back? But I am not…No. I am not Strigoi.”
“You are, my love,” Svetlana said softly, turning in his arms and looking up at him. “You are.”
“I do not feel evil. Or empty. I can still work magic,” he demonstrated, calling a flame to dance along his skin. “I cannot be Strigoi.”
“The flame is weak, my love, and your eyes…they are ringed with red. I do not know why,” she continued, sliding her fingers over his mouth, “your magic has stayed, or why you do not feel as Strigoi are said to feel inside, but I do know that you…your presence fills me with dread. When you touch me, make love to me, there is much of fear that has never been here between us. Even the first night you touched me, I was unafraid.”
Dimitri stared at his old friends. Making love to her? Strigoi were impotent, and well he knew. There was no ability to desire a woman’s body, not for anything besides a meal. He had held Rose for days, fed from her, brought her near to sobbing with the need for release--and release itself--but not once had he tried to take her as a man. He could never have done so. Strigoi flesh was dead in that way, in so many ways, but especially in the ones that would bring life to a Moroi woman’s womb.
“Lord Szelsky,” he broke in to Svetlana’s impassioned words softly, “what do you feel?”
Sergei shrugged. “I was happy to hear your voice, to see you in my home again after so many years. When you attacked me, I was confused. With my wife in my arms, I am content to speak with you, without demanding you leave or taking you to task for your behavior.. What is going on Dimka? What is this about you returning…from being Strigoi? Is not such a thing impossible?” Sergei frowned suddenly his expression fierce. “And never call me Lord Szelsky again. I am Sergei or Seryi to you, and I will accept nothing else, not even in the presence of the Queen--not even in the presence of God Himself.”
Pain swept through Dimitri as his old friend repeated his old demand of free and open speech between them. No matter that he was a Szelsky lord, the most likely heir to the difficult and contrary Szelsky prince; no matter that Dimitri was merely a guardian damphir, unable to compete with the royals. For them, there was only Dimitri and Sergei and Svetlana. Nothing else would be tolerated.
“It is true,” he replied, voice filled with pain and regret, even though his face did not change. “I was Strigoi. I went to Omsk, to Novosibirsk. I became…very strong there. I had power, and wealth…and a hostage I wanted to break, to make Strigoi to rule with me there…” His eyes closed and Dimitri turned away, unwilling to show the depth of his pain to this creature that was once his friend. That still seemed his friend. “I seduced her, fed from her to bind her to me with the addiction of the bite, but she escaped. When I chased her, she staked me and I fell into the river. She had hunted me, though, so I returned the favor. After I healed, killed my way into health again, I began to follow her. I followed her to Court, and attacked her there, attacked Lissa to get to her.” He laughed bitterly. “It was the Queen who staked me, and with her gift, brought me back to myself. She restored my soul, and I am forever in her debt.”
“She does not see it that way?” Sergei asked, curious. He knew little about the queen. She had been a young girl when he had attended St. Vladimir’s, and he had been interested in other things.
“No. She is too generous.” He shook his head and turned to face them, once again in control of his emotions. Speaking of his time as a Strigoi was always trying. Studying Svetlana’s face and neck, he frowned slightly and asked, “Have you fed from your wife?”
Nodding, Sergei sighed. “I am deeply hungry, and I dare not tax the feeders we have here. They are generous, but I worry about drinking too deeply and too often.” He thought for a moment. “Svetochka’s blood fills me more, now, and I worry for her. She is…tasty, and she has not fed properly since we came here last week.”
“I do not need much,” she said quickly, the dark circles under her eyes and the stress lines on her face calling her liar.
Dimitri sighed. This was a tangle that he could not have foreseen. Everything in his head was screaming to kill the Strigoi, but everything in his heart his gut, was telling him not to. This was too important. The difference in the Strigoi Sergei had become and the Strigoi all others became was going to be essential in more than just guardian’s duties. This could help determine the keys to preventing Strigoi from ever being created again. And there was the personal interest: Another former Strigoi that submitted to being studied meant less time Dimitri had to spend being a glorified lab rat for Sonya Karp and the Alchemists.
And considering the Alchemists, there was one nearby that he mostly trusted. Rather, Lissa and Rose did, which would have to be good enough for him here and now. He returned the silver stake to its hiding place and took out his cell. A look at the signal indicator showed there was no use trying.
“Your telephone?” he asked, the Russian more polite than the English would have been. Then again, they were old friends. Why would they not allow him the use of a telephone?
“In here,” Svetlana said, leading him into the kitchen, Sergei ghosting behind her, just barely separated from her. When she stopped in the kitchen, Sergei’s arms wrapped around her again, the absent kneading of his hand on her hip embarrassing her and making the fear run high enough to show in her eyes.
“I will call for assistance, though we will most likely have to drive to meet them this evening.” He looked around the kitchen, saw an old area map, calculated distances and drive times. Svetlana had mentioned some months ago that she preferred paper, which did not require an inconvenient battery charge, than an electronic, server-based map application for a smartphone or tablet. He had considered merits of both, but practicality prevented carrying an atlas everywhere one went. The memory bemused him for a moment. He recalled his attention to the task at hand and dialed. The slightly annoyed voice of Sydney Sage answered on the third ring.
“I need to see Adrian,” he said, without introducing himself. She would know his voice. “It has to do with spirit and Strigoi.” If she did not know his voice, that would be more than sufficient for her to remember.
“We can meet next Tuesday,” she began, her voice strained.
“Tonight.” There was no compromise, no later date available. “We can meet in Glen Canyon, not far from Lake Powell. There is a camping area there that will be private this time of year.” Dimitri looked back at his friends. Considered who was coming to meet them. “Make sure he is sober, da?”
“Da,” Sydney agree, sighing softly. “We’ll see you there.”
“Arrangements are made,” Dimitri told them. He looked at his old friends and frowned. She was too pale, too worn. He could not allow this to continue. “Sveta, you are pale,” he said gently.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, holding Sergei’s hands to keep him from making even more blatant caresses of her body. She could not stand another time, not this moment, not in front of Dimitri. Not like this.
“You are not fine,” he replied stubbornly, eyes narrowing at her.
At this, she stamped her foot and pushed Sergei away. Sergei let her go, content for the moment to be in her presence. She walked over to Dimitri’s place by the phone and poked him in the chest. “I. Am. Fine. Now, stop your worrying about me.” When she saw the half-smirk he quickly controlled at her pokes, she turned on her heel. Suddenly dizzy from the rapid turn, she felt her knees buckled and felt the fool. She knew she was lying, but now they did. Two pair of strong arms wrapped around her, catching her and protecting her, as they always had. Her husband’s increased speed let him catch her. She was trapped between them, between the two men who would not, not ever, let her do something foolish as go without feeding for too long. And she had been foolish enough so far.
A look passed between Dimitri and Sergei, one that Svetlana would never see, mostly because she was too short, but also because they were careful never to let her know how much they protected her. She would be furious. Sergei stepped away, and Dimitri felt oddly 18 again, the memories of the last time he had held her like this flooding into his mind. She was taller than she was then--so was he--and her figure more lush from bearing three sons, his broader and stronger from years of training and fighting. Eight years ago, he had caught her before her wedding, faint from lack of proper feedings. From anticipation or worry or the time differences between Texas and Baia, he was never certain, but she had nearly fainted in her wedding dress, and he was the only thing that kept her from hitting the floor.
“You need your strength for what comes later, my lady,” he whispered softly, the words from the past escaping his lips now.
“I am not your lady,” Svetlana retorted, her voice too soft for his liking. She had said the same thing before her wedding, American enough to dislike the lady and lord and prince and princess bit. The idea of answering to a Queen after she married into the Szelsky royals had nauseated her then, and it still did, but it was the way it was. Until it was changed.
“No, but you are a lady in need.” He knelt before her, tipped his head to the side in invitation. “Drink and be strong.”
Shivering with hunger and memory, Svetlana carefully wrapped her arms around the damphir and bit gently into his neck. She felt rather than saw his eyes close as her bite rolled him like a drunk on Saturday night. Long moments later, she lifted her head. She had not taken much, but Dimitri was not human, and damphir blood had an extra kick to it. That was one of the reasons Moroi liked feeding during sex with damphir so much--the extra rush made orgasm into something truly otherworldly, a mystical experience.
“You are a powerful damphir,” she whispered, feeling the strength of his blood rush into her. Feedings helped, but this was moving more quickly than she ever recalled. “I am dizzy from you.” The soft voice in his ear made the skin over his spine shiver. The last time she had said that, the memories were sweaty and sweet.
“Are you seducing my wife, Belikov?” Sergei asked, humor lacing his voice. Oddly, his joining the conversation did not break the intimacy of the feeding. He had seen them in even more intimate ways.
“Da,” Dimitri replied, teasing. “But then, it would not take much.” Svetlana laughed, nipped at Dimitri’s neck. He shivered again, this time so she could feel it. She looked at him before she spoke, the memories in her eyes as well as the knowledge of what a bite could do to him.
“Behave,” she admonished, stepping back with laughter in her eyes and color in her cheeks. “And my husband is an incredible lover Dimka. He knows me well.”
“I remember much, Svetochka,” Dimitri replied, using the intimate nickname for her. “Do you think I have forgotten?”
“If you have forgotten, old friend, then there is no hope for you,” Sergei murmured, watching his wife. The look he was giving her was not calculating or cold, but warm and filled with all the things that Dimitri had known would come to be between his friends. That theirs was an arranged marriage didn’t seem to matter. That it had been arranged over three hundred years ago between the smaller Szelsky family and the then-larger and more powerful Irish O’Malley clann, one of the Celtic Moroi who refused to acknowledge the Russian-based Court, well, that seemed unimportant. The surprise at the continued existence of the Irish clann and the birth of the daughter who lived to marriageable age after centuries of sons, daughters that died too young, and conspicuous silence on the part of the O’Malleys had been extreme, but the courtship through old-fashioned letters and, later, the wedding had been beautiful. The union, an ancient clann-merging from the times when the Irish were little more than roving bands of Celtic brigands, was even moreso.
Choosing his words carefully, Dimitri stood and asked, “Svetochka, may I fix a sandwich?” He had no idea how to broach the subject that he needed to discuss with them. The teasing about sex aside, the fact that Svetlana said her husband had had sex with her as Strigoi was bothering him. At least fixing some food would serve two purposes, distraction and nourishment for blood replenishment, even though the little she had taken didn’t equal the bloodloss that came from training bruises.
“No, you may not,” she replied, moving to the stove. “I will make a proper meal for you. I know you are up very late, especially for Court, and…we have not slept long this past week.” Sergei had not slept at all. “Sit. Talk. Soon, you will eat.”
“Da, sit down. Tell us of Court, of your life in these past years. We have been quite busy.”
Dimitri nodded and sat next to Sergei on the high kitchen chairs, the ones that always seemed like they belonged next to a bar with smoke and low lights all around them. He spoke of the change of Queens, of the damphir who were leaving guardian training, of the age law that allowed 16-year-olds to be tested to become guardians--both listeners frowned at that--and he spoke of the Lost Dragomir princess, Jill, and the shock she had brought to the Court. From the stories others told of the election of the Queen from the members of the Council, he told of Lissa’s elevation and coronation. He did not mention his love for Rose, or Lissa’s for the young Lord Ozera. He did not say where the Dragomir princess was now, in her human school in Arizona, well hidden from Court and guarded by guardians and Alchemists. Once, he would have told them everything, but he could not give such weapons to Strigoi. As it was, this Strigoi seemed to have unusual weapons of his own, and a most unusual lack of desire for murder, mayhem, and cruelty.
“What bothers you, Dimka?” Svetlana asked as she moved serve Dimitri’s dinner, his overview of the goings-on at Court a welcome monologue as she cooked. “There is something, do not try to deny it.”
“It is a sensitive subject,” Dimitri began. Sergei and Svetlana both waved the warning away.
“No dancing around. Speak.” Sergei loved to get things out in the open so they could be wrestled with properly.
“Strigoi cannot have sex.” There. It was out. “I know. There is no desire, no want to go through the motions of creating life with a woman. No, there is no want of men, either. There is nothing alive and wanting below the waist. Nothing.”
“Sergei and I have indulged many times this week,” Svetlana’s voice was too factual. This was hurting her. “Believe me, Dimitri, Sergei is more than capable. And I would know if he were using something to mimic taking me. He is not.” She looked at her husband, then at Dimitri. “After eight years and three children, I know his body well--almost as well as my own.”
“I do not doubt you,” Dimitri replied, still troubled. “It is the opposite of all I know of Strigoi.”
“You know much,” Sergei said softly, “and you are the only man I would trust to witness our union again.” Svetlana made a small sound, and Sergei looked over at her. “But I would not ask that of you. Either of you.”
“Thank you, Sergei,” Svetlana said, then hesitated. “Unless…would it help you to understand, Dimitri?”
Dimitri was quiet for a long time. “I do not want to cause you pain, Svetochka,” he said, his non-answer insufficient for the couple.
Svetlana sighed. “Sergei will have me again before we leave. It is the way of things now. I can sense when he is in need, and he will be soon. It will sound strange, Dimka, but the past week, his desire has moved with the stages of the sun in the sky. Dawn. Midmorning. Mid-afternoon. Dusk. Again, before the sun rises. My husband is a wonderful lover and has always been a passionate man, but he is become insatiable.” She looked away, moving something off the stove and into the sink.
She had discussed sex with these two men, and in such terms and detail that she would never use with her girl friends, nor her doctor. Not even her priest in confession. She could not simply speak of what Sergei’s touch was doing to her now, she could barely bring herself to admit it in her own mind. It was too painful, now. Later, perhaps, she would be ready. Later, they would have time and distance and maybe even her Sergei back as Moroi, their warm and strong arms would wrap around her, and she could let go of this travesty of lovemaking. With Dimitri there, they could confirm their union, recreating the ritual and making their promise to him again. A pity he did not have a lover, one he loved so deeply they could both witness the ritual. If there were such a woman in his life, one as beautiful and strong and kind as Dimitri, she would be more than happy to share her Sergei. How could she be jealous of sharing his affections when he was so generous with Dimitri about hers? Not that she’d given him a choice, but men could be so difficult at times…and none of these thoughts took the expression of discomfort from her face.
“What is it, beloved?” Sergei asked, concerned. “Has it been too much? I cannot help it. When the need for you comes…” he shook his head.
“Yesterday,” she managed, still not looking up.
Sergei closed his eyes and turned to Dimitri. “Yesterday, I could not stop. She was crying and in pain, but the end would not come, and I could not--I was afraid what I would do if I stopped. Finally, I finished, and Svetlana worked an earth ritual. She was well when I needed her again.” He frowned. “I do not like this. I hurt my wife, but if I do not take her when I need her, I fear the need will change from wanting her body to wanting something much worse.”
The kitchen fell silent but for the sounds of eating for several minutes. Dimitri chewed carefully as considered the offer of watching them together. It could be beneficial, but there was so much he did not know about them in the intervening years since Russia…would it be only an intrusion? A voyeuristic thrill that he could indulge without guilt because he would not touch Svetlana, simply watch her?
“There is much I do not know about your relationship between then and now,” he began.
Svetlana snorted. “The way he touches me, the way he feels inside--it is the same as it was even then. The time it takes for the finish--for him--is what makes it difficult. That, and the Earth-sense I have.” Her strongest element was Earth, but Svetlana’s magic was more evenly developed than she let on. It was enough having a husband who turned Strigoi and somehow managed to turn oddly; having to explain her magic on top of that would be more than she could stand.
Dimitri considered it. He had seen them together before, had taken Svetlana while her husband was still in the bed, while he, too, was inside her. She had a sweet, generous nature for her lovers, and Dimitri was uncertain if he should feel guilty for the treasured memories or if, the past being past, such things were allowable for him to remember. “If it is not too painful, Svetochka,” he told her.
Svetlana nodded. Sergei watched his wife. Dimitri closed his eyes and wondered what Rose would say if he told her any of this. No, he did not wonder. He knew what she would say, what she would do, and he was committed to keeping this from her. His Roza, his beautiful, difficult, strong, amazing, wild Rose, was not entirely sanguine about meeting his former lovers. If she knew how close he still felt to Svetlana, now that they had seen one another again…how much the sensory memory remained and how he could almost feel her hands on his body, his lips against his, around his cock, the heat of sliding into her, the way she cried out and convulsed around him, nails digging into his shoulders, watching her bite at her own wrist to keep from insulting him, even in the throes of passion--as much as Rose loved him, she may decide to remove any possibility of temptation by removing his balls.
It was strange. Since they parted six years ago in Russia, he had forgotten the heat and sex and sweat, the easy way of speaking and moving, the open invitation for him to join her--them--in bed, and how many, many times he had. Sergei and he had spent hours making Svetlana scream until she was hoarse, orgasm until she fainted from exhaustion and pleasure. How had he forgotten that? Only his Rose was sweeter to him as a lover, his beloved Roza a stronger intoxicant, barely.
But this was from the past--when he was Ivan’s guardian, and their damphir witness. There were some aspects of being a guardian that one did not discuss.
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The Promise of the Moroi