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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
- 2
- 3
- 4
There were some aspects of being a guardian that one did not discuss, and royal sex lives that one witnessed--or joined in--were among them. A guardian kept his royals’ secrets.
Then again, Rose would say that he was not their guardian. What could he tell her then? He was clann thanks to some ancient ritual that required a damphir to witness the virgin union of the man and woman who would finally tie the bloodlines of the clanns that waited over three hundred years for a daughter to survive to adulthood? That as the witness, he was taken into the bride’s clann and the groom’s family, something that he still didn’t really believe. That he had taken her as her husband of only a few hours watched, feeling her slick with virgin’s blood and her husband’s seed and knowing that, somehow, this strange night and those that would come with the couple were more right than any other he had known, excepting only the ones in her arms? That a warmth and acceptance come over him as he spoke the ritual oath to them, as they spoke it in return, knowing that Svetlana would give him a child whenever he desired? That he and Svetlana were as close to married as damphir guardian and Moroi royal could be? That they would be lovers if anything happened to Sergei and Rose--would she understand that? He did not know if she would. In this moment, he was not interested in finding out.
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9 years, 10 months ago…
Why was Sergei here? Ivan was still asleep, as were most Moroi at this time of afternoon. It was one of the few times a guardian trainee at the academy could spend time talking and relaxing with other guardians, or the damphir girls, especially during field experience training. It wasn’t Sunday, the day “off” that novices got to have, the day grown guardians never got, so when Ivan woke, Dimitri would be “on” again. The teachers had raided the dorm once two weeks ago, but this impromptu gathering of damphir novices had defended their sleeping charges well, none of the enemy making it past the open commons of the ground floor to threaten the Moroi. Dimitri had “staked” three of the teachers. The other novices had acquitted themselves well, but none had come close to Dimitri’s three.
“Belikov,” Sergei said, coming close enough to act the royal. No matter that Ivan and Sergei were close friends, the American in the damphir group would say ‘drinking buddies,’ but everyone in Russia drank, so the emphasis of the relationship was lost on Dimitri. He was fluent in English, but some of the idioms were insane. Then again, so were some of (most of) the Americans who came to Russia, now that the Cold War was over. He wasn’t sure which were worse: the tourists or the Moroi royals who had never seen the country of their families’ origin. Szelsky, though, was Russian Moroi royal. He should know better than to interrupt this precious time. Unless something was wrong? No. Ivan and Sergei were close enough that Dimitri had learned a great deal about them over the past three months. If something were wrong, Sergei would never come to see a damphir, no matter how high he was--or should be, depending on his demerits for impulse control--in the rankings of novices. “A word.”
“Da,” snorted one of the other damphir boys, “a word and probably a scolding. You must learn to control your temper, Dimitri. You might stake a royal someday.” The other boys chuckled, and Dimitri sighed. If only it weren’t quite so far beyond imagining. He barely made it into the field experience, thanks to the fights he had been in throughout the year. He tried to control his temper, but it frequently got the better of him. Ivan understood. Ivan helped him stay concentrated. It also helped that the guardians who were playing Strigoi were singling him out. It was hard to become enraged when one was nursing bruises and exhaustion after three separate fights in one day. Ivan was enjoying the publicity, though, even if Dimitri was more than ready to give up his pride of place as the top-ranked novice, in guardian skills, at least. Then someone else could become the favorite target of the teachers--just for a few days.
“Probably needs directions to the feeders,” he muttered. “Idiot royals.” It was easy to resent royal Moroi sometimes, especially when they reminded him of his father. At seventeen, the memory of attacking his father was still close, and he was not yet ashamed of his loss of control, but still proud of his reaction to the man who had abused his mother.
“Da, Sergei?” It was rude, but so was interrupting a novice’s free time with some royal stupidity. He would have the rest of his life interrupted with royal fits and starts. It was understood that here, for a while at least, the damphir were to be as ordinary as possible. As stable as possible. As unembittered as possible.
“Walk with me, please,” he said, voice soft enough the others couldn’t hear. “There is something I need to discuss with you, privately.”
Dimitri didn’t bother to sigh, simply walked with the young lord to an old chapel, certain to be deserted in a Russia still filled with quasi-Communists and a highly atheist-agnostic population of Moroi. Even though the old place had been taboo during the Cold War, at least for meeting and prayer, it had been used by the school. Nominally, the use was to demonstrate the odd mythology of the Christians and the subsets of that mythology. In reality, the old priest had snuck in a mass about once a month. Dimitri did not believe, but he didn’t not believe, either. If anything, he was indifferent to his soul. It was there. What else did he need to know?
Once inside, Sergei turned to him, wearing the most serious expression Dimitri had ever seen.
“In less than a year, when I turn eighteen, I am to marry. There is the wedding and all, but there is something else, something that only she and I know--”
“You’re what? Why so soon? Aren’t you supposed to spend a few years impregnating damphir women?” he didn’t manage to keep the bitterness from his voice. Damn. He hadn’t meant to say that. Well, not without several drinks, at least. He did enjoy vodka, perhaps too much. Pity he couldn’t smoke in the church.
Shaking his head, Sergei sighed. “No. You do not know the history of this wedding. Very well.” They settled into the pew closest to the altar and Sergei explained. “Some four hundred years ago, the Szelsky family was royal, but weak. We had little money and less power. There was an Irish Moroi, a Thomas O’Malley, who had money and understood how to gain power. He was not royal, but had a very nice holding in Ireland when the Irish had little except hunger and pain and the English were growing fat on the land. English Moroi were wary of him, as were other Moroi who had a chance to cross him. He had a huge clann, unlike most of the Irish Moroi, and was powerful enough to bargain with the King here for various trading rights and the like. And he did. My ancestor sought him out, made a devil’s bargain: If O’Malley would use his power and wealth to help the Szelsky family grow in both, then an O’Malley daughter would be wed to a son of the current Szelsky prince. Since then, both families produced nothing but sons, or daughters that died before they grew up enough to marry. Daughters were born into collateral lines, but none viable were among the children of the prince or the chieftain. Until nearly sixteen years ago, when my future bride was born.”
“And you are the one who has to marry her? Why not your father? He is single again.” Besides, Dimitri knew about Sergei’s father. Well he should. Baia was a commune for damphir women who did not become guardians--called blood whores, these women were mocked by all of Moroi and damphir society. He did not like what they did, but his mother was one of these women, and his sisters, well, none of them showed the spirit to become guardians. Sergei’s father had visited his mother once. When she had refused him, he had been enraged, threatened her--but Dimitri had been home. This was only a few years ago, and everyone had heard what happened to those who threatened the Belikov women. That Sergei seemed to be a decent man so far, well, he wondered how long that would last. Until he changed, though, Dimitri would give him the benefit of the doubt. Sergei’s father, though…he would enjoy a young little Moroi wife, someone to abuse as much as their guardians would let him. She certainly wouldn’t be able to defend herself.
“That was part of O’Malley’s cunning. A son had to be wed to a daughter, no ruling prince or active chieftain could fulfill the bargain unless the chieftain or prince were within three years of the girl’s age. A woman could be a chieftain of the clann, remember.” A pause. “O’Malley promised a curse like none Russia had seen if the bargain were broken. There are legends of the Irish curses among the Moroi,” Sergei shrugged. “Perhaps the O’Malley passed the knowledge down through his family. It was deemed prudent not to risk finding out. In return, if O’Malley’s family broke the deal, then the Szelskys would keep everything, without any obligation of any kind.”
“So you’re marrying an Irish girl? Not bad. Some of the Irish Moroi look like damphir women, with curves instead of dents.” If the pictures Ivan had brought back from his trip through Europe last year were true, then there were some beautiful and very different looking Moroi women out there, just none of them were royal.
“No, I’m marrying an American Moroi. The O’Malleys moved to America in the mid-eighteenth century, and some of them even fought against England in their revolution. Then they became part of the country, all American, with a lot of old papers and books from their clann holdings in Ireland. Rumor has it there is still a family castle in Ireland, but none of them are talking.” Sergei snorted. “Then again, until a few years ago, we didn’t know the O’Malleys were still around at all. The Celtic Moroi--the Scottish and Irish--never have acknowledged the authority of the Court. The Court was never strong enough to challenge them, especially since the Moroi, at least hundreds of years ago, still prided themselves on being warriors. They refuse to join the Court, but I don’t know what they do instead--or if there is a ‘they.’ The O’Malleys could be all that’s left.”
After a moment of silence, Dimitri finally asked, “So why tell me this?” It was interesting, in a political and boring sort of way, but it had nothing at all to do with Dimitri. Unless… “Did you want me to join security at the wedding?”
“No. Security is handled.” Sergei waved his hand, dismissing the thought. “The wedding will be ordinary, an Orthodox & Roman rite with a reception afterward.” He took a breath. “I would like you to stand up as one of the groomsmen. Ivan must be the first witness, something Sveta calls a ‘best man,’ but I would like you to stand with me as well.” Dimitri nodded, surprised. “That is not all.” A long moment passed. Sergei seemed uncomfortable, but Dimitri had no idea why.
Dimitri prompted him. “So?”
“After the wedding, we will have our wedding night.” Again the strange hesitation. Sergei took a deep breath and spoke quickly, a faint blush on his pale skin. “This is something that she and I know, but no one else does. If they did, my parents would try to stop the wedding. Perhaps hers would, too. I don’t know. One of the conditions was that O’Malley’s instructions for the bride and groom be given to them before the wedding, but close enough to time that neither could cry quits. I received these instructions--there is an entire book!--two months ago, and I have been working on understanding everything in it.” At Dimitri’s impatient look, he gave a wry grin. “Get to the point, eh? Very well, here it is: In order for the wedding to be true and fulfill the requirements of the O’Malley, an old clann-taking has to be performed. It is a strange ceremony, filled with mysticism and Celtic nonsense, but there are three key points. The bride must be a virgin, the groom must be a virgin,” at Dimitri’s smirk Sergei rolled his eyes, blushing even more. “Yes, I am. Ykaterin is not as alluring as she wishes. I know where she has been,” he said, distaste colouring his voice. “I would not join the others. Would you?”
“Nyet,” Dimitri said, shrugging. “You were saying?”
“Bride and groom must be virgins, but so must the damphir in the wedding party. You are never seen with girls, Dimitri, and no one says that you are a homosexual. You are not?” It was still a taboo in Russia, something considered disgusting and could even lead to arrest in these modern, enlightened, supposedly non-Communist-dictatorship times.
“No!” Dimitri recoiled from the idea. “I prefer women!” He let out a breath. “But I prefer women who do not wish to become blood whores.” The topic was sensitive with him, and no one at the school mentioned his family more than once. “The Moroi girls are too busy trying to catch royal Moroi boys, and they do not want to risk getting pregnant.”
“Does this mean you are still virgin?”
“Da.” Dimitri’s answer was short and to the point. “Why does that matter?” This was becoming a very uncomfortable conversation. Vodka would definitely help, but vodka before breakfast was considered bad form, even in a country as well-lubricated as Russia.
“Because as damphir witness, you will complete a set of oaths between Svetlana and myself, to one another and to you, and you will witness us…consummating our marriage for the first time. That is the second point.” Both of them were blushing now.
Dimitri stared at him, shocked. “If that is the second, what is the third?” What else could be left? Carrying bloody sheets out to waiting families? Barbaric!
“That as part of our oath to the damphir through you as witness, you will then have sex with my wife.” The rapidity of Sergei’s delivery was as much a surprise as the words themselves.
Dimitri stared at the Szelsky lordling, certain he had misunderstood. It took a long minute to comprehend what had just been said. Many around the school would have paid to see the expression on his face, to see him speechless. As it was, Sergei grew more nervous as moments went by with no apparent reaction.
“So will you be witness for us?” The question was blurted out, and hung in the air for a long, silvery moment.
Dumbly, Dimitri nodded. What else could he do? When he returned to his rooms, he would wonder what he had just agreed to do. For now, he was so struck by the strangeness of this request that he could only nod in agreement.
“Good. Remember, no sex before the wedding, da?”
“Da,” he managed. A few more months after a lifetime of celibacy would not be difficult. Figuring out what he had just agreed to would take everyone of those days until the wedding, and even then, it would seem like a dream.
Sergei left him then, promising a copy of the clann-taking so Dimitri would know his lines and his part in the ceremony.
No amount of reading could have prepared him for the reality of the after-wedding, after-reception union.
***
9 years, three months ago…
A sacred circle cast in the earth, nothing between their bodies and the sky save their skin, and bare, rich earth waiting for them all. Not even a sleeping-bag to keep them from the dirt. Then again, once they had done this part, they were able to return indoors, for which the blushing Dimitri was thankful.
He had been in the showers at the school, had been naked around both sexes before, but never in this kind of setting. And never with a girl who looked like Svetlana O’Malley Szelsky. What was it the American damphir had joked about? S.O.S.? Save our skins? Something like that--a distress call? She was beautiful enough to cause any man distress, and Dimitri had had a difficult time keeping his cock from making a fool of him from the moment he met her. Red hair, deep blue eyes that reminded him of the evening sky, and a smile that promised trouble. He knew trouble well, enjoyed it, and she…she would be marrying Sergei Szelsky. She was married to Sergei Szelsky only a few hours ago. Pity he wasn’t Moroi. Then he could have stolen her away. Szelsky would never be able to keep up with her. She was…amazing. Amazing enough that he had let her feed from him, the first time in his life he let Moroi fangs anywhere close to his body. He could still feel the whisper of her thanks in his ear, her breathy “I am dizzy from you.” Just thinking about it made him hard again, as he had been from the time her arms wrapped around him and she lowered her mouth to his skin. Soon, he could feel that mouth again, in other places, even wrapped around his cock…
Dimitri was certainly in a form of distress as he watched the young bride move over to her husband’s arms. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but awkward and unnecessary and unbelievably aroused were among the many emotions swirling through him. Then, he saw them melt together, and could not help but think “Gorko!” as they kissed and kissed. More than once at the reception, the guests had chanted this to make the new couple kiss, and they had played along, laughing and smiling every time. From the way they moved now, though one would think they had been together before, that they had not just met, just exchanged their first kiss, at the wedding ceremony. As they parted, they knelt into the dirt and Dimitri stood there, trying to pretend they weren’t eye-level with his privates. If she were eye-level, or perhaps mouth-level with them, he wouldn’t mind, but Sergei…he managed not to gag at the thought. Resisting the urge to cover up was difficult, but having memorized this particularly strange ritual and the admonishments that the desire and honesty of the witness was as important as the honesty and desire of the couple joining their lives kept running through his decidedly pornographic thoughts. No matter how delicately phrased, nothing could quite get him past the fact that he was supposed to watch his friend--yes, he supposed Sergei could count as a friend--fuck his bride, then join in and fuck her himself. If this ceremony called for honesty, then he could honestly feel strange and amazed and, yes, embarrassed. And happy. He would get to feel all of that creamy skin, that hair--was it hot to the touch? it looked like it could be--slide into her and feel her around him. His cock twitched and grew harder. Damn, if they didn’t hurry…
Face to face, they spoke. Dimitri heard their vows to one another and was surprised by the simplicity of this ceremony. The full wedding mass had taken nearly two hours, and Dimitri had stood for almost all of them--except when he was kneeling. Guardians and novices had excellent shoes.
“Svetlana, I willingly join my love, my life, and my magic to yours.” Sergei said, settling back on his heels.
“Sergei, I willingly join my love, my life, and my magic to yours.” Svetlana moved over to him, straddled his knees, and began to kiss him again. They took some time, exploring one another, until Sergei lifted her and he watched as she slid downward--Dimitri could imagine how she felt, was closing his eyes to try to keep control--when she threw her head back with a cry of pain. Small gasps and a strangled sob followed as she sank further, taking everything at once. Some of the want left him. He hated seeing a woman in pain. The tears on her face made him soften, going almost completely limp.
“Are you well, Svetochka?” Sergei whispered, holding her. She shook her head. Sergei began to rub her back, slide his hands over her body. Dimitri could see him biting his lip, fangs piercing skin in an effort to wait. In his place, Dimitri wondered what would happen--would he be able to stop? He told himself he would, but now, seeing her relax under touch, with a man deep in her, he didn’t know. Finally, she nodded, breathing deep.
“Riding horses is supposed to help, but I’m not sure it did,” she managed to say. She looked up at Sergei then, and Dimitri could see her face, sweet and shy and tense, but not pained.
“Svetlana?” he asked, voice straining with need, the need to move, to let the feelings sweep him away into oblivion.
“Just…a minute,” she whispered, taking slow, deep breaths that he could hear were not as steady as she seemed to be. Her body was not moving, not even a little bit. “I need to…take a minute.”
Sergei nodded, lifted his head from her neck, and looked into her eyes. He brushed the tracks of the tear from her face.
“I’m sorry, Svetochka,” he murmured. “I did not know…I did, but not how much…”
“Shh,” she managed, putting her finger over his lips. “Kiss me.”
Sergei did, and it was not long before the kiss became caresses, then the ancient dance of man and woman as Svetlana began to move over him.
“Don’t…don’t stop.” She wiggled, Sergei gasped, and she blushed. “You feel…good now.”
Dimitri could see the effect of those soft words, so loud in the silence of this field, on Sergei. The other man shuddered, buried his face in her neck, and Svetlana was rapidly raised up off him. The words affected Dimitri as well, and he felt his desire returning. It was hard to track what happened with the sounds and smells and want filling the pre-dawn darkness, but it wasn’t long until Svetlana was riding Sergei, who kept trying to push into her, and there had to be a better way, then Sergei cried out and shuddered and Dimitri felt his feet moving to the couple as they fell backwards.
Dimitri watched, hungry for touch, as Svetlana began to pant and wriggle oddly, making little keening noises in her throat. As soon as he realized why, so did Sergei, but it was too late. Dimitri caught Sergei’s shoulders. Both men watched as Svetlana struggled with the need for control of herself and the need to surrender to pure sensation. The magic was riding her, keeping her wanting, but weakening Sergei’s stamina to the point the young man was embarrassed and Dimitri was embarrassed for him. He really should have taken longer. Dimitri helped Sergei lay down without hurting himself or Svetlana, and, when he turned to see if Svetlana need help, found himself with an armful of wildcat.
Before Dimitri could say anything, Svetlana arched into him, her skin like living silk against his own.
“Hurry, damphir,” she whispered, some old magic riding her, “hurry. Dimitri…” She moaned and her hands were hot on his skin, her body pressing him back to the earth. After watching, the feel of her was too hard to resist. Again, he felt his impulses take control of him and Dimitri lay back, letting her straddle him, leaning over him as he started sliding into her, throwing his head back with a cry of amazement as he felt her hot and slick around him. She pulsed, moaned, and began to move, leaning close enough that her hard nipples brushed his chest and her hair, God, her hair surrounded him like living fire. He wrapped his arms hard around her and pulled back just enough to see her face. She was not in pain. Thank God she was not in pain.
“So beautiful,” she murmured, “golden…like the sun…” Then she kissed him, and Dimitri remembered only the feeling of her over him, around him, moving and stroking and shivering and squeezing him until he knew nothing but the oblivion of pleasure. Somewhere in the overwhelming wave of want-need-heat-pleasure he heard her scream, a sound of frustration and want. What he had just experienced, what Sergei had known minutes before, she had not yet touched. He had to fix that. Sergei had to fix it. He rolled her over, pressing her into the earth.
“Seryi,” he rasped, moving from over the writhing woman and capturing her hands. “Again.”
Sergei moved between her legs and slid into her, making her arch and cry out. Dimitri worried for a moment--neither of them could be considered small men in any way, both well over six feet tall and Svetlana was small for a Moroi woman, perhaps five-foot-six. They could hurt her…but as he held her hands over her head and Sergei rode her, he knew they couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Even more shameful, he didn’t want to. He had just come and now he was getting hard again. And her mouth…her mouth was right there…
Dimitri groaned as he barely kept himself from shoving himself into her mouth. The memory of fangs was the only thing that stopped him. He moved down beside them, keeping her hands stretched out hard above her, pulling one of her knees up higher as Sergei’s thrusts curled her back and lifted her hips. She was pinned, helpless between them, and it was perfect. He saw her arch back in the moonlight, lips curled and mouth open to strike, like a snake. Without thinking, his hand intercepted her bite at Sergei’s shoulder, cutting deep into his palm, an odd double-scar that hurt only for a moment. Whatever it was about the blood and sex and pain and pleasure and the bite--the magic happened then. A bright flash surrounded them and Svetlana convulsed, crying out with each spasm, Sergei’s shout and Dimitri’s howl joining hers and making the night around them ring with the sound of animal pleasure.
Blackness covered his vision, his mind, and for long minutes, it was everything in the world to breathe.
He woke again, lying on the ground with Svetlana between him and Sergei, Dimitri remembered the oath they had taken then. The sweet curves of the still-pantingSvetlana in his arms--he hadn’t been unconscious long--he felt his friend’s hands cover his own, then Svetlana’s over and between theirs, his blood, her blood, their seed and sweat on their hands.
“A bond of protection,” Svetlana murmured, “of children promised, of friendship between us, Dimitri.”
“A promise of aid,” Sergei added, “of clan, of trust between us, Dimitri.”
“I accept your oath,” Dimitri managed, tears in his eyes. When had Moroi stopped honoring such a promise? Long before he had been born, certainly.” “In return, I will come when you call, not your guardian, but your clansman--family.”
“Family,” they murmured back, eyes closing as their breathing began to steady and hearts stopped racing. It would be several more minutes until they stopped trembling enough to stand and move inside. Once in the little cabin provided for the honeymoon, Dimitri there as security, though the wards were more useful now than he was, the trio bathed off and went to bed.
Dimitri did not leave them that night, and the young couple welcomed him in their lives in those moments, welcomed him in ways he had not known before or since.
Until Rose.
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The Promise of the Moroi