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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
- 3
- 4
- 5
Svetlana went upstairs with the two men behind her, the difference between this night with them and the first night driving knives through Dimitri’s heart. He felt sick. Yes, these were his friends, and some of the only Moroi he could ever consider as true friends, close enough to wound him to his soul. In order of damage, Rose could do the worst to him, but these two…how had he forgotten the way they felt? What it was to be around them? Six years had passed since they were so young, talking and laughing at Sergei’s college in Russia, a place he and Ivan went to visit often. Then, Ivan had enrolled and, by necessity, Dimitri had gone to college as well, the major in philosophy forever unfinished because of his failure and Ivan’s death. Six years, and yet it seemed like no time at all had passed as the minute he saw her in the doorway downstairs.
Svetlana’s head was down as she walked next to Sergei down the hall. Instead of the joy and wonder of the lovemaking he had witnessed, been a part of, this was to be a trial, a painful parody of the warmth and laughter they had shared. Uncomfortable assignments were part of life as a guardian, but this…uncomfortable did not begin to describe it. Dimitri needed this information. There were too many things he remembered from tormenting Rose as Strigoi, though, too many things he had done as Strigoi, to let him enjoy any part of this voyeurism. He would recognize what was happening with his friends, the physical signs, at least. In almost any other situation, the physical signs would be enough. If Rose were ever turned…he managed to contain the shudder that passed through him then. He was sickened enough by the situation he was in now, to think of that…No.
Once in their room, Dimitri leaned against the wall next to the door. If this were his old friends, and he had not yet spoken with Rose, he would sit down in the armchair, eager to enjoy the show they would give him, even if he could not join them. As it was, he welcomed the standard guardian’s post, standing and observing closely events that could turn deadly in a moment. It did not take long to start.
Moments after entering their bedroom she was lifted taken to the bed, and summarily stripped, Sergei’s need too great for anything other than the most perfunctory kiss before she was on her back and taking him in. He noted her passivity, the opposite of everything he had ever known in her arms. Even when she lay quietly, content to let him (them) play her body like a violin, she arched and moaned and spoke to them, telling them wonderful, dirty things she felt, she wanted--they wanted (he wanted). As the thrust and withdrawl began--he saw her wince, not yet ready for Sergei’s intrusion into her soft flesh, he saw that she began to move with him; her body knew his so well, it wanted to feel him again, wept for him, even as she wept softly. She did not look at him, and he was glad. He could not let her see the pain and sorrow and anger that filled him now. Dimitri focused on his breathing, setting aside emotion and allowing his guardian’s mask to slide into place over his features. As he calmed, as he watched, his heart went out to his old friend and lover as she endured what should have been joyful and filled with life and love.
This was rape, a rape she consented to, but still rape. It could not be sex--and he had had many nights that were ‘just sex,’ as he and Rose would play and enjoy the purely physical pleasure of the way their bodies fit together--but the motions Sergei was making mimicked making love to her, perverting what could have been beautiful. She opened her eyes and Dimitri was there, his eyes dark and compassionate. He could see the difference, the unnatural hunger in Sergei, the edge of violence and cruelty and evil in the motions of his old friend. He couldn’t stop Sergei or her tears.
As Svetlana watched, Dimitri felt his eyes tear up. He hurt for her. He was a guardian, but how did one protect someone from the very thing that was keeping them alive? All of them. Without this outlet for his darkness, Sergei would kill or turn Svetlana, and he, Dimitri, would be dead shortly after. Svetlana’s body was moving faster now, her hips rising to meet Sergei’s thrusts, her tears falling faster as she lost control of her own body.
It had been over six years since had seen them, but it seemed like three lifetimes. More, now. The last time he had been invited to their bed, they had laughed and pleased one another--rather, they pleased her as she pleased them. They had spent hours together, the starlight bright through the skylight in their bedroom; starlight that was replaced by the gentle morning sun before they finally slept. But that was before going to St. Vladimir’s Academy, before meeting his Roza.
God help him--he did not deserve such help, but the prayer of the least worthy was heard as well--he was grateful he had never touched his Roza in this way, that he had been unable as a Strigoi.
It wasn’t until Sergei pulled her to face Dimitri, forcing her to look at him, that he understood the worst of this: As Svetlana’s body betrayed her, Sergei slid his fangs into her neck once. She convulsed in pleasure immediately, calling out Sergei’s name. Another minute, then another bite, another orgasm. From rape to forced orgasm, the ultimate betrayal, Dimitri watched. He understood then that Sergei was giving her the only pleasure he could as Strigoi: the bite. Every bite drew her deeper into her own orgasmic hell; every bite took Sergei closer to the edge.
Eventually, it ended, Sergei’s care to keep from harming his wife as he shuddered and bucked with the contained violence of orgasm. Dimitri knew how much Svetlana could take, how wild she would become when she was taken, almost brutally, becoming a scratching, howling, biting creature of pure want. She had never bitten him during sex, but she had bitten Sergei enough that there was a pattern of scars on both shoulders. There were scars on his back, too, where she cut deep with her claws more than once--but those were battlescars a man could be proud of. This…this was shameful. Painful. Disgusting.
And still Sergei did not hurt her. Every touch, he was careful. Every bite was carefully placed to keep her from scarring, to give her more pleasure. Dimitri had done much the same thing with Rose, once.
It wasn’t until Sergei stood and turned to see him that Dimitri saw the blood pouring from Svetlana, coating Sergei’s groin. She was bleeding--but it was too much to be from tearing. Sergei said nothing, but stretched and padded over to the door. With a nod to his old friend and a final look at Svetlana, he turned and left the room.
Dimitri didn’t realize it, but tears were sliding down his cheeks as he walked over to the bed where Svetlana lay curled into a tight ball, sobbing. He reached out to her carefully, hesitant lest she lash out at him for not stopping Sergei, but she did nothing as his hand found her shoulder. He began to speak in Russian, nonsense words meant to soothe, and slowly she uncurled. He lifted her gently into his arms, stroking her hair as he continued to murmur soft, quiet sounds to her. After a time, when she had relaxed and the tears, his and hers, had stopped, he asked her one question.
“Are you well enough to travel.”
She looked up at him, her blue eyes bloodshot with pain and swollen with tears. She nodded. “Let me clean up?”
“Of course. We’ll be downstairs.” He hesitated a moment, then kissed her lips softly, taking the time to let her know he still loved her, still remembered and cherished her. For a long minute, she did not move. Then her mouth opened under his and she accepted the kiss of a lover, a friend, a confidant.
The kiss ended naturally, as kisses tend to do, and she pressed her forehead to his shoulder.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“If I could do more, Svetochka,” he promised her too much with that, threatened to break his promises to Rose, but his heart would not let him turn her away so coldly. She gave him a weak, watery smile and pulled away from him, standing slowly. After she was in the bathroom attached to the master bedroom, he walked down the stairs to see Sergei.
Sergei had bathed and dressed already, seemingly content as Dimitri stalked by him.
“We will need to leave as soon as the sun sets,” Sergei told him, voice calm and contented now. He had gone to see the feeders, too.
“Pity we can’t leave earlier,” Dimitri repied, voice stiff and unyielding. He was enraged now, without Svetlana there to blunt the edges of his anger. Then he caught a glimpse of Sergei’s expression as the Strigoi tracked his movements across the room.
If only Sergei hadn’t looked so confused, he could have staked him then and there, without regret.
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The Promise of the Moroi