The Promise of the Moroi

The woman he had held just now was nothing like the fierce girl had been--nothing, and everything like her.  It hurt to see her so weak, though he knew what she had endured took more strength than he had.  The drain of bloodletting, the bites that clouded her mind, the pain and shame of her husband’s repeated rapes--no, it wasn’t even fucking, as humans fucked and this was less brutal, but more harmful--the stress of living with Strigoi that drove the soul into darkness.  He had seen the same effects on Rose, and he had only teased her with bites twice a day. 

No, Svetlana was not weak.  She was stronger than either of them, strong enough to walk down the stairs and see her husband and Dimitri separated by the lenth of the room and smile at them softly. 

“Let’s go,” she said, her voice not revealing the pain she had been in.

With a nod, but no more words, the three loaded up and started on the road to the campsite at Glen Canyon.  It was early still, the sunset in the mountains coming earlier than the flats, and it would take until midnight to reach the park.  Neither man was foolish enough to break the strained silence.  Dimitri wondered if Svetlana could take any more.  She looked like she would break with a touch.  Then again, her looks had always deceived.  Looking at her, a man could believe her to be single, virginal, and very ill with some chronic disease.  She was none of these, so long as a Strigoi with an appetite for her blood could not be considered a disease.

In the car, no one spoke.  Dimitri sat in the back seat with Svetlana curled into him, not wanting to risk Strigoi patience on an interloper driving in unfamiliar territory.  This way Svetlana could sleep, if she so chose, and he could keep an eye on Sergei.  Staking his old friend through the driver’s seat of the SUV wasn’t a possibility, but he could break the creature’s neck, then stake him.  Svetalana would be irked with him, but if it proved necessary…

An hour’s worth of mountain roads later, Svetlana had fallen asleep leaning against him, so he moved carefully to make the position easier on her spine and legs.  She murmured sleepily, but didn’t wake.  As she slipped into a deeper sleep, Sergei watched them in the rear-view mirror. Dimitri found himself in an odd position.  These were his friends, yes, and ones he knew well, but six years had passed.  What had they learned since he last saw them?  Svetlana had grown stronger, more able--that much was clear in the way she was able to handle the Strigoi version of Sergei.  Sergei had changed as well, becoming more willing to bend to his Svetlana--or perhaps it was simply that their love for one another was that much stronger after years of marriage and children.  Either way, the woman curled into him now was not weak by nature.  She was as strong as any person he had met, certainly as strong as his Roza.  No, this weakness was due to blood loss and exhaustion.  And lack of food.  When she was healed, what would she be like?  What would Sergei be like when he was restored?  There was no way to know, not here in this moment.

Thanks to Lissa, all of the guardians close to her carried stakes charmed with all five elements, and Lissa’s power with charms had grown immensely since her first attempts only two years ago.  Perhaps the charmed stake would be enough, but Dimitri was unwilling to risk his friend on a vague perhaps.  The healing aspects of spirit would definitely be used for his friend, as Dimitri was required to ensure that a Szelsky lord had not died on his watch, no matter that he was not their usual guardian.  He was a guardian.  That alone made this couple his responsibility.  Friendship made the attempt mandatory.  He refused to think of a world in which Sergei did not return to Moroi.  It would happen, even if it cost him his own life.

“We still have at least three hundred miles to go.  Once we are out of the mountains, it will go quickly.  No one patrols these roads this late at night.”  Sergei seemed certain, and Dimitri was willing to take this much at face value.

“Good.”  Dimitri paused.  “Do you know what will happen when we get there?”

“No, but I trust my wife.”

“You will be staked by a Moroi spirit-user.  He will heal you at the same time.”  Dimitri struggled for the right words.  “It is…disconcerting.”  That was a mild word for what it was, but then Sergei hadn’t gone on months worth of killing sprees.  He was just fucking and sucking his wife.  There was a bit of a difference there.  “Have you killed at all?”

“Nyet,” Sergei confirmed.  “My Svetlana, she is attached to the feeders we have.”  Sergei shrugged.  “Too close, but that is the way of women.”  This in Russian, not in an effort to keep Svetlana from waking and understanding, but to make sure they were very clear with one another.  Sergei was willing to talk, but Dimitri was disinclined, at least regarding the subjects he wanted to open.

“Da,” was all he said in reply.  A moment later, he added, “You’re killing her slowly, even if you do not mean to.”  Sergei could say nothing to that.  They were silent for most of the rest of the three hours, the winding mountain roads taking up nearly half of the total drive time. 

When they were at the state line, Sergei suddenly spoke.

“I do not want to hurt her, but losing these senses…it will not be easy.  The power…”  He did not have to elaborate. 

Dimitri nodded.  “Yes.  The power,” he breathed, closing his eyes.  “The freedom.”  He paused.  “The murders.  I will not allow it, Sergei Gregorovich,” he cautioned as Sergei  began to shake his head in negation.  “If not Svetlana first, then one of the feeders, an innocent who happens to be out at night--it won’t matter.  There will be hunger, then a source of nourishment, then a corpse.  And you will like it.”  The pain of those days was in his voice, and he let Sergei hear it.  “Even though I couldn’t feel my soul, it was there with me, taking on the sins I committed.  We say Strigoio are death walking, but the soul is still there.  It is more…they are not dead, but they are the anti-life.  Sleep-souled…”  Dimitri shook his head.  “And the heart, it is mostly dead.  There is some feeling, but mostly it is desire and pleasure.  The evil will take you, old friend.”  He waited for a long time before Sergei replied.

“I won’t fight.  On my family, on their souls, I swear it, Dimitri Ivanovich.”  It was the most sacred promise a Moroi could make.  One’s own soul was forfeit, but one’s family was never to be surrendered, and certainly not their souls.  Svetlana’s soul was more important to Sergei than his own; that her soul had been indelibly marked by their marriage and union was a source of happiness and pride, for his own was so marked by her.  Would this, his turning Strigoi, mark her as well?  It was something he had not considered, and Dimitri knew then that he, too, had not considered such an effect on those who loved Strigoi.  It was worth looking into.  Later.

Dimitri nodded, his voice thick as he replied.  “I understand, Sergei Gregorovich,” the traditional and formal patrinomics oddly reassuring in the surreal life that the damphir found himself leading.  He was talking about helping a Moroi playboy stake and old friend while he and the wife of said old friend watched--and the wife of said old friend was currently nuzzling his thigh, her cheek distressingly close to his groin.  Carefully, he discouraged her movement by stroking her hair.  No, it wasn’t hot to the touch, but she was.  He frowned at the slightly elevated temperature, wondering if it was a sign of illness or simply exhaustion.  If Sergei saw the frown, he did not comment.

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