Chapter 12

The aftermath of Jesse and Ralf's lies were about as horrible as you can imagine. It was vile and infuriating having to listen to the same senseless, slandering talk going on at the school. Rose had always been a very visible girl. She was popular, and more attractive than any girl had a right to be, but she was also confident and chatty. And the way she carried herself...let's just say, she knew how to get attention. But now...all that had changed. I barely saw her outside of practice. I didn't see her chatting with the other novices, or Lissa's royal group, or with any of her many admirers. She kept to herself, out of sight. She was like a robot, mechanically going through the motions.

As much as I hated to see her that way, a tiny, selfish part of me was relieved. Without her charm lingering around the school, the ringing of her laughter, the snapping of her joking remarks, the scent of her hair...I felt I could finally relax the control I had to maintain. Finally, I could act like a mentor should be acting.

Still, Rose would show up to practice with bags under her eyes, eyes that seemed devoid of her usual life lust. It was obvious that she wasn't sleeping well. The verbal abuse was far from over. And as Rose became more and more invisible...so did I. I had no excuse to be watching her in class anymore. I had no desire to be in class at all, because I was sick and tired of listening to people talk that way about her. I retreated to my room, to my books, to my music. I even called my family in Siberia, who were all delighted to hear my voice, even though we couldn't talk for long. I hated those phone calls as much as I loved them. Hearing about my family, my mother, grandmother, sisters...it made me want to protect them. To return to that secluded life. I always felt that pull, though I knew I could never follow up on it. The Academy needed me here. Lissa needed me. More importantly, there was Rose. I was sure I could never leave—not now. Mentoring Rose wasn't just about helping someone out...not anymore. It wasn't about keeping myself preoccupied. It was about her. I couldn't even imagine a life without her in it. And that scared me.

All the time...these thoughts of her would pop up. These...startling revelations. And every time, I'd beat them down again. I wrapped my control around me like a shield, channelling my days of mentoring, of mastering myself and my urges.

Of course, it was easier said than done. No matter how subdued Rose was lately, she still had a remarkable presence in our practice sessions. She still hummed with energy, with a determined need to prove herself. In a way, I could tell that these sessions offered her some escape from the drama. With me, she could relax. Hell, she had gone from dreading these sessions to looking forward to them. I could tell from the way her expression lightened when she entered the gym, as she did now.

'Hey,' she said, dumping her gym bag on the floor. Without a word, she headed toward the door leading out to the arena. No complaints, sarcastic remarks, or sounds of protestations.

'I'm joining you,' I called, getting up from the floor.

She looked over at me, surprised. 'You are?'

I shrugged, approaching her. I didn't have anything else to do. Besides, I needed the conditioning. I also just enjoyed her company, though I immediately dismissed that last thought.

'No more Westerns to read?' she joked, pushing open the door. She winced as a cold wind blew past. I had to stop myself from shielding her with my body.

'Haven't gotten the chance to get a new one,' I said, launching into a jog. Rose followed.

We dropped the conversation then, focusing on keeping our breathing even. I only spoke when I gave an instruction, keeping my voice gentle. I wanted these moments to be a source of peace for her, a way to escape all the stress of the school day. Neither of us mentioned the rumours going around about her, though I could tell they were often on her mind.

When we finished that day, I led her through an offensive exercise where she could use any makeshift weapon she could find to attack me. It was a fun, creative exercise, which I knew would further help take her mind off things. Besides, I knew she liked hitting.

As always, I couldn't help but find it remarkable, the speed at which she was improving. She fought with total purpose, completely absorbed in what she was doing, her fighting style growing more precise and polished. There was no longer any wild, rough cut to her combat. Now she was a true dhampir novice—and rapidly becoming one of the best in class. She even managed to land a few blows on me today, which seemed to surprise her. Still, I didn't want to go easy on her. Attack me she did—but she was still the one staggering back from impact. She needed to learn how to think further ahead, to anticipate power imbalances and adapt to them quickly. I told her as much.

'Remember...know which hits to take and which to avoid. Some will just give temporary pain, and those you can ignore, but others will immobilise you. You need to be selective.'

'I'd rather not take any hits at all, comrade,' she huffed, wiping sweat from her brow.

'I know...but it's inevitable. In real life, we don't get to choose a fair fight. Sometimes, you alone might be facing two, or even three Strigoi. And in those situations, things get tricky. You can take one huge blow, or try to catch many smaller ones and still stay in action.'

She groaned, smacking her fist into my side. But I flexed, and she was the one to stumble. 'I hate it when you're right.'

No matter how much damage Rose got from her attacks, she never backed down. She kept attacking and attacking, fighting with an almost blind rage. I knew my blows had to hurt—but she just didn't care. She was indifferent to pain, indifferent to defeat. No matter how dejected she had been lately, she possessed a fierce optimism when she fought. It was...amazing. And if I could provide her with a means to unleash all her anger and frustration, then all the better. If nothing else, I could give her that small thing.

I finally called a break, seeing sweat coat her skin. We carried the equipment we'd used on the field and returned everything to the supply room. While putting it away, I glanced over at her and did a double take.

'Your hands,' I exclaimed, swearing in Russian. How had I never noticed her hands? The cold had turned the skin raw and chapped, and some parts were bleeding a little. They must have been suffering for weeks. I'd been so intent on pushing her...so absorbed in my own conflict, that her body now bore the marks of my neglect. It was typical Rose. She might have been indifferent to pain, at least until the point where it affected her performance. How could she had let it get this bad without saying anything? 'Where are your gloves?' I asked.

She looked down at her hands, rubbing a finger over a blister. 'Don't have any. Never needed them in Portland.'

I swore again and beckoned her to a chair while I retrieved a first-aid kit. I placed a chair opposite to hers and sat down on it, taking her hands in mine to investigate the damage. Like the rest of her, her hands were beautiful. I could see past the damage, imagine how they might look if she'd had any other lifestyle, one that didn't involve constant fighting. They were strong; not the slender, bony hands of Moroi, but beautiful, all the same. Capable. Of course, in this line of work, those hands were perfect.

I remembered that I'd been holding her hands for a while, not saying anything, and reached for a wet cloth. Still holding her hand with my left, I used the right to gently wipe away the blood from the cuts. Again, I chastised myself for negligence. 'We'll get you some,' I told her gruffly, swallowing past the bulge in my throat. She didn't wince, nor look up at me. She just kept staring glumly at her destroyed hands.

'This is only the start, isn't it?'

I paused, lifting her other hand for the same treatment. 'Of what?'

'Me.' She frowned. 'Turning into Alberta. Her...and all the other female guardians. They're all leathery and stuff. Fighting and training and always being outdoors—they aren't pretty anymore.' She paused. 'This...this life. It destroys them. Their looks, I mean.'

I hesitated for a moment, looking up from her hands. I surveyed her, wondering how such a young girl could sound so wise. It hadn't really occurred to me that Rose would be worried about such a thing. I mean, for starters, she wasn't pretty. She was beautiful. Naturally, effortlessly beautiful. She didn't need fancy clothes or makeup to look that way. She didn't need anything. She just was. And people with that kind of beauty...well, it didn't matter what the elements did to them. It didn't matter if they aged. They never lost their beauty. I didn't think Rose realised just how lucky she was.

'It won't happen to you,' I found myself saying, before I could stop. 'You're too...' I groped for the right word, groped for a way to say it without being inappropriate. But I couldn't trust my words, couldn't trust my eyes. I'd always been good at controlling my expression, but the way Rose regarded me now...I didn't think I could keep her from seeing how I felt. And I had to stop feeling this way around her. Giving up, I simply said, 'It won't happen to you.'

I turned my attention back to her hands, dabbing some gauze on the cuts. Couldn't risk an infection.

'It happened to my mom,' she went on, ignoring the stabbing pain in her hands. 'She used to be beautiful. I guess she still is, sort of. But not the way she used to be.' Bitterly, she added, 'Haven't seen her in a while. She could look completely different for all I know.'

Of course, I thought, with some small shock. Guardian Hathaway—she was Rose's mother. I'd reflected over that fact when I'd been assigned the mission to find Rose and Lissa, but hadn't thought much more about it until now. I'd actually met guardian Hathaway once, and she was a remarkably talented woman. I'd never thought to reflect over whether she was beautiful, but remembering her now, I could see some of the resemblance. Rose didn't have her mother's northern colouring, but the features were somewhat the same. Rose's nose was somewhat straighter, and her eyes had a more cat-like cut to them, and her lips were slightly fuller. I once again found myself wondering who her father might be, where he was from. No one from the royal families had that kind of dark colouring.... I didn't think Rose even knew who her father was, or else she would have mentioned him. Still he was there, living on through his daughter. A daughter he might not even know about.

I hadn't expected Rose's bitter tone, however. Never mind the fact that she didn't know her father—many dhampirs didn't. Why the animosity toward her mother? I would have thought she would look up to her, admire her even. After all, guardian Hathaway was everything Rose aspired to be.

'You don't like your mother,' I observed, looking at her closely. It wasn't a question.

Her features twisted. 'You noticed that, huh?'

I made my voice gentle. 'You barely know her.'

'That's the point,' Rose said, eyes filling with accusation. 'She abandoned me. She left me to be raised by the Academy.' Ah, there it was. Rose, and many others, might harbour a lot of prejudice about dhampir communities, but there was something they offered that guardian parents couldn't: actual parenting. No matter what people thought about us, I'd always felt grateful for my family, for how close we had been. I would never have traded them for anything, even though it would have been remarkable to have a role-model mom, like Rose did. She just couldn't see it yet.

I didn't say anything, wondering how to formulate my next words in a way that she would understand. Rose might sound wise beyond her years, but she was still young. Everyone carried some baggage from how they had been raised, and if Rose had grown up without any parental figure...then I could kind of see why she had such a take-charge kind of personality. She knew that if she wanted to get her way, she only had herself to rely on.

I finished cleaning her open wounds, and reached for a jar of salve I kept stocked with the first-aid kit. I scooped up some of the stuff and began rubbing it into the rough parts of her skin. Rose let out a sigh as my hands massaged hers, the tension in her shoulders easing a little. Even her eyes seemed to dilate. More than ever, I fought to keep my composure, focusing entirely on hands, trying to imagine them as any other's.

Seeing her so relaxed, I started to make my point. 'You say that...but what else could she have done? I know you want to be a guardian,' I pointed out. 'I know how much it means to you. Do you think she feels any differently? Do you think she should have quit to raise you when you'd spend most of your life here anyway?'

Some of the warmth left her eyes. I could tell she didn't like having reasonable arguments thrown at her. 'Are you saying I'm a hypocrite?'

I hid a smile. 'I'm just saying maybe you shouldn't be so hard on her. She's a very respected dhampir woman. She's set you on the path to be the same.'

'It wouldn't kill her to visit more,' she muttered, which was a fair point. 'But I guess you're right. A little.' I could tell it hurt her to admit it. 'It could have been worse, I suppose.' She frowned. 'I could have been raised with blood whores.'

At that, I looked up. I realised she didn't know this about me. 'I was raised in a dhampir commune. They aren't as bad as you think.'

'Oh.' Her eyes clouded with surprise—and a bit of shame, I thought. 'I didn't mean—'

'It's all right,' I said, focusing my attention back on her hands. For a moment, I didn't know how to feel. It occurred to me that I was worried about what she would think of me. Maybe she would lose some of the respect she had for me. It was for that reason that I had never shared that information with anyone else.

'So, did you, like, have family there? Grow up with them?' I could tell she was trying to keep a neutral tone.

I nodded, appreciating what she was doing. For some reason, I felt safe with her. And it was nice to speak about them. 'My mother and three sisters. I didn't see them much after I went to school, but we still keep in touch. Mostly, the communities are about family. There's a lot of love there, no matter what stories you've heard.'

I looked at her, wondering if I had convinced her, but she glanced down, hiding her eyes from me.

'Yeah, but...isn't it weird? Aren't there a lot of Moroi men visiting to, you know...?'

Oh, I knew. Anger edged its way into me, remembering. 'Sometimes.' This was the one part I didn't like to talk about. It brought up too many memories—memories I always tried to keep locked away. I focused on our hands again, rubbing circles into hers, trying to distract myself.

'I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up something bad....'

I was still trying to chase away the anger—when I remembered who I was talking to. This was Rose. No matter how strange things had gotten between us at times, I trusted her. Besides, I had a feeling this was a story she would enjoy.

'Actually...you probably wouldn't think it's bad,' I said after almost a minute had passed. I smiled tightly. 'You don't know your father, do you?'

She shook her head, wondering what I was getting at. 'No. All I know is he must have had wicked cool hair.'

I glanced up, eyes sweeping over her. Her dark, chocolate brown hair had been tied up today, but a lot had come undone during our fight. It framed her face now, accentuating her semi-exotic desert princess look. Damn, she was beautiful. 'Yes,' I remembered to say. 'He must have.' Returning to her hands, I said carefully, 'I knew mine.'

She froze, surprised by this. 'Really? Most Moroi guys don't stay—I mean, some do, but you know, usually they just—'

'Well, he liked my mother,' I said snidely. 'And he visited her a lot. He's my sisters' father too. But when he came...well, he didn't treat my mother very well. He did some horrible things.' Just thinking of that made my blood boil.

'Like...' she hesitated, searching my gaze. 'Blood-whore things?'

I could deny it all I wanted. I could vouch for my mother's honour but...what was the point? I mulled it over while I pulled out the bandages, gently wrapping them around Rose's ruined hands. Hers were warm, so small in comparison to mine. Even this small thing...sitting together, holding hands, it felt right. Looking at her earnest, concerned face, I knew that Rose wasn't judging my mother, nor me. She'd been accused of being a blood-whore herself, even if she'd only consented to being bitten to help Lissa. Telling Rose about this wouldn't be humiliating, I realised, it would be liberating.

Either way, the biting itself wasn't relevant. I could hardly fault my mother for her weaknesses—we all had them. What was relevant, and really the core of the problem, was how abusive Randall had been.

Images flashed through my mind...memories of him. I could still recall that sharp, pale face, the blazing green eyes. Eyes that were almost always clouded with drunkenness, drunkenness that would often morph into blind rage. He would come after us, and always, always my mother would jump in between, heedless of her own safety. I shut my eyes, recalling his hands around her throat, the red marks he would leave on her cheeks when he slapped her with his open hand. Mother, with tears in her eyes, holding back her own misery to put on a brave face, to usher us away from him. I recalled the confused expressions on my sisters' faces. They didn't understand. None of us did. Why was he doing this? Why was he treating her that way?

'Like beating-her-up kinds of things,' I replied at last, voice flat.

Rose's hands tightened in mine. 'Oh God,' she said, looking distraught. I squeezed her hands back, glad for her presence. I didn't want to let go. 'That's horrible,' she said, voice low. 'And she...' She hesitated, looking up at me. 'She just let it happen?'

'She did.' My mother might have been adamant about protecting us, to the point of sacrificing herself to Randall's torment, but eventually, that little, cowering boy who had looked at his sisters with such confusion and helplessness...he'd grown up. My father had been unusually tall for a Moroi, and while I had always been relieved to not have inherited much of his appearance, I'd been glad for the height. I grew up fast. At the age of thirteen, I could barely pass for a boy. And with my mentor's teachings fresh in my mind, I knew I had to do something about my father. The corner of my mouth turned up in a sly smile, seeing Rose's expectant face. 'But I didn't.'

Excitement spread across her face. 'Tell me, tell me you beat the crap out of him.'

My smile grew. I'd been right to tell her, right to know she would enjoy this. 'I did.'

And I had. Throughout my childhood, I'd always fought so hard to be as different from my father as possible. I hated him for how he treated my mother and my sisters. But as a teenager, I grew disgusted by him. I saw how he treated women, how he treated dhampirs in general. I thought that, if I devoted myself entirely to being the opposite of what he was, then maybe I wasn't destined to be such a bad person, after all. Maybe I could expel the genes I'd inherited from him, like poison from my body. I'd devoted myself entirely to my studies, to my fighting classes, to my mentors...I'd done everything, gone above and beyond what was expected of a guardian. Only to realise it wasn't enough. What good was all that training, if I couldn't even keep a bad man from hurting my own mother?

So when I was thirteen, I made the decision. If nobody was going to do anything about him, then I had to. After fighting for control for so long, here was finally the chance to let it all go, to let it pour out of me like a dam burst free.

When I came home from school that day, I was jaw-locked with determination. But as I approached the door to our house, doubts began to spring up. Could I really do this? To my own father, to our family? Regardless of how much he had hurt her, my mother still loved Randall blindly. How would she react, and what would she do, if I permanently removed him from her life? Above anything, I knew that doing this would break our family apart—for good. There would be no coming back from something like that, no do-overs.

By the time I opened the door, an all-out war was going on in my head. And then I saw him. Randall. He was red-faced with exertion, hair standing on end, eyes bloodshot and maddened with drink. His hands were locked around my mother's throat, and she was crying.... She wasn't saying anything, not begging him, or yelling at him—nothing. Just crying, in a dejected, hopeless manner. Like she didn't deserve any better. And seeing my mother like that, my sweet, caring mother...seeing her so broken—well, it finally made the decision for me.

With an enraged roar, I launched myself across the room. I felt my muscles flex, my body readying itself for combat, and grabbed for him. I jerked him away from my mother, causing him to stagger in surprise.

'Go!' I told her. 'Hide! Get away from here!' I didn't want her to see this, didn't want her to interfere.

Randall turned toward me, eyes widening with disbelief. 'You won't do anything.' He scoffed, emboldened by his own words. 'You never do. Go and hide with your sisters, like a good little boy.' He saw that my hands were shaking. His mistake was thinking it was from fear, rather than rage barely kept in check.

I punched him.

His head flew back, and there was the crunching sound of a nose breaking. Randall's green eyes only had time to flare open with fury before I was on him again.

He did try to protect himself. He even tried to attack me back. But it was all a futile effort. Randall might have been a full-grown man—but he was a Moroi. Not only was I almost as tall, but I was already ten times as strong, and fully trained in guardian combat. He didn't stand a chance, and that was rapidly becoming clear to him too. The anger melted away from his eyes. First, it turned into alarm. Then, it became fear.

'Stop! Stop this!' he yelled, backing away from my raised fist.

'Why?' I demanded, stalking after him. 'Why should I? You never stop.'

'I'm your fath—'

'You're the one who wants to fight.' I cocked my head at him. 'Well, here's your chance. Pick on someone your own size.'

'Dimka, I'm not gonna fight you,' he said, attempting a smile. He was trying to placate me, trying to find a way out of the inevitable.

But I was beyond reasoning. 'You're not gonna fight me—because you can't. All you have is your status and money. Without that, you're nothing. Do you hear me? You're nothing.' I kept walking toward him, even as he tried to back away. 'You think you can treat dhampirs any way you want. You treat women like trash. Well, all of that ends. Now.'

'Your mother will never cast me out,' he said, managing a satisfied smile. 'She'll always come back to me. She'll never stop—'

I punched him again. This time, there was so much force behind the blow that Randall lost his balance and fell back, barely catching himself against the table. I saw his vision cloud with abandon, and then, we both threw ourselves bodily into the fight. It was just as well, because I didn't feel like talking anymore.

Randall's defence was pathetic. I dodged his drunken, sloppy fists, and retaliated swiftly, aiming each blow at that irritatingly handsome face. I wanted him mutilated beyond all recognition, but marring that self-satisfied, arrogant face of his was good enough for me. After another two hits, he lay unconscious on the floor, bleeding from his mouth, nose, and temple. I was barely panting, and was completely unharmed. Standing there, looking over him, I felt something solidify in my chest.

I'd always looked forward to this moment. I'd dreamed of it, wondered how I'd feel when I finally took that step. I guess I had expected to feel victorious, to finally consider myself like a man, a hero in my own right. But I felt nothing of the sort. I simply felt relieved, and a little sad that it had to come to this.

More than anything, the experience readied me for the career that awaited me. When I turned eighteen, a lot of people's lives were going to depend on me, and just like I had now, I would have to defend them. It wouldn't be defending my family, though. I would be defending a Moroi. Looking down at Randall, I wondered how committed I could be to that job. Could I defend someone like him? Could I devote my entire life to protecting my Moroi, even if he was a drunk, or an asshole, or both? The thought made me even more determined to succeed. If I became the best guardian in my class, perhaps...perhaps there would be some options. Perhaps I'd get to choose. And if I could, I would go out of my way to pick someone who was as different from Randall as possible. And Ivan had been.

I blinked, recalling myself to the present. Rose was watching me in that frank way of hers. She leaned back in her chair, shaking her head with amazement. 'Wow. You beat up your dad. I mean, that's really horrible...what happened.' Sadness briefly flared in her eyes, but was squelched by that fire...that same fire that I had always felt as a youth, and still did. Especially when I looked at her, that fire burned stronger than ever. 'But, wow,' she continued, eyes travelling over me. 'You really are a god.'

That surprised me. I blinked, not sure I'd heard her right. 'What?'

'Uh, nothing.' She looked flustered, and hastily changed the subject. 'How old were you?'

I was still puzzling over what she had said. Had she really called me...a god? I was sure I'd heard her wrong. Still, a warm, heady feeling blossomed in my chest. Rose had called me all sorts of things...mostly bad things. I knew she had grown to respect me, even enjoy my company, but I had always thought she was too—I wasn't sure what. Too certain of her own abilities to really let herself be impressed by anyone else. And yet, she did look up to me. I was a guardian, after all. And above everything else, she aspired to be one. To be Lissa's guardian. Before now, she'd never said anything to truly compliment me. Sure, she would sometimes, when she saw I was down, but...this was different. I'd seen approval for me glow in her eyes...and I'd always written it off. Now, I could be sure it was real. She thought I was good. And that meant more to me than it should have.

I remembered her question. 'Thirteen,' I answered.

Her jaw dropped. 'You beat up your dad when you were thirteen?'

I fought to sound neutral. 'It wasn't that hard. I was stronger than he was, almost as tall. I couldn't let him keep doing that. He had to learn that being royal and Moroi doesn't mean you can do anything you want to other people—even blood whores.'

Rose simply stared. I realised I'd said something potentially dangerous...something that went against everything she'd been taught. Still, it was true. Doubly true for Rose. Regardless of her mistake with Jesse...she didn't deserve to be treated the way she was being now.

'I'm sorry,' she said at last, and I could tell she meant it. The words had been plaintive, but her expression showed legions. She managed to somehow convey that she was sorry—for everything. For my past, for my troubles...for our lives, too. Everything we had to sacrifice to be a guardian. It was all there.

'It's all right.'

She turned contemplative, eyes still boring into mine. 'That's why you got so upset about Jesse, isn't it? He was another royal, trying to take advantage of a dhampir girl.'

Rose, in that canny way of hers, had once again reached into my soul and plucked out the truth. But I was stunned, still in denial, and began to explain it away. 'I got upset over that for a lot of reasons.' I averted my gaze. Yes, for one particular reason. None that I could admit. 'After all, you were breaking the rules, and...'

I knew right away that there was no point. No excuses would fool Rose. I fell silent, forcing myself to look back into her eyes. To convey the things words couldn't. And she understood—like always. Looking at her, at her beautiful face, and those knowing, warm brown eyes...god, how could two so seemingly different individuals, from different backgrounds, and different upbringing...how could they be so similar?

I had no answer. And unfortunately, Rose's mood seemed to darken. She looked down. 'I know you heard what people are saying, that I—'

'I know it's not true,' I interrupted.

She seemed surprised by the surety of my answer. 'Yeah, but how do you—'

'Because I know you,' I replied firmly. 'I know your character. I know you're going to be a great guardian.' Not great, I amended privately. The best.

Rose's eyes glowed at my praise, and I began to feel warm all over again. 'I'm glad someone does. Everyone else thinks I'm totally irresponsible.' I wasn't sure that was quite true, but could see how she'd experience it that way.

'With the way you worry more about Lissa than yourself...' I shook my head. There were people who doubted Rose, Kirova among them. But they were all wrong. 'No. You understand your responsibilities better than guardians twice your age. You'll do what you have to do to succeed.'

She mulled that over. 'I don't know if I can do everything I have to do.'

I lifted an eyebrow.

'I don't want to cut my hair,' she explained.

I turned puzzled. 'You don't have to cut your hair. It's not required.'

'All the other guardian women do. They show off their tattoos.'

She was right, of course. Most guardian women did cut their hair short. Some believed they needed to certify themselves, to show they could do as good a job as any male guardian. I could see the need for it, considering how few female guardians there were anymore. But Rose was different. She wouldn't need to show off any tattoos to show she was capable. Rose was a natural. It was written all over her. In her expressions, in the way she talked, in the way she walked. Her body brimmed with energy and purpose. She was...how to explain it. Many people got so lost in their own thoughts, in dreams and expectations of what life should be. It was like their minds were hidden deep within themselves, kept separate from the body. Rose was the opposite. She was so close to the surface. Her mind and body were one.

Her mind and her body were...well, amazing. And her hair... I couldn't help it. I leaned forward, releasing her hands as I did. Slowly, I reached out, wanting so badly to touch it, to feel that silky softness between my fingers. I held a lock of her dark, shiny hair, twisting it around one finger. With her dark looks...the long, black eyelashes, the defined eyebrows, the shadows beneath them...Rose truly looked exotic. The hair, so thick and lush and plentiful, just framed the whole picture.

Suddenly, Rose exhaled, and as her sweet breath washed over me, I realised she'd been sitting there frozen, while I...oh god. I'd forgotten myself—again. Feeling embarrassed, I let her hair go, leaning away from her. As fresh air surged in between us, I realised that distancing myself from her was like waking up from a dream. A trance. I could barely control myself around her, and was surprised at how little I wanted to.

There it was again. I had to get a grip.

'Don't cut it,' I said gruffly, remembering to speak.

'But no one'll see my tattoos if I don't.'

Rose's grumpy words pulled me out of my personal conflict. I looked up, grateful, as I began to move toward the doorway. I couldn't keep a smile from breaking out on my lips, thinking of Rose's adamance. Besides, I had the perfect solution for her.

'Wear it up.'