A/N

Hi guys! I hope you like this first chapter, even thought there isn't that much from me in it...

A big thank you to Richelle Mead for creating this fantastic world and these unbelivably perfect characters!

Rose POV

I stood in front of the gym, waiting for Dimitri to arrive so we could begin our

morning training session. I was glad that it wasnt another training session with my mom.

Remembering how she had punched me yesterday would only anger me and cloud my focus.

Finally I saw Dimitri approaching the gym so I quickly covered my face behind

my hair before he was close enough to notice anything.

I didn't want to be anything less than perfect with him, and as we walked inside, I

went out of my way to avert my face so he couldn't look at me full-on.

Worrying about that brought my mood down, and as it plummeted, all the other

things that had been upsetting me came tumbling back.

We returned to the training room with the dummies, and he told me he simply

wanted me to practice the maneuvers from two days ago. Happy he wasn't going

to bring up the fight, I set to my task with a burning zeal, showing the dummies

just what would happen if they messed with Rose Hathaway.

I knew my fighting fury was fired up by more than just a simple desire to do well.

My feelings were out of control this morning, raw and intense after both the fight

with my mother and what I'd witnessed with Lissa and Christian last night.

Dimitri sat back and watched me, occasionally critiquing my

technique and offering suggestions for new tactics.

"Your hair's in the way," he said at one point. "Not only are you blocking your

peripheral vision, you're running the risk of letting your enemy get a handhold."

"If I'm actually in a fight, I'll wear it up." I grunted as I shoved the stake neatly up

between the dummy's ribs. I didn't know what these artificial bones were made of,

but they were a bitch to work around. I thought about my mom again and added a

little extra force to the jab. "I'm just wearing it down today, that's all."

"Rose," he said warningly. Ignoring him, I plunged again.

His voice came more sharply the next time he spoke. "Rose. Stop."

I backed away from the dummy, surprised to find my breathing labored. I hadn't

realized I was working that hard. My back hit the wall. With nowhere to go, I

looked away from him, directing my eyes toward the ground.

"Look at me," he ordered.

"Dimitri—"

"Look at me."

No matter our close history, he was still my instructor. I couldn't refuse a direct

order. Slowly, reluctantly, I turned toward him, still tilting my head slightly down

so the hair hung over the sides of my face. Rising from his chair, he walked over

and stood before me. I avoided his eyes but saw his hand move forward to brush

back my hair. Then it stopped. As did my breathing.

Our short-lived attraction had been filled with questions and reservations, but one

thing I'd known for sure: Dimitri had loved my hair. Maybe he still loved it. It was

great hair, I'll admit. Long and silky and dark. He used to find excuses to touch it,

and he'd counseled me against cutting it as so many female guardians did.

His hand hovered there, and the world stood still as I waited to see what he would

do. After what seemed like an eternity, he let his hand gradually fall back to his

side. Burning disappointment washed over me, yet at the same time, I'd learned

something. He'd hesitated. He'd been afraid to touch me, which maybe—just

maybe—meant he still wanted to. He'd had to hold himself back.

I slowly tipped my head back so that we made eye contact. Most of my hair fell

back from my face— but not all. His hand trembled again, and I hoped again he'd

reach forward. The hand steadied. My excitement dimmed.

"Does it hurt?" he asked. The scent of that aftershave, mingled with his sweat,

washed over me. God, I wished he had touched me.

"No," I lied.

"It doesn't look so bad," he told me. "It'll heal."

"I hate her," I said, astonished at just how much venom those three words held.

Even while suddenly turned on and wanting Dimitri, I still couldn't drop the

grudge I held against my mother.

"No, you don't," he said gently.

"I do."

"You don't have time to hate anyone," he advised, his voice still kind.

"Not in our profession. You should make peace with her."

Lissa had said exactly the same thing. Outrage joined my other emotions.

That darkness within me started to unfurl.

"Make peace with her? After she gave me a black eye on purpose! Why am I the

only one who sees how crazy that is?"

"She absolutely did not do it on purpose," he said, voice hard.

"No matter how much you resent her, you have to believe that. She wouldn't do

that, and anyway, I saw her later that day. She was worried about you."

"Probably more worried someone will bring her up on child abuse charges," I grumbled.

"Don't you think this is the time of year for forgiveness?"

I sighed loudly. "This isn't a Christmas special! This is my life. In the real world,

miracles and goodness just don't happen."

He was still eyeing my calmly.

"In the real world, you can make your own miracles."

My frustration suddenly hit a breaking point, and I gave up trying to maintain my

control. I was so tired of being told reasonable, practical things whenever

something went wrong in my life. Somewhere in me, I knew Dimitri only wanted

to help, but I just wasn't up for the well-meant words.

I wanted comfort for my problems. I didn't want to think about what would make

me a better person. I wished he'd just hold me and tell me not to worry.

"Okay, can you just stop this for once?" I demanded, hands on my hips.

"Stop what?"

"The whole profound Zen crap thing. You don't talk to me like a real person.

Everything you say is just some wise, life-lesson nonsense.

You really do sound like a Christmas special."

I knew it wasn't entirely fair to take my anger out on him, but I found myself

practically shouting.

"I swear, sometimes it's just like you want to hear yourself talk! And I know you're

not always this way. You were perfectly normal when you talked to Tasha. But

with me? You're just going through the motions. You don't care about me. You're

just stuck in your stupid mentor role."

He stared at me, uncharacteristically surprised. "I don't care about you?"

"No."

I was being petty—very, very petty. And I knew the truth—that he did care and

was more than just a mentor. I couldn't help myself, though. It just kept coming

and coming. I jabbed his chest with my finger.

"I'm another student to you. You just go on and on with your stupid life lessons so

that—"

The hand I'd hoped would touch my hair suddenly reached out and grabbed my

pointing hand.

He pinned it to the wall, and I was surprised to see a flare of emotion in his eyes. It

wasn't exactly anger…but it was frustration of another kind.

"Don't tell me what I'm feeling," he growled.

I saw then that half of what I'd said was true. He was almost always calm, always

in control—even when fighting. But he'd also told me how he'd once snapped and

beaten up his Moroi father. He'd actually been like me once—always on the verge

of acting without thinking, doing things he knew he shouldn't.

"That's it, isn't it?" I asked.

"What?"

"You're always fighting for control. You're the same as me."

"No," he said, still obviously worked up. "I've learned my control."

Something about this new realization emboldened me.

"No," I informed him. "You haven't. You put on a good face, and most of the time

you do stay in control. But sometimes you can't.

And sometimes …" I leaned forward, lowering my voice.

"Sometimes you don't want to."

"Rose…"

I could see his labored breathing and knew his heart was beating as quickly as

mine. And he wasn't pulling away. I knew this was wrong—knew all the logical

reasons for us staying apart. But right then, I didn't care.

I didn't want to control myself. I didn't want to be good.

Before he realized what was happening, I kissed him. Our lips met, and when I felt

him kiss me back, I knew I was right. He pressed himself closer, trapping me

between him and the wall. He kept holding my hand, but his other one snaked

behind my head, sliding into my hair. The kiss was filled with so

much intensity; it held anger, passion, release….

He was the one who broke it. He jerked away from me and took several steps

back, looking shaken.

"Do not do that again," he said stiffly.

"Don't kiss me back then," I retorted.

He stared at me for what seemed like forever.

"I don't give 'Zen lessons' to hear myself talk. I don't give them because you're

another student. I'm doing this to teach you control."

"You're doing a great job," I said bitterly.

He closed his eyes for half a second, exhaled, and muttered something in Russian.

"I do a good job! But you Rose, you always just think about yourself, about what

you want and when you don't get it you have to force for it! You are sometimes so

selfish! I don't get. Why did you do that? I am your teacher and you are my

student and you should know by now that we can't be anything else. We are

nothing but teacher and student. Do you get that in your little head?"

I was pretty sure that he had never screamed at me, at least not really, not this way.

When I wouldn't feel like I'd start to cry soon I'd screamed back at him,

but I felt tears burning in my eyes. I still stared in shock at him and didn't move,

neither did he. After a while, which felt like years I went closer to him, which

were also the way to the exit.

"Fuck you, Dimitri. Fuck you!"

I still felt like crying but my words still came out like a threatening whisper.

I pushed myself slowly past him and went quickly out of the gym and then ran

back to my dorm room. I didn't want anyone to see my tears.