Strigoï Dimitri Belikov

My God! I murmured, it's that crazy old woman again. Tamara's neighborhood wasn't particularly bad, but there were homeless people and beggars, like everywhere else. The woman we were watching, almost as old as Yeva, spent her time pacing the street talking to herself. That evening, she was lying on her back in the middle of the sidewalk, making strange noises as she fluttered her arms and legs like an upturned turtle. "Is she hurt?" I worried. "No, just crazy," Denis replied. Tamara and he turned to enter the building, but I couldn't bring myself to abandon the poor old woman to her fate. I sighed. "I'll join you." The street was quiet, except for the old woman's moans, and I crossed without fear of being run over. When I reached her, I extended my hand to help her up, trying to forget her lack of hygiene. Denis was right: she just looked more disturbed than usual. She wasn't injured and seemed to have simply decided to lie down. A shiver ran through me. I often used the word "madness" loosely when referring to Lissa and me, but I had a clear idea of what it really was. I hoped with all my heart that the spirit would never take us so far. The old woman seemed surprised that I came to her aid, but took my hand and began to speak animatedly in Russian. When she tried to hug me to thank me, I quickly recoiled and held out my arms in a universally recognizable gesture of protest. She didn't press the issue, but continued to chatter happily. She picked up the hems of her long coat and began to spin around, lifting them like a ball gown. I burst out laughing, a little surprised that her delirium was enough to distract me from the grim existence I was leading. When I stepped onto the pavement to cross the street again, the old woman stopped dancing and began to speak to me again. "I'm sorry, but I must leave you." She didn't seem to understand. Then she stopped mid-sentence. Her expression warned me of danger a split second before nausea set in. I whirled around and drew my stake in the same motion. A Strigoi of impressive size and build had surreptitiously approached while I let myself be distracted. I had been stupid. I hadn't wanted to let Tamara go home alone, but I hadn't considered for a moment that danger could be lurking just ahead... "No..." Had I actually let out that moan, or had I just thought it? But that didn't matter. All that mattered was what I saw—or thought I saw. Because it could only be a figment of my imagination. It couldn't be true, not after so long... Dimitri. I recognized him immediately, even though he had... changed. I probably would have recognized him even in the middle of a huge crowd. The bond between us was such that it couldn't have been otherwise. I hadn't seen him in so long that I devoured him with my eyes. His long brown hair, loose, framed his face with a slight ripple. His familiar lips held an amused, though warmthless, smile. He even kept the long leather coat that looked straight out of a Western and that I had always seen him wear. At the same time... he had the distinctive features of the Strigoi. His dark eyes, which I loved so much, were rimmed in red. His skin was morbidly pale. When he was alive, his complexion was as tanned as mine from all our outdoor training. If he had opened his mouth, I would have seen his fangs. I noticed all these details in a split second. I had reacted to his arrival faster than he should have expected. I still had the element of surprise, and my stake was precisely aimed at his heart. I was sure I could strike fast enough to reach him, but... His eyes. My God! His eyes...Despite the red circle surrounding his pupils, his eyes reminded me of the Dimitri I had known. Their evil, inhuman glow had nothing to do with my memories. Nevertheless, the resemblance was enough to sow confusion in my heart and mind. My stake was drawn. I only had to take advantage of the momentum and complete my swing to kill him... Except I was unable to. I needed to contemplate him for a few more seconds before striking. Then he spoke. Darling... (Her voice had the same softness, the same accent... only colder.) You forgot the first lesson I taught you: never hesitate. I barely saw her fist crash down on my head, before I couldn't see anything at all.

I wasn't surprised to wake up with a headache. For a few excruciating seconds, I had no idea what had happened or where I was. The events that had unfolded on the street came back to me as my daze dissipated. Despite a lingering feeling of dizziness, I sat up abruptly, ready to defend myself. It was time to figure out where I was. I was sitting in the middle of a huge bed in a dimly lit room. No, it wasn't just a room, but rather some kind of studio or suite. The hotel in St. Petersburg, which I had found luxurious, couldn't compete with this place. One half of the studio contained the bed I was sitting on and the usual bedroom furniture, such as a wardrobe and nightstands. The other half, furnished with a sofa and a television, resembled a living room. There were bookcases built into the walls, their shelves covered with books. To my right, a small hallway led to a closed door. It must have been a bathroom. The left wall was occupied by a large tinted bay window, as Moroi windows often were, except that this pane was darker than any I had seen. So dark that it was almost impossible to see through it. It was only when I could make out the horizon, after much squinting, that I realized it was daytime. I slipped out of bed, all my senses on alert, and tried to assess the danger of my situation. My stomach was fine: there were no Strigoi nearby. However, that didn't rule out the possibility that someone else was in the room. I couldn't take anything for granted. It was by making that mistake that I had left myself vulnerable on the street. But now wasn't the time to think about that, not yet. Such thoughts risked shaking my resolve. As soon as I got out of bed, I rummaged in my coat pocket, looking for my stake. It had obviously disappeared. I couldn't find anything in my surroundings that could be used as a weapon, which meant I was going to have to fight with my bare hands. I caught a glimpse of a light switch out of the corner of my eye. I flicked it and froze, waiting to see what the light would reveal. I didn't notice anything unusual. There was no one there. As common sense dictated, I first inspected the front door. It was locked, as I'd expected, and could only be opened with a keypad. It was also made of some kind of thick steel, which reminded me of a fire door. Since it was impossible to cross it, I turned away to continue my exploration. My situation was not without irony. I had taken many classes that detailed the various procedures for inspecting a place and had always hated it. I wanted to learn how to fight. I now understand the value of those lessons, which I had missed at the time. The light had highlighted the details of the furniture. The bed was covered with a white satin comforter, filled with feathers that gave it a lot of fluff. As I walked into the living room, I noticed the television was nice, very nice indeed. It was a giant plasma screen that looked brand new. The sofa and armchairs were also very nice, in their matte green leather. It was an unusual color for leather, but it looked great. All the furniture—the tables, the desk, the armoire—was made of the same polished black wood. I discovered a small refrigerator in a corner of the living room. I knelt down to open it and found it filled with cartons of juice, bottles of water, fruit, and perfectly sliced pieces of cheese. Above the refrigerator were snacks, such as dried fruit, cookies, and iced cakes. My stomach growled at the sight, but I was firmly resolved not to touch anything. The bathroom was in the same style as the rest of the studio. The shower and the huge Jacuzzi were black marble, and there was a whole collection of soaps and small bottles of shampoo on a shelf. A large mirror hung above the sink, except it wasn't really suspended. It was so precisely recessed into the wall that it was absolutely impossible to move. It too was made of a strange material, more like polished metal than glass. This seemed odd to me at first, until I rushed back into the main room to test my hypothesis. There was absolutely nothing in this studio that could be used as a weapon. The television was far too big to be moved or broken, unless it meant shattering the screen, which looked like it was made of some kind of high-tech plastic. There were no glass objects on the tables; the shelves were recessed, and the bottles in the refrigerator were made of plastic. As for the window... I ran to feel its edges. Like the bathroom mirror, it was perfectly recessed into the wall, and all in one piece. I started squinting again to get a clearer picture of the outside environment... and saw nothing. Beyond the garden, a plain stretched as far as the eye could see, with only a few trees breaking the monotony. The landscape reminded me of the wilderness we had crossed on our way to Baia. Apparently, I had left Novosibirsk. Trying to make out something below, I realized I was at least on the fourth floor. I couldn't have jumped out the window without breaking a limb. I still had to do something. I couldn't just stand there and do nothing. I lifted the office chair and slammed it against the window, but it didn't have much effect on either of them. "My God!" I grumbled. I repeated the maneuver three times, but with no more effect. It looked as if both the window and the chair were made of steel. Maybe the glass was made of some high-tech bulletproof material. As for the chair... I had no idea. It was made of a single piece of wood that didn't show a single scratch despite what I'd just read about. But since I'd spent my life doing unreasonable things, I kept hitting the window with the chair in the hopes of breaking it. I was on my fifth attempt when my stomach told me a Strigoi was approaching. I spun around, still holding the chair, and rushed toward the front door. When it opened, I slammed into the intruder, It was Dimitri. The same mixture of love and terror I'd felt in the street assailed me. This time, I overcame the love so as not to miss. It didn't do much good. Hitting him had as much effect as hitting the window. He pushed me back, and I staggered back, still holding my chair. I charged again as soon as I regained my balance. This time, he snatched it from my hands and threw it against the wall as if it weighed nothing. Deprived of this paltry weapon, I was reduced to fighting with my bare hands. Since I'd just spent two weeks training on the Strigoi I was interrogating, this shouldn't have been a problem. Of course, I had four people as backup, and none of those Strigoi were Dimitri. He was already nearly unbeatable when he was a dhampir. He hadn't lost any of his skill, but he had gained strength and speed. He also knew all my moves, since he was the one who taught them to me. It was almost impossible for me to surprise him. But, like facing the window, I couldn't just stand by and do nothing. I was locked in a room with a Strigoi. The fact that the room was huge and luxurious didn't change the situation. A Strigoi, I had to remind myself. There was a Strigoi in front of me. It wasn't Dimitri. Everything I'd told Denis and the others applied here: "Be smart, stay on your guard, defend your life." "You're wasting your time, {{user}}," he pointed out, parrying one of my kicks effortlessly. Stop. That voice... Dimitri's voice. The one I heard in my dreams, the one who once told me he loved me... No! It's not him. Dimitri is dead. He's a monster. I desperately searched for a way to defeat him and even thought about the ghosts I had summoned during the journey to Baia. According to Mark, I had summoned them because I had lost control of my emotions, and they had fought for me. I couldn't see how I could have been more distraught than I was at that moment, and yet they still didn't come. I had no idea how I had managed to summon them the first time, and all the wishing in the world clearly wasn't enough to make it happen again. Shit! What good was it to have terrifying powers if I couldn't use them to my advantage ? In the absence of ghosts, I grabbed the DVD player from the shelf and ripped the wires out of the wall. It was a paltry weapon, but I was desperate. I heard a strange war cry and was vaguely aware that it was coming from my throat. I rushed at Dimitri to swing the DVD player at him, which would surely have hurt him a little, if only it had hit him. It didn't. Dimitri parried the blow again, snatched the object from my hands, and threw it to the floor, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. At the same time, he grabbed my arms to prevent me from hitting or picking up anything else. He had enough grip to break my bones, but that didn't stop me from struggling. He tried to reason with me again. "I'm not going to hurt you, darling" Calm down, please. Darling... The nickname he'd given me, the one he'd first used the night we fell victim to Victor's lust spell, naked in each other's arms. This isn't the Dimitri you knew. Since he pinned my arms, I tried to hit him with kicks. It wasn't very effective. Since I couldn't use the rest of my body to counterbalance, my blows lacked force. Dimitri seemed more upset than angry or worried. He sighed loudly, grabbed my shoulder to force me around, then slammed me against the wall with his full weight. I struggled weakly, but I was as paralyzed as the Strigoi we'd interrogated. Fate had a strange sense of humor. — Stop resisting me I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck. His body was pressed against mine, his mouth just inches away. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I bucked again, but in vain. My breath was short and my head was hurting more and more. “You can understand why I find it hard to believe you.” “If I had wanted to kill you, you would already be dead. Now, either you stay still and I’ll let you move freely, or you continue to resist me and I’ll be forced to tie you up.” “Aren’t you afraid I’ll escape?” “No.” His perfectly calm voice made me shudder. “I’m not afraid of that.” We stayed like that for almost a minute, my mind racing. It was probably true that he would have killed me already if he had intended to, but that didn't mean I was safe. Nevertheless, we were at an impasse. Okay: I was at an impasse. He was just playing with me.