He touched his cheek absentmindedly and seemed to notice the injury for the first time. "I wouldn't quite go that far. It's nothing."
"It's nothing until you get an infection!"
"You know that's not likely," he said obstinately. That was true. Moroi-aside from contracting the occasional rare disease, as Victor had-hardly ever got sick. We dhampirs had inherited that from them, just as Sydney's tattoo gave her some protection. Nonetheless, I wasn't about to let Dimitri bleed all over.
"Come on," I said, pointing to the small bathroom in the gym. My voice had been fierce, and to my surprise, he'd actually obeyed.
After wetting a washcloth, I gently cleaned his face. He continued protesting at first but finally fell quiet. The bathroom was small, and we were just a few inches from each other. I could smell his clean, intoxicating scent and studied every detail of his face and strong body. My heart raced in my chest, but we were supposed to be on good behavior, so I tried to appear cool and collected. He was eerily calm too, but when I brushed his hair back behind his ears to clean the rest of his face, he flinched. My fingertips touching his skin had sent shock waves through me, and he'd felt them too. He caught hold of my hand and pulled it away.
"Enough," he said, voice husky. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" I asked. He hadn't released my hand. We were so, so close. The small bathroom seemed ready to burst with the electricity building between us. I knew this couldn't last but hated to let go of him. God, it was hard being responsible sometimes.
"Yes," he said. His voice was soft, and I knew he wasn't mad at me. He was afraid, afraid of how little it would take to ignite a fire between us. As it was, I was warm all over, just from the feel of his hand. Touching him made me feel complete, like the person I was always meant to be. "Thank you, Roza."
He released my hand, and we left, both off to do our own things that day. But the feel of his skin and hair stayed with me for hours afterward...
I don't know why I dreamed that memory after being attacked near the barn. It seemed weird that I'd dream of taking care of Dimitri when I was the one who needed care. I guess it didn't really matter what the memory was, so long as it involved him. Dimitri always made me feel better, even in my dreams, giving me strength and resolve.
But as I lay in that delirium and moved in and out of consciousness, his comforting face would occasionally take on those terrible red eyes and fangs. I'd whimper, fighting hard to push that sight away. Other times, he didn't look like Dimitri at all. He'd turn into a man I didn't know, an older Moroi with dark hair and cunning eyes, gold jewelry glinting on his neck and ears. I'd cry out for Dimitri again, and eventually, his face would return, safe and wonderful.
At one point, though, the image shifted again, this time into a woman's. Clearly, she wasn't Dimitri, but there was something about her brown eyes that reminded me of him. She was older, in her forties maybe, and a dhampir. She laid a cool cloth across my forehead, and I realized I wasn't dreaming anymore. My body ached, and I was in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room. No sign of the Strigoi. Had I dreamed them, too? "Don't try to move," the woman said with the faintest trace of a Russian accent. "You took some bad hits."
My eyes widened as the events by the barn came back to me, the ghosts I'd summoned up. It hadn't been a dream. "Where's Sydney? Is she okay?"
"She's fine. Don't worry." Something in the woman's voice told me I could believe her.
"Where am I?"
"In Baia."
Baia, Baia. Somewhere, in the back of my head, that name was familiar. All of a sudden, it clicked. Long, long ago, Dimitri had said it. He'd only ever mentioned his town's name once and, even though I'd tried, I had never been able to remember it. Sydney would never tell me the name. But now we were here. Dimitri's home.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"Olena," she said. "Olena Belikova."
Chapter Seven
It was like Christmas morning.
I wasn't usually big on God or fate, but now I was seriously reconsidering. After I'd passed out, Sydney had apparently made some frantic calls, and someone she knew in Baia had driven to us-risking the darkness-to rescue us and take us back where I could be treated. That was no doubt why I'd had vague sensations of being in a car during my delirium; it hadn't all been part of the dream.
And then, somehow, out of all the dhampirs in Baia, I had been taken to Dimitri's mother. That was enough to make me seriously consider that there might truly be forces greater than me at work in the universe. No one told me exactly how it happened, but I soon learned Olena Belikova had a reputation among her peers for healing-and not even any sort of magical healing. She'd had medical training and was the person other dhampirs-and even some Moroi-went to in this region when they wanted to avoid human attention. Still. The coincidence was eerie, and I couldn't help but think there was something going on that I didn't understand.
For now, I didn't worry too much about the hows and whys of my current situation. I was too busy staring wide-eyed at my surroundings and its inhabitants. Olena didn't live alone. All of Dimitri's sisters-three of them-lived in the house too, along with their kids. The family resemblance was startling. None of them looked exactly like Dimitri, but in every face, I could see him. The eyes. The smile. Even the sense of humor. Seeing them fed the Dimitri withdrawal I'd had since he'd disappeared-and made it worse at the same time. Whenever I looked at any of them out of my peripheral vision, I'd think I was seeing Dimitri. It was like a house of mirrors, with distorted reflections of him everywhere.