I was very like Rose initially: hated Janine and was skeptical of Abe, but by the time I got to Spirit Bound, I just wanted to grab their heads and push them together.
Enjoy.

Melike

"Our daughter," I say, watching her. I find it difficult to express myself, particularly to Rose. She is me at her age, passionate, intelligent, smart-mouthed. She has my nose and mouth, and when I look at the bare back of her neck, I feel as if I'm looking into a strange skewed mirror where the skin seems like mine but isn't. We might be even on kills, my daughter and I, but they've stopped counting until she slows down and starts taking down Strigoi one at a time.

Her father smirks, as self-satisfied as he was almost twenty years ago and still just as handsome. I don't have to wonder where she gets her arrogance from, or her eyes and hair. "I always knew she'd be exceptional. Bad-mannered, admittedly, but exceptional."

"I blame your influence."

"Come now, Janine. I wasn't even in the country for most of her life."

"It's in the blood. Bad blood," I tease.

"Hush," he commands me, and I do, even though I wouldn't for anyone else. I was attracted to Abe because I could express myself to him, because once he got over having his guardians knocked out cold every time he rounded a corner to harass me, we got to talking in a way I never could with anyone else. Rose would raise her eyebrows and call me crazy were I to say so, but I prefer Moroi as partners – as a partner. Dhampirs are hot-blooded, hard-edged; unless you can find that rare individual who slows you down as well as riling you up, they're not worth the heartache. Dhampirs are strong, but Moroi have strength of a different kind. Some can wrap you around their fingers without the power of compulsion.

"Rosemarie." His voice is thoughtful. "Did you ever tell her she has another name?"

"She doesn't have another name," I reply defensively. "You named her so you could self-indulgently pine over the sensible decision we made not to involve you in her life. You have her now, and her legal name is Rosemarie, after her grandmothers."

"I named her Melike," he replies, his dark eyes burning down at me. "So you would know what she means to me, whether I was involved in her life or not. What you both mean to me."

Melike: the name of a queen. It denotes beauty, importance, a beloved child. I turn to her again, examining her exotic features, enjoying the grace with which she moves. Part of that's me, but I can't deny that Rose is as far from being all-American as it is possible to be. Her roots are in Scotland and Turkey, her heart is in Russia, and the name Abe gave her is surprisingly appropriate. I don't like to be sentimental about a fully-fledged guardian, whether she's my daughter or not, but she is beautiful. She is important. She is beloved, by the queen, by her lover who I must have another quiet word with. He's talented, deadly and the only one she wants, but that love is written all over him, and it undermines them both.

Maybe I'm getting meaner with age.

"I know what you're thinking," says her father, putting his arm around my waist and undermining me, Janine Hathaway, in the heart of Court.

"And you think I'm babying her."

"You didn't baby her even when she was a baby," he points out, reasonably enough. "And besides, I agree with you."

"With what?"

"That's our daughter."

"Hmmm."

"So we should lock her in her room every night and pull Belikov's arms off."

I sigh and settle back against him. "Young love."

"Disgusting, isn't it?"

"Damn right it is."

Fin.