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Nikolae was more than happy that the latest spat of drama and bloodshed in the city didn't involve him or those he loved. It was a small reprieve in a seemingly constant storm of fighting. It did little to stave off the drama occurring within the Worthington walls, however, and the Dragomir had found himself more and more curling in on himself to escape the never-ending ******** that came from attempting to lead the unleadable Worthingtons. Maybe his sire had been the smart one to step down, and lately Nikolae had been considering following in those same footsteps.

Tonight however he would put it off. Simply do his best to ignore whatever stupid little drama 'needed' his attention. In fact he'd decided he needed a break, a vacation, an exit-stage-left. He'd passed word to Mr. Scratch and Mortll to that end, informing his third in commands that should it be absolutely necessary he would return at the drop of a hat. But barring any immediate mass threats to the lineage, Nikolae would be incognito.

Glad he was that his missing sister and brother, Qarinah and chase, would soon be returning to the ranks. He'd missed their strength which added to his own in a way that he felt had made the Worthington lineage the unstoppable force it had started as. The Trifecta would no doubt bring order to the chaos that the Worthington lineage had become. Until then, however, he would continue to depend on the leadership he'd put in place.

He was exhausted from it all. Mentally, emotionally, and physically. Physically because his dead stalker wouldn't leave him the hell alone. Callista had killed herself and saved him the trouble of dirtying his hands with her blood. But it hadn't stopped her disease of a thrall from harrassing and stalking him and his childer every night.

Still he refused to be chased from his home and his haven, not by one stupid thrall, and certainly not by one incredibly stupid dead hooker. This night he'd entered the area and paused, someone else was here. Well. Four someones. The usual three that kept to themselves and usually passed out on the benches. And another he hadn't seen in his home before. A man knelt near the alter, covered in blood of battle. A familiar scent beyond the blood of the males enemies. A familiar shape to those shoulders hunched in prayer.

The Dragomir held his breath, an easy feat when he wasn't using breath to speak, and moved instinctively to a darkened corner of the open area of the Temple. He heard the big males words and despite himself felt a kinship to the male. Like this psuedo-stranger, Nikolae would always wish and fight first and foremost for the safety of his people. His own blood and life could be dashed on the streets so far as he was concerned, so long as his Dragomir and those handful of loyal Worthingtons were protected. The male spoke of some members of his lineage that in truth, Nikolae wanted nothing but death for. But this man, and a few others he called blood, would perhaps earn his sympathy for the pain of the battle they faced.

The unfortunate reality of battle was that it caused much more damage than the immediate obvious things. Blood and wounds, yes. But those would heal. The words, lies, and plots and plans that occurred during such battles however... those things would forever haunt the ones who'd whispered them. Nikolae knew the man at his alter had toyed with the idea, on more than one occassion, of attacking Nikolae and those of Nikolae's blood. He knew, too, the most outspoken members of this mans lineage who'd called for such a disaster. A testament to the stranger's intelligence that he'd dismissed the demand of his less-than-intelligent loved ones.

And what had been Nikolae's reaction when these plots had been laid before him like a pile of evidence stacked up against the stranger? He'd shrugged his shoulders. Such was the way of this city, he'd said. There would always be those who could not be trusted, always be those who spoke honey-sweet words to his face and thorn-laced words at his back. There was nothing to be done for it.

As the man finished his prayers and rose to grasp his weapons Nikolae drew the shadows to himself to hide in plain sight. His dragon eyes watched the male stride down the aisle of the temple to the door. The intimidating figure paused suddenly and turned his head in Nikolae's direction, eyes narrowing as though somehow he sensed he was being watched. It was impossible to see the hidden shadow, and yet Nikolae still felt the heat of a blush fill his cheeks like a schoolboy with a crush. The stranger seemed to let go of the suspicion, and left the Temple altogether.

"Fare thee well, Mircea Grigori." Nikolae muttered to himself before stepping up the stairs to the hidden are of his home.

Nikolae toyed with a bit of paper in his pocket as he descended the stairs to the worship area of the Dragomir Temple. As he did he thought of the half-dozen things he really should be doing, versus this thing he was doing. This thing he'd been doing every night for a week now. The faces of his lineage flitted through his mind as he ticked off the knowledge that he really needed to be more social with the creatures.

Qwynlyn, Alyss and her brood, Scratch and his, Mortll, Azraeth and Azariel. Johnny, and Nikolae's newest childe the enigma that was Yasmina. Perry when the handsome devil was awake. Skuld and Xadrian the moody odd pair when they were awake. The faces of the people he was graced to have among his Dragomir. The lucky ******** that Nikolae was, he'd somehow wound up with a brood of dragons that he had no doubt the rest of the city eyed with jealousy.

The vampires he ought to be sitting down with right now, gathering with to plot and plan and generally be a devious dragon with.

Instead he was here in his Temple again, ignoring the silent figures of the nightly worshippers as he gazed at the alter. Something had changed. The man he'd come to expect here was no longer coming. What had happened, Nikolae wondered to himself as he gave a sigh. He'd planned to make this the night he finally approached the hulking figure and spoke to him. He leaned back to replay the scene he'd rehearsed in his head a dozen times before.

Mircea would arrive at the Temple at the same time he always did. The man would move unerringly toward the alter and Nikolae would wait until he'd disarmed himself to approach. He'd ignore his desire to lay a hand on the Grigori's shoulder and simply say, "I got your note. You know you're always welcome here, Mircea." The name, one he knew must be fake, would roll off of his tongue like butter. And Mircea, as he was oft want to do, would seek to end the conversation abruptly with his distrusting ways. The dark-haired figure would simply nod, and gruffly reply, "Thank you."

Mircea would turn away then and lower himself to pray at the alter. Nikolae wouldn't be phased. He'd return to his seat at the front pew, pouring his gaze over the Grigori's back in silent appraisal. The Killer would feel his stare, and perhaps even a few goosebumps would rise on what flesh was visible to the Dragomir. When finished praying Nikolae would rise in tandem with Mircea and block his way. Their eyes would meet, Nikolae's mouth would part to speak, and then.... and then...

He didn't know. The dragon slumped in the seat he occupied with a last moody glance to the double doors of his Temple. What would happen after that, he couldn't even guess. Mircea might hit him. Or curse him. Or touch him. He shook off the thought and stood with a scowl. He would never know now. Mircea Grigori had stopped gracing Nikolae's home with his presence. Was it something he'd done? It must be. He knew the man was out still fighting the unwinnable battle with the Docere. He'd returned to more pressing matters than visiting a dragons place of worship.

And maybe that was the wakeup call Nikolae Dragomir needed. After nearly a week of playing the waiting game it was time to let it go. He returned upstairs to his rooms and placed the note between the pages of a book before setting it back into the bookcase. Out of sight out of...mind.