One shot hinting at what happened between Bertrand and the Draculas before the events of Darkness is Falling. I think it's quite dark but that seems very fitting for Bertrand. I hope that you will enjoy it anyway. Thanks for reading xo

Bertrand found himself staring blankly at the doors to Ingrid's chambers. He wasn't quite sure why he was standing here. It wasn't as if he hadn't enough to occupy his time. The Chosen One may have retired for the day with a number of beautiful female vampires but at sunset he would expect Bertrand to be by his side ready for a night's work.

Not that Bertrand's work ever truly stopped. Vlad now approached training with the sort of zealous commitment that Bertrand could have only dreamt of when they had resided at Garside Grange. He rather suspected that Vlad found the training sessions a welcome break from his duties as Grand High Vampire. The young vampire's abilities only seemed to increase every night and Bertrand found himself constantly updating the training regime so that Vlad didn't get bored too easily. Aside from training, Bertrand's new position as advisor to the Grand High Vampire meant that he had to attend everything that Vlad attended, meetings with the Council, vampire trials, negotiations with the Guild, even the public events. Since his coronation, Vlad had been relentless in his reform of vampire law. Gone were the old penalties for liaising with breathers, further restrictions were placed on breather hunting and the Vampiress Liberation group had made significant gains in family and property law. Sometimes Bertrand had the uneasy sensation that he was becoming consumed by the Chosen One. Once his entire existence had revolved around the Praedictum Impaver, now it was Vladimir Dracula. Only basing your unlife around an actual person was much more difficult. Especially when that person was a teenage vampire with a bizarre food obsession.

"What are you doing here?" The aggressive tone of Ryan's voice tugged Bertrand's thoughts away from Vlad and back to the immediate situation.

Bertrand cast a scathing glance over Ryan before raising his hand to knock on one of the doors. Of course, he didn't answer Ryan, he refused to justify his presence to a mangy half fang. Even if that half fang did belong to Ingrid.

Ryan stepped in between Bertrand and the doors. "She's busy," he said sulkily.

Bertrand's lips twitched in amusement at the half fang's jealousy. He felt contempt rather than pity for Ryan. The half fang did his best to be Ingrid's shadow, it was obvious from the adoring way in which he watched her that he was practically in love with his mistress and no matter how badly Ingrid treated him he still refused to leave her. He was the Renfield to Ingrid's Count. It was pathetic if slightly amusing.

One of the doors creaked open, Ingrid leant against it, black satin flowing down the length of her body, a wicked smile resting upon her lips. "Yes, I'm very busy and important. This had better be worth it." Only Ingrid could make a threat sound seductive.

Bertrand held up a bottle. "Marquis de Valmont 1789."

Ingrid's eyes trailed over his body. "That wasn't what I meant," she teased.

Bertrand smirked. "I know."

Ingrid took the chilled bottle from his hand, deliberately brushing her cold fingers against his in a gesture that made him feel oddly breathless. She stepped back inside her chambers leaving the door open for Bertrand to follow her. He made sure to slam it in the half fang's face.

From the masses of papers upon Ingrid's desk, it was clear that the Chosen One's sister was indeed very busy. Silently Bertrand watched her uncork the bottle. His mouth felt dry and for once it wasn't blood that he thirsted for. Busy suited Ingrid. The vampiress was thriving as Vlad's second in command; finally her brilliant mind was being put to good use, all the energy which had been previously wasted on bitterness and resentment was now being directed into project after project.

Even as he accepted the glass of blood, he knew he shouldn't be here. These liaisons had started as a means of making Vlad jealous. Of placing further pressure on his disintegrating relationship with Erin by demonstrating how much better things could be if he were in a true vampire relationship. Now Erin was gone and they were back in Transylvania, he and Ingrid were once more rivals. Yet he still continued to knock on the doors of her chambers and she still continued to let him in.

It wasn't loneliness which drove Ingrid's actions. As a Dracula, she could have snapped her fingers at any vampire and have them crawling on their hands and knees to do her bidding. Sometimes she did exactly that just for kicks. Those were times when Bertrand was profoundly grateful that he had the wits not to fall for Ingrid. Although, she was becoming more beautiful than ever. Bertrand couldn't help but admire how the flickering of the candlelight seemed to make the satin shimmer across her curves. Sometimes he wondered if his liaisons with Ingrid were really an appropriate means of diverting himself from his duties to the Chosen One. It couldn't help that Ingrid was the feminine equivalent of Vlad. The perfect bone structure, the dramatic contrast of sooty black hair against porcelain skin. It was their eyes which were the most different. Vlad's eyes were a striking blue, they glittered like sapphires in dim light and sometimes when he was exercising his power there were glints of emerald green. Ingrid's eyes were somehow softer, a light blue with a hint of purple, in candlelight her eyes were shades of indigo. Apart from her eyes, she reminded him so much of his protégée.

He frowned deeply, once again he was thinking of Vlad. He gulped down the vintage blood and roughly pulled Ingrid against his body. The flames of the candles fluttered into darkness as Ingrid's mouth found his.

He caught her hands in his as she violently slammed him against the wall. Ingrid didn't play nice. That was one of the many things he liked about her. Bertrand revelled in her tiny gasp of surprise as he flipped their positions. Her mouth was hard and demanding against his and he forgot everything else in the world except for the dangerous woman in his arms.

It wasn't just sex. They both knew this. It had never been just sex. It was about power, control, domination. It was about their rivalry which sometimes verged on deadly. It was about defying Count Dracula, about hurting Ryan, about damaging Vlad and Erin. It was about separating a part of themselves from the demands of the Grand High Vampire.

Afterwards, they lay in bed, their sated bodies pressed together, neither of them willing to speak. These moments afterwards were gradually lengthening. Sometimes Bertrand found he didn't want to leave the softness of Ingrid's embrace. Her musky perfume would surround him and he would find himself breathing it in, almost craving it in the way a breather craves oxygen. He knew he was a fool for entangling his fingers in her hair and pressing his lips in the gentlest of kisses against her throat. For if there was one thing that Ingrid Dracula and Bertrand du Fortunesa had in common it was their ability to shut down their emotions.

This morning, instead of pretending to ignore him, Ingrid hesitantly lifted her hand to caress his cheek, her touch softer than Bertrand had ever thought her capable of. And he realised more than ever that no, it wasn't just about sex. As he raised himself up on his elbow to gaze into her eyes, his chest tightened suddenly in anxiety because he couldn't understand why he wanted her eyes to be sapphire blue instead of indigo.

Sometimes it felt like his obsession with the Chosen One was spiralling dangerously out of control.