"I have been so many people since then; some kind, some cruel, they take it in turns to claw their way to the surface." – Hal

Venice

1735

220 years, seven months and 14 days since a lance was shoved through his chest; two whole centuries since Orsha; one endless night since he had been offered eternity.

The gilded masks that fluttered past were only mildly distracting, the frenzied music failed to rouse his thoughts and the smell of perfumed whores barely caused a stirring in his chest. Venice was full of an untamed life, desperately trying to pull him towards it, willing for him to revel in the excess. Hedonism was their trade and he their unwilling partner.

His bones were heavy, his soul blackened by a pact made with the Devil and not for the first time he was tired. He had spent years drifting, moving from city to city, a trail of blood running behind him and a sense that something more lay waiting for him. Men and women alike had fallen prey to his appetite, his insatiable need for blood and carnage. His thirst for it had been awoken on the battlefield and now it was all that drove him – the burning, throbbing desire to feed.

From the moment he had risen from the blood soaked ground one idea had dominated his very conscious. He thought he would be driven mad by his need for it, a thirst that would not be quenched by water or wine. He had entered into an unearthly alliance; every remaining ounce of his humanity that he had not lost to war or strife had been ripped from him in return for life, of sorts.

Entering into the Doge's Palace he was greeted by countless figures, each and everyone masked, rich fabric covering their frames. Women glanced towards him as he moved past, his gaze drifting towards their necks, to the delicate layer of skin across their clavicle. He could hear their heart beats as the warm blood pumped through their veins. Procuring himself a drink of wine he waited for something vaguely amusing to float into his path.

"They wont find out Portia," a youth hissed as he attempted to pull a woman back towards him. "There's no harm, we're going to be married anyway."

"But we are not married yet Carlo," Portia replied hotly, tugging more insistently on her arm.

"It's a matter of weeks," Carlo tried his best to appease this fiancée, his left hand reaching out to stroke the exposed part of her cheek.

Slapping the offending limb out of the way Portia took her chance to step away, only to find herself stumbling into a stranger.

"Oh, I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to…"

"Not at all my lady, please, would you do me the honour of a dance as I attempt to redeem myself for my poor manners."

"Your poor manners?" Portia questioned in disbelief.

"Yes, I should have moved out of the way."

Portia laughed, her hand already finding its way to the one proffered. "And your name?"

"You might call me Harry," the vampire smiled.

Leading Portia away from a silent Carlo, the older man pulled the girl closer towards him, Venice was many things but prudish it was not.

"I might be able to forgive you for being in my way, but my Aunt would not approve," Portia commented as she looked pointedly down. The gap between their bodies was virtually non-existent, and with every breath her chest was pushed into his.

"And I thought I was rescuing you," Harry returned mildly.

"I hardly need rescuing from my betrothed," came Portia's tart response.

"Well, you wouldn't be the first," Harry grinned as he led the woman confidently across the floor. "But I still think you might show a little gratitude."

"I shall do nothing of the sort, Carlo would have stopped."

"After he'd had his way I'm sure," Harry paused to drink in Portia's appearance. Auburn hair falling in a mass of curls, a pair of green eyes could just be seen from behind her mask, full lips were parted in a silent question and the vampire inwardly smiled. "He can give you a fine house I'm sure, he'll be able to keep you in dresses and buy your forgiveness with jewels. But I wouldn't count on much else."

"I buried my notions of love a long time ago, all I can do is obey my husband when the time comes." Portia felt the words pour forth and for a second she wasn't sure if she believed them. Wide eyed in shock, the Venetian wondered where the sudden candor had come from.

"Maybe you deserve more…" Harry's thumb drew circles across the skin of her back, he hadn't meant for this to become a seduction, but things had a habit of getting away from him.

"What do you know of what I deserve? You only just met me." To her credit Portia kept her voice level, despite the thoughts that were beginning to boil under the surface.

"Because everyone deserves more." As the words left the vampire's lips, his mouth grazed the side of Portia's ear; the scent of her skin intermingling with her perfumed hair and Harry felt a stirring. "Because I could show you more."

Portia bit back a sigh, "You could show me your bed, you mean."

"Perhaps," Harry conceded as his grip tightened on Portia's body, his lips hovering inches from her neck and he could hear her blood sing. For all his talk of presenting her with a different world, he wanted to bite her, to take her to some dark corner and drain the life from her.

"You haven't run away," the vampire suddenly realized. "You're interested."

"I'm not…" Portia stuttered.

Bringing the two to a sudden halt, his leg pushing itself between hers, Lord Harry clutched the girl to him. Portia's heart pounding against his chest he wondered if he could change her. He was never without company, but they were there to sustain him. She could be different. The feel of Portia's supple body pressed against his was overwhelming and the need to have her was fast becoming all-consuming.

"Just say it," Harry whispered feverishly, his mouth inches from hers. Scanning the room for any unwanted onlookers, chiefly Portia's fiancé, Harry grasped the woman by her shoulders, his eyes boring into hers, trying to convey the weight of his argument with one hard, desperate look. "Just say that you want more and I will give it to you. I'll give it all to you."

Portia's cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright as she tried to control her breathing. With a sudden wave of recklessness she quickly snatched off her mask before reaching up and untying the black ribbon that secured his. Letting the blue lacquered mask fall to the floor she touched the skin covering his cheeks. Her fingers traced the contour of his bones, down further 'till they landed on his lips.

There were lines across his face that didn't belong there, a long buried secret that was hidden behind his old eyes. But she felt a strange compulsion to bring herself closer to him.

"We could leave," Harry's fingers crept into Portia's hair, grasping tightly he pulled her upwards. Their faces were so close he could feel her breath across his lips.

"And go where?" Came Portia's strained whisper, her heart twisted in her chest as she contemplated a life away from Venice.

"Anywhere, and we'll start tonight."

A/N: Cannot help myself, I just want to write about Hal! Anyway, please let me know what you think!