This was my remedy for the S3 end, because as we all bloody well know, *somebody* couldn't stay alive. But it's a bit of the odd way of going around things because ... well, in case you haven't already put two and two together, Matthew's still dead, in a sense. Closer to undead, really. And pretty soon, the same thing is going to happen to Mary, so that balances everything out.

Since I wrote this years ago really quickly while I was under a crap ton of pain medication after a surgery, I went back and put this through a major rewrite – I'm much more satisfied with it now. This leans more towards gothic horror writing than romance, and it does get pretty gory, so if you can't deal with PG-13 depictions of blood and violence, don't read. Otherwise, hope you enjoy it!

In the Darkness

Chapter 1 – The Horrors of the Curse

The mist settled over Manchester like a thick grey cloak. A pestilence of darkness spread out into the city, so impenetrable that the glowing street-lamps could hardly be perceived through the fog. The ominous calm was broken by the solemn tones of the old cathedral bells announcing midnight, followed by the distant peal of thunder from far off. High in the night sky, where the tiny stars were shrouded in the grey mist, the large black bat was nothing more than a silhouette against the faint light of the moon.

Luck was on his side tonight, Matthew thought with relief as he spied the open window. Tonight, he would not have to scratch and claw at glass panes, waiting for his entranced victim to let him in, nor snatch unwitting prey from the streets. On his last night in Manchester, he would rather not have to take those measures just to feed. He'd done such acts plenty of times – it was second nature to him – but he always felt more of a monster when he bewitched his prey to rise from their beds to let in a creature of the night.

Swiftly and soundlessly, he flew into the house, changing from a bat to a human-like figure in only a few seconds. In absolute silence, he walked to the side of the bed and looked down at the youthful visage, upon which a sliver of moonlight shone. She was alone, deep in sleep, quite oblivious to the fact that she was being watched intently. She was young, rosy-cheeked and healthy, simply brimming with life.

With his pale hands, Matthew brushed away her brown hair and exposed her neck, the veins under the skin well pronounced and visible to him. The blood flowing through those veins smelled sweet to him, in the same way that humans found the aroma of lavender to be pleasant. The scent alone enticed him, turning his eyes from icy blue to red, as dark as the blood he was desperate to consume. He ran his tongue over his fangs at the thought of doing so, soon.

The young woman shifted slightly, but she stayed asleep, locked within her dream. It was Matthew's intense control over her mind that kept her from waking up. He knew she would not wake up while he was here; no human could override his hypnotism once he had control over the mind. He knew well how to manipulate the brain of a human. Over the years he had learned how to cause the least amount of pain possible, how not to become so intoxicated with a victim's blood that he drained them entirely of life. Controlling his thirst in the presence of humans, however, was an eternal struggle. Though he had accepted the fact of his vampirism centuries before, not a single night passed when Matthew did not wish to be human for just one day more. To exist without the burden of his barbaric thirst was his greatest desire, yet unattainable.

His victim was restless; she moved beneath the sheets, sighing, as if trying to rip away from her dreaming. Whatever was happening in her head, Matthew was sure it was not pleasant. He felt a twinge of guilt for keeping the woman trapped in a nightmare. He stroked her soft skin to calm her, careful not to scratch her with his sharp nails. Though he no longer dreamed, he remembered nightmares that had woken him as a child, and the horrific visions he had shortly after his transformation. Those visions still came to mind sometimes whenever he read of murder in the newspapers.

Matthew placed his hands upon the woman's shoulders to keep her still as he bent down to her neck. Her ambrosial blood pulsed beneath her flesh, calling out to Matthew, tempting him to give in to his wicked instincts. He grazed her skin with his sharp teeth, running his tongue over the carotid, almost tasting the blood flowing through the large vein. The longer he hesitated, the more he had to suppress the urge to dig his fangs into the woman and rip out her throat. He breathed heavily, his red eyes fixated on his sleeping victim.

Finally, Matthew bit into her, hard.

Fresh blood flowed into his mouth, gushing out quickly in two long streams. Immediately he registered the taste, feeling his body react to further indulge. He pressed his lips firmly against the woman's neck as he sucked at the wound, at last giving in to his demonic urge. He hated causing pain, albeit briefly, but even so, he enjoyed the satisfaction that came with drinking the rich red blood of humans. The fiery sweetness gave him sincere pleasure, the only pleasure he lived for, the pleasure he needed to remain sane. There was nothing else that could quench his thirst, nothing that would give him as much gratification as feeding off an unwitting mortal. It tasted of nothing that a human would understand: it was both passion and fear, superior to the finest wines and sweeter than life itself.

Matthew heard the woman beneath him moan a little, but he paid her no heed. She would not awaken, even now whilst she served host to a blood-hungry parasite. All traces of humanity were momentarily lost as the woman's veins appeased his ravenous thirst. For a few moments he remained attached to his victim, sucking her blood, savouring the taste while he could. The time would come when he would no longer need to take any, for he did not drain humans, nor even take more than he needed to survive with. Only that small part of his conscience remained while he was engulfed in his midnight feast.

He eventually drew away from the bleeding neck, his need fulfilled. The woman, still fast asleep, looked somewhat paler but she would not be too out of sorts in the morning. The punctures in her throat would heal, and she would never think that a vampire had feasted on her in the night.

Matthew breathed in the lingering aroma deeply, red fluid dripping from his mouth and coating his lips. Slowly coming back to reality, he backed away from the bed. Blood lined the inside of his mouth and painted the tips of his fangs. A small red rivulet ran down his chin. He was with strength again, the warmth of the human's blood spreading through him. His last night here had been pleasant enough; he was satisfied for now, and would be for a short time.

Manchester's denizens would no longer be prey to Matthew's thirst; tomorrow, he was headed for a new place. A place called Downton Abbey.

The Turkish guest was engaged in conversation with Lady Mary yet again, and Matthew's feelings of animosity towards Kemal Pamuk heightened further. He was a polite foreign gentlemen, full to bursting with charisma and courtesy, and he was proving to be a favourite with Lady Mary. The two of them were smiling whilst they chatted, the matters of their talk obscured by the sounds surrounding them.

Kemal Pamuk had arrived in time to join the hunt earlier that day, and since then he and the young Lady Mary had been near to inseparable. She seemed very smitten with him, a fact that was evident by the convivial manner with which she smiled at him. The two of them acted as if they were in their own world situated at the end of the table, interacting like childhood friends, and there was hardly a hint of brusqueness on Lady Mary's part. It was strange for Matthew to behold, for it was not like her to be so interested in a man, especially one who was not of the English gentry. After all, it was no secret that she hadn't thought well of Matthew, simply because he had no title of his own. However, she acted towards Mr Pamuk as though he were some wealthy, eligible duke, completely ignoring the remainder of the dinner party.

But as soon as he had laid eyes on the man, Matthew had come to the conclusion that there was more to the guest than was visible on the surface.

With Mr Pamuk's obvious charm, not to mention his handsomeness, it was small wonder he had attracted the attentions of Lady Mary. It was a surprise that the other girls hadn't completely fallen for him. But Matthew could sense there was something abnormal about him, and it had little to do with him not being English. The man had a strange glint in his eye, a close resemblance to a mischievous child when he spots something of interest. His bronze skin looked bloodless, even in the golden candlelight, though Mr Pamuk hardly seemed ill. But while Matthew could detect the aroma of blood that enveloped most humans like an aura, there had been a stranger scent that he had discerned on Kemal's figure when he passed the man. It had brought Matthew a sensation of a past life, from his days at the treacherous Tudor court, but it had been so long since then that he could not recall what the scent meant. He was certain, however, that it was not the same as the smell of human blood that was emanating from everyone else in the dining room.

When the last dish was cleared from the table, the party filed into the drawing room. Lady Mary's infatuation with Mr Pamuk did not waver, even with Matthew and Evelyn Napier standing in her little circle. Matthew took the opportunity to scrutinize the Turkish gentleman further, noting uncomfortably how he kept his eyes cemented on Lady Mary, and his pure white teeth were exposed behind his lips curled into a smirk. Matthew had to concentrate hard on hiding his animosity for the Turk, a task that was as necessary as controlling his ever-increasing bloodlust. Since coming to Downton, maintaining his human facade had proven to be of vital importance, though it was still difficult at times, especially now when he was encompassed by a multitude of humans. Tonight, however, his priority was suppressing his antipathy towards Mr Pamuk's attentions to Lady Mary. Kemal was surely hiding something dangerous underneath his genial words and gestures.

After some exchange of the events of the afternoon (primarily between him and Lady Mary), Pamuk excused himself, disappearing into an adjoining room. Lady Mary watched him pass from sight, and it was clear even to Evelyn Napier that she wanted nothing more than to be by his side once again. Matthew watched with displeasure as she followed Pamuk through to the room he had gone into, leaving him alone with Mr Napier, who was feeling similarly rejected. Matthew decided that nothing good could come out of them being in a room alone together, particularly if Kemal Pamuk did indeed have dangerous things in store.

He struck up a conversation with Edith, thanking her for taking him to see the churches. She was standing close to the door Lady Mary had just passed through, and despite the chatter that resonated in the drawing room, Matthew could distinctly hear the two lovebirds talking.

There was an inquiry from Kemal Pamuk about a painting, followed by Lady Mary's indecisive answer. Then, Matthew heard something he wasn't sure about. It sounded like a rough movement, interwoven with the folds of Lady Mary's skirt rustling. Matthew thought about rushing in to investigate the reason behind the suspicious sounds, but just then, Lady Mary whispered Mr Pamuk's name in surprise.

"Let me come to you tonight, please!" he said breathlessly.

"I can't think what I have said that has led you to believe –" Lady Mary said quickly, in total bewilderment.

"Please! I don't know when we'll meet again, So let it be tonight," Mr Pamuk pleaded.

Matthew did not catch Lady Mary's next words as he answered something Edith had asked, but he saw the dark-haired woman re-enter the drawing room, looking slightly aghast, and he knew she had rebuked the Turk's advances. She was not one to break the rules, so cold and careful she was. Matthew wished he and Lady Mary were friendly with each other enough to be allowed to at least ask if she was alright, but as they were not, he would not hound the poor girl.

Lady Mary avoided most company for the rest of the evening, and she tried not to watch Mr Pamuk as he made his exit and went upstairs. He passed Matthew on his way out of the drawing room, and though Matthew did not see it clearly, somehow he perceived the cunning smile on the Turk's face.

That night, Mary lay in her bed with an open book, trying to ignore the various aches spread throughout her body. She had spent a fair portion of the day atop Diamond, riding alongside the hunting party; never before had she spent so long on a galloping horse. Only now was the pain settling in, just as she was hoping to rest undisturbed. She hoped that Mama would not force her to do any more hunting, or even just a short ride, for a long while.

It had been such a lovely day up until after dinner. She had encountered the sociable Evelyn Napier, but it was the prepossessing Mr Pamuk that had attracted most of her attention. She had ridden alongside him for most of the hunt, and she had not objected to his invitation to detach from the main party and enjoy the rougher countryside alone. Up and down green hills and even over a high fence they had gone, although Mary's soreness was the price to pay for such amusement. She had remained by his side even after the hunt concluded, sitting next to him at dinner. With rapacious fascination she had listened to his stories, held captive as he explained the histories of the middle east as if he had lived through those times.

Every time she thought of him, she was seized with a mixture of enthralment and mystification. Despite being by his side for most of the day, Mary had to admit that the Turkish gentleman was still somewhat of an enigma. She had been wholly unprepared for how handsome and charming he turned out to be, and she had imagined herself falling under a spell as soon as she laid eyes on the prince-like being. It was just as well that he had taken an apparent liking to her in return.

And yet, Mary hardly knew a thing about him. Their talk had been chiefly about their respective homelands and Mary's current disposition as a woman waiting to walk down the aisle, but even after such intimate exchanges, he remained a stranger.

And his attempt to kiss her … Mary was not sure what she was supposed to make of it. That last encounter with him had left her puzzled. How could he act so cordially with her, then push her against the wall, pressing his lips against her face as if such a gesture was romantic? She could not mention the incident to anyone, not even Mama, and her last words to Pamuk had been baffled rebuffing. It's better to pretend it never happened, she thought to herself. Hopefully, Pamuk would wake up with some better sense and apologize to her in the morning.

It was pitch black outside now, and the lamp beside Mary's bed cast but a soft flickering glow, strong enough only to illuminate the pages of her book. Mary heard the muted howling of the wind, but that was the only sound she could discern – the house was silent like death. Even now, there would be but few servants awake. Finally, there was some peace. She remembered the book in front of her and resumed reading, trying hard to make out the small print in the faulty lamplight.

She heard the handle on her bedroom door turn, and she jumped a bit as she saw, across the darker part of the room, someone enter. She half expected Anna, but the person was taller, darker, with eyes that glittered like onyx. It was Kemal who stood there in the shadow-enveloped corner.

As quick as lightning, Mary leaped out of her bed, grabbing the comforter and holding it close to her chest. She could not disguise her shock. Kemal was here, in her room! As he stepped closer to the bed, she saw he was wearing only a dressing gown, his chest barely concealed. It was obvious in his expression why he had come here, and Mary felt her heart beat through her nightgown.

He stood still, glaring at Mary. She couldn't fish out anything to say. Her mind was reeling. How had he found her? Had somebody pointed out her room to him? It had crossed her mind that Kemal would attempt something like this after his first kiss – but he was gentleman, albeit a Turkish one, and his reputation would be shattered alongside her own. Surely he should have had the common sense not to seek out her company alone.

"You must be mad!" she whispered.

"I am," Kemal whispered in response. "I am in the grip of madness."

He stepped forward, and instinctively Mary drew back. Kemal was intractable, his eyes penetrating through hers. He looked hungry, lusting for something that Mary was unwilling to relinquish.

"Every part of you is singing to me," he said sultrily. "Your life, your soul … you are everything I've longed for … why are you resisting me?" he asked when Mary stepped back again, clutching the comforter like a shield.

Mary was disgusted by his words, yet his voice had the power to beguile her; she felt her conscience weaken as his voice tickled her ears, but she would not be so easily desecrated. She forced herself back to vigilance.

"Please leave at once, or I'll …" Mary hesitated. She had started strong, but as he continued to stare her down her mind relaxed once more, and she lost her words. Kemal's shining eyes mocked her as he, derisively, asked, "Or you'll what?"

Mary swallowed nervously. "I'll scream."

She wanted to scream now, but her panic constricted in her throat – she did not have the courage to. Who would hear her anyway? She moved closer to the lamp, as the light gave her some form of security: she did not want to be in the darker area of the room with Kemal.

He gave a little laugh. "No, you won't," he said, as if he was aware that she could not. "I won't hurt you too much – I promise."

The light from the lamp dimmed slightly, and Mary cursed herself for not addressing the issue before. If it went out, she would not see him coming – it was so very dark while the light was out. She shivered, trying to draw the comforter closer to her.

"It's always quite painful, of course," Kemal continued, inching inexorably closer. "For you, though, I'll try not to make it too disagreeable. And you'll feel pleasure at the same time, the sweetest pleasure anyone can give you. I can give you a new life, a better life, one you will assimilate to quite rapidly. So what is a little pain when all that awaits you is power, potential that no human can achieve?"

Mary was bewildered at his words. She was suddenly very, very scared. "What do you mean?"

Kemal stepped closer to her, but Mary could not recoil anymore. She was trapped between him and the bedroom wall – there was nowhere she could run. She would only be free if his insanity would recede and he began his retreat. But he would not – that much was obvious in the way he looked down at her, reaching toward her hand to release the comforter pressed against her breasts.

"Did you not tell me that you desired another life? You covet liberation from this mortal life. You dream of a different world, where you are the one who has power over others—"

"I did not say—!" Mary interjected.

"But you say so in your mind," Kemal said. "You cannot deny what you truly want. I can give it to you."

His fingers closed around hers, and Mary could not suppress a shudder. It was like the hand of a corpse, icy and bloodless. She could feel how preternaturally strong he was. The way he gripped her hand made her believe that he could splinter any one of her bones.

"You are the sort of woman I want to be with," Kemal said, his mouth curved voluptuously. "To spend an eternity with you would be any man's dream, but I intend to make it my reality."

"Heavens, is this a proposal?" Mary could not imagine what else this could be. What did he mean to do with her? Something was making her heart beat faster, but once more she felt her mind surrendering to Kemal's voice.

"Not exactly," he said, a faint smile forming. Mary glimpsed his white teeth, specifically the canine teeth that looked as sharp as a blade. "At least, it would not be a union in the sense that most people are familiar with."

The broken lamp suddenly flickered out, and the room was enveloped in shadow. It seemed colder now, with Kemal so close to Mary. There was something very wrong now, something – dare she think it – unnatural. Mary could feel fear closing in around her, a horror that she had never experienced before. She sensed how alone she was, that there was no one else in the house. She was cornered, completely at his mercy. It had been a grave mistake to invite his attention. God, why had she allowed herself to be seduced by him? She remained standing frozen, unable to scream or run away.

Before she could object, Kemal kissed her on the lips. His skin was as cold as stone, the same dead feeling as his fingers. Despite her distress, Mary did not move away. She wanted to push him back, to fight him off in any way she could, but her body disobeyed her. Her arms holding the comforter relaxed, and it fell to the floor as her eyelids began to obscure her vision. Kemal drew back, and Mary could see his sharp teeth again. She was surely growing ill in her head, for she believed his canines had grown a little longer.

"Before this night is over, you will belong to me," he said. "You'll be unlike any human – perhaps unlike any other creature of the night. The time will soon come when we are reunited again, and together we'll live through each and every night, feeding off of lesser beings!"

"I don't understand what you're saying!" Mary cried. "Leave me, now!"

Before Mary could draw in another breath, he had her gathered up in his arms, cradling her like a small child. Kemal held her tight; she could not thrash and scream as she desperately wanted to do so. He smiled again, and Mary gasped. There was no denying it – his teeth had grown longer and excessively pointed, and his smile was made all the more horrific.

"How – what's happening – what are you?" Panic was flowing throughout Mary's body, even though she was as limp as a rag doll. She could not surrender to this monster, could not allow it to kill her or do what it had promised to do. But Mary's fear and confusion had paralysed her. She was unprepared for what would come next.

Before she could register in her mind what such sharp teeth indicated, he had pushed her back onto the bed. Kneeling on top of her, he clasped his hands tightly around her wrists. His grip felt like needles in her skin. With a start she realized that the needles were in fact his nails, long and sharpened to a point. How had she not seen them before?

Darkness was seeping into her mind – or was it this monster's influence over her? She knew she would not be able to escape. The mere thought of death, of dying so horrifically, made her tremble underneath him.

"No … no," she murmured, feeling her strength fading fast. Kemal released one of her wrists to place a thin finger on her lips.

"You may as well be quiet, my dear," he said. "There is nothing to worry about. Did I not promise you that I would be gentle?"

His voice revealed an underlying darkness, and it sent a chill down Mary's spine. What was he going to do to her? Kill her? He held her down firmly, with an uncanny strength that made her feel even weaker. Her eyelids began to droop, but she forced them open. She saw a devilish expression on Kemal's face, like a madman about to murder a little girl, his dark eyes becoming the colour of blood.

Suddenly, despite her fright, Mary retrieved one final ounce of strength. Instinctively, she tried to wrestle away from him, but he held her down on the bed. Any action she took proved futile.

"If you don't fight, you won't feel a thing," Kemal said, and Mary's stomach lurched violently when saw those long teeth once again, preparing to rip into her flesh. He leaned towards her throat, his fangs bared cruelly.

"Please … no, don't!" was her last cry.

He bit hard into her neck, and Mary felt a pain so great she thought she might black out. There was nothing pleasurable about this, for Kemal was as sadistic as a bloodthirsty animal. She groaned and cried as she felt him suck the blood pouring from her neck, his cold lips pressed fast against her flesh. Oh God, please make it stop, please! her thoughts shouted inside her. She wanted to scream out loud until someone heard, but the most she could muster was a gasp. She was too light-headed to move away as Kemal's cold hands embraced her and pressed his body tightly against hers. Her strength was leaving her along with her blood, and Mary felt weaker than ever in her life. How long would it be before she eventually died? This could not be real; it could only be a nightmare. She prayed for the end to come soon, so she could finally escape this terrifying dream.

It seemed like hours before he finally tore away from her, though it had only taken a few minutes to drain her almost to the point of unconsciousness. Mary felt her heart beat violently in her ears, trying to remain alive, but every passing second it beat slower and slower. The darkness of the room hindered her vision, but she could still see Kemal kneeling over her, his blood painted on his chin and dripping down his chest. She could feel death closing in on her as her bedroom seemed to spin around her. Even so, she remained in a state of paralysed terror, finally realizing what had just happened.

Through half closed eyes she saw Kemal press a long nail to his own wrist. His cold skin was against her lips, and she tasted something – blood, she realized. It flowed out in a long stream that dripped onto her tongue, warm and luscious as nectar. She could not keep herself from lapping the blood spurting from the self-inflicted wound. It was as if she was possessed. The taste was nothing like she had ever experienced – in fact, it was almost sweet – and she drank as if she had been deprived of water her entire life. She did not notice Kemal's hellish red smile.

Even as she drank the blood, fatigue – or was it death? – began to overtake her. Kemal drew back his wrist, and gave her one final kiss, licking up the rivulets of blood that were running down her chin. Her limbs slackened and her heart began its final, languid pounding.

He was speaking to her now, slowly and sweetly, though she could hardly hear him.

"When I saw you earlier, I knew I had to have you. I decided that within a moment. I'm sorry that I must leave before I can see you as the beautiful creature you're meant to be, but we will see each other very soon."

He was suddenly gone, as if the shadows had swallowed him up.

The taste of blood was the last thing Mary knew before she collapsed in a dead faint.

Daisy, the diminutive scullery maid, was desperately trying to keep calm and quiet as she worked on the fire in Lady Mary's bedroom. There was always an eerie atmosphere in here, as anyone would expect from a centuries-old house. Every day, in the early hours, Daisy herself saw the shadows that she imagined moving, perhaps the echoes of spectres floating about.

But this early morning, specifically in Lady Mary's bedroom, something was different. Daisy was certain she was just being paranoid, but she could not shake the feeling that she was being watched. It was dark, so dark that Daisy was afraid to knock something over and wake the family up. It was colder than normal, and the air made her shiver as soon as she entered the room.

In the middle of her work, Daisy paused, listening for any movement. Normally, she was as quiet as a church mouse, but when the night was so silent it seemed she was making a racket just by cleaning the fireplaces. She stalled for a moment, wondering if she was in fact making too much noise. Daisy stood up and checked the bed to make sure Lady Mary was still fast asleep.

She wasn't in the bed.

The sheets and blankets were wrinkled, and the pillows had given the impression that the bed was occupied, and Daisy had believed it to be. But Lady Mary was not where she was supposed to be now.

Daisy looked at the bed with wide eyes. How had she not seen it when she entered just a few moments before? She was sure Lady Mary had been sleeping soundly there when she had started on the fires. The young girl was still for a moment, her ears tuned to catch any sound in the house. Not a soul was supposed to be awake except for Daisy, but the feeling – the hunch that something was watching her – remained.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something shining, a glimmer of colour. Daisy stood, motionless with shock, when she saw two beads of red in the darkest corner of the room, near the door. All Daisy wanted to do was get out of the room, but she could not stop staring at the red dots, bright as a glowing ruby, hypnotizing her. She could just see the silhouette of a person watching her, eyes fixated right at her.

"Who's there?" Daisy whispered, almost too quietly for even her to hear.

Lady Mary emerged from the shadows, her arms lifeless at her sides, her steps listless. Daisy had only seen the woman on a handful of occasions, but she knew that Lady Mary did not always look so demonic. She was deathly pale, red-eyed, and adorned with a face of undeniable evil. Daisy was shaking and couldn't even say a faint "milady?" Her only path of escape, the door, was being blocked off.

She stood rigid with fear as Lady Mary approached her, slowly but steadily. She outstretched her arms to the trembling girl, and Daisy stepped back, nearly tripping over her bucket.

"Don't run!" Lady Mary hissed. She smiled, horrible white fangs protruding from her mouth. She looked every inch a terrifying monster, her blank eyes boring straight into Daisy's. "Don't leave me alone," she rasped with dulcet viciousness.

There was nowhere Daisy could run. She had her back against the wall, and Lady Mary was only a few steps away. Her long, clawed fingers flexed as if readying to clutch her. She breathed heavily like an animal about to feast upon its helpless prey.

In an instant, Lady Mary's hands grasped the naïve maid's arms and pinned her firmly against the wall with inhuman strength. Daisy winced at the pressure that wrapped around her limbs like cold stone. Lady Mary opened her mouth full of sharp teeth close to her victim's cheek. A gelid tongue snaked along Daisy's cheekbone and down her neck, and she tried to pull away. Lady Mary held her immobile with even more force.

"Don't go," she whispered, a harsh utterance that came from her throat. "Let me … devour you."

She plunged herself into the soft flesh of the neck. Daisy felt the creature suckle roughly from the wounds those sharp teeth had made. She whimpered pitifully, but her cries went ignored. The creature was too bent on savouring her blood. Its lips were latched around the open wound, and the tongue was lapping stray beads of crimson gore.

But it was only after a minute, after the creature had swallowed a few large gulps, that she became completely satiated. Its grip slackened and Daisy nearly fell to the floor in a swoon. The inhuman thing licked her lips clean, removing all traces of blood. She looked at Daisy, cowering against the wall, briefly considering another bite. But Daisy could see that she was exhausted from her short repletion, for her eyes were growing glassier, as if death was settling in.

She pressed a long-nailed finger to her lips, stepped towards the bed, and fell onto the sheets. Daisy stood rigid, gaping at the corpse-like figure of Lady Mary. The creature was as still as death, thoroughly gorged on blood.

Daisy left the bedroom, crying silently.

AN: So ... yeah. I just came up with this idea pretty much right after the S3 final aired, and then thought it might be a good idea to write it. Tell me what you think in the reviews!

If you can't already tell, the vampire mythos in this fic is going to be much closer to what's in Dracula than in the other crap books and television shows circulating about. Because really, the Dracula-esque vampires are a lot more fun to write. But I'll let the different attributes explain themselves in the story.