He . . . he threw me away. Lotor. . .he just dragged me out of the Castle by my hair, and threw me into the Pit of Skulls. Like I was yesterday's trash. I thought I meant something to him, that my body had pleased him. But no. . . . I am not Allura, his precious porcelain princess, and so I am cast aside when he gets bored. Fool. With me at his side, he could have ruled the galaxy. But his lust blinds him to . . . more political possibilities, and because I cannot be mealy-mouthed Allura, he cast me aside. So be it. I sit up in the darkness, brushing myself off and trying to determine the best way out, when a sound makes me freeze.

"Vell, vell. . .vhat haf ve here, hm? Anoder reject?" The voice is everywhere and nowhere, deep and rich as burnished brass, reverberating in my very bones. "Long has it been since I fed on human blood . . . and Drule is sadly lacking. I may very vell haf to send Lotor a tank you note." The speaker emerges from the shadows, and my breath catches. Lady of the Stars. . .he's gorgeous. Towering over me, taller than even Lotor, slender and dark. And, oh, his eyes. I could get lost there; the midnight blue of twilight, with just a hint of slant to them. He strolls towards me with a predator's unhurried grace, his boots making no sound on the gravel, a black cloak sweeping behind him. "So beautiful, too," he whispers, that strange inflection still tinging his words. He raises a hand to caress my cheek. "A shame to kill you; but I must eat, ja?"

Before I realize what I'm doing, I've slapped his face. "Don't you dare touch me," I hiss. "I am Crown Princess Romelle of Pollux, and I yield to NO MAN."

His low laugh chills my blood. "Oh, such fire in you, little von. I like it. And as for yielding to no man. . . ." He steps back from me, his face sharpening and lengthening, his pupils becoming feline slits. . . and what I thought was a cloak flares over his shoulders, dividing into an enormous pair of wings. "I AM no man, Princess of Pollux. And you are mine."

It takes all the discipline I possess as a daughter of House Mandrigan not to stumble backward. "W-who are you? WHAT are you?"

"Such questions!" he tsks, walking around me. "Vell, it amuses me to answer such a fiery von. My name is Sven, first of all; and I am de last of de Decarabia clan. I haf lived four millennia, and I am. . .a demonic vampire."

For five minutes all I can do is stare at him, my mouth hanging open, as my brain refuses to work. Then something surfaces from my memory. "Sven. . . I know that name. You're with the Voltron Force."

His backhand takes me by surprise. "NEVER MENTION DAT NAME!" he roars, and I can see fangs lengthening in his mouth. "DEY BETRAYED ME, LEFT ME TO DIE!" He abruptly spins away from me, head and wings drooping. I feel rage and grief wash over me, and somehow know they're his, not mine. "Vhen I vant, I can appear as human as anyvon," he says softly. "Und it amused me to do so, to go to de Academy und become a Space Explorer. Novon knew dat I vas anyting but human; dey saw me as von of dem. Until . . . de vitch attacked Lance. I fought her off him, vas beating her . . . until she had her cat und robeast attack me." A shudder racks his frame. "It hurt so much. . . I cannot be killed, but I tought I vas dying. Und vit de pain und de blood loss . . . I lost my hold on my form, und dis is vhat Keit und Lance saw vhen dey found me." He turns and gestures towards himself. "Still can I see deir horror, deir disgust. All ve had been trough meant NOTING! Dey could not trow me on a ship heading off Arus fast enough."

Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm stepping forward and putting a hand on his arm. "They were wrong for that. You are who you are, and you had reasons for not showing your true self. Reasons they justified." He watches me, curious, and I press on. "You know, I don't think much of either side of this damned war. The 'good guys' left you to die, and me to rot in hell so long as their precious Allura was safe. Lotor threw me aside because I wasn't Allura, and will destroy the galaxy in the name of conquest and his mad obsession." I look up at Sven, suddenly shy. "We could do better than all of them, if we join forces."

"'Ve', little von?" His voice is rich with amusement. "Vhat is dis 've'? You are to be my dinner, remember?" His hand comes up, tracing the pulse in my neck with pointed black nails.

I fight to keep my voice steady, for more reasons than one, and make it low and husky. "Oh, come now, Sven. Surely you are wise enough to not waste an opportunity when you see it?" He tilts his head, and I continue, walking around him. "With your power and my knowledge, we could be a force to be reckoned with."

He smiles darkly, fangs showing. "Und vhat knowledge do you tink you haf, dat I haf not acquired in four thousand years, prinsesse? Tell me, is it so valuable as to trade for your life?"

You are the Princess Royal of House Mandrigan. Remember your training. "I know who holds power in the Denubian. Who is allied with whom, who is a threat, who is laughable." I lift my chin to meet his midnight gaze. "I know Castle Doom inside and out; we could overthrow Zarkon and Lotor, rule the galaxy ourselves."

He shakes his long dark hair, and my heart stops. "I haf ruled kingdoms before, little von. I haf no desire to be lord and master of all. You vill haf to do better dan dat; I am hungry."

I have to force myself not to step back from him. "One meal, and back to skulking in the shadows, surviving as best you can? You're better than that, Sven; I know you are. Aren't you tired, lonely?" I bring one hand to caress his jaw, inhumanly smooth. "Don't you want a home, where you can be yourself, unafraid? I can give you that. Let me in, Sven. I swear you won't regret it."

The amusement is back. "Much do you tink of yourself, little prinsesse. But . . . you make very valid points. I grow weary of hiding. Und a vorld all our own, to live our own lives . . . dat has some appeal. Perhaps ve can come to an agreement."

Dark Weaver, Mistress of the Fates, thank you! I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "What sort of agreement do you propose, then?"

He sits on a rock, and waves me to one just beyond his reach. "As I said, I haf no interest in being lord und master of anyting. But . . . you intrigue me, little von. Rarely haf I found a female vit your combination of intelligence, ambition, und ruthlessness. I vould help YOU to rule. I vould be your enforcer, und I vould teach you vhat I know. In exchange I ask for your company, und de occasional unfortunate soul to dine on." The fangs flash again.

It's exactly what I want. His power and skill combined with mine would be unstoppable. I have only one problem. "You do not seem to get much benefit for a great deal of effort on your part," I observe slowly, smoothing my ragged dress over my knees. "My company . . . my life will pass in the blink of an eye to you; hardly worth your time and effort."

"My time and effort are mine to do vit as I choose," he counters smoothly. "However . . . you do make a valid point. And in response I will offer someting to benefit us bot." I motion for him to go on, and he continues, "My clan . . . vonce ve vere human, vhich is vhy ve can appear to be so. De story of how ve came to be is old, und too long to tell just now. De important part is. . ." he fixes me with an intense gaze. "Ve haf de ability to make humans into our kind. Vit all of our strength und power, all of our immortality. De tradeoff is dat never vill you be able to haf children of your own body."

"That is no hardship. I never wanted children, but that is all the value my 'loving family' saw in me." I shake away the bad memories. "What do I need to do? How long will it take?" I bite my lip. "Will . . . will it hurt?"

That chuckle of his again, dark and rich as my best velvet gowns. "It vill hurt a little; alvays is dere pain vit being born, ja? It vill be quick, little von, I promise. Und all you must do . . . is let me drink of you, den drink of me in turn." My startlement—fine, panic—must show in my face; he quickly adds, "On my vord as Decarabia, little von. I vill take no more den needed for de change, und vill see to it dat you haf vhat you need immediately. I so swear on my clan name and honor."

I can see his sincerity, and what that oath means to him. How can I choose any differently? "Tell me what I need to do, Sven."

"Come sit on my lap, little von," he says gently, extending a hand to me. "It is cold, und you vill become colder as I drink. I vill keep you varm."

Hesitantly I come and perch on his knees; his left arm goes around my waist, and his wings wrap around us both. I haven't felt so warm and protected since . . . since my mother died birthing Bandor. Awkwardly I lean my head back, exposing the beating vein in my neck. "I'm ready."

A finger traces my pulse. "Oh, so tempting . . . but no, not vhen I hunger. I do not trust my control so." A callused hand circles my wrist, gently lifting it from my lap. "Close your eyes, little Romelle." I do as told; a sharp pain flashes through my arm, but Sven's grip keeps me from flinching away. Then I feel the blood being pulled from my vein, and go limp against Sven's shoulder as he takes it in. I'm almost unconscious when I feel something warm and wet against my own lips. "Drink, little von. Quickly; you must drink to live."

I can't think, can't feel my body. Dazedly I take what's offered, greedily sucking on what has to be Sven's own wrist, taking his blood as he took mine. Far too soon, he pulls away from me, ignoring my whimper of protest as he lays me down on the floor of the cave. As I lose my fight to stay aware, his voice wraps around me. "Sleep, Romelle. Sleep now, und vhen you vake . . .vhen you vake, you vill be reborn."