A/N 25/6/2014:

Hey there :D I've been rewriting this one, will be slowly replacing the old chapters with the new ones :)

Here's the first one.

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Godric

Chapter One – Heart Attack

Puttin' my defenses up
'Cause I don't wanna fall in love
If I ever did that
I think I'd have a heart attack

It's just not fair
Pain's more trouble than love is worth
I gasp for air
It feels so good, but you know it hurts

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Santorini, Greece—998 AD
Godric

"Who goes there?"

The woman he had been watching slowly spun around, handling the long spear in her hand as though it were a part of her own body. He admired the way she studied the woods before her carefully, her eye ever watchful for intruders to their peaceful, small village.
He was not sure why the village was surrounded by thick wooden walls, guarded every night by several of the villagers, but it only added to the mystery that was the beautiful woman before him.

He had been watching her for several weeks now. He was not sure why he had simply begun following her when he first caught her scent.

There was something about her.

She intrigued him.

After watching for some time, he had begun contemplating turning her. Of course, he was aware that one young vampire was a lot to deal with already—but she was … She was different from all human women he had ever met.

There was a gleam in her eyes that spoke of wisdom beyond her years. Eric had tracked her with Godric at first, but being young and temperamental, he did not have the patience, nor the same fascination towards the girl as Godric seemed to.

He had, however, pointed out that—next to being vigilant and fast—she was quite beautiful. Godric had spent many nights pondering over that particular statement.
He tended not to look at human faces anymore—he had not in many, many years. It had taken him some time to admit that there was, indeed, no woman that had appealed to him in the slightest for anything but their blood, until he stumbled across this woman.

He had travelled the world many times, and yet, he had never before laid eyes upon one so fair and so lethal.

She was young—no older than eight-and-ten of age—her skin tanned, her dark hair braided and tied with soft leather cords. She was dressed in Hunters attire—which was something he was not accustomed to seeing on a woman.

The leather trousers showed off her shapely legs in ways not many women would find proper, and her feet were tucked in soft, brown boots—Godric had merely smiled when he first laid eyes upon those boots.

They were only worn by those who knew the value of good, solid shoes—one was used to long distances on foot was to be expected to wear these.

But her eyes—her eyes were what drew him in. They were deep, swirling cerulean blue—something that contrasted heavily with her dark hair and skin tone. And then there was her scent—that irresistible mix of fresh fruit, cinnamon and pine—a scent that nearly made him salivate whenever he caught a whiff of it.

He had honestly planned to simply feed on her before he was drawn in by her mysterious, lethal persona.

He knew she had heard him—he carefully considered his course of action as she ventured away from the walls, moving into the woods, not far from where he had hidden himself. She ventured deeper into the woods, and he followed her once again, finding himself mesmerized by the agility and grace with which she moved.

As he followed her, he briefly contemplated showing himself, but dismissed the notion quickly.

Though she appeared brave and fearless—humans did not cope well with immortals such as vampires—he knew that from personal experience.

He had always thought no more of humans than animals. But when he saw the slight rising and falling of her chest and the softness of her skin, he came to appreciate mortality and humanity as he never had before.

She treaded lightly, her feet barely audible as she slid over the forest floor. He found himself enthralled by her fluid gestures and moves—thus becoming careless, and far less observant than he would have been otherwise.

A heavy hand landed upon his shoulder and he froze momentarily, before he sensed his progeny's presence. "She makes you careless," Eric hissed, his eyes darkening, "We must move on. There is nothing left for us here."

Godric rolled his eyes in annoyance and shook off Eric's hand. He wished not to be reprimanded by one he had created—Eric should know not to question his thoughts and actions.

"My intention is only to feed—her blood smells delectable."

Eric growled under his breath as he perused the woods surrounding them. "We are not the only vampires in the area, Godric," he concluded, "it would be most unwise for us to linger in these woods. If you wish to claim her, you must do so now."

Godric carefully considered the truth in Eric's words—he knew of the others in the area; Greece was a loved country among many of the undead. The people believed in many Gods and legends—making them more susceptible for mind-altering and manipulation.

"We shall take our leave soon then. I suppose you would be pleased to see the North Sea again." He turned to look at the smile that was forming on Eric's lips, "I imagine it has been a while."

Godric felt his own lips curl into an involuntary smile at the joy that lit up Eric's face—the joy at the prospect of seeing home once again. Home was a rather evasive concept for a vampire—though there was nothing they desired more.

"Go now, my child," he smiled, "Find your own treat for tonight. This one is mine. I shall meet you back at the caves—we should go to ground early today." Eric nodded simply and turned on his heel, running off at vampire speed.

Moments later, a bloodcurdling scream broke upon his ear—unlocking a sense of fear in him he did not even know existed.

He flashed between the trees without further thought, breaking upon a clearing—a clearing where he was met with a sight that terrified and enraged him far more than anything he had ever seen before.

Another vampire—a man with dark, wavy brown hair and a slightly crazed look—had grabbed hold of the woman—his woman—and sunk his fangs deep into her throat, tearing the skin far more and deeper than necessary.

It was a bite meant to hurt and maim—not only to feed.

For a split-second, his gaze locked with hers, and he cringed at the pure and undiluted fear that shone in those bright blue orbs—and he no longer felt any sort of conscious thought as he burst forward, ripping the other vampire from her frail body, throwing him back at least thirty feet.

He ignored the gasp of pain that fell from her lips as she fell to the ground, her legs no longer strong enough to support her weight, and redirected his attention to the other vampire, who had slowly gotten back to his feet, his face twisted into an angry sneer, blood smeared on his lips and chin.

"She is mine," Godric growled, "I claim her. She is not yours to touch."

The man cocked his head to the side for a moment, seemingly appraising his opponent—Godric was strong though; and he knew it too. There were not many vampires that would dare to challenge him—killing his Maker had gained him a lot of attention and the necessary respect in the vampire community—he was banking on that respect, that sense of fear, to keep the vampire at bay.

He could tell this was an old vampire, possibly older than he was, but the claim he had just issued was binding. Another was vampire was simply forbidden to touch another vampire's human once she or he had been claimed.

"Du wählt immer die Schönen, nicht wahr?" The vampire sneered, alarming Godric with his German speech. "Ich schwöre dich, ich werde sie von dich nehmen einen Tag."
Chills ran down his spine at the threat, but he shook it off quickly. "You will not have her," he spat in response, not once dropping his protective stance.

The vampire laughed and shook his head. "I will," he smiled, "and there is nothing you can do about it. She will be mine. You cannot protect her forever."

Before Godric could rescind that statement, the vampire had blurred past him and kneeled by the girl, stroking her cheek while she cowered in fear. "Remember my face, dearie," he growled, "for one day, you shall be mine."

And then he was gone.

The situation did naught but baffle Godric—but a loud, shuddering sob distracted him from his thoughts.

He turned to find the girl—his obsession—crawled back as far as she could, her back pressed against a tree, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her knees and tears streaking down her cheeks. Her breath was coming out in short, fast pants and he felt a pang of sorrow at her obvious distress.

To all the Gods, he loathed seeing her in such pain. He would give anything to see her smile once again—that sweet, innocent, heartbreakingly beautiful smile that was permanently seared into his mind.

He contemplated his next course of action—he was not entirely sure how to handle humans with their human… emotions… and … stuff.

He shook his head once again and simply decided to attempt to talk to her—to show her not to fear him. "Look at me," he whispered gently, "Love, please. I will not hurt you." She shuddered, shook her head and continued sobbing, not even responding to his term of endearment.

He closed his eyes in desperation for a moment, attempting desperately to regroup his thoughts—he knew eye contact would be vital if he were to calm her down. Her heart was beating far too fast—her breaths were shallow and uneven, and he was certain it could not be healthy.

He slowly prepared himself to touch her—somehow, touching her seemed to cross an invisible, yet oh-so-important line—and cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look up at him. He ignored the chills that ran down his spine as he took in the sight of her big blue eyes filled with tears and a gleam of something he couldn't quite identify.

Her breathing was still hard and fast, and he could hear her heart thrumming through her chest. He could read the pure and undiluted fear in her eyes, and it sent waves of pain rocking through his body.

He didn't want her to be afraid.

He would give her everything she wanted, do whatever she wanted him to do just to make her smile again. To take away every bit of fear she held and to make her happy for the rest of her life.

She kept shaking her head, breathing "No, no, no, no, no… "

"My love," he whispered—not even consciously aware of the term of endearment he used—, pulling her closer to his body without fully realizing what he was doing, "breathe… Please, you must calm down."

Nothing he said seemed to make even the slightest difference, but he did notice how her muscles seemed to relax slightly when he pulled her closer. His mind ran a thousand miles a second as he considered what he knew about people with anxiety attacks.

Honestly, it wasn't much, and he feared he would have to act on complete instinct.

What had helped her so far? What had eased her fear?

The answer hit him suddenly, almost like an epiphany, and he felt as though he should thank the Gods for giving him insight on how to handle the situation.

Physical contact.

He needed to hold her. Keep talking to her. Breathe with her.

He wasn't particularly looking forward to hold her small body that close to his—he was almost certain that he was going to react strongly to her nearness. He shook his head and scolded himself. This wasn't about him; she needed him. It felt nice—as God awful as it sounded—to be needed by her.

With that thought in mind, he crawled to a tree, leaned his back against it, pulled her into his arms, so her back was pressed against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

Her heart was thumping loudly in his ears, but he ignored the intimacy of their position and the sweet temptation that she personified, and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.
"I need you to focus on breathing, my dear," he explained in hushed whispers, "I shall breathe with you. Breathe with me, okay?"

She nodded shakily.

He took a deep breath to steady his own nerves and whispered, "Okay… Breathe in…" She took a shaky breath at the same time as he did. "… And out," he breathed in her ear, breathing with her, kissing the tip of her ear.

Her breathing was still ragged and unsteady, and it scared the hell out of him. What if he couldn't calm her down? He was simply stunned at the realization that he was scared.

Terrified even.

He had never before felt fear such as this. She had to be okay. She just had to be. Other options would cause instant True Death on his part—he needed her to be okay.

"In…" he whispered, desperately trying to ignore the growing ball of panic in the pit of his stomach, "… And out." She was shaking, her breathing more like constant sobs, wheezing in her lungs.

He could feel her heart thrumming against his fingers, where his hand rested just below her sternum, and he was slightly alarmed by the speed of her heart. She needed to calm down now—or he was not going to be the only one ending up dead.

"You need to calm yourself," he whispered, drawing absent-minded circles on her stomach, where his hand rested, "you will be okay. There is nothing to be afraid of."

She shook her head, her tears dripping on his arm. "No, no, please don't. Do not hurt me, you will not stop," she choked, "Don't do it."

She struggled lightly in his grip as he attempted to deduce the meaning of her words—but when she cried out harshly, digging her nails into his arm, he snapped from his thoughts and hugged her softly, kissing her cheek lightly. "I will not, I swear. I shall not do anything to harm you. I would never harm one as beautiful as you."

She was still shaking and crying, but her breathing had slowed a tiny little bit, which was an immense achievement already. "But you said I was yours," she choked, "you will hurt me."
He choked back the bile that rose in his throat at the mere thought of hurting her and shook his head, tightening his embrace on her slightly.

"I do not wish to hurt you," he muttered, rocking her gently, "I will not. I needed to protect you—I said what I needed to." He continued rocking her softly, whispering nonsense in her ear, keeping her focused on his voice as she calmed down slowly, her breathing and heartbeat slowing down to a healthier level.

He was slightly more comfortable now it seemed she was going to be okay, but continued to whisper to her, holding her lithe body pressed tightly to his as she continued crying softly. He focused his attention on his girl, who was calmer now, her sobs nearly stopping completely—but she was still shaking in fear.

"Feeling better?" He asked softly, when the tremors and sobs subsided slightly. She sniffed softly, but shook her head. "I cannot do this. You are a vampire. Vampires cannot be trusted. Why else would you save me?" He was stunned at her reasoning, his brain stopping short at her ridiculous statements.

He needed to tell her that his reasons for saving her did not include the possibility of drinking her delectable smelling blood. And so, he slowly turned her in his embrace, tilting her chin up to look in her eyes.

"You, love, are going to listen to me very carefully." She blinked up at him with her big blue eyes, biting her lower lip softly. When he was convinced he had her full attention, he carefully weighed his next words.

"I did not save you for your blood—I do not know why, but the thought of you being hurt…" He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I could not idly stand by. I needed you to be safe, even if I do not understand why."

He watched her eyes tear up and her lower lip quiver and cursed himself for making her cry again as he pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back soothingly. "Shh, love, it will be okay," he whispered, desperately wishing she'd stop crying.

She mumbled something incoherent into his shirt, and he found myself muttering, "What was that?" Before he considered that maybe, he didn't want to know what she was saying.

She looked up, her eyes red and swollen and tear tracks on her cheeks. And he swear to the Gods, she'd never looked more beautiful to him. "You keep calling me love," she whispered. He grinned and shook his head. "Somehow, I am not even surprised that was what you'd remember of all the things I said."

She managed a weak chuckle. "I don't know if I can do it," she whispered, her eyes locking on his briefly. He frowned at her. "Do what?"

She breathed in slowly. "Trust you will not harm me." He bit his lip and glanced to the forest floor, attempting to regain control over himself before he whispered, "Neither do I. But know this," he said softly, resting his hands on either side of her cheeks, "If I merely wanted to feed on you, I would have already."

"Really?"

Her breathy insecure whisper nearly broke his heart. Nonetheless, he nodded and stroked a lock of hair from her face.

"Really," he confirmed.

She gazed at the surrounding forest intently, almost as though she was willing the trees to provide her with an answer, while Godric was desperately attempting to regain control over his body. Having her this close, on his lap and in his arms wasn't really working wonders for his self-control.

Then again, he was fairly proud that he hadn't thrown her down to kiss her senseless yet. But if she kept wiggling like that, he just might. The smell of her blood suddenly wafted over him, and he struggled not to drop his fangs, as not to send her into another anxiety attack.

"Please," he spoke, keeping his voice level and void of emotion, "allow me to heal you. That wound… It could be lethal if not treated instantly."
She locked her eyes on his and seemed to search for something—something she apparently found—for she nodded slowly, watching wearily as he dropped his fangs and tore into his own wrist.

He held out his wrist for her, allowing her the space to back out—she did not have to take his blood. Slowly, she took his wrist and pulled it closer to her lips, before stopping short, a frown rippling her forehead. "If I drink, will I be—"

He shook his head instantly. "No. It might have some … Side-effects, but those are minor."

She bit her lip and cocked her head to the side. "Side-effects?"

He was most certain that if he could blush, he would. Her inquisitive, coy expression caught him off-guard, and he wasn't sure what to do with it. "Uh…" he choked, "Nothing bad…You might have … certain dreams.. And uh… an increased sexual desire… Things like that."

He could've sworn she smiled—but the smile disappeared so swiftly, he doubted it had ever been there to begin with. Instead, she pulled his wrist to her lips and swallowed, drinking deeply for a moment—with every swallow, Godric could feel the blood leave his body—it caused a certain rush; a high he had not anticipated; and he could not suppress the guttural moan that spilled from his lips.

After a full minute of allowing his head to spin with the agonizing pleasure blood sharing caused, he pulled his arm away from her lips carefully and tilted her head to the side to make sure the injury had fully healed.

"Why did you save me?" she whispered, her eyes locked on his features when he helped her back onto her feet. "Why would you care?"

He was silent for a moment, attempting to find the correct words to voice his fascination, his obsession with her wellbeing. "There's…" he hesitated, "There is something about you that draws me in. I do not know what it is, nor do I know why you… but it is there nonetheless. You intrigue me."

This time, she did smile—a smile so beautiful it nearly broke his heart; it made him want to claim her as his even more; but she clearly had no intention nor desire to ever become his.

The mere words had frightened her.

He would have to leave her in peace—he would have to forget; she was not for his pleasure; this much had already been demonstrated by everything that had happened today.

"Come," he spoke softly, "I shall accompany you back to the walls. You must not go into these woods alone again—I shall not be there to protect you a second time."

They walked in companionable silence, side-by-side—nearly touching—trudging through the woods, approaching the walls of her village swiftly and silently.
When they broke through the first line of trees, he halted instantly, not willing to risk exposure. He did not want to be seen by anyone else tonight—being exposed to the girl he had been stalking and another, unknown vampire was already far more than he had intended.

He would be forced to leave now—which might not be such a bad thing, considering his bordering obsession with the girl.

"I must take my leave," he spoke softly, "Please be safe." He turned his back on her—ignoring the strange ache in the middle of his chest—, fully intending on never coming back.

Before he took another step, her hand rested upon his shoulder, light and so fragile, as she whispered, "Wait!"

She had nearly exhaled the word—so soft and breathy, a human might not have heard—but he heard her as though she had shouted the word. He attempted to steel himself—prepare himself for her beauty, her dark, blue, alluring eyes that would undoubtedly attempt to draw him in once again.

Slowly, he spun around, examining her apprehensive expression, as she seemed to search for words. "I wish to express my gratitude," she finally spoke, weighing her words, "but I do not know how, nor do I know to whom I should address it. Please, vampire," she said, "Tell me your name."

His name fell from his lips before he could consider the repercussions of his actions. "Godric," she repeated, a smile twisting her lips, "I owe you my life; I am forever in your debt. If you ever require a repayment, name it." She breathed in deeply before whispering, "Even if you decide you wish to taste my blood."

He merely stared, in awe of this girl's bravery and strength. She tiptoed and pressed her soft, sweet lips to his cheek—nearly obliterating him on the spot—before smiling, blushing and turning around to head back to the village.

"Wait!" He cried, taking an involuntary step closer.

She turned back and smiled at him—he pretended her smile did not affect him the way it did—and said, "Ariana. My name is Ariana."

And with those words, she turned away again, heading back towards the village, leaving Godric standing in the middle of the woods, bemused and strangely anxious as he had never been before.

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In the day that followed, Godric found himself utterly unable to rest—something that only furthered the damn bleeds that stained his clothes more with every second he was up while the sun was out.

He was consumed by the girl—Ariana.

He could not, for the life of him, shake her from his thoughts—the feel of her soft, pliant body pressed against his haunted him in his sleep, the smell of her blood making him ache in desire; desire that encompassed so much more than a mere desire to bed and feed on her.

The dreams frightened him, in ways he had not felt afraid in nearly a thousand years—because they were dreams of things he had dreamed of as a human.

Love.

Passion.

Glory.

Things he believed he could no longer have.

He was a vampire; he was not meant for love, or any of such ridiculous things.

And yet, every time he went to ground, he found his thoughts wandering back to Ariana, and the things she had awoken deep within him—and he wished desperately he would know what the right thing to do was.

Because he did not.

No longer.

Eric had been insistent they'd leave Greece—he was eager to once again lay eyes upon the Sea he had grown up with, and Godric could not fault him for it, though the thought of leaving Ariana, never returning to see her again—at least not in her lifetime—caused him agony unlike any he had experienced before.

And so he stalled.

He stalled Eric, told him he was not yet ready to leave, told him that they would, soon, but not yet.

And every night, he returned to the village, hidden amongst the shadows, and watched Ariana—he studied her, observed her every move, until he knew her features better than he knew his own.

But not once did he speak to her again.

He feared discovery, and the slaughter it would no doubt lead to. He had no qualms whatsoever taking out any human that might come for him—he really could not care less about their petty lives—but he feared Ariana's wrath that would undoubtedly follow were he to kill her friends, family and fellow villagers.

The thought of her hatred made him feel ill.

He had quickly decided not to investigate that feeling to closely, for he feared the revelation it might bring, and opted to stay out of sight, hoping that it would never come to that.

Tonight was no different than any of the other nights he had spent watching her.

Not at first.

He watched the moon rise from beneath the distant treetops, marveling at its beauty for a moment before turning to stare intently at the gates, waiting for his own beauty to come out and greet the guard before taking the night watch.

Like she did every night.

It was only when she stayed away far longer than usual that the first seeds of worry grew deep in the pit of his stomach.

He watched as the guard was relieved by another—another that was not his beautiful Ariana.

His insides squeezed uncomfortably as he regarded the new guard closely, wondering where Ariana was, and why she was not at the post she was otherwise.

He contemplated leaving now; he could interpret this—her absence—as a sign; a sign to leave now, before he would cause problems of proportions he could not even begin to contemplate.

Before he came to a decision though, she appeared, finally.

As soon as his intense feeling of relief subsided, he realized just how upset she looked. Even from his hiding spot in the shadows, roughly twenty feet away from her, he could see the large dark circles underneath her eyes, her blue eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed as though she had spent hours crying.

She exchanged a few soft, quick words with the other guard before the latter nodded and walked through the gates, leaving Ariana on her own.

He watched as she wiped at her eyes again, an uncomfortable lump forming in his throat. He wished nothing more than to walk forward and hold her— to comfort her as she cried, but he was held back by his instincts, telling him to stay far away from her, because it would be nothing short of foolish to give into his desires for this human girl.

He remained still for a moment longer, torn between the desire to run far from Ariana and the strange draw he felt to her, and the urge to show himself, to talk to her once more.

Before he could make up his mind, he found his feet had already carried him forward, emerging from the shadows. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and smiled when Ariana tensed and raised her spear, ready to run him through before she recognized him.

His heart ached with honest-to-God-longing as he watched a beautiful smile spread across her features, her spear dropping a few inches as she stared at him.

"Godric?"

He marveled at the way she wrapped her lips around his name, the rich, honeyed tones of her accent like music to his ears.

She hesitated for a moment before completely lowering her spear, looking around carefully, presumably to check whether or not they were alone, before she carefully approached him. "I thought you had left—you did say you were going to leave…"

He looked down at the ground for a moment, attempting to regain some semblance of control before he dared gaze upon her again. "I'm aware of what I said," he said slowly, "but I found myself… intrigued by these lands. I could not find the strength in my heart to leave just yet."

He could not tell her that he had stayed because he felt unable to leave her behind, knowing that he would never return to see her again. He could not tell how many nights he and his progeny had spent fighting about leaving. He could not tell her he feared he had fallen deeply in love with her, before he even got to know her.

It sounded absolutely ridiculous even to himself.

He felt increasingly uncomfortable under her gaze, and contemplated simply turning around and walking away, until she spoke again, her hand raising slowly, her fingertips gently touching his jaw. He stood frozen before her as she trailed her fingers over his features, a pensive expression on her face.

He did not know how to deal with what he felt now—no one had ever touched him with such tenderness and care before. No one had ever looked at him like she was now, and he simply did not know what to do with it.

"Godric—" He took a shuddering breath when his name fell from her lips once again, "—Please tell me the truth. I know you have been following me; and if I may be frank, it is starting to scare me a little." It hardly surprised him she had been aware of his presence.

He stared at her for a moment, still too uncomfortable to actually voice what she had done to him—so he strived to change the subject. "Why did you cry? You were so much later than other days," he said slowly, nearly drawling the words as he took a careful step back, wincing as her fingers dropped from his skin.

She swallowed and looked to the ground, her voice muffled as she whispered, "I was not crying."

He knew it was foolish and stupid, and that he would come to regret it in the end, but he stepped closer again, slowly raising his hands to rest gently on her cheeks, tilting her head up so he could look into the cerulean eyes that haunted his dreams every day come sunrise.

"Why were you crying?" He repeated, softly, looking into her eyes—trying desperately not to drown in the ocean of secrets her eyes held.

"I am betrothed," she finally admitted, "to a man I cannot stand to look at, much less imagine to wed. I begged our Elders to reconsider, but as my parents have both passed, it is their duty to find a suitable husband for me. I get no say in the matter."

He opened his mouth to retort—the thought of Ariana belonging to another was something that made him want to keel over and throw up—but could not find the correct words, and closed his mouth again, frowning heavily. "There has to be something you can do to abolish the marriage, if you truly wish not to partake in it," he said, his tone hard and cold—colder than he had intended, and he winced in regret as she flinched. "They cannot simply force you to wed, can they?"

She blinked a few times, and he nearly growled when he saw fresh tears shining in her eyes. "Yes, they can," she said simply.

He let the subject rest—she was pleading him with her eyes not to ask more; pleading to just say anything that would take her mind of it.

He tried to remember words—something that would make sense—but he could not. Her eyes drew him in, and all he found himself capable of doing was gawk at her beauty, studying her features once again.

He adored the way her dark hair tumbled from its braid, stubborn curls resting lightly on her forehead. Her eyes shone as she looked at him, her expression pensive and confused. "Why are you so frightened?" She whispered, her fingers trailing down his arm until they met his, entwining swiftly, almost as though their hands had minds of their own.

He stared at their entwined fingers, momentarily forgetting how to breathe at how perfectly their hands seemed to fit into each other, thinking about what she had asked.

He did not know.

He was not sure why he was frightened—but her humanity was not something he marveled over.

It made him feel weak, to feel things such as the things she made him feel. There was not supposed to be anything—only survival or death.

He did not know how to deal with anything else.

"You are human," he finally responded, enunciating every word slowly and carefully, uncertain whether or not the words would insult her or not.

She tilted her head to the side a little and smiled. "Then should I not be the one who is frightened?" He raised his free hand to her cheek, caressing the soft, silky skin for a moment. "You were," he whispered in reply, "I believe you were absolutely terrified."

She shook her head and raised her own hand to cover his, her eyes boring into his. "Not of you. Never of you."

Her eyes met his once again, and she nodded almost imperceptibly, her heartbeat picking up in speed as he leaned closer, caressing her cheek with the pad of his thumb. He smiled as her breathing caught when he brushed his lips ever so softly over hers. He withdrew quickly, cursed under his breath softly before leaning in again and pressing his lips against hers a little more forcefully.

Though the kiss was supposed to have been gentle, innocent, the feelings that he had been suppressing ever since they met collided with the heated sensation of her soft, wet lips on his. He just exploded with a tsunami of emotions—emotions he had shut off almost a millennium ago.

They all just came rushing back to him, leaving him breathing heavily and gasping slightly. He could feel the burn on his cheek where her fingers were softly caressing his skin as she kissed him back with equal want and force.

He growled against her lips, before letting his lips wander down her throat, breathing in her heavenly scent, his fangs dropping before he could consciously stop himself, and she froze as she felt his fangs rest against the thin, breakable skin of her jugular.

He made to pull away from her, already realizing how much of a mistake it was on his part to allow himself to be swept away by his passion, but she laced her fingers through his hair, holding him to her. "I trust you," she breathed, and he felt her heartbeat quicken beneath his lips, "Do it. I trust you."

But, as much as her blood—and her request—drove him insane with desire, he could not do it. He forced his fangs back, pressing a single, lingering kiss to the soft skin over her coronary artery—he needed to remember the taste of her on his lips.

He remained in her embrace from one more heartbeat before he found the strength to pull himself away. He closed his eyes and turned away from her, running from her—knowing he had to do this, before whatever drew them together would destroy them both.

"Godric!" He didn't slow down, his heart thrumming in his chest like it had not in a very, very long time—he wasn't ready for what she undoubtedly wanted to discuss.

He could not be ready.

It was ridiculous.

Life didn't work like this for him—there was no love in this world; if one allowed another to get too close, all they did was employ the weakness in his treacherously human heart to seek his destruction. He could not see a single reason Ariana would be any different than any of the other humans or vampires he had ever encountered in his exceptionally long life.

"Damn it, Godric," he tried not to smirk at the frustration that leaked into her voice, "Wait!" Ignoring her proved impossible—she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and yanked him back, spinning him around to face her once again.

Honestly, he could have left—used his vampire strength and speed to escape her—but he did not truly want to.

It was just not possible.

He pulled away from her touch though—it burned him—he could not handle the intimacy of her touch. It was too much, too soon. "We kissed, Godric," she spat, "It may not mean a lot to you, but it does me." He softened at the unexpected emotions filling those cerulean eyes as he slowly raised his hand to touch her cheek once again.

He watched—slightly fearful of just how much that look in her eyes made him feel—as she gently laid her hand upon his, pulled it down to her lips and pressed a kiss to his palm before lowering his hand, taking a slow, deliberate step closer to him.

"I don't know what this is," he whispered, "I don't know how to be what you wish for me to be."

She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet his warm gaze. "I shall not hurt you," she whispered, "will you not believe me? Has your life been filled with so much hardships that my word is completely void to you?"

Her heartbeat was pounding in his ears—he was not sure why, but she made his stomach spin every time she smiled. There was something so honest, so real in her eyes, that he could not do anything but believe her, even if his thousand-year-old survival instinct was screaming at him not to listen to her.

He did not fully trust his own vocal abilities at that moment, so he simply nodded—he did believe her. And she had been quite right; there was something that insisted on drawing them together.

Perhaps ignoring it would be a foolish thing to do.

Her answering smile was so radiant, he could feel his own lips curl up into a sly smile—without actually occasion or reason to smile. Without doing anything, she made him smile. It baffled him—it had been such a long time since he had any reason to genuinely smile.

"Okay," she nodded, "Please—will you stay?" He shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond to that request—he wished to stay; he truly did, more than he had desired to do anything in a thousand years; but fear still grappled at him; and he could not simply say yes.

He shifted uncomfortably, torn between what he wished to do, and what he knew he should do. It was not fair to either of them to draw this out—it would only be more painful when he would be forced to go; when he would be forced to leave her behind.

The life he lived was not a life suited for a human, no matter how strong she was.

"You're human," he said slowly, repeating his earlier words, "I cannot allow you to—" She shook her head, interrupting him once again—a feat that made him smile lightly, despite the severity of the situation. Her expression was … Surprised.

Incredulous, almost.

"Do you fear it?" She almost whispered, disbelief lacing her words. "My humanity?" He shook his head—for he did not.

No, her humanity was not what he found himself frightened of.

"I fear your mortality," he finally replied, and though he wished he had not spoken of this weakness, he was certain she would have found out eventually. "I fear the day death will claim you—the day you will no longer be by my side, if that was what I would allow. I would be forced to go on—your death is inevitable. And I…" he sighed deeply. "I fear the pain, the agony losing you will cause me."

He smiled sadly at her, and noted how they were standing impossibly close to one another, without a single inch of their skin touching. "I am a vampire," he explained, "A part, somewhere deep inside of me, is still human—and it is my biggest weakness. I am not … accustomed to feeling, for feeling makes me weak, and weakness gets me killed."

Ariana was biting her lower lip, and when she finally released it from between her pearly white teeth, it was red and swollen, and Godric found himself wishing he could be the one to bite that lip. Then, he realized, that her lips were moving, and that he was missing part of their conversation, once again, by being distracted by his desire for her.

"I am much older than I appear," she finished, when he had managed to redirect his attention to her words. "How?" he breathed, feeling as though he was missing something crucial, a detail that should not be overlooked.

She lowered her eyes to the forest floor, nibbling on her bottom lip once again, in a move that made him nearly delirious with desire. "Can I trust you not to tell?" She looked up, straight into his eyes—into his soul; if he chose to believe he still had one. "This is a secret kept for millennia—you will be the first outsider to know."

Intrigued, he nodded. "I give you my word—I will not speak of this to anyone; not even to my Child." She looked slightly taken aback for a moment, frowning in a way he found oddly adorable. "You have a Child?" He smiled and nodded slowly. "In a way—I made him a vampire; he is created by my blood, therefore he is my Child."

He could see understanding bloom in those hauntingly blue eyes of hers, before she nodded. "I see." She shook her head lightly, gathering her thoughts as she spoke. "I am not human," she swallowed, "Not fully. None of us are. We're immortal."

Godric had not believed, after a thousand years on this earth, that he could still be surprised—but he never would have been able to predict those words falling from her lips. "That is not possible—such a thing does not exist."

She smiled uncomfortably, shrugging a little. "There are legends, in our village, that say we are descendants from those who came from the union between Gods and men. I do not know if it is true," she breathed in deeply and smiled at him, "But I do know our lives are unnaturally long—and that there are those with powers that baffle all."

Godric was absolutely bewildered, and he wondered briefly if she could not have fought off the other vampire on her own, if what she said was the truth—but then he realized she had never confirmed having those powers herself. "Do you?" He wondered aloud, "Have such powers?"

She shook her head, smiling lightly. "No. Only a few of us do—it does not manifest until a certain age is reached; I am not of that age, and those that were born with the powers have perished long ago; only one of our village Elders still has powers like those." He attempted to process the information she had just given him, and the tremendous amount of trust she had placed in him frightened him slightly—it was more than anyone had ever done; no one had ever placed such faith in him.

"You won't die," he suddenly realized, his eyes snapping up to meet hers. "I would not lose you."

She shook her head once more, and the hopeful smile that graced her lips was simply so irresistible, he could not control himself, and kissed her, briefly and softly. "I won't die," she whispered once he had broken the kiss, "I'm not afraid of you—never of you. Do not leave me," she breathed, "Do not turn your back on this. Please."

He opened his mouth, to deny her claim—for surely, there was nothing to turn his back on; he was a vampire.

He was a ruthless killer.

The silence stretched on, for he could not find the words he needed to deny her claim, and Ariana shifted uncomfortably, hurt blooming deep in her eyes, the bright blue darkening to deep, midnight blue. "Of course," she spat, "Vampires do not recognize feelings—I briefly forgot. I'll leave now, and I would appreciate it if you did too; or I will report you to the Elders."

She turned away from him, and his heart—that had been cold and dead for centuries now—shattered at the look of utter contempt in her gaze as she did. "Ariana," he begged, before he allowed himself to change his mind, "Please. I… I don't know how to be what you wish me to be—emotions are weakness; I have a Child to raise, to teach our ways—how would I be what you wish for me to be at the same time?"

He could see the tension in her shoulders dissipate little by little, finding himself drawn to the long line of her neck as she swallowed thickly. "I don't want to get my heart broken," she breathed so silently, he barely heard her—and it broke him in ways he did not believe he could be broken. "I don't wish to break it," he breathed back, slowly moving to stand in front of her.

He wished desperately to touch her, but he refrained—he had genuinely hurt her feelings, and he was not certain if she would allow any sort of physical contact now. "I'm afraid," she whispered, finally meeting his eye; the cerulean blue in her eyes drawing him in once again. "I'm so afraid of what this could be," she continued, "But I fear the regret of not taking the risk at all even more."

He stood frozen as she cupped his cheeks with her warm, soft hands, tiptoeing lightly to kiss him once again—and he simply melted into her.

She was quite right. The fear of regret was far worse than the fear of heartbreak.

He slid one arm around her waist to hold her close to him, treading the fingers of his free hand in her soft, silky locks, before leaning back to allow her to breathe. "I must go," she breathed against his lips, resting her forehead lightly against his. "I will be relieved soon. Come to me tomorrow, when you rise?" She asked slowly—he could almost feel the tension in her question; the longing, the fear, the magnitude of their predicament hung in the air.

He remained silent for a moment—he knew she was waiting; he could feel her body grow tense in his embrace once again, before he made a decision that would impact many lives—human, vampire and other kinds alike.

He pressed another kiss to her lips and whispered, "I will be there."