She passed the day away relatively easily, spending it buried in a book or listening to the gramophone in the corner of the room (a wonderful invention she still marveled at.) When evening fell she arose from her activities ready and willing to do her duty. It was the least she could do to Vincent; take away a few of his prying eyes.

Her escorts to the docks were boring company, with nothing to say and thus a very poor addition to the conversation she tried and failed to start at the beginning of their journey. The closer the carriage drew to the docks, the more pungent the air grew, until it reeked of fish and industry. She fought the urge to wrinkle her nose.

They stopped across the street from a fishermen's pub, and the taller of her two escorts nodded. "Your men are in there. We will be leaving you now, so if you get into trouble, you're on your own. You have until dawn to bring them in."

She nodded, and got out of the carriage wordlessly. It wouldn't take her that long.

She entered the pub after dodging a pickpocket and walked in to sit at the bar, very obviously out of place in her clean, bright dress, and impeccable hair. Her eyes alighted on the men drinking in the corner. Too well-dressed for this place. Dirty from travel, and long-wear, but otherwise much too high class. She recognized them. She waited for them to notice her, and ordered a glass of water from the barkeep, just to have something in front of her.

It took them about two minutes- they had obviously been drinking- but once they saw her, they moved quickly, standing and moving to the bar, sitting on either side of her. "Ms. Harrison," Samson crooned in a slow southern drawl. "Imagine seeing you here."

"Samson," she said coldly, "Smith. I thought they didn't let the likes of you out of the country, let alone out of the South. That's where we last saw each other, wasn't it? Virginia? Richmond, right?"

"When the boss attended the Southern Accords, yes," Smith said with a thin smile. "To be honest, we didn't expect to run into you so soon ..."

She rolled her eyes slightly, just enough for them to see. "You're both morons. I'm here to save your life, or at least warn it. You've vampire hunters after you. Good ones. I advise you leave the country." She knew that they would never in a million years turn their tails and run. It was just their Southern Gentleman code of honor, their pride. She took a sip from her glass, to maintain appearances.

Samson sniffed disdainfully. "As if. Mr. Armetti sent us after you, madame. There's no worming your way out of this one."

"I personally warned Mr. Armetti that if he came after me again I would end his eternal life myself," she hissed, eyes flashing momentarily, then she was composed again. "Either way, if you refuse to leave, you'll have to kill them. They're only humans, anyway. Fragile creatures."

"Yeah, and what proof have you of these hunters, ma'am?" Smith asked, leaning against the bar daintily.

She sighed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes again. "I'm required to carry proof with me, now? I heard it straight from the mouth of the devil, you fool. I pass for human during

daytime, granted it's a cloudy day," she said snippily. "I happened on them on the crossing over, fell in with them. Then you had to go and cross over yourselves. Idiots."

"We've been here, madame," Smith drawled. "Working on Armetti's interests in France. Once he realized you'd jumped onto a boat he sent word. Now, pray-tell, where are these supposed ruffians?"

"In the center of the city, in the wealthier districts," she said, tapping her finger soundlessly on her glass of water. "You know I won't let you take me back, don't you? I'll kill you in a straight fight. I have desperation."

"We have numbers," Samson retorted, unimpressed. "Mr. Armetti thought that you might object, but he, too, is desperate."

"Look at it this way," she snapped, hand tight on the glass. "You bring me back to him, I will kill him. Just to stop this. By letting me go, pretending you never saw me, you're prolonging his life, and I can make this bargain with the next unlucky sods to cross my path," she said sternly, eyes sharp.

"Now now," Samson said, reaching out to put a hand on her thigh. "Come along, dear. Mr. Armetti just wants to talk. And think about what he'll be doing to the boys back home. The fits he'll be throwing... People are bound to get hurt."

She grit her teeth to stop her fangs from making an appearance, the glass cracking in her hand. "Unhand me, Samson, before I go with you willingly and tell Vincent about your wandering hand."

She turned to look at Samson, and Smith wasted no time, his hand slipping out, a small vial in hand, which he poured into the remainder of her drink. He withdrew his hand, eyeing the crack dubiously, but the glass seemed to hold for now. Samson pulled his hand back slowly. "I apologize, madame. I meant no disrespect..."

"Didn't you?" She said icily, picking up her glass and tossing back the remainder of its contents. "You always had poor manners. Especially towards the fairer sex."

He sighed. "I apologize, madame. Truly. How can we resolve this situation so that all parties walk away happy?"

"Simple. Don't attempt to return me to Vincent. Kill these vampire hunters I've fallen in with and go back to your regular duties. Claim my death," she said, shrugging lightly. "Don't be imbeciles about this."

"Your death is the last thing Mr. Armetti wants to hear," he sighed. "But fine. For the moment, let us find these hunters of yours and deal with them. Then we'll decide what to tell New York."

"As if I care what Vincent wants to hear," she said scornfully, standing up from the bar and heading for the door. "I hope you know I shan't be paying for the cab."

"Of course not," Smith said, sounding a touch affronted at the idea. They stepped out into the street, and Samson flagged down a passing growler a few minutes later, opening the door for Lorna with a slight bow. "After you, ma'am."

She got in without a word, feeling slightly off and unsure why. Had it been the blood last night? Surely it would have hit before this?

Samson and Smith climbed in behind her, Samson sitting a touch too close and Smith sitting primly on the opposite bench. He slid the hatch open and looked at Harrison questioningly. "Where are we heading, madame?"

She gave them the address and sat back again, uncomfortable in a couple of different ways, skin prickling unpleasantly.

Smith relayed the address and the driver started off, the horses' hooves almost drowned out by the rumbling of wheel on cobblestone.

The ride was long and awkward, Lorna fidgeting progressively throughout. There was a fire starting under her skin, one she couldn't explain, but she knew that if she held out until the delivery of her quarry she could address it then. Before then, she would have to suffer.

Samson gave Smith an uncertain look, but the other man did not blink or otherwise show any signs of concern, just quietly observed the passing streets. It took them about twenty minutes to get to the address Lorna had given, and when the cab stopped, Smith was the first out, moving carefully, eyeing their surroundings before nodding to Samson that all seemed well.

Lorna stepped out without waiting for an invitation, restless and keen to get back to her room, to weather whatever mystery illness had befallen her.

"Lead the way, madame," Smith said, pulling a small pistol out of his jacket. Samson nodded, doing the same.

She nodded, leading them towards the large gated manor recessed from the street, eyes on the rooftops. Were they waiting in the eaves, ready to take her poor-mannered followers?

Moran was leaning in the doorway of the mansion, smoking a cigarette, and nodded to Harrison as she approached. He was obscured by the shadows, for the most part, but that did little to conceal him from the gaze of their kind. "Good to see you got back safely. Who are your friends?" The gates to the manor swung shut behind the trio.

"Samson and Smith," she said tonelessly, gesturing to them each in turn. "Colleagues from America. They're friends of my husband."

"I see. Well, a friend of Ms. Harrison's is always welcome here. Come in, come in." He opened the door, stepping inside.

The men exchanged a glance between them, but Samson nodded, and led the way forward, passing Lorna, whose face was unreadable.

Moran bowed slightly as they both entered, and caught Lorna's gaze for just a second, though his expression remained neutral. He closed the door behind the group, and bolted it. The doors to the hallway suddenly opened, and a dozen men in the network uniform stepped out, each bearing a sharpened and stained wooden stake, and a torch. "Now, gentlemen," Moran said smoothly, pulling his silver dagger out of his jacket. "You could cooperate, but I would have so much more fun if you didn't."

They didn't.


Outside, Lorna sank onto a bench, her hand pressed to the front of her bodice, fingers pulling slightly at the material. What on Earth was wrong with her? She felt a deep, empty ache that was gnawing at her center. Maybe Moran would know what was wrong with her?

He exited the house a few minutes later, tucking away a knife stained with blood. There were screams behind him, but they weren't from his men and he wasn't concerned. He nodded to Lorna. "Well done. A good first step."

She nodded, distracted. His voice was oddly compelling, but she was confused. What was happening to her? How was this happening? Vampires weren't susceptible to disease, not like humans.

He looked her over, and raised an eyebrow. "Do you intend to sit out here all night, or was a trip inside somewhere in your evening schedule?" he asked with more than a touch of sarcasm.

Why did she keep imagining him ripping her corset off? Lord above. "Excuse me, Mr. Moran, I'm not feeling myself," she said as steadily as she could manage, despite the heat pooling in her face and extremities.

He glanced her over again. "No. You aren't looking yourself either, I shouldn't think." He extended his arm. "Allow me to escort you to your room." It was more of an order than a request.

She stood and took his arm, only nearly avoiding shivering at the contact in the process. "I really don't know what's afflicting me, Mr. Moran. You said the blood donors are checked by doctors, yes?"

"Most rigorously," he assured her, guiding her inside. She was oddly warm. He could feel almost living levels of heat emanating from her. "And tasted for impurities before they are fed on by guests."

She nodded, though the information only proved to make her more anxious. His solid grip on her arm was sending spikes of longing through her, and she couldn't fathom why. He was devastatingly handsome, for her tastes, but normally she had better restraint than this. "Who tastes them?" She asked, in an effort to be polite.

"Lower level peons chosen for the task. They eat plenty that way, so it isn't hard to find volunteers." He walked to the staircase and started downward, though slowly. The woman next to him seemed to have the sudden inclination toward unsteadiness, and as entertaining as it would be to watch her bounce down the stairs, he didn't feel like damaging what could be an influential bargaining chip in their dealings with New York.

She made a thoughtful sound, relieved to see they were nearing her room, which is about where she lost control of her tongue. "Mr. Moran, excuse me, but I keep imagining you tearing off my bodice, and if you indulge my fantasy, I promise, it will be very worth your while."

His steps faltered just slightly, and he glanced at her, before continuing on toward her room. "You aren't well, Ms. Harrison."

She stopped in her tracks, hand clutching his arm, simple need on her face. "I implore you, sir, please..." Now that she'd said it aloud she was desperate for it, for something to ease the itch that had crawled beneath her skin, the heat at her core. Some part of her knew this was wildly wrong, that she shouldn't be trying to have relations with a man she didn't trust, but god, did she want it.

He looked at her for a long moment, saw her pupils blown wide, and then, to his surprise, the barest hint of a pulse flickering by her throat. Interesting ... "Did you get a bite to eat while you were out, madame?" he asked, reaching out to open the door to her room and guiding her through.

"Not a drop, why do you ask?" She replied, eyes still on him, hurried by her body's insistence, hardly aware of her surroundings.

"Because you have a pulse," he said calmly, reaching out to press his fingers to it, smirking.

She felt a shiver crawl up her spine at his touch, and then felt her face flush. "So I do," she said, raising a hand to her cheek, confused.

He closed her door behind them both. If she wanted to fuck him, he had no problems with that. Propriety had never been his forte. "Well, then. Seeing as you did ask, I suppose I could help you out of your many layers. You can't be comfortable."

She grinned in success, her heart stuttering oddly in her chest, and she took a step backwards towards her bed, pretending to have some measure of coyness in her. "Believe me, sir, I've never been less comfortable. You'll be doing me quite a favor."

He smiled and reached out to undo the first few buttons of her dress, fingers moving easily along the fabric.

She pulled off her gloves and then reached out to start helping him out of his waistcoat, eager to see his body underneath.

He opened the top of her dress and pushed it off of her shoulders with a smile, his hands finding her bare shoulders under her various layers and smoothing over her skin.

His touch felt so good, better than it should have, and she pushed his vest off his shoulder and started on his shirt, fingers flying through the motions until she bared his chest, and she stepped forward and kissed him.

Her lips were oddly warm against his, almost as hot as a human's would be, but he didn't mind. He had enjoyed himself with humans and their kind alike, so it made no difference to him. He slid his hands downward and started to unlace her bodice, nimble fingers only pausing for a moment at the tight knots that secured it, loosing them easily.

She kissed him harder, nipping lightly at his lips in a way she hadn't worked up the courage for for years with Vincent, the fire under her skin driving her into frenzy. She slid her fingers into his beltline.

If he was surprised by her forwardness, he didn't show it. "Want a taste?" he asked with a grin, pulling her bodice loose and then unlacing it completely, dropping it to the side. "You were so eager earlier..."

"Don't tempt me, Mr. Moran," she breathed, undoing his belt, "I've already propositioned you in public. What will be next?"

"Take it," he said with a smirk. "I want to see what my blood looks like on your tongue..." He reached to push her skirts down over her various petticoats.

She let his belt drop to the floor, her heart pounding in her ears. "You can reciprocate, should you wish," she grinned, and with a click of her fangs bit into the side of his throat, moaning as the blood spread across her tongue.

"Mmm... I'll pass. I'd rather watch you enjoy it for the first time." He took a sharp breath out of instinct as she bit his neck, though the pain was minimal. Jim drank off of him every once in a while. He was used to it.

She drew back after a few good swallows, and accidentally tore the button off his trousers, which led her to step back, raising her hands a little. "Perhaps you should finish. And this isn't my first time, Mr. Moran. I was, for all intents and purposes, married."

"I don't mean this," he said with a laugh as he removed his clothes. "I mean this." He tapped his neck where blood was oozing. "Or have you drunk before?"

"Vincent is one of us; of course I've sipped from him," she smirked, slipping out of her skirts and corset cover, leaving her in drawers and the corset itself, and turning around, making her corset strings available. "Release me, darling, would you?"

"Really? Interesting. The way you balked when I cut myself earlier I would have pegged you for clean." He walked up behind her to start unlacing her.

"I don't know you, Mr. Moran, of course I balked," she said simply, letting the corset fall off her body as he unlaced it. "Now it hardly matters, does it?"

He reached out to slide fingers down her spine. "I suppose it doesn't," he agreed, his fingers cool against her warmer skin.

She shivered tangibly this time, already feeling the effects of his blood; the light-headed giddiness, the increase in attraction. She turned and placed a hand on his bare chest, eyes devouring every inch of him. It had been a very long time since she had had relations with anyone other than Vince, and so far she was loving the change. She liked her men excessively tall, and Vince had been a little short of that, not to mention a sight less muscular. She met his eyes, and smiled. "Do take me to bed, won't you Mr. Moran?"

"You make the most appealing suggestions, Ms. Harrison," he agreed with a smile, reaching out to grab her waist and lift her, carrying her over to lay her out on the bed, before he leaned down to kiss her again.

She hitched a leg around his waist, grinding up against him in the way proper women weren't supposed to do, her hand sliding into his hair as she returned his kiss, hungry for more.

He grinned as she moved against him. Oh good, she wasn't one of the ones caught up in what she was supposed to do. Not that he was surprised. From what he'd heard Armetti wasn't terribly fond of what should be done, he wasn't surprised the man's wife wasn't of that persuasion. He ground down right back, then pulled away to remove his shoes and trousers.

She groaned against his lips, trying to get some more friction out of him, and then changed into a noise of complaint as he pulled away. Still, she took advantage of the opportunity and finished disrobing.

He looked down over her, and let out a low whistle. "I can see why Armetti's so insistent," he chuckled, tossing his pants aside and kneeling back on the bed, naked and proud. "I would be too."

"Flatterer," she smirked, taking him in and being similarly pleased. He was beautiful in a dangerous sort of way, all sharp lines and tough muscle and straight teeth, and Lord, if he'd been her first, she would have been in for a rude awakening. "If you had been an option, you would have been my first choice. You're gorgeous, Mr. Moran."

He grinned, leaning down to nip beneath her jaw, playfully- no force, no fangs. His hands found the bed on either side of her, a subtle bid to keep her beneath him. "I'll wait to see how silvered your tongue is before I take that to heart."

She had always enjoyed being bitten. It was a shameful trait for a creature of the night like them, but it was a trait from her human life that she'd never shrugged off. She wished he would sink in all the way, but he'd already passed on that front, and she wouldn't ask him to do something so taboo. "Oh, I'm incapable of speaking lies at this point, sir, believe me," she chuckled, lifting a hand off the bed to trail down his flank, over his waist and the side of his arse.

"I find that trust is as deadly as a stake in this line of work," he said with a grin. "But none the less..." His own hand was wandering, dipping between her thighs to explore what he found there.

She groaned, used to but not expecting foreplay, biting her lip as she traced patterns on his skin. "Unsurprising. Hopefully you can accept that these simple lines are truthful."

"It doesn't much matter, does it?" he asked with a smile, sliding his fingers into her. He knew plenty of men who preferred to jump straight to the main event, but he liked toying with his conquests a bit first.

She breathed in sharply, grabbing onto his shoulder with a tight grip. "No, it really doesn't," she chuckled breathlessly.

He grinned as she tightened reflexively around his fingers, curling them slowly. "I'm glad to hear we are in agreement."

She bit her lip, shifting her hips impatiently, the hand wandering his side making its way to his manhood, determined that he not be the only one impatient, and skimmed across his skin, watching his face for changes in expression.

He closed his eyes as her warm fingers touched him, and he smiled a bit. "Eager, are we? Silly question, come to think of it. You practically begged me to come in here..." He grinned, leaning down to kiss her bared throat again.

"I can't explain what's come over me, honestly, I don't usually behave this way," she murmured, eyes fluttering shut. "All I know is I want you."

"Well, if you insist," he breathed, removing his fingers and shifting between her legs, lining up and entering her in one smooth motion.

She groaned, back arching off the bed a little, her leg hitched around his hip. " Fuck," she let out in a breath, a swear she usually didn't indulge in. "Good god, you feel good."

He braced himself as she arched up against him, and smiled a little, letting her guide movement for the moment. "Happy to please."

"Believe me, I've gathered," she chuckled, rolling her hips up against his, and leaning up to capture his lips again, the hand on his bicep sliding into his hair.

Once she started moving again he matched her, muscles in his arms bunching as he held himself up over her. He was bulky for a vampire. Their kind tended toward slim strength, but he had little natural strength granted to him compared to others of their kind, so he made up for it the old fashioned way, and now he was more than an equal match.

She kissed him hard, hard enough and with enough teeth that she would have hurt a normal man, fingers tightening in his hair as he started a rhythm. She had pushed the edges of Vincent's limits, once or twice, when she'd been in a right bloodlust.

She surged against him with surprising force, and he grinned. He had gambled correctly, bedding this one. She was a wild, unbroken spirit, and he was looking forward to seeing what she could do. He rammed a knee up beneath her, lifting her hips off of the bed and tighter against him, tugging against her grip in his hair.

She gasped at the change in angle, dragging her nails down his shoulder blade, and then laughed slightly, nipping at his lower lip. "You've no idea what a relief it is to me that you're silent, Mr. Moran," she chuckled breathlessly. "I normally know too much about my lovers by this point."

He didn't know what that meant, and he didn't really care at the moment. He arched under her biting nails, pleased by the sharp sting, and growled through grit teeth, biting her shoulder in response.

She shuddered, pleased to find that he was receptive to her unrefined wishes. She had never liked being treated like a china doll, but it was difficult to articulate such a thing during the heat of the moment, or, truthfully, any time, and it was easiest to convey it with her nails and teeth.

He broke her skin without really meaning to, and the warm taste of her blood on his tongue just spurred him on. He shifted a hand to grip her ass, pulling her against him, ignoring his previous stance on not drinking as his tongue lathed the break on her shoulder.

Had she been less consumed by the moment, she would have been surprised, but as it was she was dizzy with blood and sex, and he was giving it to her just the way she liked it without any direction, and she was eager to repay the favor any way she could, kissing a line down his throat, nails dragging at his scalp and over the curve of his ass.

Her blood was delicious, and tinged just slightly with his own flavor. He felt a thrill at the reminder of his power over her, the bandaged wound on his forearm burning pleasantly as he moved. The intoxicating effects of the blood started almost immediately, and he was careful not to drink too much. He pulled away, lips stained red, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop. He was getting close, his body warming and tensing, and he let himself go a little, rough and hungry.

She could tell he was reaching his end, and writhed under him with more fervor, determined not to be left behind in the dust, trying to lose herself fully.

He took in a sharp gasp of air as she moved with determination, concentrating on holding out to give her a few more seconds to catch up, before he let out a sharp cry of pleasure, and came hard.

Had it not been for the aphrodisiac in her system she might not have made it, but as it was she came with a gasp, relieved to have some sense of satisfaction.

He pulled away slowly, eyeing her to ensure she'd found her release. He'd never been one to lose the potential of a good fuck just because he was lazy. If he wanted options, he had to be good. She seemed satisfied, however, and he shifted to lay beside her, relaxing.

She was still buzzed from his blood, and she stayed relaxed next to him, pleased to find that even now she couldn't hear his thoughts. Blessed silence. Even Vincent she'd been able to hear, every once in a while, with his training. "You'll be pleased to hear I can't read your thoughts, even now."

"I'm glad, I suppose?" he asked, glancing at her. "Is that one of your gifts?"

She nodded a little, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Yes. It's only been slightly useful, and very unfortunate."

"How does it work?" he asked, glancing over at her, gaining a touch of interest. It was always useful to know what his pets could do.

"Sometimes, it only takes a touch, for the particularly weak-willed. Others, a kiss. Some, sex itself. Even fewer, the period afterwards. Everyone is at their mentally weakest then, exhausted by their exertions as they are. Someday, far in the future, I might be strong enough to read at just a touch for every person, but for now, I'm doomed to hear the least interesting thoughts mankind has to offer. Most of the people I cannot hear are like us. It gives me a vast preference for our kind," she sighed, closing her eyes.

He glanced at her with a smirk. "Well, I'm glad to find I have the mental constitution required to provide silence." He sat up, and then stood, going to gather his clothes and starting to dress. "Now, if you will excuse me, I will return to my duties."

"Of course. Thank you for your time, Mr. Moran," she nodded, a hint of a smirk on her lips.

"You're certainly welcome," he said with a smirk, doing up his waistcoat. "Enjoy your day, Ms. Harrison." With that he bowed, and left her rooms.


A/N

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