I woke up wedged between satin sheets.

I threw back the covers in disgust. The simple motion sent a wave pain crashing over me. I whimpered, "God d-"

The blur of movement in the corner caught my eye.

Grey light filtered through the curtains. He stood in shadowy corner, dressed, I noted with a bitter taste in my mouth, in the same outfit he'd been wearing the first time we'd met.

I froze for a split second, but recovered quickly. I assessed the situation. I was in an unfamiliar bedroom that was lavishly decorated in the fine things of bygone eras. No outside bustling noise, so we were in the country. Two doors; one, smaller and propped open (bathroom); two, large, stretching nearly the length of the wall, (exit). The windows were unstained, so we were not in Maine (was that relief or disappointment I felt?) The pillows were unmarked, thereby ruling out hotels. From what I knew of him, Grayson had multiple other homes, located across the globe. I ascertained that I must be in one of those homes.

Also, I was hungover.

My eyes narrowed with disdain. "I hate satin. You know I hate satin. Yet you conveniently forgot that detail." I pushed my hair back out of my face. "Or you remembered and you're just trying to make my final hours as torturous as possible."

Disinterested, he looked pointedly off to the side. "I don't recall saying these were your final hours." His voice was clipped. He was annoyed.

Good. So was I.

"It's called positive affirmation. If you put it out there in the universe, its more likely to happen." His eyes twitched in irritation as he switched his gaze to me. His eyes had returned to their natural ice blue color.

"I don't suppose you'd be so kind as to tell me I'm dreaming." He continued to stare at me with the same frigid expression. "No?" I threw myself dramatically backward onto the pillows. "Renfield!" I yelled, cringing because the escalation in volume hurt. "I know you can hear me, damn you! Bring me -"

Alexander Grayson abruptly came to stand over me, his eyes flashing angrily. "You will not be drinking anymore." His commanding tone broke no argument.

Nevertheless, I stubbornly shut my eyes. "I'm way too sober for this."

"Look at me." I attempted to disobey, but it only made my head hurt worse. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes.

"You know, I'm not overly fond of your doing that." He sat down stiffly at the very edge of the bed.

"It's hard to deal with you reasonably when you're like this." He rebutted, cocking his head to the side.

I pushed myself up so I could level with him. "Why am I here?" I asked him simply.

"Because you were dying." A faintly triumphant grin played at the edge of his lips.

"I was not! I was drunk!"

"You were dying. You left me with no choice. But where else would you rather be? Home? Or should I say, the abandoned university library." He sneered.

"Home is where the heart is."

A familiar, disconcerting predatory look crossed his face. "I think you made it very clear where you heart is."

I clenched my jaw. "Listen, last night -"

He interrupted. "Three nights ago."

"What?"

"You would have drowned in your own puke had I not rescued you. As it was, Renfield had difficulties aplenty trying to preserve you from dying from alcohol poisoning."

Alcohol poisoning? How many drinks had I had again? I couldn't remember. After drinking non-stop for a year it took more than a shot or two to get me wasted. It was possible that I had pushed my limit.

I pressed the joint of my thumb between the corner of my eye and nose. "You could have just let me die."

He rolled his eyes. "Again with the masochism."

My face grew hot. "Why did you bring me back?" When he offered no answer I spoke again. "Let's recap shall we? First, you force me to marry you - presumably just so you could kill me - then you tell me to get lost, and now you've kidnapped me and are nursing me back to health. You do realize the insanity of this?"

"A wife's place is by her husband's side." His eyes widened in mock innocence.

I snorted. "That's cute. Try again."

"I noted your choice in literature. Funny, if I didn't know better I'd say you were researching monsters."

Uh, oh. My muscles tightened at the whiff of impending danger. "I was looking for - for a - something." It was weak, but I was unprepared.

He leaned in, quirking up his eyebrow. "Which was what?"

Well, he was going to find out sooner or later. If his interest was peaked then it was only a matter of time before he wrung it out of me. Best just to get it over with. "A cure." I said at length. I struggled to maintain a practical air. "You heard what I said so its no use for me to pretend to feel otherwise."

"I was under the impression you sent me away because you didn't need me. I reasoned, if I could find a cure, or at least something that would help you do the things you wanted," I looked over at the window where the sun poured in from the outside world. When I looked back Mr. Grayson had straightened his posture. He was looking frightfully calm. "If I could be useful, you would let me find you again. Or you would find me."

"And what conclusions have you drawn from your research?"

I shook my head. "Nothing of any value. Most anything written on the subject is archaic or riddled with mythology. The only work I read of any substance was an old medical journal entitled 'A Cure for Death'I think. The author had some good ideas, but knew nothing about executing them. Besides, I gave that pursuit up in college. The books you saw were more light reading than anything else." A strange expression crossed Mr. Grayson's face. I mistook it for uncertainty. "I believe that there is no cure to be found. It is impossible, Mr. Grayson." I said carefully.

"Nothing is impossible." His eyes bore into mine. "Mrs. Grayson."

Horrified, I hid my face in my hands. "Oh, for the love of all that is holy - or unholy, whichever you prefer - I can't get any more pathetic, so if you want to hear me say it, I'll beg. Please get me something to drink!"

He stood and smoothed the wrinkles out of his clothing. "I won't. No, you're going to sober up. I need you healthy."

My nerve endings tingled. "You need me? For what? Are you going to finish what you started?" Did I sound hopeful?

"Don't tempt me." He turned away, started toward the door, but paused. "While you're in need of distraction, you might get to work on finding that cure." He gestured toward the bookshelf that lined the wall to the right. "It'll give you something to do, and maybe I'll decide to keep you around this time."

I lay back down and stared at the bed canopy. "Or I could lie here and feel sorry for myself."

The door slammed shut. The echo resonated off of the walls.

Big house, then.

"Yep. I'll be here wallowing in pity when you need me." I tilted my head to the side.

The book on the nightstand caught my eye. It was extremely old, and had obviously recently been rebound. There was no markings on the brown, leather cover. Pages had clearly been dog-eared, torn, and marked. Notes were poked out temptingly from between the fraying edges of the papers.

I sighed and shifted out of bed, the callouses on my feet catching on the satin. Satin. Satan. Same thing. Why did it have to be satin? I muttered curses under my breath as I opened the cover to start reading.

*.*.*.*.*

A few hours later Renfield brought me tea. I laid the book back on the nightstand as I watched him walk in. He was looking even older than when last I saw him. In some ways, Renfield was more unnerving than his master. I never knew quite what to make of him.

He held out a steel table to me, atop which sat a piping cup of tea and saucer of small cold cuts. I took it from him graciously.

I chuckled then sighed out - "Oh, Renfield. The social conundrum that is the British. Your prisoner may not have contact with the outside world, access to her booze, who is a matter of fact, denied from doing anything apparently, but search for the proverbial needle in a haystack. But, bless your heart, tea time is tea time."

Renfield did not make eye contact when he said, "You have not asked to do anything."

I sat up with tempered excitement. "Can I leave?"

"No."

"Can I have a drink?

"I believe I just brought you one."

"Can I have a drink that contains fermented liquid?"

"No."

"Can I make a phone call?"

"No."

"Can I explore my new home?"

"Yes."

"Outside of this room?"

"No."

"What will happen to me if I attempt to do any of the aforementioned?"

"You will risk becoming the object of his displeasure."

"No harm there then."

Renfield's expression darkened. "I would caution you against foolhardy behavior. He is not in the best of moods."

"What is he going to do to me that he hasn't already done? He's ruined my life. What's next on the agenda? Death? Clearly not because he would have killed me already." I huffed in frustration.

"He has stayed out of your life for half a decade. True, the passage of years are mere moments to him, but it was significant chunk of your mortal existence. If your life is ruined, no one's doing but your own."

Inwardly I shrank. Grayson had said as much before. "He wasn't doing me a favor." I protested. "He was just messing with my head."

Renfield shrugged his bony shoulders. Without further ado he exited the room. I sipped the tea in pensive silence for a time. I could taste the bitter flavor of medicine in the drink. It made me drowsy. I sat the table down at my feet, and lay back down. My eyes began to close with thoughts resembling memories flitting in and out of consciousness.