True to his word, Ramsay and Katherine meet again very soon after her arrival.
They meet the very next day actually, when Ramsay offers to show her around the Dreadfort. With his help, she begins to learn her way around her new home. It quickly becomes apparent how deserving the place is of its name. The land is barren, the weather unforgiving, and the people seemingly miserable. The Bolton banner flies proudly in every direction she turns. She now understands the fear it induces in people; the sight of a flayed man isn't a pretty one.
The Bolton's are an impressive family indeed.
Weeks pass quickly and the two of them seem to tentatively dance around each other, testing the waters as they try to figure each other out. Neither side wants to give first, both want to know exactly what they're dealing with. She's too sweet to be of much interest, but there's a coy way she interacts with him as if she knows something that he doesn't. He promises himself that he'll figure it out soon.
At first, he seems incredibly boring. Show me your teeth, Katherine prays. Only when she's about to crawl out of her own skin, does she decide to move the first pawn.
"May I speak freely, my lord?" She asks, her voice sounding the perfect amount of tentative for a high born lady. He's not a lord, obviously, only a lord's bastard. But she knows how he longs for the title. She sees the pleasure it brings him to hear it from her lips. His eyes spark as he looks at her from across the table. The two of them sit at supper, he biting vigorously into his meat and she picking around the food. She's just about lost all of her appetite for what humans call food.
Ramsay swallows what he has in his mouth before smiling toothily from across the table. It's an eerie facade of camaraderie. "I encourage you to."
She calculates her move carefully, weighing each word before she says it. "I must confess, you're nothing like what I expected. I'm sure you're aware of how people speak of the Dreadfort. Though, I find myself enjoying my stay." Their food is forgotten as they eye each other thoughtfully. He's trying to determine if she honestly feels safe or if she is simply an exceptional liar; Katherine, of course, is both.
"Yes, I'm aware of my home's bad reputation." Placing his eating utensils down, he leans forward on the table. She recognizes the predator in him; he would make an incredible creature of the night, she muses. However, that certainly isn't an option that Katherine would entertain. If the tales of the Bolton's are indeed true, Ramsay is dangerous enough as a human. Any sane immortal would know better than to turn someone like him. Someone like him needs to have limits. "I'm very pleased to hear that you feel comfortable here," he continues, oblivious to the thoughts she has just dismissed. "Were you frightened when you arrived?"
"Only frightened of the unknown," she says, much to his disappointment. "I've heard stories." Her eyes are wide, innocent as she studies him. His own eyes narrow when he begins to realize the game she plays. She's prodding at the beast but he won't give her what she wants, not just yet.
"Rumors can be quite misleading." He continues to smile but his words are clipped. It's a warning, one any other girl would quickly heed. The girl before him, however, continues to insist on the subject.
"You deny them, then?" She presses, as if completely unaware of the thickening atmosphere in the room. The servants scurry away like rats aware of an oncoming storm.
She questions him as if he's on trial and he doesn't respond well. Ramsay Snow answers to very few people and the little girl before him isn't one of them. She will have to learn her place very soon. Already, he is growing bored with her stupidity.
"I think it's important to make our own opinions, and not rely on the talk of others." Finally, he picks his knife back up and stabs it into the meat on his plate. He bites into it, tearing it apart with his teeth and his gaze turns cool. He's thinking of all the things he wants to do to her, how he'll chase her and take her and make her scream. "Don't you agree?" He asks, words muffled by a mouth full of food.
It's not a genuine question; she recognizes how he has cornered her, forcing her to answer the only way acceptable. His intent to end the conversation is clear. "Yes," she says stiffly. "I suppose so."
"Enough about my home, then. Tell me about yours." Leaning back and pushing his plate away, he reaches for his wine and drinks heavily from the goblet.
"Oh?"
"You must miss it," he suggested. There was a peculiar heat in her gaze, as if something lying dormant had suddenly come awake. There had been no dramatic change in her demeanor but it was there and he becomes acutely aware of the power she holds in her controlled posture. He marvels at the thought that the rather unremarkable girl before him might have a bit of spirit in her after all.
The table between them feels as if it's growing smaller. He takes another sip of his wine and licks the remnants from his lips. His lips are stained red and Katherine begins to feel the familiar ache in her canines.
"Of course," she says, swiftly recovering from her incessant need to feed. The lies come easily, it's a skill she had perfected over the centuries. "What would you like to know?"
He tests her with questions of her home and family and she impresses him with quick responses and witty childhood tales. At least he isn't conversing with a complete imbecile.
By the time supper is over, he's completely convinced of her sincerity and he almost has her fooled as well. His casual demeanor is so convincing, Katherine would be lying if she said she wasn't as equally impressed.
Except, as the weeks pass by, she can hear him at night when he sneaks out to fuck or torture. It makes it easier for her to find the most quiet time of night to feed. Thankfully for her, his hearing abilities aren't nearly as finely tuned as hers. Humans have no chance of detecting her as she moves through the night; she's good even by vampire standards.
It's not difficult to find food, even at such a time of night. Sometimes, it's travelers drifting in and seeking shelter for much needed sleep. Sometimes, it's giggling lovers seeking a secret rendezvous. No matter the story, Katherine always strikes quickly, never leaves time for the screams to bubble up out of her victim's throat.
By the time she departs from the small village, dawn is approaching. It's the time when the heavy darkness isn't quite as thick as it was before, when blackness turns to blurry shades of gray. It's when the scrawny humans around her begin to crawl out of their hiding spots.
A girl stumbles across Katherine and freezes. Katherine's hood of her cloak is pulled up over her head but she's still easily recognizable. Dark curls spill over his shoulder, her fine clothes stand out even in the dark. She belongs to the Bolton's; the girl before her begins to tremble.
"Poor dear," Katherine coos as she does still feel emotions such as sympathy and she reaches for the girl's hands. "You look terrified. What has you in such a state?"
The unfamiliar hands grip hers tightly, desperately. "You're a sweet girl, m'lady," the girl tells her in hushed, shaky voice. "You don't belong in a place such as this." She says it with such conviction that Katherine can't help but feel moved by her concern. She's ready to comfort the distraught girl when she glances down at their clasped hands, noticing for the first time the dark, sticky substance that coated them.
"Blood?" She chokes out, pulling away from Katherine's hold.
When their eyes meet, they both go still and the girl cannot move an inch away. The lady is a demon, she rationalizes. There was no other explanation for her sudden immobility, for the loss of control over her own limbs. Her horrified thoughts fade away when the lady begins to speak.
"You'll forget about our meeting," Katherine tells her softly, because her hunger is momentarily satiated, because she doesn't wish harm on the young innocent. "You'll go back home and you'll no longer fear for the safety of Roose Bolton's new ward. She's a wolf among sheep."
"Esme Ambrose is strong," the girl whispers, knowing it to be true, wishing she could harness the same power.
She forgets what's she doing, standing alone outside of the tavern and she forgets why there's blood smeared across the palms of her hands. It doesn't matter; she wipes them on the skirt of her dress and hurries home without a second thought.