A tremendous thanks to the combined beta-efforts and sanity checks provided by Regency Poet and Riona Winters on this final installment.

And many thanks to you, my beloved readers, for the continued support, the reviews, favorites, follows, and especially your time. You could be reading anything else right now, but the fact that you're here, giving my humble drabble even a degree of attention means the world to me. I'm eager to hear everyone's thoughts! Let me know what you think of the final chapter – or of the story as a whole. I'm a huge advocate for feedback, be it praise or concrit, so don't be a lurker and leave a review!

Please note: the rating has gone up thanks to some citrus-flavored goodness sprinkled throughout the chapter. Nothing gratuitous, but here's your warning nonetheless. ENJOY!


"'Aren't you afraid of my darkness, my dear?' Hades asked with mischief in his eyes. 'No,' Persephone replied, 'You haven't even seen mine yet.'"

- kfg

Late Afternoon
Dormer Estate, Kent, England

The scent of rain and damp pine hung heavy in the air and Elyse breathed it in deep as she stepped out of the carriage, taking in the view of her childhood home.

Situated on the northern bank of a river, Dormer House stood looking across a number of low hills. The residence, which had been in the family for generations, was set in expansive parkland, backed by wooded, rocky knolls rising to heather-covered moorland which would stretch on for several miles before hitting the coast. Elyse had always been fond of her father's estate, with its secluded gardens and picturesque woods, all nestled away in some lush, green pocket of forgotten English countryside.

But home felt different to her now, its dramatic façade and embellishments not as warm or inviting as they had once been. Even as she stepped across the threshold, she found herself craving to be outside again, as if something beyond these familiar walls had tied a string to her wrist, taken to gently pulling.

As the servants unpacked her things, Elyse glanced out the nearest window, beyond the vast stretch of frozen gardens to the woods beyond. The mist that had followed her all the way from London had since settled along the fringes of the estate, appearing to surround the entire perimeter, but never encroaching forward, as if it were waiting, beckoning her to venture forth into the twilight to accompany it the rest of the way.

Unable to resist its summons, or to even consider the situation more rationally, Elyse found herself immediately calling for a horse to be brought. As if her mind had been possessed by a single thought, to lose herself in that gray mist, she promptly ignored the gentle insistence of the elderly housekeeper as she changed into her riding habit, declining the offer of tea and the promise of a hot dinner. The young woman would bear no refutation. She didn't care if the sun was due to set within the hour or that she had spent the better part of her day confined to a carriage. Her mind was riddled with an almost crippling blend of anxiety and anticipation.

Surely the fresh air and exercise would calm her restless nerves.

She hardly believed the rationalization as it flitted across her brain and passed her lips, but she also never bothered to question its origin.

She was consumed by a solitary need – she had to be outside.

Once changed, and with no person of authority to stop her, she made her way back out to the front of the house where a servant waited with her black mare, the steed saddled and ready to go. She mounted with ease and then dug her heels into the animal's side, rearing it forward and out of the driveway without a word of explanation, or any indication of when she would return.

The cold wind whipped against her flushing cheeks as she lightly brought down the end of her riding crop onto the rear of the beast's flesh, spurring it from a canter to a full gallop. The increase in speed sent her heart to race wildly in her chest, some primal instinct submitting that he was somehow associated with that mist. The notion – though utterly preposterous to a sensible mind – thrilled her to her very core, and with a flick of her wrist, she brought the riding crop down once more, steering her mare directly into the woods.

Even as the sun began to set behind them, the thoroughbred obeyed, albeit with a snort of protestation, racing straight for the dark shade of the trees until they were completely enveloped in shadow and mist.

Elyse weaved the animal through the gloomy labyrinth with expertise and it brought a hint of a smile up to her eyes, her expression becoming more triumphant.

Count Dracula's presence in her life may have left her hazy and overwrought with uncharacteristic feelings and impulses, but she was still strong and clever enough on her own merit to navigate through the wilderness of her desires. She was still her own master, and her riding through her father's land practically blind from the fog was proof enough.

But the mental acknowledgment of the son of the devil's name seemed to elicit something dark and insidious inside of her; a coiling, aching want that tightened in her womb. With each gallop of her horse, she was brought down onto the saddle and the friction against her sex began to rouse something within her – something sinful and indecent.

Without even meaning to conjure up the images, her mind turned to her dreams of him from the night previous – a mist-covered lawn in the dead of night with only the crescent moon to light the way; a shadow lurking in the distance, advancing slowly.

His eyes had been like two glowing orbs, bluer than the sky in summer, and as brilliant as a flash of lightning in a storm. The weight of his aura, that dark, indefinable magic that emanated from his very person in powerful, seducing waves had been almost tangible in the dream, and just a single look had been enough to undo her entirely.

Elyse brought the riding crop down again, harder this time.

She needed to go faster.

But with the increase in speed came another surge of adrenaline and the friction at the apex of her thighs worsened; a twisted, delicious agony budding and building inside of her as her recollections continued.

He had touched her in the dream – not the chaste caress of fingers against her cheek or throat, but a stroke full of purpose; the magnetic pull that stemmed from his being slowly pulling her under – the gentle temptation of a whisper, a coaxing breath against her cheek.

The tension continued to build between her tightly clenched thighs as she rode faster, picturing him in her mind's eye, those delightful fingers of his tracing a path from her throat to her bosom… down, down, down...

She could almost taste the wickedness in his smile as he had touched her then, a firm and bold pressure pressed between her legs and up against her womanhood.

And then those fingers started to move…

Elyse let out a cry as the coiling tension in her sex reached new heights and she pulled on the reins of her steed, bringing it to a sudden and abrupt halt. The lack of movement left the pressure between her thighs to linger unsatisfied and she clenched her eyes shut as she desperately sought to regain control over her faculties, lips pressed tight together. She exhaled slowly, with deliberation as an unseemly four-letter Anglo-Saxon word slipped past her lips.

The man was nowhere near her, and yet how much power he seemed to have over her already – just the suggestion of him nearly unraveled her sense of decorum, her dignity.

It should have terrified her, should have repulsed her – and yet.

She could not shake this fiendish curiosity, the bourgeoning lust in her heart.

Since her very first encounter with the king of the undying, Elyse had become unconsciously aware of something awakening within her, something wicked and dark buried deep within the recesses of her soul that had bloomed exponentially in the last few days since the incident at Highgate.

The night he had tasted her blood.

There was some private admission that perhaps Dracula held some direct influence over her after all, but Elyse Dormer refused to consider herself as some kind of senseless damsel.

She breathed in deep of the cold forest air, eyes lively as they took in her surroundings. She could sense him in these woods – unable to explain how she knew or why, but some part of her was conscious of his nearness, his attention on her as if he was somewhere in the mist, watching. The back of her neck prickled in awareness.

Elyse rolled her eyes at the suggestion the moment it skidded across her brain. With a huff of pure stubbornness she dug her heels into the side of her horse, urging it forward again, this time at a steady trot as reason returned to her. It was best to head home, she decided.

Her journey back was measured, unhurried as her sharp gaze scanned the dim forest surrounding her, the sky above gradually darkening.

He felt so close, and yet he couldn't really be here… could he?

Determined not to appear too hopeful, she lifted her chin as she lightly rapped the riding crop against the horse's flanks, urging it forward at a brisker pace.

The sun had finished its full descent by the time she emerged from the woods, the lights of home summoning her as she finally took note of the icy chill that had begun to settle in her bones. The soft billows of mist followed her slowly out of the forest, trailing leisurely behind. By the time she reached the front door where one of the servants was waiting for her, it had all but enveloped the estate.

Elyse's heart continued to thump wildly in her chest, but not once did her expression betray her true feelings. She dismounted with grace before heading inside, the faint curl of a smirk tugging the corner of her lips when she noticed the mist was unable to cross the threshold of her father's door. She made her way up to her room with the housekeeper following close behind. There was an absentminded request for something quick and light for supper, which she would take in her room, but that was the only conversation that passed her lips.

The curtains to the windows of her private apartments were drawn, blocking any view of the outside world, and yet Elyse could almost feel his eyes on her as her lady's maid helped her undress for the evening. She could sense him as she nibbled at her plate of charcuterie beside the fire in her boudoir, sipping her wine and half-heartedly perusing a letter from her ex-fiancé that had been delivered express during her evening ride.

Lord Gregory Ashton's ardent pleas for forgiveness and impassioned insistence that things were not as they seemed, that there was more to his presence in her life than what met the eye – all of it was of little to no interest to Elyse as she tossed the letter aside, not even bothering to finish reading the epistle. The sustained bruise to her ego his infidelity had wrought would have been far worse had it not been for the delightful diversion the Count had provided, and she was grateful for it.

The thought of Dracula and the subsequent lack of distraction made her hyper aware of his nearness just then. She could still sense him, just beyond, somewhere out there in the darkness.

Waiting.

Beckoning.

For the next hour and a half she sat there in the silence, struggling against the temptation that proved hell-bent on stifling what remained of her self-restraint. The crackling heat of the fire in front of her offered little reprieve from the cold that persisted. Elyse felt her resolve crumble a little and she raised her hand to her brow, wondering if this obstinate restlessness she was feeling was madness or fever. Maybe both?

The small meal had done nothing to sate her appetite, and though she had spent nearly the entire day travelling, the usual fatigue that came with the hour eluded her.

"What is wrong with me?" she asked herself, standing to take hold of the mantle over the fireplace, gripping its edge for support. She felt weak, yet wired; starving, but not for the usual nourishment food provided. She didn't care that she was alone in this place, that in coming here she had isolated herself from all friends or family or proper acquaintance. She didn't want society or song or sunshine.

She wanted darkness.

She wanted him.

It was baffling, yet it was the only thing in the world that made sense.

Which is why when Elyse crossed the breadth of the room in a matter of strides before throwing back the curtains to the balcony doors, no gasp of surprise left her upon discovering Count Dracula standing just beyond. He had a look about him as if he had been patiently waiting for her surrender, as if he had anticipated it. But there was no expression of arrogance or triumph in his eyes as there ought to have been.

Only hunger.

A hunger that mirrored her own.

She opened the balcony doors, but then paused suddenly when the freezing night air served to slap some sense back into her listless brain. The pair stood wordlessly for several long moments, neither moving – he waiting for her invitation to enter; she teetering on the edge of safe retreat or a reckless plunge.

For the first time in their short acquaintance, Elyse could see why some called him the prince of darkness. Standing there, untouched by the freshly falling snow, he looked perfectly regal, towering before her in his usual black, a stark contrast to the sea of pure white that had gathered on the terrace behind him. The only color was in his eyes, a deep blue that warmed and chilled simultaneously – an addicting sensation.

But all the inexplicable lust in the world couldn't crowd out the nagging little voice in the back of Elyse's head…

"What's happening to me?" were the first words she uttered, hands still gripping the knobs of the balcony doors. The shift in his expression was subtle, but poignant and it sent a shiver down her spine. When he didn't answer right away, she persisted. "What have you done?"

"Nothing you did not ask me to do," he replied, remaining utterly motionless, save the barely noticeable way in which his cloak fluttered in the breeze.

"I feel different."

"You are different," he countered, taking a single step toward her.

Her grip on the brass handles tightened.

"Your bite…" she began.

"So ready to offer yourself to a stranger," he taunted, echoing the words he had uttered before and only now did Elyse realize they had been in warning. "Such uncharacteristic generosity should be rewarded, don't you think?"

His musings unnerved her, yet still her heart danced wildly in a morbid excitement that was borderline indecent. It was like being torn down the middle, split between two separate natures:

Self-preservation and self-destruction.

"What is happening to me?" she asked once more and with added emphasis.

"The venom from my bite has awoken something in you… something wicked. Something pure…"

He paused, standing before her now.

Reaching up as if to caress her cheek, he paused, fingertips never meeting their mark. He was still hindered by the laws that kept him bound, restricted from the house. He had to be invited first, and while her soul may have bidden him entry long ago, the words had never been uttered; and so he stayed his hand.

Instead, he whispered, the breath of his words just barely fanning her face.

"All your life you have walked a razor's edge, a flirtation between what is socially acceptable and what your nature demands. From your infancy, you have been doomed to a life of subjugation, never allowed to experience the full extent of your female power; life without limit or reticence. You crave something more, Elyse. I sensed it in you the moment I laid eyes on you. Though your golden hair and angelic countenance might suggest the innocence and virtue so prized by your God and the mores of your queen, there is darkness in you."

"There is potential for darkness in all of God's creatures," she argued, though she only half-believed her own words, and he knew this the moment she uttered them. His smile was one of patience, of knowing.

"Not the kind that exists in you. You've always been drawn to it, haven't you?" His brow arched almost expectantly. "It's why you found friendship in the likes of Baroness Hayes. It's why disobedience and the disregard of societal convention has always come so easy to you." He leaned in close, but never crossed over the threshold – only lingered on the edge. "It's why you attended a masquerade of the undead without invitation over a year ago, why you placed yourself in my debt so needlessly… you've wanted this, secretly hoped for it from the start."

"I never said I wished to become like you," she interjected, translating the seductive garden of his speech. His expression, however, refuted her assertion. The ease with which he read her had the young woman taking a cautious step back, hands finally slipping down to her sides.

There wasn't an ounce of fear in her eyes – only suspicion, uncertainty, tethered to a pendulum that steadily swung ominously back and forth.

Preserve or destroy?

"Did you intend this from the start?" she asked, the words more accusation than inquiry. But then he shook his head once.

"I rarely ever do."

"So why me?" she asked as he leaned forward, pressing himself against the invisible barrier that kept him separated from her.

"You asked."

"I never asked for this."

"Not with words, no. Perhaps not," he conceded. His eyes then grazed lazily over her figure, the smile he flashed her then somewhere between predatory and playful. He hadn't touched her yet, and in truth, he didn't need to. His presence had already affected her in such a way that she felt as if he had been caressing her for an age, her skin raw, aching. "What do you want of me, Elyse?" he asked after several deliberate moments of tense silence.

Elyse knew what it was she desired – they both did, but she dare not utter the words aloud. Her defiance only served to amuse him, his smile darkening as his eyes began to glow faintly. Invite me in, they seemed to say.

She wanted to, but to what end?

The longer she lingered under his gaze, the harder it was to think. All she knew was that there was this tenacious ache inside of her, some hollow space she was convinced now that only he could fill.

The way he licked his lips as his eyes loitered on her person sent all rational thought from her mind.

And she knew. The truth of it was, she didn't care what happened next.

She had lost and been betrayed by her only real friend. Her father had barely stepped foot on this estate since her mother had passed several years prior. Her brother was too busy with his own family to really attend to the needs of his youngest sister. She had been abandoned. What had she to lose, really? Elyse may have been a young woman blessed with all the comforts of the world, yet she felt impoverished, alone – adrift at sea and with no direction, no wind to carry her and no port to lay her anchor. In that moment, it seemed her only saving grace was the deliverance this dark angel was offering her.

Deliverance and purpose.

Little did she understand that she would be trading the leash and muzzle of societal convention for chains of gold, of shadow and mist, of crimson and moonlight. She should have cared, should have deliberated over the consequences a little more, but she didn't.

The seeds of a mindless hunger he had planted in her veins had already begun to take root and the pain of self-preservation was outweighed by the freedom assured by her self-destruction. His gaze promised her a rebirth from the ashes and so in a moment of madness, Elyse chose to burn.

Was it weakness or an act of bravery? Such questions would be the subject of much debate for decades to come; but if surrender meant liberty, then surrender she would – willingly and gladly.

She invited him in and he crossed the threshold with a look of determination. His mouth met hers in a tangle of tongue and teeth – devouring and branding at once. It wasn't long before she tasted the sickly sweet allure of blood between her lips when he scraped her with sharp canines. The pain was pleasurable, and that pleasure was addictive.

Elyse never heard him close the balcony doors behind him after entering, and she was only half-aware of the way he navigated them through the sitting room and into her poorly lit bedchamber. This space felt darker somehow, even with the well-stoked fire in the hearth.

But she liked the darkness.

She liked the taste of him in her mouth, his clean scent of leather, woods, and something vaguely spicy and sweet. His skin was soft, but his body firm – strong, powerful.

It made her feel weak, but the feeling was not at all unpleasant - something purely feminine to counter his maleness.

With one hand pressed to the small of her back and the other cradling the side of her face, his expert tongue quieted any lingering apprehension she may have been harboring.

The minutes between his initial entry and the moment he had laid her down on the bed were a blur – the caress of flesh and the velvet thrust of tongue in her mouth, a soft, teasing mockery of what was to come, a hot flare deepening and weakening her.

He removed his cloak and coat first, and then her night-jacket. Eager for more of him, she helped to pull his dress shirt from his body, their joint efforts occasionally interrupted by a kiss or a playful nibble.

It wasn't long before he was perched over her, situated between her legs as if he were perfectly at home there. He leaned forward and lightly nipped an ear. His tongue dipped out to soothe the sting and then his parted lips were against her neck. He sucked against her pulse, as though tasting her excitement and fear, before his teeth lightly scraped the sensitive skin, enough to make her quiver.

The prick of pain when his fangs broke flesh was nothing compared to the deepening arousal that swelled and throbbed in her sex as he fed from her, a hand boldly palming a naked breast after slipping beneath the open collar of her nightgown. The blood loss left her feeling hazy, weak, yet strangely more alive than she had felt in days.

Pausing only to exchange one act of gluttony for another, his blood-stained lips trailed down from her neck and along her collarbone, dipping into the hollow of her throat to taste the salt that pooled there. His fingers curled around the linen that kept her decent before tearing it away with one sharp tug. The cold night air felt splendid on her fevered flesh, nipples tightening from the exposure only to furl when his mouth closed hotly over one, sucking sharply.

There was a twinge of shame that began to surface as he feasted uninhibited, but the slant of his mouth over hers silenced whatever half-hearted guilt her conscience tried to conjure. As she tasted her lifeblood on his tongue, his hungry fingers worked their way up beneath the skirt of her nightclothes, skillfully freeing her of her underthings before running over her core – flicking, thrusting, asserting.

She came, quick, voluminously under his skilled hand and he nipped at her skin again with sharp teeth, a moan escaping his lips as she gave all with zealous abandon and effortless trust. Her body roared with sensation as he partook of her once more, deeper this time and with a little more insistence, swallowing mouthfuls of that life-giving substance as it poured freely from her.

A second release was afforded to her, leaving his digits soaked in her arousal. Just when she thought she couldn't bear any more pleasure, she felt him, his hardened length like velvet over steel, gently pressing against her womanhood, teasing, testing. But it was that initial thrust – a gentle, but purposeful sheathing into her welcoming sex – that momentarily pulled her out of her lust-induced haze. She hissed – more in surprise rather than pain – for he filled her in ways she had always instinctually craved but never quite comprehended. There was a whispered word of reassurance that rumbled low in his chest before he let his weight rest against her and they were fully joined at long last.

Elyse waited for the reputed sting, the rumored sensation of being crushed and needlessly plundered – but instead she was only met with the delicious feeling of being surrounded and completed by his newly warm and very male presence.

The rest was pure instinct.

A dark and sinful dance of gliding flesh and delicious friction that eventually dissolved into pure ecstasy.

A third bite sealed her as his and just as she lingered on the cusp of another earth-shattering orgasm, she tasted the cold metallic tang of his blood on her lips and without thought she drank freely of his offering, a mighty gift. He rewarded her submission with oblivion and the pleasure was so intense, the entire world faded from view and she was lost in fire and darkness, body involuntarily trembling in the aftershocks.

Elyse came back to herself by degrees. Her first awareness was that of the Count sprawled above her, propping his weight up on his forearms to spare her. His icy blue eyes were glowing, heavy lidded with pleasure when she met his gaze. She could see the tips of his fangs, white as pearls and peeking out behind scarlet stained lips that were plump and breathless from their countless kisses. She opened her mouth to speak but then it hit her like an oncoming train, stealing her breath and tightening her chest as her heart seized.

The pain.

The blinding, excruciating pain.

Dracula watched her with a knowing expression as her face contorted in agony, a rattled gasp tearing its way through her, but nothing could undo what had been done. It only took a small amount of his black blood to begin the transformation, the fires of Hell corrupting her body – a profane baptism of the undead.

A rueful smile etched itself upon his face as he tuned his ears to the slow minuet of her fading heartbeat. Moved by the subtle tempo, he caressed her cheek – a genuinely tender act on his part – as he whispered to her in his native tongue. Elyse couldn't understand the words, but there was something reassuring in his voice, even as he seemed to savor the suffering of her transition.

In a terrifying moment of clarity, she found herself wondering what sort of creature could simultaneously pity and relish in the pain of another.

How little she understood.

How much she was yet to learn.

Eventually, she could withstand the torment no longer and she succumbed to the welcoming arms of unconsciousness, a darkness that overtook her mind and soul until there was nothing.

Sometime later, when the pain passed, the first thing she knew was how empty she felt, a hollow listlessness. But it was the hunger that awoke her; a nagging, insistent need that opened her eyes and breathed unnatural life back into her body.

She woke alone in her bed, sticky with sex and blood, but she was not alarmed. The obscurity of the night was soothing, though it offered no reprieve for the lingering ache in her belly.

Elyse rose, turning to find the Count still there in her chambers.

He was standing by the window, dressed only in shadow, his figure exquisite, the very model of male perfection, untouched by time. He sensed her admiring gaze and only moved to glance at her briefly before returning his attention to the moon.

"How do you feel?" he asked, but it was clear by his inflection that he already knew the answer before she could utter it.

"Ravenous," she said with sensuous determination and a mischievous grin. She missed the look of triumph that spread out across his features, but when he did finally turn, his face remained in shadow, irises glowing like balls of blue fire in the gloom. The window behind him opened of its own volition, the glacial night air moving through the room as he extended his hand, unmoved by the cold.

"Then come with me."

Fin