Apologies for the delay in posting, yet another week of craziness! So with Ryan's death, DiF is officially AU, how extraordinarily rude of the BBC! ; )
Warning: This fic is now up to an M rating because of sexual content. (Blame Vlad – the scoundrel!) It's up to you guys as the readers to use your discretion as to whether you want to continue reading but of course I hope you will.
Thank you as always for your reviews!
Hope everyone is having a fabulous weekend.
xo
Chapter 48
Wrapping his dressing gown loosely around him, Vlad hastily departed from his outer bedchamber, tossing a careless, "Help yourself," over his shoulder. Most of his lovers knew and understood the routine. There would be plenty of blood and food in the chamber, they could take a reasonable length of time to recover and attire themselves appropriately before leaving. If there was one thing Vlad had learnt relatively quickly, it was to dispense with the fake sentimentality of goodbyes. As far as he was concerned both parties had gotten what they wanted from the occasion and it was insulting to dress it up as anything which invoked that breather notion of 'romantic love'.
He couldn't help but heave a sigh of relief when he got into his coffin chamber and shut the door firmly behind him. This entire night had been an ordeal from the moment he had crawled out of his coffin in Oxford to the vicious confrontation with Ingrid a few hours ago. The demands of being Grand High Vampire hadn't weighed so heavily on his shoulders since the early nights of his reign. He had been so much younger then, younger by more than just years. Back then, he had turned to Bertrand to soothe it all away, trusting in the older vampire's wisdom. He knew now that had been a mistake.
He drifted towards the massive window of his coffin chambers. As per his instructions, the heavy velvet curtains were pulled away from the glass panes, allowing the light to pour into his room. It was the only way Vlad could bathe safely in the warmth of the sun. A telltale glow of silver shimmered in the dip of the valley; dawn was beginning to approach. Another night of immortality was over; another day of hiding from the sun was beginning. His first full day without Scarlett. Vlad angrily pushed the thought out of his mind; he had been here before with Erin and he had dealt with it. All he needed to do was ruthlessly quash his emotions. If he could do it once, he could do it again. But her scent still clung to his skin no matter how hard he scrubbed... 'You really are a monster' His heart throbbed with pain every time her words echoed in his mind. Closing his eyes, Vlad tried to force back the tears that were threatening to overwhelm him. He was the Chosen One; he couldn't allow himself to experience such weakness.
The click of his door caught him off guard and he spun around baring his fangs in a menacing hiss. Now and again, a vampiress would try to push her luck and gain access to his inner chamber. For some reason, they seemed to think that invading his privacy would somehow grant them greater prestige; that they would be the one vampiress, who could tempt him further, ingratiate themselves into his unlife... they soon learnt that when Vlad closed the door behind him, he fully intended for it to remain so.
He retracted his fangs slowly as he took in the sight of the vampiress who had dared to follow him. It was her hair that captured his attention, pale golden hair that fell around her waist and before he knew what he was doing, he found himself holding out his hand in a gesture for her to join him. He deliberately turned his face away from the gleeful look that spread across her features. Scarlett would never have looked at him like that, like he was some prize to won.
He stared out of the window at the sunrise, wondering how it was possible for an unbeating heart to hurt so badly. He let the intruder press against his back, her cold fingers skimming over his shoulders blades before reaching around his waist to undo the dressing gown. Vlad caught her wrist, tugging her around to face him, if he kept his eyes half closed, if he didn't look too closely, perhaps in this mixture of light and shadow, he could pretend that she was Scarlett. Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed the vampiress passionately trying to seek some solace in his usual recreational pursuits but every detail was wrong. Her tongue didn't dance with his, it battled; her body was colder, thinner than Scarlett's, she smelt vaguely of lace and roses...
Vlad pulled away with a groan of frustration. The vampiress took this as a signal to commence other physical activities; Vlad stood perfectly still and allowed her, he didn't really care how many women he had to fuck, he just wanted Scarlett out of his mind. He wanted to stop feeling this bloody wretched over a breather who only die and wither before he even reached his first centennial as Grand High Vampire. Vlad's hands absent-mindedly entangled themselves in the hair of the vampiress who was kissing her way down his chest. It was a couple of shades too light for him to truly believe that it was Scarlett kneeling before him. Not that Scarlett had ever done anything remotely like this to him but ...stakes and garlic! How he had wanted her to. How he still wanted her to. How badly did he wish that the mouth surrounding him was hers. A heated mixture of guilt and arousal flooded through Vlad at just the mere thought of Scarlett doing what this vampiress was currently performing on him.
Biting his lip, Vlad tried to focus on the here and now but his mind kept slipping back to Scarlett. Her radiant smile when he entered a room, the comfort of her embrace, the way she said 'darling', her soft accent making the term more of an endearment than he was used to hearing. Vlad stood impassively, as the vampiress trailed kisses up his body, trying not to squirm at the coolness of her mouth against his skin, he was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't realise her true intentions until two sharp points of enamel were pressing against the side of his neck. With a snarl, Vlad grasped the woman's throat tightly with one hand, his eyes glittering red as he meet her horrified gaze. "That's treason," he growled, fury making his voice unnaturally deep and rough. "Grand High Treason to be precise."
The vampiress was trembling with fear, her pale blue eyes darting frantically between his fangs and his neck. "I'm...sorry," she stumbled over the words in her haste to explain. "I thought you would like it. Your neck, it's ... I thought you liked being bit..." She didn't dare to finish that sentence as Vlad's scowl blackened even further.
Self-consciously, he raised a hand to the fading bruises on his throat. Scarlett. Of course, his lovers would have observed, with curiosity, the marks on his neck. He had been foolish to forget about them. With a disgusted grimace, he dropped the vampiress onto the floor. "They were worthy." His eyes were still red as he waved his arm dismissively at the door. "If you dare speak a word of this to anyone..." Vlad let the threat of treason hang in the silence between them. He watched with contempt as she fled his presence.
Turning back to the window, Vlad observed the beauty of the dawning day, how light spilled out over the lush green fields and villages of his home country. Some villagers would already be awake and working through their daily tasks. Despite his privileged lifestyle, Vlad envied them; he would never be able to do something as ordinary as walk in the sunlight. With a heavy sigh, he moved towards the comforting darkness of his coffin. He should at least try to get some sleep before tonight's ceremony.
The bright winter sun glinted off the metal sword as the tour guide tapped it along the smooth worn cobbles, his dark purple cloak fluttering slightly in the breeze coming across the waters of the River Thames. Falling slightly behind the rest of the tour group, Scarlett paused for a moment to gaze upwards at the criss-crossing of various buildings in the sky, the beauty of the towering palaces against the modern skyline of London. With a rapturous sigh, she rested her hand lightly upon the pale stone of the Tower. "Imagine," she murmured softly, her eyes lighting up with something close to joy, "this building has been around for centuries, the events it must witnessed, the people who have stayed here." A thrill ran through her as her mind began to sift through a list of infamous guests and visitors who had graced this particular London landmark with their presence.
Charlie grinned as she slipped her arm through Scarlett's. "I told you it would be worth the early start," she replied without even the slightest trace of smugness. "Now, come on slowpoke. We need to catch up with a man in tights."
When Ryan's mistress was troubled, the other half-fangs had a tendency to hide away. They were afraid of her unpredictable temper and her extraordinary willingness to use a stake on anyone she found irritating. Ryan never hid away; it was at times like this Ingrid needed him more than ever.
He crouched before her, half kneeling awkwardly so that his face was tilted upwards, one hand resting on her dressing table to keep his balance, the other covering her hands. Her hands were so small and dainty, always perfectly manicured, no-one except Ryan could truly understand the cruelty those hands were capable of. Yet, he could never walk away from her, he could never abandon her, never stop loving her and now as she sat silently before him, he couldn't stop feeling her pain. It raged inside the stillness of his undead heart just as much as it raged inside hers.
"Tell me, what I can do." Surprised at his own daring, he curled his fingers around her folded hands, her skin felt like satin against the roughness of his palm.
Ingrid glanced down accusingly at his hand before pulling hers away, an expression of disgust flitting across her face. The quickness of the gesture tipped Ryan off balance and he tumbled to the floor. Ingrid glowered at him, her eyes almost purple in the candlelight. "Find me something, or better still, someone to drink." She rose elegantly from her seat, the netting of her dress brushing roughly past Ryan's cheek as she stepped over him.
The delicious aroma of chocolate and orange swirled upwards from the hot paper mug. Scarlett breathed it in deeply, appreciating the warmth of the steam against her cold skin. Flexing her hands around the container, she took advantage of the heat seeping through the cardboard to warm her fingers. The trees by the riverside were casting leaves, in glorious shades of red, orange and yellow, upon the pavement. The waters of the river lapped softly at the barges and boats moored nearby. Darkness had fallen rapidly on the city of London, large purplish clouds drifting across a starless sky tinged with the orange glow of light pollution. The buildings surrounding the riverbanks had begun to glow with artificial light, their glassy ugliness transforming into something rather beautiful against the blackness of nightfall.
Despite the dull persistent ache in her heart, Scarlett couldn't help sighing with contentment for just a brief moment. She had a wonderful day exploring the Tower of London, drinking in all the glorious knowledge and sights that this wonderful palace had to offer. Now as she stood here by the Thames with her best friend, swallowing mouthfuls of freshly made hot chocolate and watching the river landscape change before her eyes, it felt like something, raw and broken inside, was beginning to heal. A chink of light breaking through the overwhelming pain and despair that she had been experiencing since Vlad had casually tossed those cruel words at her.
'You are nothing to me. Less than nothing.' A wave of pain crashed through her at the memory and she took a shuddering breath that had nothing to do with the frosty air.
"We should live here someday," Charlie began conversationally as she glanced around at the crowds meandering along the riverside. "Perhaps, a luxury apartment, all modern glass and water features. I could be a city trader and you could be a city lawyer and we'll live in Canary Wharf." Underneath her glittery scarf, Charlie was wearing a mischievous smile, her green eyes sparkling as she thought up this most unlikely of scenarios to distract her friend from sad thoughts.
Scarlett sipped her hot chocolate. "I can just see you in a tie and pinstripes," she teased back before her face grew more serious. "I'd prefer somewhere older. Like one of those gorgeous Victorian terraces. Could you imagine restoring one of them to its former glory?"
"Camben Market," Charlie replied decisively, "That would be a pretty cool place to live." She gave Scarlett an affectionate poke with her elbow, "They have so many vintage shops."
Scarlett raised her paper cup in a toast. "Well then, to a future in London," she declared with mock pomposity.
Charlie nodded slowly, "To London," she replied gravely, tipping her paper mug against Scarlett's. Their eyes met at the same time and they both exploded into a fit of giggles.
Impulsively, Scarlett leaned over and wrapped her spare arm around the smaller girl's shoulders. "Thanks Charlie."
The last time he was in this room, he had been staked. Vlad bet that there weren't many vampires who could make that particular claim. The contrast between that night of frivolity and the more sombre occasion of tonight's initiation ceremony was remarkable. The hall had been transformed from a glittering ballroom into a dark foreboding space. Rows of recruits were marching into the vast space, their dark blue uniforms and shining badges making them appear uncomfortably similar to that of a private army. Vlad's tongue surreptitiously swept over the gleaming points of his fangs; it was going to be a very long evening. Perhaps, he should have placed a restriction on the number of guards that could be initiated at any one time. It was too late for that now; he would have to bear it in mind for the next time he recruited.
Around him, Vlad could hear whispers and sounds of approval from his fellow vampires – this display of power was much more to their liking. He knew that some of them still hadn't given up hope that he would launch a war against humanity.
Seated upon his throne at the upper end of the hall, Vlad was surrounded first by the thrones of the Dracula family and then by circles of Council members and Justices. He wanted all of them to witness the exchange of vows that would bind the new guards to their Grand High Vampire. It was about enforcing his position as ruler as much as it placated them and reassured them that they were involved in his governance.
Even now, almost three years later, Vlad's head still ached from the screaming rows that had taken place over the design and positioning of the Dracula thrones. His Dad and Ingrid had been fiercely competitive over every detail right down to the inches separating his throne from theirs. Sometimes, it was the minutiae that pushed Vlad to the absolute limits of his patience. The over-analysis of tiny, unimportant details, such as the distance between his throne and a particular Justice's seat, infuriated him beyond words. For creatures that had been granted immortality, vampires were surprisingly short sighted. There was so much work to be done, so much that had to be achieved before the existence of vampires could be unveiled to the breather population and yet his Council would squabble like school children over trivia. Bertrand had always been excellent at the detail, always knowing what to do or say to soothe ruffled feathers, always aware of the repercussions that could follow a misplaced word or a seemingly insignificant procedural flaw.
He would have to seek Bertrand's advice on how to handle Ramanga's increasingly obstructive behaviour. His former tutor would know exactly what words to whisper to the difficult clan leader, what secrets could be exposed to bring him back into line or, better still, what circumstances may be required before a nice, sharp stake could be brought into the equation. Vlad filed the matter away into the list of items that he would have to discuss with Bertrand on his return to Oxford. Realising the direction of his thoughts, Vlad gave himself an abrupt mental shake. It was all too easy to fall into the trap of dependence especially when the person offering their support seemed as dedicated and committed as Bertrand du Fortunesa. However, if his former tutor had taught him anything, it was that Vlad could trust no-one.
Chapter 49 teaser
'He just wanted to hold onto his fantasy as long as possible.'
