.: TWENTY-THREE :.
...
Irina frowned as Vlad stepped from the shadows, wading into the moonlight that was pooling on the floorboards of the ballroom. He stood and stared at her as he took a moment to adjust his cuffs; the pale blue light illuminating only half of his face while the rest was left eerily in shadow.
"...I thought I told you to stay away," Irina sighed.
Vlad opened his hands, "And I obeyed for as long as I could, believe me," he told her, his gaze dropping from her riot of bed-tossed curls to the shining flesh across her collarbones and chest.
"Obeyed! Oh please, you don't even obey your own rules let alone mine," she scoffed. "I once read that your kind had to ask permission to enter the home of a living human... and yet here you are," she drawled.
"Here I am."
"Who let you in?" Irina demanded.
Vlad made his way over to her – closing the gap between them step by step. He couldn't help grinning, in spite of his better judgment, "You did."
Irina narrowed her brown eyes.
"...You don't remember," he realised.
"Or you're lying," she countered. "Which of the two seems more likely given your history, do you think?"
Vlad continued pacing towards her, stepping in and out of the shadows. "It was the day you were lost in the forests near Avrig," he told her. "I awoke at dusk to the scent of your blood on the breeze, and so I came to find you."
"Your mouth salivating at the prospect of an easy meal, no doubt," Irina grumbled, feeling every muscle in her body tighten the closer he got. She knew he'd be able to sense it, and that angered her even more.
He shrugged his lips. "It would have been," he admitted as he came to a stop in front of her. His cold blue eyes drifted downwards to her silk dressing gown - to the lapels, and the way they were hanging open over her wispy, scooped chemise - giving a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts.
Irina felt her cheeks colour. She snatched the dressing gown shut; folding her arms across it for good measure.
Vlad's lips curled as he looked up and met her furious gaze. "...Anyway, after you fired a shot at me and then demanded I escort you back to town… you invited me in for a drink."
"Oh! Well, I didn't realise I was extending an open invitation! That hardly seems fair!" she snapped.
Vlad nodded. "Open the door to the devil once and he'll expect to own the house."
Irina's jaw clenched. "Is that so?"
"I know that better than anyone," he replied, a hint of sadness in his eyes.
She looked away - he wouldn't have her sympathy. "So you think you own me, do you-"
Vlad frowned, "Of course not-"
Irina spun away from him and stormed off. "...I suppose you've come to claim what's yours - come to claim that drink, have you?" she spat over her shoulder, throwing her curls with it. "Well, please! Don't feel as though you have to stand on ceremony and accord, Count – it didn't seem to stop you before – by all means, do help yourself!"
Vlad breathed heavily through his nostrils. He hated when she called him 'Count'; he hated the way it sounded - so cold and unfamiliar. "Irina–"
She turned back to face him. "Oh no wait – that's right – I forgot," she interrupted, stabbing a finger at him, "you prefer your aperitif to be heated in its bottle before you partake… to be stirred, to arouse the flavour. Slips down the throat more easily, does it? Makes you feel like less of a monster?"
Vlad shifted his weight. He'd known she'd be angry and that simply getting her to listen would be a challenge, but he hadn't expected her to quite as sharp. She'd clearly spent plenty of time during their separation filing her anger towards him into a neat point - like a blade - and now she was eager to stab him with it and draw blood - enjoy watching it stain his pale skin. And yet, he couldn't help but admire the fire blazing in her eyes, and the way her hair bounced and tumbled around her severe gaze when she shouted at him (...not to mention the way the moonlight was shining through that flimsy cotton chemise of hers, as translucent as smoke - illuminating the curves beneath it). He could hear her heart pounding like a war drum, feel the heat radiating from her skin like a stove, and when he remembered to take a breath he breathed in the scent of her skin – the smell of tobacco and roses – heady and luxurious.
He was silently furious with her – with himself; he hadn't been this turned on in weeks, and he actually flinched when she suddenly stomped towards him.
She grabbed a fistful of her own hair and swung it over her shoulder, revealing the long slope of her neck to the moonlight. "Well, swig away Count!" she sneered, glaring up at him though her lashes as she smoothed away the dark wisps and curls. "But I'm afraid you'll find me cold and corked this time."
Vlad's eyes settled on her bare neck; on that small patch of skin beneath her jaw that gently throbbed in time with her heartbeat. His mouth salivated; it would have been so easy to have her. To take what he wanted. No effort at all necessary to snatch her wrist and then reel her body into his – to coil around her small frame like a snake around the soft limbs of its prey. To remind her that she was his and his alone for the taking. It had always been so easy to give into that beastly part of him that enjoyed the power and the thrill of being a predator. The effort was in controlling that beast - that hunger.
He frowned as he grabbed her shoulders and rattled her, "Damn it, Irina! I didn't come here to argue with you, I came to warn you."
Irina wriggled free. She swatted his heavy hands away, "What are you talking about?"
"Your fiancé," he told her, waving his hand dismissively. "That upstart Hungarian Prince you've agreed to marry!"
"...What about him?" she sighed.
Vlad blinked at her. "…What about him?" he repeated, amazed by her apparent nonchalance. She didn't actually care for the man, did she? "What do you mean, what about him! Irina, you can't marry him!"
She almost laughed. "…You think I want to?" she replied. She gestured to the garlands hanging around them, "You think I submitted to this willingly? That I had a choice or even a say in the matter? I didn't–"
Vlad stepped closer, "There's always a choice."
She scoffed, shaking her head. "Not for me there isn't. Not anymore," she told him. She couldn't believe he had the audacity to turn up now, after everything. Now, when it was too late! She shoved past him, "Not this time."
"Irina, I know you're upset, but you have to listen to me–"
Irina swirled on the spot, "No! Actually, I don't," she barked. "You lost that privilege when you lied to me. Whatever you've come here to say to me, Vlad – whatever apology you've a mind to make, or romantic intentions you think will fix this – none of it is going to be enough to–"
"Oh will you just shut up and listen to me for one minute, you infuriating woman?" he snarled through gritted teeth, throttling the air with his hands. He could feel his patience wearing as thin as a parlour rug.
Irina gaped. "…I'm infuriating? How–"
"Incredibly so," he informed her. "And I hate to disappoint, Duchess, but I didn't come here with an apology. And as for my romantic intentions – as you so nauseatingly called them – I'm afraid they'll have to wait."
She tutted and pursed her lips.
Vlad sighed loudly as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "Although honestly, all the while you persist in interrupting me and behaving like a child, I'm beginning to reconsider them entirely."
Irina snapped her mouth shut. She sent him a sour look as she folded her arms. "...Well, good."
Vlad softened his tone, "Look, in spite of what you think, Irina, I care about you," he told her. "I came here to stop you from making a terrible–"
Irina cackled, "You care about me?"
He reached for her, "Of course I do – you know I do."
She stepped away from his hands. "Do I? Where were you when my father died, Vlad?" she asked. "Where were you when they took all of my books and my microscope away – when they burned all my medicines on a bonfire in the courtyard? My God, the smell of it must have carried for miles! Where were you then, hm?"
Vlad tensed as he stepped after her – he felt something deep inside ache for her, "Irina, you must believe me, I didn't know–"
"Where were you when the Empress – my own godmother, the woman my father devoted his whole life to serving – turned her back on me? When she abandoned me to make a choice between burning with my books or marrying that… that Hungarian foitrottl!? Was that caring for me?"
Vlad stole a calming breath. She was right; he lowered his voice and gave a sad shake of his head, "Irina. Iubita mea. I didn't know. I barely found out an hour ago."
Irina felt her eyes sting as she nodded spitefully. "Of course you did. Quelle surprise. After all, nothing penetrates the walls of Poenari - nothing. Not the wind, not the Turks... not even news of the one person you claim to care about," she accused. "But then that's the point, isn't it? As long as you're safe within those walls then nothing else matters, does it? No one else matters!"
"You told me to stay away!" Vlad roared.
"From me! I told you to stay away from me, Vlad," she roared back - glancing briefly at the doors when she panicked that the sound of their argument would carry through the palace and wake the servants. Thankfully, they were all fast asleep in the attic. "And anyway, why should that stop you from taking an interest in what's been happening to your home – your kingdom - as you so fondly call it! To your people?"
He bared his teeth as he battled the urge to grab her, to make her listen to him. But all the while she was lobbing truths at him like hard stones it was difficult to argue with her - to fight back.
She lowered her voice and shook her head. "Why didn't you tell me who you were - right from the beginning?" she asked. "Why I should believe anything you have to say to me now?"
Vlad shrugged. "How could I possibly have told you, Irina?" he asked her softly, honestly.
"Oh I don't know, Vlad – with words, perhaps?" she suggested, sweeping his excuse away with a flick of her hand.
He sent her warning glance as he snatched her wrist out of the air. "Irina."
She pulled, "Let go."
"Iubita mea–"
"Stop calling me that–"
"–You have to understand; I never expected to see you again – certainly not here," he explained as he gently tried to pull her towards him - to touch her, to hold her. "…And then, when you didn't recognise me, I–"
"You saw an opportunity," Irina snapped as she pulled back against his grip like an animal caught in a snare.
"No," Vlad insisted quickly with an offended look. But then he thought about it and changed his mind. "Well, alright, yes – at first, but then–"
Irina snorted; she turned away. "You lured me in – made me think that you cared about me – all the while biding your time, waiting for the right moment to spring your trap and–"
"Please. If my intentions were purely physical, do you really think I would have bothered drawing the inevitable out - inviting you to my home, telling you who I really was?" he countered. "I could have had you the night you arrived and you know it."
She sneered at him. "And I suppose such gallant act of restraint is supposed to impress me-"
"The truth is, I came to know you," he insisted. "I came to know the woman behind the mask and–"
"Oh! You mean you found out that your food had feelings! Oh, how difficult that must have been for you!" she pouted. She shoved at his chest and scowled, "Pathetic!"
Vlad growled. He raked a weary hand through his dark waves; he was far too old for this. He should have walked - sprinted - away and had done with it all, with her. Why couldn't he just leave? After all, he'd let her go once before.
Irina staggered backwards – betrayal swimming in her brown eyes. "…You may have lied your way into stealing a glimpse beneath my mask, but you never took yours off, Count – that's the problem!"
Vlad stewed silently - the tips of his fingers biting into his palms. He watched as she snapped her fingers at her dog and then thundered off towards the ballroom doors - the tail of her silk dressing gown drifting behind her like laundry caught in a breeze. She was walking away from him, walking away from everything. And he was so frustrated with her that he was almost ready to allow it.
Almost.
He called out her from the shadows just as the door opened and Folie went bounding out into the hallway. "…On the contrary, Eos; I know you intimately."
Irina paused – her fingers slipping from the silver handles. "…Please just let me go," she muttered, still facing the doorway.
"The curious thing about masks, iubita mea, is that while they might conceal one's identity, they do very little to mask what lurks beneath the skin," he informed her. "If anything, they exaggerate it. And mask or not, I know you better than you even know yourself."
Irina shut the doors neatly and then turned to face him. "Oh stop it. I'm done playing that game with you," she snapped. "In fact it's not even a game, it's a dissection; you pick people apart – debone them like fish – and then claim to know everything about them! Well you don't–!"
Vlad ignored her protests. "Just admit it; you were more yourself that night – more at home in that seedy gaming house than you ever have been in any Imperial ball or banquet. I'm talking to the girl who took a risk and goaded a stranger into stealing her mother's pearls, not the one who cried thief when they did exactly as she asked," he asserted as he strolled in and out of the shadows - advancing towards her. "I'm talking about the woman who flirts with her own darkness - dances with it without shame – not the one who refuses to succumb to it because she's afraid. Afraid of what a handful of insignificants will think of her if she does."
Irina stared at him.
He stopped a couple of steps away from her. "...Did you really weep when they took away your books? When they boxed up your microscope? Hm?" he asked her. "...Or did you breathe a sigh of relief?"
Irina was astounded by his cruel words. "I'm warning you Vlad, you're a poorly chosen word away from me wrenching this door handle off and embedding it in your chest–!"
"Oh, come now, be honest! Be honest with me – be honest with yourself!" he went on, gesturing wildly to the empty room - as if there was an invisible audience watching them. "…I bet there was some part of you that was relieved, wasn't there? Relieved that they'd taken away your choice – removed the burden of having one in the first place! Wouldn't life be so much simpler without that nagging temptation? Hm? That desperate longing to be something more than just a Duchess, or a wife?"
Irina panted; she couldn't remember the last time she'd been so angry. And yet, she couldn't deny the truth hiding behind such cruel words. "I've absolutely no interest in hiding in the shadows as you do!"
"And so you'd rather perish in the light?" Vlad countered, his dark eyebrows bouncing. "...Simply to satisfy everyone else?"
Irina gasped when all of a sudden he was right there – standing right in front of her and challenging her with those piercing, penetrating blue eyes of his. She held her breath when he stole another step and loomed closer – invading her space totally. He'd backed her into the doors until she felt the cold, hard wood kiss her spine.
Vlad waited for her to respond; his gaze gamboling from her eyes to her lips and back again. "...Well?"
She lifted her gaze from his dark, velvet waistcoat. "It's called being a woman," she told him with a sad little shrug. "You wouldn't understand."
"…Or a coward," he countered.
"You dare to lecture me on being a coward?" she replied as she reached back and blindly futzed with the door handles, desperate to escape. "You're the one hiding away from the world, Vlad! Not me!"
Vlad reached out and slapped his palm against the door - forcing it shut.
Irina frowned. She glanced at the hand planted beside her head and then slowly followed the dark sleeve of his coat, up his arm until her eyes finally met his. "...Vlad," she pleaded with a pained look. "I can't. I can't do this anymore."
He hung his head over hers and sighed. "...You're right."
Irina blinked up at him, his face hovering so close that she could feel his dark hair brushing her forehead.
"...You're right," he repeated, nodding. "I have been hiding. I've been trying to convince myself for a long time that the reason I shut myself away from the world is to protect it. To protect it from who I am, and from what I am. From what I could do to it. But the truth is... the truth is that I do it to protect myself." He looked at her. "A truth that I was perfectly happy pretending to be ignorant of until you came along and reminded me of it. Until you came to Poenari and you were suddenly right there, sitting at that damned harpsichord."
Irina folded her arms.
"...For the first time in a long time, I realised that I might not want to be alone anymore," he admitted.
Irina looked up at him and was surprised when she noticed a kind of calmness wash over his features at the sound of his own words – much like the silence between waves crashing the shoreline during a great storm. It occurred to her that living alone, he probably never heard his own thoughts out loud.
Vlad clenched his hand into fist against the door. "I've been trying to understand who I am in this new world – what my place is," he told her. "I know I can't go back to who I was; I know it's useless to dwell on the past - particularly for someone like me – but I can't quite see a way forward either. Couldn't see a way forward."
"...And now?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
Vlad held her gaze - swimming in those murky, mysterious eyes of hers. "…Just answer me this. What would you do if you weren't afraid? If you weren't afraid of ridicule, or of loneliness, or of losing everything and everyone?" he asked her. "…Who would you be if you weren't afraid of yourself?"
She met his gaze slowly. "I think those are questions that we both need to answer."
"...Alright, then who would we both be, if we weren't afraid of being ourselves?" he corrected. "If we stopped fighting who we really are? Stopped hiding under our masks?"
Irina considered his words.
Vlad tilted his head. "Irina… you could be so much more than what they want you to be – you are so much more," he insisted, his eyes joining her freckles as he lifted his hand from the door and reached to touch her face. But at the last minute he thought better of it and stopped himself.
Irina closed her eyes.
Vlad clenched his fist, then dropped it by his side - shifting his boots awkwardly.
She released a shaky breath; she was so tired of fighting the world, fighting herself – fighting him. "…Vlad–"
"You're more wolf than woman," he whispered, stooping a little to catch her gaze. "Just imagine how fearsome you'd be if you weren't so afraid to show your teeth. To put your heart between them. To feast upon life..."
He watched her chest rise and fall - once, twice - watched her lips part. And then he snaked his arm around her waist and kissed her.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This Chapter was an absolute bastard to write. I REALLY hope that doesn't show... oh, and I'm totally aware that that cliffhanger will stand me in good stead for winning dick of the decade ;-)
Hope you've had a lovely week reader! As always, thanks for reading, following and favouriting - and big love to Scarlet Empress, Remember and Noivocaine for the lovely reviews! :-) xxx
Historical/Language Notes:
Foitrottl: Austrian, "Idiot"
