In this one: Agatha is *hella* angry, and fights to protect her convent. Also: Agatha and Dracula finally meet and get into an argument. :)

The only room left untouched was Alma's. It only had a few holy pages spread out on the other side of the door, a line he couldn't cross, but he could still come into her room from the outside. The rest of the convent could no longer be touched by the Count if he sought out another victim. Agatha made sure of it. She was going to do something about this mess.

Agatha waited in Alma's room, kept looking between the nightstand and the slightly opened window. The air was cool, soothing. She tried her best to stay awake, but with her irregular sleep schedule, it was proving rather difficult.

She knew her theory had to be correct. She was the only link to the vampire. But she sought confirmation of it. She had just dreamt of him, no doubt he would be coming for Alma again.

It was careless of her to think it her dreams wouldn't come back to haunt her, to think it harmless when he carried her to her bed, appeared so casually in the convent or in her own bedroom because she had somehow been thinking of him. Or him of her. Whatever it was. When he tried to help her get back to her own reality, she had permitted him to be there, and felt no consequence about what happened in a dream.

She had chances to pry more, do more, even to kill him. End his pathetic, plaguing existence. Why hadn't she? Had she grown to care for him-an insane thought-or was it because had he infected her with the reluctance to do such a thing? His blood. His feelings mixing with hers. Their unnatural connection. Whatever it was, it was dangerous.

The fact that she had even allowed such a closeness and dabbled like that with darkness. It was as if she was spellbound.

There was suddenly a fog in the room, no noise of anyone entering at all, but she knew it—felt his presence. And he was there, clear as day, in the candlelight of the room.

She was not surprised to see him at all, she had prepared for this. Dracula, however seemed slightly stunned when he saw her. Agatha had made herself as unthreatening as possible, wearing her nightgown as if she had just gotten up from bed. It's not like he hadn't seen her that way before, anyway. She fed him her blood on his knees like this. He had lied next to her, touched her, offered her a confession.

"Agatha…" he said softly, amusement in his tone. "It's nice to see you…In the flesh. I almost think I'm dreaming."

"Obviously, I can't say the same." she said, addressing both his statements. She stood up from her seat in the far corner of the room, watching him intently. "You will not find her here."

He of course knew exactly what she meant.

"You've been feeding from my Sisters…"

"…I have," he admitted. "It looks like you've caught me."

"I'm only sorry it took me so long," she said. "Tell me. You weren't invited in by any of them, were you…."

"You know I wasn't." He gave her a small smile. Her heart sank as he said it.

"So it is me, then. You've been using me to come to the convent and harm my Sisters," she said, in her own amazement that he was able to do this. Agatha was, as always, impressed by The Count's abilities, but angry, and betrayed. She wasn't sure why. She had not expected any less from him.

"I must admit-You are…rather difficult, and would never let me in willingly…But with your mind, you invite me to your tasteful little coven here without even realizing it," he said.

Agatha felt this had all been a manipulation from him, ever since she had woken up in England, to prey on her and her convent, her new home, potentially her new family. Dracula seemed to follow her around and destroy her world and everybody else's. That was the reality of it.

She was silent, and if glares could kill, he would have run out of his worshiped immortality.

The Count's expression seemed to sour, his usual domineering smile dropping for a split second. Agatha felt sick, disappointed with herself beyond belief for taking part in any sort of closeness with the vampire, when she knew very well she could've tried harder to help it.

"So you did this on purpose," she said, coming to terms with it.

Dracula frowned at her, a bit confused, not exactly grasping the extent of her reaction.

"Us." she clarified, though she regretted immediately even asking. The way it sounded was as if she were arguing with a lover. It was strange.

"Oh, well, wait a minute now. I didn't do this," he motioned between them, "On purpose. You're just as easily swayed by our bond as I am, so I simply used it to my advantage..."

"How long have you been coming here, then?"

"Well I first realized it on…what's that called? Oh, yes. Hallow's Eve. I was able to go inside and wander around your precious convent that night. Because you brought me there…" he said, a small smirk playing on his face.

Agatha was speechless for a moment, and could only scoff, trying to calm herself a bit. She stood in place and he approached her slowly, cautiously. His figure became clearer in the candlelight as he did.

Dracula seemed to loom over her again, his darkness again overtaking the whole room even more so than in dreams. Agatha had always been the tallest at her convent—but his presence was one that often made her feel smaller, and in turn he appeared even larger, even taller, even more frightening than he would were he any other man.

Something to do with being a vampire. He was predatory even when his teeth were not at someone's throat. The cloud of darkness he carried with him eating away at everything, consuming it all with evil.

Agatha was reminded of the way he looked at her back when she saved Mina. She worried tonight's plan was all a bad idea. But it was too late to turn back now. She needed him closer.

"I'm here to feed, Agatha. I'm hungry," he said, raising his dark eyebrows.

She could tell as much, the slight parting of his lips and the heavy breathing that came to him when he wanted something. As if she had just taken away a meal he had been waiting for, for ages. Though he looked well and healthy.

"It's what I do," he said simply.

"Oh, yes, I know exactly what you do. You destroy everything in your path."

As he looked at her, Dracula felt that nagging urge to touch, something he had only ever used for his advantage, not his pleasure.

"What are you trying to do then? Contain me in this cage? The problem is…" he said darkly, "You're in the cage with me."

"Nowhere I haven't been before. Besides, you are in no cage. Feel free to leave, at any time. Through the same window you snuck in through. You are not welcome here."

"Then why am I here? You're my lure, aren't you?" he half smiled at her. "You take away my meal, leaving you in its place. What do you intend to give me?"

"That is far from the point," she said, annoyed. "If you think you can come in here and feed from whatever nun you are fixated on at the moment, you are mistaken."

"Fixated?" he raised his eyebrows again, apparently amused she had even used the word. "Your Alma was just a treat. An easy one to retrieve, with a mind so willing."

She was silent, angry. He noted her hands were even in fists this entire time, as if she was straining to control her anger.

"Now, don't be mad. I spared your favorites," he smiled.

Dracula had never seen her this angry. It felt personal, more so than all the other times he had upset her by his…usual actions. She was collected enough, unbothered even in their previous encounters. And now she was upset about this minor inconvenience.

"You're a pest, sneaking your way in where no one wants you."

"A pest? Just when I thought the insults couldn't get any lower," he smirked. "Sister Agatha strikes again."

His possible attempt to erode the situation didn't help at all. Agatha slapped him hard and he touched his cheek, in mild surprise.

"Ow."

"Yes, it appears I did strike again, in more ways than one," she said, regarding his comment. "Now, let me make this clear. You will not have any of them," she continued. "Not again. I won't allow it."

"You won't allow it…" he said slowly, considering how exactly she planned to do that.

She had shown him mercy—had he known that?—She had even shown him some of the sunlight he so seemed to crave, allowed him to touch her. And he used it to his advantage. Did he know she had been weak, believe her incapable of hurting him now because of a warped closeness they supposedly had developed?

"You are pitiful. A vile and invasive beast," she continued.

A strange sort of laugh came from him. Several times had such words but spoken, but they seemed to bother him now. Dracula almost thought her own feelings were latching on to him somehow. Maybe they were.

He noticed Agatha was flushed with her anger, it was evident in her skin and even her scent. That scent, that carried with it the reminder of the blood she taunted him with whenever she deemed it useful to. The scent that rose with her emotions. It clouded his senses slightly. Dracula was drawn to the warmth she emitted, even in her twisted, negative feelings.

Agatha took a deep breath, swallowed hard. She was determined. If he thought her this harmless, this deluded, she was sorely offended. And he, sorely mistaken.

"What can I say?" he stepped closer, so close she could almost feel him now. "I've developed a taste for nuns."

The sentence made her seething with rage. Agatha took the silver blade she had hidden in her hand the entire time, which in his own arrogance he had failed to notice.

Quickly and without hesitation, she punctured him straight in the chest.

It truly caught him off guard and visibly affected him. He stumbled a bit, and Agatha smiled for a moment, exhilarated by her albeit probable momentary success. She didn't even want to pull out the blade, lest the silver stop its effect on him. Dracula seemed extremely pained, weakening before her immediately.

Her smile faltered though, when strangely, Agatha felt a hot, piercing pain in her chest as well, a pain that seemed to fog her mind slightly.

She locked eyes with him for a moment before he fell to his knees, and she placed a hand on her chest, trying to keep focused. Agatha knew he realized it too—that somehow, she felt something of what he was experiencing. The revelation of the deepness of their connection alarmed her slightly, but she knew he was in a much worse state than she was—and she would have to take advantage of the moment despite her pain.

Her adrenaline spiked at seeing his physical weakness. It allowed her a distraction of the burning and hazy sensations that threatened to paralyze her. Agatha rushed to grab the wooden stake she had hidden in the nightstand earlier, to end him if the silver hadn't already. She quickly turned back to him once she retrieved it.

Dracula was on the floor, his legs splayed out and chest heaving irregularly, the perfect vision of complete vulnerability. Though she didn't know where it was now, Agatha observed that he had taken the blade out of his body, the slightest bit of blood on his shirt. He still seemed…alive, but paralyzed. Barely conscious.

Strangely, she felt something within her telling her not to kill him. An instinct, a need to keep him alive. She recognized it as some effect of this bond, an effect of him. One that could surely mean the end of her and anyone she cared about.

Agatha fought off all her thoughts telling her not to harm him further and knelt beside Dracula, taking in his…somewhat lively appearance for what she imagined would be the last time.

She raised the stake up, in a manic sort of state, excited at the prospect of diving it into him and ending him once and for all. She was wicked for feeling such a thrill, she knew it. But it did seem a momentous occasion.

As soon as she lowered her stake, Agatha realized her error. His eyes shot open, glimmering with malice as he caught her wrist before the wood touched his chest.

Dracula took ahold of both of her arms and Agatha stumbled as he pushed her backwards and pinned her wrists tightly onto the floor. He was clumsier, slower, than usual. But so was she, and she didn't have his naturally exceeding abilities. She was less frightened of the fact that she was captured under him, and more frightened of her struggle with her muddled senses, one she could see the Count struggling with himself, even as he seemed to be recovering rather quickly.

Agatha tried to find a way to physically maneuver her way out of this before he bit her again or killed her, whatever he was going to do before he slaughtered the rest of her convent. Though he was succeeding at overpowering her, it seemed to be difficult for him to keep her pinned down under him, while at the same time holding himself up.

She used her one advantage at the moment and thrust her knee between his thighs, where she (hoped) it would hurt. She was happy to see that it did.

Dracula loosened his grip on her arms and hissed. Agatha could see the flash of pain and anger overtake his features, his sharp teeth out and ready for attack. She could barely stand up, the effects his wound still attacking her, taking its toll—but she was able to crawl away from him, making her way to the wooden stake again.

"No," he said. "You're not going anywhere," his voice was rough, pained.

But she was going to try.

"You're not-" she struggled to form the words. "You're not going to hurt any of them anymore."

Agatha heard him growl and move on the floor behind her, and she only hoped she could get to her weapon fast enough. Before she got the chance to reach for the stake, she felt him pull her ankle and slide her body towards him. She found herself on her back again facing him. She tried to kick him, and he got ahold of her legs immediately to situate his knees between her, leaving her with no means of harming him anymore like she had before. She didn't much register, nor care, in the moment that her nightgown had ridden up in the process of this. If he was going to kill her, she was not going down without a fight in the least.

In an agitated frenzy, she clawed and shoved at him. As she continued to hit and scratch, both at his chest and his face, now red with the marks from her nails, Dracula growled and pinned her down, this time more harshly.

Briefly Agatha thought she could've reached for the stake again earlier and killed him, or in the least run away, had she not felt so delirious. She had not expected her attack on him to hurt her as well. But that was pointless to think about. She had to make peace with the fact that she may have lost, hoping for some kind of salvation for her Sisters.

Agatha winced at the pain she still felt in her chest, which she had unknowingly inflicted to her own self. It affected her intensely, and she imagined how much worse he must have felt when she pierced the silver through him. His chest was still heaving, and his face appeared pained as well, his gaze hazy and unfocused still.

Dracula felt her skin heat up considerably under him as it did whenever he touched her, something he had noticed many times before now, a thought that kept him up often. There was also present the certain kind of need, the bloom between their minds urging mutual understanding, closeness.

Agatha felt him try to pry inside her mind again; as it was now just too easy for them to sense each other in this way. She felt anger, disappointment. Craving. Something entirely wrong. She tried to shut him out, even though she knew she couldn't wake up from this—She closed her eyes and prayed for her Sisters.

"No, no no no. You just tried to kill me," he sighed and Agatha felt his grip on her wrists tighten. "Again. Very annoying. You aren't getting out of this…Now, settle down and listen."

She didn't react, and he was bothered by it immensely.

"Agatha," he said her name in a darker manner. "Listen to me."

He wasn't sure exactly what it was—the main reason she was at this level of her fervor. He felt it too. Although he did not comprehend it. But he wanted to at least make one thing clear.

"I need you to understand something—"

She opened her eyes and laughed a little.

"Understand? What is there to understand? I've had enough of you and your conversations. If you're going to kill me, get it over with. That is what you're good at. Wretched vampire."

He paused for a moment, her words riling him up, twisting at him in ways he wasn't sure how to react to. He then moved her wrists above her, easily holding them down with one hand now, as he retrieved the silver blade that she had stabbed him with just moments before from his clothes.

Agatha noticed the change in his demeanor after she had spoken, now an even more detached, apathetic one. He took her face in his hand, which also held the blade, and he held her jaw firmly, ensuring her attention to him.

"You talk to me as if I couldn't tear you to pieces with my hands alone. None of my brides have been this difficult. I should kill you. And I think I will," his voice was gentle and smooth, as if he hadn't been throwing threats at her.

"But first," he reached over to where he held her wrists and placed the sharp knife in her hands, slicing open her palms in a swift movement.

She registered the pain from the silver, which felt burning and intense, but she barely moved or made a sound.

"That's interesting," he said, frowning a bit as he looked to his own hand, seemingly recognizing the pain as their own.

The smell of blood hit him instantaneously as soon as it seeped from her wounds, but he inhaled sharply and focused on taking the blade and raising it above her slightly. His grip on her wrists tightened. Dracula searched for any signs of fear, or regret, sadness even, which his victims usually displayed during their last moments when they were not hallucinating. She didn't have any of that. Instead she was resilient, angry, strong even in her apparent physically weak state…alive. Brave, as always. Warmth and life was what she exuded.

He quickly pinned down the blade next to her on the floor in a swift movement, and Agatha released a breath she didn't know she had been holding in.

Dracula moved closer and leaned forward above her to lap the blood from her hands. She gasped a bit; his tongue actually soothed the pain for a moment, but she didn't care. Agatha balled her hands up into fists, neglecting him the taste.

He chuckled and pulled back slightly. He was again consumed at the moment by the scent of her, which was somehow heavier, sweeter tonight.

"I've always admired your spirit, Agatha. You smell all sorts of delicious."

Dracula ran his gaze from her bleeding palms, latched around above her, down her body, between them. Agatha took in his movements and glances, studying him in her own way—She supposed she always was. She decided he did the same with his victims, studying them, as she noted how he gazed over her in deep thought.

He caught her staring, and the corners of his mouth formed the smallest of a smile, again displaying his fangs.

"Don't worry. I could never taint the modesty of a nun," he said.

"I won't kill you. I won't even go deep enough make you dream," he said softly, though his sharp teeth were a threat she was always fearful of, whether she admitted it or not.

"But I do hope your dear Detective brought you enough blood to sustain you. Because you are about to lose a lot of it."

He leaned down to her neck.

"You intend to starve me?" she said, trying to keep him talking now.

"Yes," he whispered. "And like me, you will seek out what you need."

Blood.

She felt his breath on her skin, eliciting in her feelings and thoughts she should not be having. But he seemed to stir many of these within her.

"I can handle my impulses. Listen to me, vampire. No matter how starved I am, I will never be like you."

"That is probably what I love most about you."

He smiled down at her and licked his lips, his fangs menacing even more so in the dim light, small remnants of her blood on his mouth.

"But we'll see how strong your resolve really is."

The scratches she inflicted on his face and his disheveled hair made him look even more predatory. He leaned next to her again and whispered in her ear.

"I'm going to make you thirst for it. When I'm done with you, you'll know what it's like to want to drain a nun," he said darkly. It was a promise.

He moved to the side of her neck and grazed his fangs over her skin there. He didn't dare puncture her, but Agatha felt his sharp teeth split her open enough for her to bleed. Agatha gasped lightly, feeling a wave of sensations fuel her aside from the pain, one of them being adrenaline again which, in the least, could allow her to regain her strength.

His licked the blood off her slowly and eagerly, light grazing and biting across her flesh, from her neck to her collarbone, to the bit of skin exposed to him at the top of her chest. He growled lightly as he moved along her.

"So you can show your Sisters that I'm coming for them all, that is, if you don't come for them first." he said. "All because theirs likes to provoke me."

She felt herself grow hot with anger and desperation, her heart beating in her chest. It seemed to urge him on, and he trailed along her skin more eagerly. He became harsher and rougher with his mouth and teeth; she felt him biting and sucking at her flesh like the wild animal he was. Though admittedly, his restraint at digging his fangs into her showed he was more than a beast.

"And so your Detective knows who you belong to."

The physical pain was something she hardly even felt now—aside from the silver, of course- given her vampiric qualities. But she was clouded by immense feelings that had her wishing this was a dream, so she could snap out of it and disappear. It was nonsensical, completely inappropriate. The feelings she sometimes experienced around him that she tried to bury desperately.

Agatha felt his tongue and lips at her skin at the other side of her neck now. She kept smelling the odd scent of her own blood, along with his, as he continued his work on her. The whole act was strange, gentle, delicious, and she felt herself suffocated by desire. She didn't even register him hurting her anymore. Agatha couldn't even believe her demented thoughts—and she had lived through plenty. Her chest felt heavy with restraint under his.

"You're flushed all over," he finally said in between his movements, appreciating his work as he gazed over her skin. His voice was sweet, gentle. She didn't know how to respond, and remained silent, completely taken aback at the sudden statement.

He continued on her neck, before moving just below her collarbone. Involuntarily, her body responded to him. She arched her back only slightly, aching for more contact than she dared to think about. He seemed to take it as a struggle, taking her waist in his hand that wasn't pinning her wrists, and holding her still.

Dracula was suckling and licking every small drop, still careful not to puncture her too deeply, but Agatha knew she was losing blood—fast. She didn't know how he was doing it so gently, yet so quickly, but she felt the weakness, the hunger as he took her blood. She hoped-prayed she wouldn't lose too much health, so she could in the least help her Sisters. She couldn't allow herself to be a danger to them.

In contradiction to her logical thoughts, the feel of him on her, and his eager mouth on her body had her wishing he could let her go so she could touch him, feel him. She wanted badly to succumb to her primal urges. Maybe that would drive him out of her system.

In the midst of these—highly-alarming thoughts, she found herself flooded by the mingled scents of their blood and formulated an idea.

"Come here," she whispered, hoping to God that in the mist of his curiosity along with his general arrogance of his own power over her, he would.

He ignored her.

"Do as I say. Come here," she ordered.

He looked at her with his dark, bloodshot eyes.

"So, now you want to talk?" he said. He pulled the knife from next to her and tossed it away from them. "You didn't want to hear me earlier."

His voice was rough, and tired. She felt him try to pry himself inside her mind again, searching her for God knows what, or perhaps simply giving in to their connection without much thought or consideration. She blocked him out as best as she could.

"I don't want to talk, and there is nothing else I want to hear from you. You are a monster," she asserted.

He grazed his teeth along her chest again, and licked the bleeding wound there above her breast. She inhaled sharply, now trying to focus on anything instead of this taunting intensity between them, that was all raw feeling now burning through her.

She didn't know if it was her own wicked side that that wanted him; Or maybe this is what he felt when he had blood, and he was projecting it onto her. If so, it made sense why he was so sorely addicted.

"I feel it too," he said, as if reading her thoughts.

"Be quiet," she said, very much alarmed as she looked down at him. "I said, come here."

"If you don't want to talk, then what are you trying?"

"Why so cautious?"

"Why do you think?"

"I'm quite literally helplessly beneath you. And you are afraid of me? Do as I say. Come here, boy."

He could swear she knew how her words affected him, twisting him into obedience.

Agatha was relieved to see it. Dracula raised his face from the skin of her chest to her face now. She locked eyes with him, he was so close now she could kiss him. His lips were stained with her, and she thought about it briefly—kissing him. The darker, sinful side of her wanting to embrace this seething frustration and put him in his place.

But that was not the plan, and she needed to regain her strength. Why drink the blood of her Sisters, when she could drink the blood of a king? So instead, she leaned into his neck and finally retracted her fangs and bit into him—as hard as she could. The act was so instinctive and quick she almost didn't register that she had actually gone through with it.

Dracula was seemingly not expecting that at all. He didn't move at first, and she was half surprised that he didn't stop her or hold her back.

She could see why he liked this so much. Agatha felt his energy, strength, and power fuel her into an energized, almost manic state. She tasted brief notes of her own blood in his…His blood, so rich and full of darkness, menace, history, even something that felt like love, had she ever experienced it herself. Her body was instantly flushed again and reactive. She heard him groan a bit; she wondered if it hurt him at all. But he didn't push her away.

Just a bit more.

Dracula, finally coming out of whatever shock she had brought upon him, let go of her wrists as she hoped he would, and she took the opportunity to grasp at his hair and pull him closer as she continued to drink him. It was much easier to feed in this way, much more comfortable to latch on.

She bent her knees slightly as she continued, cradling him tightly between legs that were already at either side of him, holding him in place. She felt in the moment possessive. She didn't want to let him go. She was aching, the feel of him between her and all around her not helping.

His own hands moved rather urgently to her thighs, gripping her exposed skin so tightly she worried she might be bleeding there now.

She could feel him in every way, sense his desperation through this bond, his blood, whatever it was—possibly a combination of the two. He wanted to will her into succumbing to him somehow, though he was unfolding rather quickly himself.

More. Everything inside her screamed for more blood, touch, intimacy.

More. As if she couldn't control her own impulses. She would.

Enough, she thought. She had to get out of here.

When she pulled away from him, she licked her teeth, savoring the taste for the last time. Agatha instantly pushed him off her with a strength she didn't have before.

She slowly stood up, holding on to nightstand for leverage.

"Leave," she said, looking towards the window, trying to compose herself.

"Leave and don't come back," she said. She knew had to, he had no other way out or inside the convent now, nowhere else to go. She had ensured the place was properly guarded.

Dracula seemed to still be recovering his strength, but his dark eyes were fierce and at his first movement she moved backwards towards the door, opening it behind her. She looked down and stepped over the pages there, feeling salvation in the line that seemed to draw them apart. She shut the door and leaned against it, trying to steady her breathing.

She was angry she couldn't kill him, worried she never would.

She looked down at the pages of the Bible on the floor which were starting to affect her now—She was repulsed by them. Frightened.

She moved away from them, her back hitting the wall on the opposite side. Agatha was immensely bothered by this; of course drinking his blood would come with certain drawbacks. But she couldn't let such a thing control her-They were but words on paper. That is all.

Agatha thought of her father. He always wanted her to read more often, their faith written down on something so simple as paper. She would make herself touch the pages, reject the Count's weaknesses from taking over her.

A quick prayer, and thankfully, she was able to.