Hey everyone! Thank you all *so* much for the reviews. I do really appreciate them! Here's the next chapter - hope you enjoy! It was a tricky one.

Isabel remembered falling.

She remembered the vampire, stalking her like the prey that she was. Leaping at her, and a struggle… tripping over the edge of the stone wall, and then she fell. She remembered the feeling in her stomach as the rampart sailed away from her as she plummeted from the edge.

A swarm of something dark had flown over the edge towards her - birds? Oh. Now she remembered - bats. Of course, bats.

Shock must have set in - as she didn't remember anything else after the falling. Just nothingness. Her exhausted mind and body had just faded out, and accepted her fate.

Isabel wasn't sure where she was - it was the kind of dark that she wasn't sure if her eyes were open or shut. Was she awake? Asleep? Dead or alive? How long had she been awake? She had no clue whatsoever. Reaching out, she felt her hands press against a hard surface, six inches away from her face. She felt… fabric.

That much, she could tell was real. Her mind latched onto the feeling of the velvet under hands as she tried to figure out what was happening. Wherever she was, it smelled faintly like… roses, maybe? It was hard to tell. What happened? Where was she? She pressed her hands against the surface, trying to move it - but it didn't budge. She reached out to each side and - more hard surface with fabric over it. Inches from her - maybe six or so on each side, like what was over her face.

Walls on three sides - close to her. Fabric. Darkness.

Oh god.

Oh dear god.

Sheer and unadulterated terror flooded her as she realized where exactly she was.

She was in a coffin.

She balled her hands up into fists and smashed them as best as she could against the lid of the coffin - but all she received was a hollow thump and a pain in her hand. That only increased her fear, as she began to struggle wildly, pushing as hard as she could on the lid over her. Her heart was racing and her breath was coming in short gasps as panic took over. "Help-" she squeaked out. "Help!"

Something was suddenly holding her wrists - something had grabbed hold of her, and was keeping her from thrashing. It didn't help her fear.

"Be still."

The unexpected sound made her freeze.

She felt the rumble of the voice against her back - and realized… she wasn't in here alone. Isabel wasn't completely sure whether or not that made it better or worse. Hands had closed around her wrists, and were folding them back down against her. The arms attached to said hands were now wrapped around her, still gripping her wrists - firmly, but not painfully.

Now she knew what was happening. Isabel was trapped in his coffin. And now he held her, arms wrapped around her as he kept her from struggling. She hadn't felt the warmth of another body inside the coffin, as he had no warmth of his own.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and rolled down her cheeks. "Please, let me go," she begged, barely above a whisper.

"Hush," he urged quietly. She felt one of his hands release her, and then felt the gentle scrape of his nails against her cheek. She kept still, if only because she was terrified of what would happen if he touched her.

He seemed unconcerned. His fingers brushed against her cheek and… nothing happened. Her mind didn't flash hot-white and trap her in some nightmare or memory. She felt his fingers brush along her skin, wiping the tears from one of her cheeks.

It was the first time she had been touched - in reality, not in dreams - in over a decade.

Even though she was not pitched head-first into his memories, she felt the press of his will against her own. Felt him press close to her, and knew it was his control that kept them from descending into his mind, not hers. Tendrils of his power were trying to wind their way into her - trying to exert control. She felt tired, and felt the desperate need to sleep - and knew that was his influence.

She fought him off - keeping him at bay. Isabel had learned and practiced the ability to tell her thoughts from another's. She had to learn that from a young age - or else she would have lost her sanity long, long ago. "Stop," she pleaded with him again.

His fingers trailed along her jaw, and she felt him tilt her head upwards, towards him. She was trembling - she couldn't help it. She had never been touched like this in her life. A sharpened nail traced the line of her lower lip, and she felt his face close to hers. The brush of a goatee against her skin, and she jolted. His other arm only tightened around her - just enough to remind her that struggling was pointless. The hand against her chin had slid slowly to cup the side of her face, the thumb under her chin, holding her still.

Lips descended onto hers, and the feeling of his cool skin made her mind empty of thought. He kissed her - not forcefully, not viciously - but with an intense hunger that she could feel radiating from him. A hunger that she felt like it was hers. In that moment, her resilience was stripped, and the strength of his will crashed over her like a wave. Exhaustion hit her like a two-ton weight, and she felt her mind fade out into darkness.

At least this time, she did not dream.

Stretching, feeling the sensation of a pillow under her head, Isabel slowly woke up. She was comfortable - the air was chilly, but there was a warm blanket on top of her. That was a combination that made her not want to move.

Her hand curled into the pillow and she stretched her aching limbs again. Her legs were tired from so much running and walking, and were happy to not be upright.

It took her an embarrassingly long time to remember what had happened before she fell asleep. Tim, Maverick and Aria slain by the vampire Adrian. Adrian abandoned her to pursue his own quest, once realizing he couldn't achieve it with her there. The chase, the fall, the coffin… then what followed…

That woke her up real fast.

Opening her eyes, she tried to figure out where she was now. At least there was light - it was a room, not the inside of a coffin. Rubbing a hand across her face, she sat up. She was on a chaise lounge, where a pillow had hastily been placed for her and a fur blanket thrown over her. A fire crackled in a fireplace on one wall, and a figure sat in a chair in front of it, cast starkly in a flickering silhouette.

Like the dream when she had touched the sword. This was one of his rooms.

She swung her legs off the chaise lounge and stood up slowly. Isabel could felt the seconds tick by as she waited for him to do… anything. Say anything. He didn't. He just sat.. elbow on an arm, chin on the back of his hand, looking into the fire with an empty expression save the perpetual frown.

Her eyes darted to the door - as though running for freedom would do her any good at all. She was trapped in his world, now - he proved his point earlier, when he caught up to her without any effort. She might as well be in a hamster wheel.

But man, she wanted to run.

On a table nearby, she saw the dagger than Adrian had given her. Dracula had placed it there on purpose - there was no doubt. Even though she was sure he was attempting to prove another point to her, it was her only sliver of self defense. Isabel walked slowly to the table - her eyes still on him, waiting for him to move. She grasped the hilt of the blade, and picked it up.

"For what good you think it may provide," he said, breaking the silence. The sound of his voice almost made her almost jump out of her skin. God damn it, she swore at herself in her head, struggling with her fear of him. No matter how hard she tried to tamp it down, her pulse quickened.

"Better than nothing," she responded, barely audibly. She hated how much terror was obvious in her voice.

"Use it, then."

Isabel blinked, confused. Whatever she was expecting him to say, it wasn't that. "What?"

"You plan to either use it on me, or on yourself. If you truly intend to do either, get on with it. See how far you make it before I stop you."

Isabel looked down at the blade, and knew the hopelessness of it. His threat was clear. She was woefully unequipped to kill something like him. And if she tried to kill herself, he would stop her. She was his to murder, and no one else would have the 'pleasure' - not even herself.

Frustrated, angry that he pointed out how pointless her only sense of defense actually was, she put the blade back down on the table with a clink.

"Perhaps you can return it to my son if again you meet," Dracula said quietly, his voice low. Still looking into the flame. "As it was a gift to him from his late mother."

She almost heard the record screech in her brain. "Your - What?!"

"He did not tell you. Not surprising." Dracula stood, all in one graceful motion. It made her recoil reflexively, taking a step away from him. But she wasn't his target, and he didn't even glance at her as he walked to one wall and to a bar. It was a beautiful marble and obsidian piece, with several crystal decanters and glassware on top. He poured himself a glass of dark red liquid. "May I offer you a drink?"

"I- Uh- I don't- I mean-" she stammered, feeling very off kilter. What the hell was actually happening to her?! She gripped the back of the chair next to the table and felt the wood surface against her hand. She realized for the first time realized that her hoodie and her gloves were gone. She was only in the tank top and jeans that Tim had provided.

"It is wine," he glanced at her over his shoulder, a faint smirk on his sculpted features. "I assure you."

"S..sure," she finally stammered out. God yes, is how she responded in her mind. She needed a drink. She needed several, at this rate. What in the actual fuck was happening to her right now? Dracula was offering her a drink. Dracula. The Dracula. Instead of ripping her throat open, or whatever he planned to do. Her mind struggled to grasp onto one particular bombshell, and with no other way to discuss the absurdity of her life right now, she went with that. "So Adrian is... is your son."

"Yes. And he, to make the story short, incessantly seeks my death to keep my wrath from harming the humans his mortal mother adored - before she was falsely burned at the stake." It was clear an old wound had been opened - but the flash of anger was gone as fast as it had come. Dracula poured her a glass of wine, and walked towards her. He held out the glass to her, and she - feeling very much like a frightened deer, reached out to take it - as if every potential second he might reach out and claw her face off.

But he did not move - instead stood patiently as she took the glass from his hand - careful that he did not touch her, and retreated another step back from him.

"Thanks..." she responded, weakly. No need to be rude. She had the sudden urge to throw the glass in his face and run out the door. But to what end? There was no point. Isabel sipped the liquid - and was relieved to find that it was, in fact, actually just wine.

Dracula turned from her again and walked back to his chair by the fire, and sat back down. She stood, watching him - thoughts racing through her at a million miles an hour.

He had threatened to kill her - to make her suffer. He had hunted her down, sent creatures to find her. And now, here she was.. Standing in a room with him, quietly, with a glass of wine in her hand. What. The. Hell. The silence hung for minutes. Finally, with nothing else to say, she responded. "I'm sorry..?"

That made him chuckle, and he sipped his wine as he looked into the flames. "It was a long time ago."

Silence descended over them, and she looked down at the glass of wine. Her hand was shaking. Fuck it, she thought to herself as she downed the glass in one go, and put it on the table next to the blade. Liquid courage, after all. She would have preferred bourbon, but - beggars, choosers, and all that.

Time to rip off the proverbial bandaid. "What're you going to do to me?" she finally had the nerve to ask.

"I am not fully certain yet," he replied, one hand stroking his goatee as he idly mused. "I have thought through this to great length since I awoke. I know the path forward, but where it ends will largely be determined by you."

"Do you have to talk in riddles?"

He chuckled again. "Have another glass of wine, if it will better calm your nerves," he ignored her question.

Isabel rubbed her hand up and down her arm, not used to having it exposed and feeling the air on her skin. She was almost always clothed head-to-toe. If she was going to die here, if he was going to torture her, another glass of wine couldn't hurt.

Walking across the carpet, she went to the decanter, and poured herself another glass - albeit with shaking hands. She sipped it, and wished it would work faster. Time to rip off another bandaid. "Are my friends okay?"

"They are alive."

She turned to him - her eyes wide with surprise. "Don't lie to me."

"You can sense when others lie, can you not?"

"Yes, but-"

"Am I lying?"

She paused for a while, and thought about it - and… no. He wasn't. Nothing about him felt like a lie. In fact, she didn't know if the vampire had ever - for all his horrible deeds - tried to lie to her. "No," she gave that one to him. "Are they… are they okay?"

"That is a matter of opinion, I am afraid."

Not the answer she wanted - although it wasn't surprising. Isabel chewed on her lower lip, thinking. "May I see them?"

He looked at her, then, his red eyes flickering in the firelight. A thin, cruel smile played across his lips - one that reminded her exactly with whom she was talking. "Very well. But what price are you willing to pay?"

"Pay?" Isabel said through a self-mocking laugh. "Don't be stupid - you have everything you want. You could kill me-"

"Ah, but I do not wish you dead… Not yet."

"Then you could take whatever it is you do want," she pointed out sharply, angry that he was toying with her.

"Ah, and there you have it - the crux of your current predicament." He seemed pleased that she put the pieces together. "I wish for you to give me something of your own accord," Dracula grinned wickedly. "The continuation of our game - is your willing surrender to suffering."

Isabel shook her head, confused and unsure of what to say. He was threatening her with torture, and now that torture was something she'd have to accept willingly, to save her friends. Her heart sank, and she felt the hopelessness wash over her again. What the hell could he possibly want from her? Isabel didn't have to debate it for long.

"Allow me to drink from you, and I will let you see your friends."

How she could suddenly feel so cold and so warm at the same time, she had no idea. The words hit her like physical blows. Her face was flushed, even as she felt ice in her veins. Isabel turned away from him, not able to meet his crimson gaze any longer.

That brought a laugh to his lips, as she stood with her back to him. She walked to the table where the knife sat, and honestly debated slicing her throat with it. She wondered how far she would make it before he stopped her. Isabel gripped the back of the chair with her one of her bare hands, picking at the woodgrain with her fingernail - something she never had a chance to do, always wearing gloves.

If he wanted to bite her in exchange to see them… Maybe she could end the game in one move. "What will it cost for you to let them go? Alive and unharmed?"

"You had your opportunity, and you wasted it. Now the price has gone up, and it is far more than what you are willing or able to pay at the moment."

Wincing, Isabel downed the second glass of wine, placing the crystal on the table with a clink, and she heard him chuckle again in response. "No more riddles - is there a price to set them free?" she asked again.

"See them first… it may change your outlook on the situation, little dove."

Isabel shut her eyes tightly, and put her hand over her face. Her friends were alive - but whether or not they were 'okay' was a matter of opinion. But this is what she came to do. This is why she threw herself into the mouth of hell. To her certain death. To save her friends.

For all intents and purposes… she was already dead. What did it matter anymore?

"And if I say no?" she asked, quietly - afraid to know the answer.

"Then I feed from you anyway, and you may keep your pride in your agony."

Every sentence out of his mouth was another wound - another nail in the proverbial (or literal) coffin. And yet, her mind wanted to cling to the futile hope that there was some version of this where she got out alive. Some version where her, Eric and Adam walked out those doors together. But that was gone, now. It had never existed to begin with. God, it wanted to make her throw up. Or cry. Or both.

So there was only one option left in front of her, even as it made her stomach churn in fear.

"Okay," she said, barely above a whisper. She gritted her teeth, and then let out a long, slow sigh as she tried to accept what was going to happen. It took a while for her to force the word out of her mouth. "Fine..."

Hands landed on her bare shoulders, and she jumped. Isabel hadn't heard him approach - and she shouldn't have been surprised by that. He laughed at her startled reaction, and she felt his fingers trail up her shoulder to the base of her neck. His fingers wound their way into her chin-length, wavy hair, and she felt him toy with a strand, idly wrapping it around one of his fingers.

"Resist me in any way - struggle, or protest - and our deal is broken."

She gripped the chair harder, and gritted her teeth as she felt his nails run along her scalp. She wanted to hit him so very badly for touching her. She turned to face him, and found herself stuck in between him and the back of the chair. He was looking down at her with a mild, pleased smile. He looked very proud of himself.

"You don't have to be so fucking smug about it," she snapped bitterly up at him.

Dracula only grinned broader at her words. "Such a fire burns away in you... So rare for one of your kind that are so easily tempered or broken by those around them."

"You've known other empaths?" she was legitimately curious - as she had never met anyone with a gift like hers.

"I have lived countless centuries, my pet… I have seen more kinds of people come and go from this earth than you could possibly imagine. Creatures like you - 'empaths' if you will call them such - are not so rare when you consider the whole of history."

His red eyes were too intense for her to deal with - not with him standing so close to her. He had loomed over her in their shared dreams - visions, whatever they were. But in reality, it was far, far harder for her to cope with. She turned her head away from him.

A single finger under her chin turned her face back. "And yet, I do not believe I have ever met one quite like you..." he leaned his head down towards hers - and she wasn't sure if it was for a kiss, or… or god only knew what.

"Oh bullshit," she abruptly ducked under his arm and walked away from him, folding her arms across her chest. It had caught him unprepared, and he let her move away from him. She wanted to shove her hands into her hoodie and hide - but - no dice. "Don't feed me cheap lines."

"I fail to understand."

"Don't you dare… I can suffer all of this, I can deal with… with whatever I think you're going to do to me, or worse - fine. Whatever. I'm as good as dead anyway. I won't fight you while you do god-knows-what to me if it means it saves my friends-" she ranted, still standing with her back to him. It made her nervous to not see where he was - but looking at him made the turmoil worse. "But don't you fucking mock me while you do it."

"Mock you?"

Dracula was looming behind her again - she could hear his voice close to her ear. She flinched reflexively. He liked to do that - loom. To use his height advantage and his demeanor to intimidate. It was undeniably effective. She tried to turn to face him - but his hands clamped down on her shoulders and kept her locked in place.

Isabel pulled in a sharp gasp, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the feeling of his cool hands against her bare skin. Her reaction wasn't lost on him, as he stepped closer to her. One of his hands slid down her arm, slowly - making sure she felt every inch that he touched as his hand slid from her elbow, slowly across her midsection. His fingers splayed out against her stomach and pressed her back against his chest. "Explain to me how this mocks you."

His voice was a deep, baritone growl in his chest, and she could feel the rumble against her. Her mind almost went blank at the rush of sensations, but she struggled to keep her wits about her. "Don't pretend I'm special. Don't insult me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. He was far too good at robbing her of control.

"Mmh-" she felt him press his face into her hair, the hand that had been resting against her shoulder moved to run through her chestnut waves. Sharp nails ran along her scalp as his face hovered near hers. He chuckled then, low and deep in his throat. "Such a puzzle, you are…" he murmured to her softly. "A contradiction. So defiant, and yet… such loathing for yourself and your condition lurks beneath the surface…"

"I don't-"

Isabel never got the chance to argue before moved in one swift motion - all she could do was yelp as he whirled her to face him, stepped her backwards towards the chaise lounge until she half-fell, half-was-planted into the upholstered surface.

He slung one of his legs onto the chaise lounge and straddled her, pinning her under him. It wasn't until he hand released her shoulders that she could protest. "Wait-" she started, but Dracula placed a finger against her lips.

"Remember our deal, little dove… Protest or struggle, and our deal is broken."

Isabel shut her mouth, and gritted her teeth, and visibly winced as she struggled with herself. She wanted to punch at him, claw at him, do anything to push him off of her - but if she did… So instead, she glared.

He laughed, and she felt him run the pointed nail of his finger along her lip, as he drew his hand back. "How delightful." Dracula tilted his head to the side slightly as he watched her - as if memorizing every movement she made.

"Just… get on with it, already," she said, breaking the silence.

"Now now," he pressed a hand against the arm of the lounge near her head, and leaned himself down towards her. "These things… must be savored."

"Fuck you," she growled up at him.

"Mmhn - I suppose I did neglect to declare that obscenities should count under 'protest.' But you are bending the spirit of the deal."

Isabel pulled in a sharp breath and held it as he ran his fingers along her collarbone. She squeezed her eyes shut as the feeling of his cool skin against hers pulled the rug out of any anger she might feel.

Isabel felt his consciousness close to hers, as he touched her. Anyone else, and she would have been pulled into their memories. But he was in control. In every possible sense. She hated being at his mercy.

"This time, my little dove… I think perhaps we should explore your mind for a change," Dracula commented idly as his fingertips idly traced the contour of her collarbone.

"You don't count invading my dreams?" It took every ounce of focus just to get the words out.

"Hardly… What you do is far more invasive than the parlor tricks I perform. I have been dying to see what lives inside your mind… It is only fair."

"Wasn't part of the deal," she opened her eyes to glare at him - finding solace in her anger.

Dracula's grin didn't falter. "Very good. I was worried you may make our game too simple."

"This is my life you asshole-" her temper got the better of her. She shoved his hand away from her collarbone and to the side as her anger flared. She sat up as much as she could, with him straddling her legs. "My life is not a game. You ate one of my best friends in front of me. You're holding the other two captive and using them like cards in a poker game. We aren't toys-"

His hand snapped around her neck, and pushed her sharply back against the arm of the chaise. Dracula cut off the rest of her words as he shut off her air. Pain flashed hot-white around the edges of her vision as his red eyes narrowed down at her. The wicked grin had vanished, and a cruel, passive expression had taken its place. Her hands flew to the one around her throat, trying pointlessly to pull his own off.

"Ah, but to me… you are but toys. Your brief lives flash before me like fireflies in my endless night. I may marvel at your beauty, yet you are not but insects still. As soon as you are seen, your light is over. Your friend - 'Tex' was it? I felt his soul flee his body as I took his life. As I did so, what he was became part of me. Do you want to know… exactly what kind of a man he was, my little dove? Did you know he had a wife and child he abandoned? Hm? That he had shot a man in cold blood for drugs?"

He finally let up his grip on her throat, and let her breathe. She gasped, and resisted the urge to cough. Her mind was struggling to catch up with what was happening. Dracula lowered himself down closer to her, and she felt his cool breath on her cheek. "You invade the minds of those you touch… I take into me the minds of those I kill. The things he wanted to do to you… The things he wished he could make you feel…" Dracula laughed, quietly, and she felt his lips graze her cheek as he pulled his head back to look down at her, red eyes blazing. "Would you like me to show you?"

Isabel could only let out a small noise as he leaned back down into her. This time, the hand around her throat slid up to cup her chin, and tilted her head away from him. She felt his tongue slowly run along her neck up towards her ear, and she whimpered despite herself. Her back arched as she writhed underneath him. It drew a low laugh out of the vampire - and she felt his lips press against her skin.

The hand that had gripped her face now slid around her back, pressing his palm against her between her shoulderblades, and pressed her up against him. She heard a deep… purring noise from him then - and her fear peaked. Her hands were gripping his vest, balled into the fabric, terrified.

"N-" was all she managed to squeak out.

That is when it happened.

She felt the pain of something piercing her skin at her neck - and she let out a cry as she arched her back into him again. He pressed her to him firmly with the hand at her back - the other holding up his weight as he straddled her, pinning her to the chaise lounge.

Gradually the pain was replaced by a… throb. A throbbing tempo that seemed to block out every other sensation. The throb became an ache. The ache, a hunger. She felt his desire, his pleasure, felt her own in turn. Her head rolled back, her eyes shut, and she surrendered to the feeling that rushed through her - both sides, all at once.

They were aboard a C5, 'A' class D.O.D. aircraft. A 'flying WalMart' is how Eric described it. Nothing moved a lot of cargo quite like a C5. It was gigantic, and not designed for comfort. They had been flown into Afghanistan to try and recover some artifacts that insurgents had 'stolen.' Now they sat on opposite rows, the recovered artifacts inside crates that were strapped in between.

Isabel wasn't quite sure who was stealing from whom, but hey, the price had been right.

The flight was long, tiresome, bumpy, and had little to no air conditioning. Adam and Eric sat on one side of the plane, Tex and Isabel on the other. They were on the return flight home - and despite having been successful, the mood was a tired, beleaguered (and sunburned) discontentment.

"Sing us a song, Izzy," Tex had requested, breaking the silence. He was slathering aloe vera onto his arm. Despite having an incredibly high pain tolerance for wounds, 'constant' pain like a rash or (in this case) sunburn, would send him into fits of whining that were legendary. Gunshot? No problem. Poison ivy? He was insufferable.

"Seriously?" she looked at him, and snorted. "You wanna add insult to injury?"

"Keeps my mind off this bullshit," the southerner had muttered as he rolled his other sleeve up. "How'd you not get burnt to fuck?"

"Sleeves. Hoodie. Gloves. I just, y'know, nearly dehydrated. Twice."

"Eric got to stay in the tent," Tex complained.

"Try being smart next time you get reincarnated and re-roll," Eric chimed from the other side. "Us nerds get to stay in the A.C."

Tex sighed, grumbled, and looked at her from under the brim of his baseball cap. "C'mon, Izzy. Entertain a suffering man."

"You're such a pansy," she snickered at him, and grumbling, gave in with a half-smile. "Fine. Far be it from me to deny the wishes of a dying man." She unclipped from her harness, and climbed up onto the seat to grab a bag from the overhead rack. She pulled it down, and put it down on the ground in front of where she had been sitting.

"Fuck, if I were dying, I'd have something else in mind entirely," Tex said with a guffaw.

"Perv," Isabel replied and unzipped the bag. It was a guitar.

They always had a weird, half-flirting, half-sarcasm relationship. If Isabel had paid any attention to such things, she'd have admitted to herself that he was more than half-flirting. But it would never go anywhere. It couldn't. He couldn't touch her.

She sat back down in the seat, and put the guitar in her lap, and began plucking a string and twisting a knob, tuning it by ear.

Now, Isabel hadn't ever learned to play guitar. Not a single lesson in her life. And yet, she played quite well. Reason being was that some skills were simply the memory of having learned them. And if she could see people's memories by touching them… she had those years of practice embedded into her mind.

Isabel's gift went a lot deeper than the single visions she would see when she touched something. Sometimes, she would absorb much more from the things (or people) she laid a hand on - and those memories would stay ingrained in her mind sometimes for years before she even had any idea they were there.

The first time it had happened was when she decided to make crepes for breakfast. She had no fucking clue how to cook a crepe. And yet, one morning the idea sprung into her mind to try, and sure enough she could do it. It wasn't until she sat down to think about it, that she remembered that one chef who had bumped into her in a restaurant where a hoodie was far below dress code.

And the guitar? The result of a local guide in Spain who had brought them through an old temple. She slipped, nearly fell, and he had caught her wrist. And he had played the instrument for nearly a decade.

So now… she could play. Because she had that man's memories of learning. So there she sat on the C5, tuning up the strings to the guitar. Tex had finished slathering himself in aloe, and was now sitting with his hands tucked behind his head, feet up on one of the crate of antiquities in front of them.

Isabel surprised them both when she turned half-sideways to lean against the seat near him, and began strumming a few chords. Now, singing was a skill that was honed and built - like a gymnast. Just because she could remember how to sing doesn't mean she could. But she had good pitch, if lousy range, and could sing out a tune better than some.

Isabel paused as she remembered she was in a lucid dream of a memory. The song she had sung in this moment had been different - had been some suggestive song about a hotel and a one night stand that got all three of the boys laughing and joining in. But part of her remembered that this… this was a recollection of a moment of time. It was only a dream of a memory. And this - half-leaning against Tex's side… was her only chance to say goodbye to her friend. Even if it was only her memory of him in her own mind - or what was left of him, living inside a vampire.

Her fingers found different chords than the ones she had done originally. "Where have you gone, my love - my friend? Somewhere without the rain? I feel afraid now. I feel alone. Will we meet again? Can you recall, what we once knew - somewhere without the pain? I feel afraid now - but not alone. We will meet again. I can't hear your voice… but you know I feel your soul."

Tears stung her eyes, and she let them fall. Isabel ached, missing her friend - knowing he was gone. Isabel knew that in reality, the song had gone on - she had sung another. Adam had fallen asleep, Eric was smiling but typing away on his laptop - and Tex had sat there, eyes shut, feet propped as she worked her way from one song to another.

But in the dream, everything melted away.

He wanted you.

She snapped back into another memory - but this one wasn't hers. She was standing in the blazing sun of the encampment, and recognized the army troops wandering from tent to tent. This had been a day before the memory that had just played out in front of her. But this one wasn't from her point of view. It was from Tex's.

Tex stood, leaning up against a stack of munition crates, using a knife to pick his fingernails. It was a disgusting habit, he knew, but he didn't care. It was effective. And it made him look like a badass.

Tex had looked up as Eric approached, and she watched as he and Eric discussed the final day in the camp. "I'll be glad to pull the sand out of my ass," Tex had muttered.

"I'll be glad for you to pull the sand out of your ass," Eric quipped back. "You're a dick when you're sunburned."

"Yeah, well, at least I'm not a dick all the time." Tex had slapped him on the back, and Eric had yowled in pain. Even the little computer nerd had sunburn - and through his t-shirt no less.

"Ow, you asshole!" Eric had turned and slapped him hard on the arm, and Tex made a matching yowl of pain as he felt his sunburn light up in pain. The two of them had then gotten into a punches-and-sunburn-slappy fight. It was playful, but neither were pulling their hits.

Isabel had walked out of the tent, holding a plastic bottle of water. "God you two are like children."

"He started it," Eric complained.

"Oh, oh no I didn't," Tex retorted - even if Eric was right.

She remembered this moment - but watching herself from someone else's memory was a new experience for her. She didn't like it - not in the slightest. Isabel watched herself walk away from them, grumbling about 'boys,' and she had walked to a crate, taken off her hoodie, and dumped the bottle of water over her head.

Tex had been staring at her, but she hadn't noticed it in the moment. She was oblivious to it, but now… she could feel it from his point of view, as her tanktop went transparent in the liquid as she casually, unthinking, slung her hoodie back on and walked away.

Eric punched him in the arm again. "Dude."

"What?"

"Put your eyes back in your head. Before you have to tuck something else down."

"You wouldn't hit that? Man, I'd fuckin' wreck that," Tex had said with a broad grin. Isabel wasn't sure how to handle feeling his attraction to her in the memory - it was… bizarre and uncomfortable.

Eric scrunched his face. "Dude, sick - she's like my sister."

"Your problem, not mine. If only her head shit didn't give me the heebie-jeebies."

The memories melted away again.

Couldn't you feel it?

'It didn't matter' - she responded to the thoughts inside her head that were not hers.

He could not touch you.

'He didn't want to try. He knew what the cost would be.'

But I can.

She felt as he tried to push her into another memory. 'No. Enough. This wasn't part of our deal.' Isabel pushed back, and 'shoved' as hard as she could back against the feeling of his consciousness.

The blazing memory of the sun and the sand returned. Only this time, she was not looking at the hazy vision of rock and mountains in the distance, constantly flickering and wavering in the heat lifting from the sand. This time, she was looking at…

Okay, she had no idea what she was looking at.

Only that wherever she was, it was very old. Older than she had ever seen before in her mind - and touching ancient relics gave her some amazing visions. She was inside an open-air structure, assembled from monolithic rocks and carved delicately up to a soaring stone roof. Only the ancients built structures like this. The walls were plastered stone, painted with images and scenery like she had never seen before. The feeling of the sun and the heat began to fade in fast-forward as the night came and the stars blazed brighter than she had ever seen them before.

She was in a temple of some kind. The columns were painted and carved with intricate depictions of reverent figures - although she didn't recognize the gods and goddesses shown, paintings of holy figures all shared similar themes. It was almost Egyptian, but... not. Almost Assyrian, but... not. Isabel studied a great deal of history, art history, relics and artifacts... and yet, nothing looked like this. A civilization truly lost to time, maybe?

A civilization I buried in my wrath.

She was not in this stone temple alone. A man knelt, stripped naked before an altar, his body doubled over, his arms lashed to two posts to either side with a coarse rope. Men, dressed from the waist down in what looked like fabric skirts lined the sides, each carefully painted in gold and black with symbols and markings.

The man on his knees felt beaten, defeated - empty. His back was crisscrossed with whip marks, new and old, healed and fresh. His head was bowed, his long, curly black hair falling along his face. He was covered in blood - some his own, some not. She had half-broken images of him being tortured, flayed, strung out in the sun and left for the carrion birds. But he did not die, and his suffering was not yet complete.

Isabel walked slowly around him across the sandstone floor, trying to figure out… what she was seeing.

"The moment of my 'birth,'" the bloody man answered her unspoken question in an accent and tone that was unfamiliar - but yet, she knew who she was looking at. There was no doubt whose mind they were now inside.

A priest - that's what she assumed he was, by his dress and mannerisms - walked from a torch-lit hallway, holding a falcon by its feet. The poor animal had been lashed together at the wings so it could not escape or do much damage to its captor. Isabel watched as it frantically screeched and clawed at the priest to no avail. The priest approached the altar, where sat a large copper bowl, filled with a deep, thick red liquid. Well, it wasn't wine, she was pretty damn sure of that.

The priest shoved the creature down into the bowl - and she watched as it was submerged in blood. It struggled violently - and slowly… the motion faded.

The priest had drowned the falcon in the blood. Removing the corpse of the bird and handing it to an assistant who rushed away with the dead animal, the priest picked up the bowl of blood and approached the man lashed to the posts on his knees.

The man who had spoken. The man on his knees. The man she knew, even if she did not recognize his face.

The priest crossed the floor to the man on his knees, and grabbing him by the long curly black hair, yanked his head backwards to look up at him. The man was stoic - empty and devoid of emotion. He was dead already, and he knew it. Whatever was to be done to him now, he accepted. It was his bargain.

His deal.

The priest placed the bowl against his lips, and forced the man to drink the blood in which the falcon had been drowned. The man on his knees had to, or else he too drown in the thick liquid.

It was human blood. She felt the man's anguish as he was forced to drink the liquid or die - and knew that this man had loved who had been murdered to fill that bowl. Images of a woman, of a great love, and then her screaming in the night as she was taken away from him - flashed through her as she watched the scene unfold. Isabel felt the heart-shattering pain in the man before her, and wished she could do something. But she was a bystander in this memory of ancient times.

They drowned the daylight in my love and forced me to drink of both.

The bowl had emptied of its contents - either having run down his throat or down his chest. But the worst was yet to come. Oh god - the pain. Isabel winced, and she felt what he did - the pain that ran to her core like liquid metal. It was ripping through his veins, and he screamed.

As did she.