The vague smell of roses, and a soft pillow under her head. Her eyes were so tired, she didn't want to open them. And so, she didn't. She felt movement, but it was probably just part of a dream.

Isabel felt the sword go through her midsection - but the dream wasn't clear, yet. It was hard to know what was happening. Voices, then.

'Go back whence you came! Trouble the soul of my mother no more!'

His voice followed.

'How? How is it that I have been so defeated?'

Isabel had felt the sword - although it was Dracula that had been run clean through by the thin blade. They were inside of a memory. Standing inside a grand throne room, Dracula was sprawled back against the stairs, long white hair around his head - Adrian at his feet, still holding the sword that had pierced his heart.

Adrian spoke, his face as cold as ice. If he felt any emotion, it was buried so deep that even she couldn't sense it. "You have been doomed ever since you lost the ability to love."

Time froze.

"Coming from Chuckles, that's a hell of a statement," Isabel muttered to herself.

Dracula's reply was both to Adrian in the dream, and yet also to her. "Ah, sarcasm." He continued. "'For what profit is it to a man if he gains the world, and loses his own soul?' Matthew 16:26 I believe."

But the response didn't come from the memory of the vampire who lay dying on the floor. That time, the response was voiced by the man standing next to her in the dream. Isabel nearly leapt out of her skin, as he snuck up on her again and scared the shit out of her again. "Oh for fucks sake stop doing that!"

Dracula only smirked down at her, and then his eyes traveled back to the scene in front of him, and his smirk faded. "I do not like witnessing my past."

"Then you should stop touching me," Isabel advised, folding her arms defiantly across her chest.

Dracula took a step away from her, walking towards the frozen tableau of his own death in front of him. He ignored her statement. "Each time I wonder if I will finally overcome you and peer into the darkness that is your past, not mine."

Isabel watched him, curious at the forlorn expression on his face. Isabel could feel the beleaguered, tired sadness radiate from him. She would have accused him of mocking her again, but there was, for once, a genuine quality to him that she didn't want to chase away. "You could have just asked."

"Where would be the fun in that?"

Isabel looked at the scene in front of her again, and approached the frozen memory of Adrian slaying his father. Slaying Dracula. Slaying a creature that was for all intents and purposes a demigod who could not ever truly die. It was then, that she knew what had happened. "You let him kill you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Of course I did."

"But… why?"

Dracula was silent for a long moment. "Do not ask foolish questions."

It wasn't an answer - but Isabel wasn't quite sure she really needed one. She shared in his emotions even still, and to call the matter complex would be to put it lightly. Grief at the loss of his former wife and love - grief at the wrath of his son. A masochistic enjoyment of the drama of it all. Fruitless hope that perhaps, this time death would truly come for him. Knowing that he could never be the one to end his son's life. So this is how it must be. Loneliness and a great deal of bitterness followed quickly after.

His hands were fists at his side in silent turmoil as he was forced to remember this point in time.

Dracula mutilated her friends, and was currently holding her prisoner. She had to remind herself of that, as she looked at him and felt the wealth of pain in every variety that ate away at him.

Goddamn it all and her stupid bleeding heart. This man was a monster, set out to do god-knows-what to her. He had destroyed her friends, hunted her down, and was now threatening torture, death, and suffering. But he was not a soulless, emotionless creature like his son had accused. Isabel knew she should enjoy rubbing his face in a painful memory - and yet, she felt his pain like it was her own. Isabel supposed you didn't quite get to be several millennia old without being a seriously complicated headcase.

Isabel let out a long sigh, and gave up. "You're going to be really disappointed."

"Oh?" he looked at her, finally turning from the scene in front of him. The figures that were frozen in time faded like dust as his focus shifted to her and away from his memory.

"If you seriously wanted to see my past, and not, y'know, just fuck around inside my head for fun." Isabel took in a breath, held it, and let the next sentence out with a small puff of air. "There isn't one to see."

Dracula tilted his head slightly as he looked at her, silently asking for her to continue.

"I don't…" she sighed again, not sure how to explain it. "It's why nobody ever uses my last name," Isabel said with a small, sad, half-laugh. "I don't remember it."

"Show me."

It was a command, not a request, and she knew she should rebuke him for it, but instead, she met his command with more defiance. "You don't get something for nothing. What'll you pay for it?"

He grinned wickedly. Isabel had successfully distracted him from the memory - and now she wasn't glad she had. "Clever little creature - torment me with my past, then demand I pay a toll to escape?"

"Torment you-" she snorted. "That's rich. You brought us here, not me."

"Hrm," he looked away thoughtfully, then his red eyes flicked back to hers as he recovered from her chess move gracefully and with far too much amusement for her comfort. "You know quite well that the freedom or well-being of your friends is a payment far above the momentary curiosity I hold for something I could uncover by other means." The threat of violence, or worse, was clear. "So what, pray tell, do you wish that I would grant in exchange for your willing account?" Dracula took a step towards her, then, calling her bluff. And she reflexively took a step back.

Asshole. Just when she thought for once she might have her footing, he points out how useless it really is. But, his price of admission was worth it. "Gloves and something with sleeves."

Dracula let out a small 'hrm' thoughtfully as he looked off. "No. Gloves I will allow. I wish to deter others from laying a hand on you as much as I am able."

Isabel didn't understand why the thought of someone touching her bothered him so much. There were two options: Either, she was his new favorite toy, and he would use her and abuse her she was broken and discarded. Or, that he was protective of her for any other possible reason in the world - and that just seemed stupid and unlikely in comparison.

Isabel shrugged. It was better than nothing, and he was going to find out eventually. "Deal. But I lead, not you." She reached her hand out to him with a cringe. If she was going to take him down through her memories, he was not going to be the one driving.

"Very well." He placed his cold hand inside hers, and she let the world melt away.

Don't touch me!

Too much blood.

She had remembered her crying that out like in a fever dream. Over and over again.

Shattered bits and pieces before then, all jumbled and broken apart like broken glass. The more you tried to grab onto one, the harder it bit into your skin and hurt. So it was easier to just let them all go.

Voices - too many voices, drowning her out and threatening to drag her under.

Don't touch me!

It was a hospital room, one for intake patients leaving the ICU. Her wing, third shift - and making the rounds. She had worked here for twenty seven years, and she was sick of this third shift bullshit.

Wait - no. That wasn't her memory, that wasn't her mind. Was it? Was she the woman in the bed - or the one lying unconscious on the floor? Definitely the one in the bed, she decided after a moment of fiddling with the sheets under her fingers. Definitely not the one on the floor.

Sitting up in bed, she slowly became aware of herself - looking down at her hands. Bruises ran up her arms, angry with yellow rings and purple blotches. What the hell had happened to her? Where was she?

More importantly… who was she?

She needed to get up, needed to get out of this awful room. She didn't know where she was, but she knew she didn't like it. Getting up off the bed, her knees almost gave out from under her. Staggering, she caught herself on the edge of an IV tray, and managed to walk, barefooted - around the woman on the floor. Her name was Susan, and this was her ward… memories of attending to thousands of patients flashed through her mind - the daily grind, the daily pattern. Breakfast, work, home, TV, sleep, and again and again…

No. No she wasn't. It wasn't her. That was the woman on the floor and her thoughts and memories.

She made it to the bathroom, and walked up to the sink. Holding on to the edge of the porcelain fixture, she looked into the reflection.

And had no memory of the girl looking back at her. Teenager, maybe fifteen or sixteen. And she'd be pretty if it weren't for the large bruise on one side of her neck. Running her fingers along it, she winced at the pain. It was fresh.

The hospital bracelet around her wrist caught her attention, and she looked down at it, hoping for any clue of information. First name: Isabel, Last name: unknown. Well, okay - her name was Isabel. That was a start.

She put her hand to her head, and tried to remember. She had walked into this hospital - bruised, beaten - and all she had known was her first name. She had told them that - before passing out. Did she? Things were fuzzy, strange… they didn't make sense. Memories flooded her mind of other people, other thoughts, other things. Putting keys into a car. Blood on the pavement, broken glass.

But her name was Isabel. It felt familiar - it rung a bell.

Oh. Huh. Speaking of ringing a bell. 'Isabel' turned to look at the nurse unconscious on the floor. Maybe she should do something about that.

Foster homes weren't all that bad, to be honest. She wound up with a loving, if entirely overworked 'single mom.' Natalie was the name of the woman now ostensibly playing the role of 'mother,' and she always praised Isabel for being the easiest foster kid she ever had. Isabel was self reliant, responsible - knew how to drive and do most things - and never really needed much in the way of guidance or structure. Oh, of course she had her quirks - not wanting to be touched, for one.

'An old soul,' is what Natalie would say about Isabel when the older woman went to her book club or what-have-you. And Isabel didn't argue - it was accurate. Even as a teenager in high school, she never really felt like she was her age. Always felt older, more mature… and utterly disinterested in where she was.

It was that jaded, detached nature - and her utter abhorrence to being touched - that labeled her unpopular and a freak. So, it was easy to don all black and join the 'freaks.' They weren't fussy, and were happy to have another person in their ranks.

Even better, they believed her when she said she was an empath, and that's why she couldn't touch people. They enjoyed watching her read memories from objects or watch her scare the bullies who came too close to them with some dark secret of theirs.

And then, there was James…

She remembered when it happened. They were sitting in a field, late one night, watching a thunderstorm brewing in the distance. It was one of their favorite places to come hang out. It was quiet, off the beaten trail, and far away from any street lamps or anything that might ruin the view of the night sky.

He had surprised her, caught her off guard - and she knew why. He had wanted to show her that he wasn't afraid of her, wasn't afraid of the consequences of what would happen. He tapped her on the shoulder and kissed her before she could react.

When she woke up - the storm had come and passed, and the were both soaked through to the bone and freezing. And no matter how hard she shook him, no matter how hard she screamed, he wouldn't wake up.

Guilt wracked her still about what she had done to him. Unintentional or not, the kid was brain dead in a coma from what she had done. All his life, all his memories now flitted around in her mind like moths. But that was her quiet burden to bear. The small town in Massachusetts wasn't one to let that kind of drama go quietly into the night - and it forced her foster mother to pick up and move.

Isabel never told Natalie about her 'gift.' The beleaguered woman wouldn't believe her, she knew. To her credit, Natalie had believed that it was an accident - although she was always suspicious it had been drugs like the others had thought.

The moment Isabel was old enough to leave, she did. Hugged Natalie as tight as she could, with a hoodie that made sure their skin never touched. Said her goodbyes, and took her car, took what money she had earned from work, and hit the road. Isabel traveled from town to town, doing what she could to earn (or con) money. She became a talented fortune teller - using what she could read from the people across from her to tell them what they wanted to know. It was an easy pattern to fall into.

It was in New York city a year later that she had finally settled in, having a fantastically high-paying gig as a high-end fortune teller to expensive clients. Isabel worked out of a little shop in the east end with two other girls and one guy. Sally, Rachel and Dom. They weren't empaths like she was, but they were amazing at manipulating their clients. Telling them what they needed to hear and giving them the advice that they would only listen to if it came from a 'mystical' source.

'Most people,' Dom had said while flicking his ever-present cigarette, 'already know what they've got to do. They just don't want to. So it's our job to rub their stupid little faces in it.'

Dom was the kind of guy who wore skinny jeans before they were 'cool,' and of course, was gay as the day was long. Sally and Rachel were twins, and each as gifted as the other in knowing how to play a client. The whole 'twins' thing kept an air of mystery around them that was very appealing to businessmen or foreign diplomats. But if it was a hard client to crack - they came to Isabel. If they needed to know the truth behind the jewelry left to them by an aunt, or a key that they didn't know where the lock was - they came to her.

Isabel was stretched out reading a book on the sofa in the small central room when the bell above the door dinged. The small lobby was decorated like any good high-end fortune-telling parlor should be. The smell of incense was heavy in the air, and the brass statues of every exotic god of antiquity dotted the shelves. Symbols of the third eye, chakras, and whatever other else looked interesting or appropriate.

Looking up, Isabel smiled. "You must be my 2 o'clock - Kenneth?" Life changes quickly sometimes and without warning.

"Yes ma'am," a man with a thick southern accent and a cowboy hat responded. He had taken it off his head when he walked in like a gentleman. "And please, call me Tex." He screamed 'ex military,' and his mannerisms showed that he was used to a regimented life. His dark hair was cropped short, and his face was quick to smile. Isabel instantly liked him.

She also instantly appreciated the fact that he hadn't jumped in with 'shouldn't you know I'm your client? You're the psychic.' She hated those jokes, but, they came with the gig.

Standing up, she put her book on the table and lead him back to her private room in the back. It was small, but was fine for what she needed. The shop they rented had once been a tattoo parlor, so they had plenty of these little 'breakout' rooms.

Guarded, curious, amused. That's what she got from him instantly as he walked in. "Have a seat," she offered and walked to a fridge. "Would you like anything to drink?"

"A beer would be grand," the southerner responded with a small laugh. "I've never done this b'fore, and it'll help take the edge off."

Isabel shot him a smirk and pulled a beer out of the mini-fridge in the corner. Popping the cap off, she handed it to him. Her ever-present gloves protected them both from any accidents. "Something tells me you're the kind of guy who needs more than one beer to take the edge off."

"Hah - guilty as charged. I guess you are a psychic, huh?"

Isabel shook her head. "I don't need to be one to figure that out. I can tell a lot from just looking at you."

"Like what?" he asked, honestly curious.

Isabel had leaned against the closed mini-fridge, and watched him for a moment. "Ex-military. I can tell by the haircut and the build. The way you look around to see where the nearest exits are. So, I would say… marine. Special ops, maybe. Now you're for hire. You pride yourself on being from the south - obvious from the nickname. But that nickname only works around northerners - so… You like to stand out in a crowd. You like to be noticed."

"Guilty as charged," he said with a chuckle. "All that without using your super-special psychic powers?"

"I'm not a psychic," Isabel admitted with a sigh. "I don't tell the future. I can tell you what is. What was. Memories and emotions are what I specialize in. The website should've told you that much."

"That it did. That it did," he said, his southern drawl was kind of adorable, she decided. Not that she would ever tell him that. 'A decent ego' was also on her list of things she would say described her new client.

"So what can I do for you today, Tex?" God, she hoped he didn't say 'sex.' That was always so freaking awkward when clients mistook them for a whorehouse.

"Whelp," he reached into a bag he had carried at his side. "I want you to see if you can tell me anything about this…" He pulled from it what looked like a section of some old, carved statue. One that had been blown to bits, or fallen apart with time. A shoulder maybe? Part of a leg? It was hard to tell. He put it down on the table in the center of the room.

Isabel sat down at the table and looked at the carved rock curiously. It was impossible to know what it had once belonged to - or what era the statue had been from. Well, impossible, unless you could see the past. She took off her gloves, and put her hands against the stone.

It had been eight years since that day. Eight years since Tex had followed a tip that Adam had received on the web to find her and see if she was 'legit.' Eight years of working as a mercenary treasure hunter before Tex had died at Dracula's hands. Eight years that she knew were gone, now. Never to return.

You know nothing of who you are.

The voice echoed in her soul and the memories ended, fading to nothingness.

'I don't need to know my past to know who I am,' she replied.

Isabel woke up from her dream, and found herself lying on her side in pitch black darkness. The vague smell of roses and the pillow under her head gave her a strong hint of where she was. Reaching out in front of her - and sure enough, the fabric covered side of his coffin hovered a few inches in front of her face.

And again, she was not alone. A heavy arm was draped around her, and she felt him pressed against her back. He was holding her like a lover, and she didn't… God help her, she didn't know what to do. She was so confused and it made her want to scream and hit him. He tormented her, and threatened her, and now he does this? What did he want from her?!

Everything.

She flinched, hearing his voice in her head - clearly the connection hadn't faded yet. The hand that was draped over her slid up to her face - and he brushed her hair back, his nails running lightly against her skin.

She felt him kiss the back of her head. "Imagine my surprise and amusement," he murmured to her. "When I found you asleep on the floor like some beast." So she had felt him lift her up after all.

Isabel shivered despite herself as he tucked her hair behind her ear. "My options were limited," she replied, a whisper in the closeness of the coffin.

A chuckle was her answer as a single nail trailed down around her ear, and down her throat, touching the spot on her neck where he had bitten her. It was still sensitive, and she jolted reflexively. One of her hands pressed against the side of the coffin, needing something to hold on to as her nerves lit up under his touch.

Again he chuckled deep in his throat as she felt him shift, and felt his lips take the place of his hand. She let out a small noise, as he ran his tongue slowly along the marks he had left on her skin. She felt his hand slide under her shoulder and pull her half onto her back, twisting her to face him. He began to trail slow, lazy kisses up her neck. I will have all of you before you are free of me, he whispered into her mind as his lips found hers.

Another small cry left her as his sharp nails now found her side, slipping under her shirt and digging in just enough to hurt as he pulled her lower back against him. His kiss became suddenly more passionate, hungrier, as he tilted his head to the side and she felt his tongue delve past her lips.

No man dared touch you.

Another shiver ran through her body at his words. Her mind was wrapped up in his, and it was intoxicating. From feeding from her - from touching her - it was all the same. She felt him close to her in more ways than one. Felt his overwhelming presence around her.

A moan escaped her without her permission, and her hands were now holding on to the fabric of his shirt collar. He had now shifted to lay half over her, pressing her onto her back even as he held her against him. One of his legs was between hers, and she felt the length of his body against her own and it sent her mind reeling.

This isn't fair, she tried to rail against him. Tried to push him away, even as she felt her body trembling from his attentions. I've never…

I know, was his silent reply. The hand on her side slid around to her stomach, sharp nails tracing the skin underneath her shirt. She jolted as he did, the feeling of his nails making her writhe against her will. He slid his hand out from under her shirt, and ran his hand slowly up her body. She made a 'mnhf-' noise of protest against his lips as his hand trailed up over the swell of her breast. He didn't linger there, instead grasping the strap of her tank top and bra, and slid it slowly down her shoulder. Nails traced along her collarbone, now no longer inhibited by the fabric in the way. His touch was sharp against her skin which felt impossibly hot against his cool touch.

He broke the kiss, leaving her head spinning and out of breath as he returned his lips to her ear. She felt his teeth graze her earlobe, and her mind went blank. "Tell me to stop," he whispered low into her ear, daring her. And I will, he finished silently.

Isabel felt like she was on fire as he ran his tongue back down her neck to where he had fed from her. His nails still slowly tracing her collarbone, sending shivers down her spine. She heard that low, deep purr from his throat as he let his teeth graze her neck.

She felt dizzy - almost felt drunk from what she felt ripping through her. "Wait," she said quietly, her voice wavering.

That was not 'stop,' he coyly said into her mind as she felt his teeth pierce her neck. She cried out sharply, her back arching against his chest as pain and something else entirely ripped through her body, her mind going white-hot.

This time, no dream encompassed them. No memory blotted out reality. Instead, they remained present as he slowly fed from her. I am learning, my little dove, she heard echoing in her mind. She could feel the thumping tempo of their hearts as he pulled the vital liquid from her, felt the pleasure flood his body as her hot blood touched his tongue.

She felt him pull his teeth from her neck. Isabel heard herself moan as he did, and felt him run his tongue along the reopened wound as it oozed slowly blood. He had barely taken any from her - but that wasn't the point, was it? She heard his purring rumble in his chest as he pressed against her. It was pleasure you felt. Pleasure like mine.

"No," she weakly denied it, and she heard him laugh quietly against her skin.

Oh? His fangs dug into her skin again, delving into the same wound as before, and she let out another cry as he did, squeezing her eyes shut tight as she arched against him once more. This time, his hand that had been lazily touching her collarbone was now at her lower back again, fingers splayed out and sharpened nails digging into her as he pressed her hard against him - not letting her fall back.

Dracula kept her pressed against him, her chest heaving for air as he slowly pulled his fangs from her neck. She let out a low moan as he did, and he laughed again, rumbling deep in his chest as he let his tongue lazily run along the wound.

She was trembling against him, and she felt helpless. Her body burned, and it made the feel of his cool skin on hers even more intense.

Admit it, he urged silently. His lips left her throat and returned to hers, and again she tasted her blood on his lips, coppery and bitter. The kiss was as intense as before, possessive, passionate and inarguable. Admit what you want, and you shall have it.

She had never felt this way before - not in her life. No one had ever touched her like this - no one had ever dared. All she ever had was memories of other people's experiences - and they were a poor substitute. Being in it now, her body and her mind warred against each other, each having their own opinion of what he was doing to her. Her mind was used to winning these fights.

Isabel pressed her hands against his chest and tried to weakly push him away from her.

No? Very well. The creak of the lid opening, and cool air met her as he climbed out of the coffin before she could even wrap her mind around what had happened. He didn't sound disappointed - in fact, there was a mischievous twinge to his voice that made her realize that was his ploy all along.

The feeling of cold air against her was a wonderful break from the sudden heat of the coffin - even if he had nothing to do with the air temperature. But it made her feel suddenly very alone, and she almost - almost - regretted pushing him away.

She didn't have much time to debate the merits of her decision. "Get up," he commanded. His voice was cold, detached, as if nothing had just happened.

Isabel blinked, confused, looking up at where he stood over the coffin. "Get up," he repeated. "Or else you may not have enough time to get dressed."

"Wh-huh?" she stammered uselessly. She pushed herself up to sitting, and winced, grabbing her neck with one hand. The wound stung, and when she pulled her hand away, there was blood on her fingers.

His hand took hers, and before she could react, he had brought her fingers to his lips, and a small noise escaped her throat as he took one of his fingers into his mouth, slowly cleaning the blood from her skin. His red eyes met hers, and they smoldered with a dangerous expression that made her body run both hot and cold at the same time. "Get up, or I will change my mind about giving you an option."

He released her hand, and she, after a long confused pause, managed to climb out of the coffin. She kept a grip on it for a moment until she was sure her legs were going to stay put under her, and not change their minds due to the blood loss. But he hadn't taken that much from her, apparently.

Isabel yelped as he grabbed her shoulder and the world erupted into flame as he brought them to somewhere else in the castle. This time, she was a little more prepared for the ensuing feeling, and she didn't feel as sick when they reappeared on the other side.

It looked like a lavish hotel suite - a large center room, and a bedroom visible off to one side through a door, and a bathroom through another. It was decorated in rich purples, blacks, and silvers. Dracula let go of her shoulder, and when she looked at him - he looked as passive and cold as a greek statue.

"We are to attend a banquet in two hour's time. You are to make yourself presentable. Refusal is inadvisable. Someone will be along to fetch you." And with that - and another roaring column of fire that made her leap backwards with a squeak - he was gone.

Isabel walked to a third door in the room - and tried the handle - and it didn't budge. Damn it all. Looking closer at it she couldn't see any visible lock. No way for her to pick it to try and escape. The windows were similarly inoperable - and judging by the height of the view, not a viable idea anyway. With a sigh, she walked away from the window with a shake of her head.

Isabel slumped into a chair, and put her head in her hands - taking a moment to try and collect her wits. No matter what she thought, no matter what she figured out about the vampire, he kept her off balance and always at a loss.

Being around him was like being drunk - alluring, and easy to give up all rational thought and just do whatever felt good. And god damn, she had been close to giving in to him. And why not? Dignity? He was going to kill her, he said as much. But sleeping with the man who had promised to maim and murder her was wrong - no matter what way you looked at it. Isabel leaned back in the chair and shut her eyes. There was no telling he would have followed through anyway - he was likely just playing another game with her, toying with her - using his ability to touch her to her disadvantage.

'Refusal is inadvisable' he had warned about this banquet. Make yourself presentable, or else. Well, at least there was a shower involved. Letting out another sigh, she stood up and walked towards the bathroom.

Isabel had gone through the wardrobe in the room three times. And nothing had sleeves. Asshole made good on his threat. She did find a single pair of black gloves that reached halfway to her elbow, so she'd have to put up with that.

As for the clothing - she wasn't dumb enough to think that going in jeans and a tank top was acceptable. Deciding that it wasn't a fight worth picking, she laid out the three options she saw as remotely viable. Each one was a little ridiculous, but, hey, she was here, and this was Dracula.

Each dress had something in common - the coloration. Crimson with black lace overlay, cut in different styles. Each either with no sleeves at all, or none that would do her any good. It didn't miss her that the dresses were all in his choice of colors. Like it somehow labeled her as his goddamn property.

Isabel gritted her teeth, and sighed deeply, rubbing a hand along her forehead. She reminded herself that this, again, was not a fight worth picking. There was nothing to be done about this battle. At least she was being given clothing, and wasn't expected to attend naked, or laid out on the table like she had been in her nightmare.

She finally settled on a strapless corset-style dress, as it somehow managed to be the most practical of the bunch. It was at least something that was going to stay put on its own should she have the chance to make a break for it. The skirt was mid-thigh, and she picked a pair of lace tights and ankle boots with a modest heel. Not the best looking option, but the best to run in if she had to.

Isabel had debated the merits of makeup. She had been given an impressive supply of choices - but she had a troubling choice about whether or not to wear it. It was pointless. Empty. Made it look like she was okay with what was happening to her. But if she didn't - she remembered Carmilla and how gorgeous she was - and Isabel's poor self opinion rose to the surface.

This will likely be the last time in your life you get to dress up, she reminded herself. And besides, it's just like your highschool days of being a goth kid. She laughed at that, and remembered exactly how much eyeliner she used to wear.

Fine. For old time's sake, if no other reason, she put on dramatic eyeshadow and dark lipstick. She wore it well, even if she did feel silly. A black lace collar covered the bite wound on her neck, and completely brought her back to her 'glory days.' Letting her short hair curl on its own, she flopped into the chair by the door, and waited.

With no clock, and no idea what time of day (or night) it was, with the sun being hidden behind the perpetual darkness that shrouded the castle, it was a lot of waiting. Waiting allowed her to dwell on what was happening to her, and how viciously angry she should be at Dracula. This stupid banquet was likely an exercise solely designed to humiliate her further - or make her watch as he did something awful to someone she cared about.

Her mind wandered through all the possible events of this so-called banquet. Maybe he'd feed her to the rest of his people. Maybe he'd make her watch as he killed Adam, or made Adam kill somebody. Maybe he'd make her pick who would live and who would die. Maybe he'd try and make her kill someone herself.

None of the options were good. The best she wound up with was, 'he shows you off like a prize pig, and generally humiliates you in front of a crowd.' That was literally the best possible outcome she could think of, and it made her bristle in anger at the thought.

A knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts. Whelp, time to rip off the bandaid. Standing up, she took a final look at herself in the mirror, and thought her high school self would have been very proud of the freak she had grown into.

Opening the door, she wasn't sure what she was expecting. A monster, a demon, a ball of slime, a gremlin, maybe a hunchback. What she saw, she didn't expect.

A priest.

To be specific, a vampire priest. His pale blue eyes weren't the giveaway - it was the fact that he stood there, inhumanly still and pale like a marble statue. Short blond hair was well kept, and he looked as much like a statue of a saint as an actual person. He wore all black save the white collar at his throat, and his hands were folded behind his back in a simple, dignified manner.

"My lady," he said with a slight bow of his head. "I am Lyon. Lord Dracula has sent me to bring you to the banquet hall."

For some reason, she let out a snort that turned into a laugh. The vampire blinked in confusion, and she smiled. "I'm sorry, it's not - you're not funny. This is just funny. You aren't what I expected."

"I will take that as a compliment," the vampire responded with the barest smirk. "If you will follow me." He turned, and led her down a corridor. The hallway was just as extravagant as the rest of the castle that she had seen. Expensive materials, deadly looking architecture, and burning cauldrons and torches as sources of light.

The man who lead her - vampire, she reminded herself - was an interesting puzzle. He felt like a statue, and had the emotional stability of one. He was just… quiet. In the mind, in the soul. There was a comfortable peace about him, and he just felt… ancient.

"How old are you, Lyon?" she asked curiously. "Sorry if that's a really abrupt question-" she stammered quickly, realizing how rude of a statement it was."

"Not at all. Lord Dracula had warned me that you were unique in your demeanor." He didn't even glance at her as he walked. "I am nearly two thousand years on this earth."

That made sense. He felt that old.

Dracula was closer to… four? Five? Who knows how many thousands of years old he was… and yet, it suddenly occurred to her how little he carried himself in that way. Compared to the vampire priest, who felt as ancient as the stone he resembled. Dracula was a maddening pool of quickly-shifting emotions beneath a dour surface. Like a riptide underneath a frozen lake. Why? What kept him that way?

"Although most choose to comment on my being a priest as a first line of questioning," the vampire added.

"Huh," she replied, thoughtfully. "I guess that is… kinda weird. But I've had a lot of really weird things turn out to be fact lately. I'm pretty ready to accept just about anything as fact at this point," she said with a small laugh.

"Mm, yes. This place is want to challenge one's acceptance of normalcy. Even for those of us who live amongst its walls." Lyon approached a door with guards on either side. Isabel pulled up short, her eyes going wide. The guards were skeletons. In armor. She had seen zombies outside the castle where they had roamed the streets of Boston. But not… yeah, okay, fine. Sure. Skeletons now. Even though that made no physical sense whatsoever. Why not.

The guards pushed the doors open for them, and Lyon stepped in, and then aside, to let her pass. He bowed at the waist as she did, and she looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Quit that," she muttered.

"Old habits," the vampire said with a faint smile.

Turning to scan the room she realized… pretty much everyone was staring at her. She had no idea who these people were, but there were about twenty people seated at a massive table which had to have been eight feet wide. Several large, ornate candelabras burned away over arrays of food, decanters, and what-not. At the head of the table, a chair larger and more decoratively carved than the rest. A familiar figure sat there, leaning heavily on one arm - bored. The vampire king didn't turn to look at her as he lifted a goblet of liquid to his lips.

She took a step back, but a hand at her mid-back stopped her. Isabel clenched her gloved fists. "I can't," she muttered.

"Please, my lady," the priest said quietly to her. "I have been instructed to drag you if I must. Do not make me do such a thing."

Isabel shut her eyes for a moment, pulled in a shaking breath, and then nodded as she let it out. She could do this. Opening her eyes, she saw a man stand up from the table. The figure sat near one of the heads of the table, and she recognized the figure without even having to see his face. Adam. There was an empty chair next to him. Oh thank god, was her first thought. What the fuck is Dracula planning, was promptly the second.

You shall see, my little dove.

Wincing at the voice in her head, his presence drifted over her mind like a dark cloud.

Shut the fuck up, she shouted back at him silently. I have enough voices in my head without adding your stupid ass to the list. The figure at the head of the table laughed once in response before taking another sip from his goblet.

Isabel let herself be half-lead by the vampire priest to the empty seat at the table next to her friend. The priest bowed again before walking away to take his own seat. Adam went to touch her - realized that she wasn't wearing sleeves, sighed, and lowered his hand. The two of them sat, and she tried to ignore Dracula sitting directly to her right.

The room returned to its general activity - the creatures sitting around it going back to their conversations and general rabble. She was no longer interesting. A man sat across from her who looked easily like he was a professional wrestler - he was huge. And hairy. Werewolf- was what sprung to her mind unbidden, and she wondered if that was her, or Dracula who had provided the information.

A beautiful woman with long, emerald hair sat next to him, and she shot Isabel a single smile - if not altogether a friendly one - before turning back to her conversation with the werewolf.

Isabel reached out under the table and took Adam's hand in hers, and squeezed it. At least the gloves he had provided in exchange for their deal had let her do that much. Adam squeezed back, and smiled weakly at her. "Are you okay?" he asked her, voice low.

She laughed at that, and how absurd a question it was. Letting the pain she was feeling come to the surface for the first time in front of anyone since she had arrived. "No… No I'm not…"

"I was under the general misconception," Dracula began suddenly, cutting into their conversation rather pointedly. "That mortals required food for survival."

Her jaw twitched as she bit back a snide remark and instead just turned her head to glare at the vampire king. He wasn't even looking at her - his expression as bored and dour as it was a moment ago. But she could feel his amusement. He wasn't hiding anything from her. Not with their link inescapable.

Sadly, her anger wasn't going to last - she was actually starving. And the food smelled incredible. With a sigh, she took some food from the platters in front of her, and did her best to pace herself.

"You look amazing," Adam said, and that made her look at him incredulously. "You clean up well," he said with a smirk. "That's all. I'm just - trying to cheer you up or… I'll shut up now."

Isabel laughed, a genuine laugh at the antics of her friend. She put her hand on his arm and gave him another squeeze - just glad to be able to touch her friend at all. "At least being a vampire hasn't warped your mind too badly."

"Don't get me wrong, I can smell the fresh blood on your neck and it's…" Adam looked down into his wine glass. "They tell me I'll get used to that. I don't know. Everything is… just so much brighter, so much louder now. I don't need my glasses anymore."

Isabel watched him for a long moment, before finally asking the question she wanted to scream at him from the moment she saw the 'new him.' "Why did you do it?"

"Do what? Become a vampire?"

Isabel nodded.

Adam stared into the goblet and the reflection he must see there for a long time. "I'm a coward, Iz. I always have been. I'm afraid to die. I had a choice…"

Her hand went to the goblet that he was clutching to avoid looking at her. Taking it, she put it down on the table and took his hand in hers again. He shut his eyes, still refusing to look at her. She allowed it, though - as he squeezed her hand tightly in his. "I don't blame you. And I forgive you. Vampire or not."

"How very touching-" a female voice interjected. Carmilla was sitting on the other side of Adam, and she looked like she had just put up with watching a bad middleschool rendition of Romeo and Juliet. "What did Lord Dracula threaten to inspire you to say that?" she replied with a sneer.

"Nothing. He doesn't tell me to say shit," Isabel replied pointedly.

"You will watch your tone with me!" Carmilla threatened.

Isabel snickered. "Look, lady. I don't know you. I don't want to know you. I'm sorry for insulting you yesterday - because I don't honestly give two shits. You turned my friend into a vampire, but he agreed to it. So whatever. I have bigger problems than you," Isabel finished, and gestured her head in the direction of Dracula. "So go ahead and make fun of me all you want. It's easy to pick on somebody in my situation."

Carmilla looked at her, then Dracula, then back to her. Huffing, she sunk back into her chair and snapping her fingers, demanded another glass of wine - or blood - or whatever it was she was drinking.

Speaking of - her own glass was filled with something that resembled wine. Sniffing it, then taking a sip, she was happy to find that it was actually just that.

What a little spitfire… she heard his voice whisper in her mind again. Isabel flinched and put her hand to her head. Was this ever going to stop? Not until you are cold in the ground...

Adam leaned closer to her. "Are you alright?" Isabel opened her eyes and looked at him - and didn't have to say a word. Her harried, hopeless expression said it all. Adam leaned back in his chair. "Oh... " He chewed on his lower lip. "Anything I ask, he'll hear anyway, won't he?"

"Yeah…"

"Is he hurting you?"

That stopped her in her tracks. She opened her mouth to reply, then stopped, and looked over at the vampire king. He was now carefully watching her, his red eyes flickering in the candlelight.

Looking back to Adam, she shook her head no. And it was truthful - he hadn't ever hit her or done anything else to cause her physical harm. The bites notwithstanding, and she doubted that those counted as 'violence' to either of them. "No. Not yet."

You are distraught - would it put your mind at ease if I were to beat you like a tavern wench?

Isabel winced again at the voice in her mind and she turned to glare at him. "Stop that," she hissed. "Just stop it."

Dracula grinned. "But it annoys you so terribly." And you are rather entertaining when angry.

Isabel wanted to jump up, hurl the glass of wine in his face and tell him to go fuck himself. Wanted to beat him senseless with the silver tray in front of her. She gripped the edge of the table with both hands. Wanted to wipe the smug look off his face with repeated blows from a candleabra.

"I don't know what he's saying to you but don't. Don't do it," Adam advised, knowing his friend well enough to know when she was about to fly off the handle. "Not here. Not like this."

She followed her friend's advice, but not before downing the glass of wine.

The banquet went on for what was probably an hour - small talk, food, more food and more small talk. The dinner was dismissed to another chamber that was more like a large parlor - and groups of the monsters hovered around chatting and laughing. It was a party for the undead.

Isabel stood by one wall by herself. Adam had tried to join her, but he couldn't escape Carmilla, who was keeping him close at hand across the room from her. But it was alright - it gave her time to sulk by a window, looking out over the darkness that was once Boston, and was now a corrupted, bastardized nightmare of a castle.

"Well hey, toots. Who knew you were a regular cruizin' babe?"

Isabel whipped her head around, her eyes wide in shock. "Tim?!"

Sure enough, there was… Tim. The vampire's companion that she had shot, who had come back due to his unnatural link with Maverick, and then who she had seen slain by Adrian - with Maverick. Killing them both.

"What- How-" she stammered uselessly.

Tim laughed. "Man, the look on your face is almost worth it."

"I don't-" she stammered still.

"Yeah, yeah. Look-" Tim pointed across the room. Walking in was.. Maverick and Aria. The vampire husband and wife. The doctor who had arranged her abduction from the cathedral. She had seen them die. Seen them beheaded.

"I-" Isabel shook her head. "I-"

"Nothin' that dies in the castle is ever really dead…" Tim said, his enjoyment of her shock now fading into a disgruntled acceptance. "We died on castle grounds. It's not letting us go. It brought us back for some reason."

He let her stand there in silence for a long moment as she tried to wrap her head around what he was saying. The castle had resurrected the three of them… Is that how Dracula kept coming back? How all these creatures kept coming back? 'Nothing that dies in the castle is ever really dead.'

Adrian had killed the three of them inside the boundaries of the castle… so they were, what, bound to it now? "Can you leave here?"

"Dunno. Don't think so… Not yet anyway. Mav's fucking pissed. He didn't want anything to do with this place or Dracula and now we're all stuck here…"

Fear froze her for a moment. If she died here…

"Hey, toots, I just came over to say hey, and say no hard feelings about your buddy. Good to see you. Especially when you're a babe." Tim winked at her and walked away back towards the vampire he was bound to.

"Yeah, bye-" she replied, but too late.

Isabel looked out the window again, terror renewed. If she died here, she'd be trapped here… for who knows how long. If Eric, or Adam… if they were even considered alive still - what then? Or was it… was it already too late for them?

It has been too late for all of you for some time now.

"Shut up," she hissed angrily through her teeth, now glaring out the window. She folded her arms in front of herself, to hide the fact that her hands were shaking.

Come here.

The voice in her head beckoned her again - calling her, and every ounce of her being wanted to walk across the room to where the vampire king was brooding in a chair at a table. She kept her feet planted where she stood. "Fuck off," she whispered at the window.

I will not ask twice.

"You didn't ask once, you self-righteous piece of-"

Careful…

The warning was clear. Watch her step. He would tolerate her insolence in private - to him alone. But these were his creatures, his people to rule. And he was their newly resurrected 'master.'

Impotent rage swirled around in her with nowhere to go. She wanted to break something desperately. And there was nothing she could do without incurring his wrath. No sneak attack she could plan that would be successful. He could feel it just the same as she.

It was impossible to keep her emotions guarded - impossible to keep them hidden away from him when he was inside her mind. This must be what it's like for everyone else, she observed. No wonder people hated having her around sometimes - some feelings were best kept personal.

He was silent inside her mind, but she knew he was waiting - the quiet insistence was still there. 'Come here' was his last command.

For every minute now that passes I will remove one of your friend's fingers from his hand.

"You're bluffing," her eyes went wide at his threat.

Am I?

He wasn't. She could feel it. She knew he would. He may not have lifted a hand to her - yet - but that did not mean that he would not torture her friends further. A vision of Eric screaming flashed through her mind - and she winced.

Turning, she walked from the window, and walked up to him where he sat. She stopped, standing two feet in front of him, and folded her arms defiantly across her chest. "Yeah?"

"Kneel," he commanded.

The vampires and what-have-yous that sat around him all stopped talking, and looked at her eagerly - waiting to see what she would do.

Something in her snapped - enough was enough.

Isabel laughed sarcastically. "Fucking really? That's your game? You dress me up to come here to your little dead man's party to what, make me debase myself in front of all your underlings? Or you're going to torture and maim my friends. Fine."

Isabel got down on her knees, and glared up at him. "Ta-dah. Congratulations. Gold star. You win. Here you go, big man. Why don't you just unzip and get it over with already?!"

Her anger had made it such that she didn't care what he did - didn't care what his reaction was. Or at least, that's what she believed in the moment. It's funny how quickly anger pales in the light when you find yourself flat on your back, a crumpled and shattered coffee table around you.

Isabel couldn't breathe - his blow had knocked the wind out of her. She wasn't even sure what had happened - only a blur, and then stabbing pain wracking her body as she was planted through a piece of furniture.

"Your suffering for this insult will be far more enjoyable than any false obedience, my pet…" the dark figure looming over her gestured a hand - and the world around her disappeared in a swirl of fire.

Lying on her back on the carpeted floor of the rooms she had been brought to to change, she rolled weakly onto her side and coughed - the cough sending more stabbing pains through her side.

His voice entered her mind, and terror flooded her.

Relish your time alone… when I return, your payment will come in full.