Hi all! Couple of things before we jump into it.
FIRST: This chapter is very M for violence, language, and Wraith is not a nice guy. It doesn't get too graphic, but you've been warned!
Second, Sorry for the long delay. A big project of mine at work is going into crunch / install - so I'll be MIA for the next couple weeks. I'll be back, though, I promise. To make up for it, this chapter is longer than usual, and it's a doozy.
Enjoy! Drop me a note if you feel obliged. :)
What was wrong with her?
Isabel asked herself that question repeatedly that morning as she woke up in the arms of the king of vampires. As she showered, dressed, and as he brought her food. Vlad had even brought her coffee - oh, blessed coffee.
It all felt… okay. Better than that, if she were honest - it felt good. He was terrifying, and he always would be. Like a tiger - beautiful, powerful, and immeasurably deadly. He could, for any reason, end her with a gesture. But for now, this tiger seemed keen on having her at his side. There was a kindness in his eyes when he brought her the hot caffeinated liquid she had missed so much, and he felt proud of himself as she kissed him in gratuity. She surprised herself at how genuinely she had meant the gesture. How rich she sensed his response of happiness.
She studiously reminded herself that he had maimed and murdered thousands by hand - let alone the countless numbers he had sent to a violent death at the hands of the creatures he commanded.
And yet… she was beginning to enjoy his closeness. His touch. Beginning to understand his complex moods and his far more complicated history.
Isabel held the cup and lifted it to her lips, relishing in the smell as she sipped the wonderful liquid. Vlad was standing by the window, looking out at the night sky. He spoke, without turning to look at her. "I have a request to make of you."
She looked up from her coffee. "Yeah..?" What could he possibly want that he was asking for? He 'took' things, not asked for them. Isabel couldn't think of one moment where he had honestly asked her to do anything.
"I must spend this day and many to follow listening to the pleas of my 'children.' They are fearful of my return - they all have their own meager empires or their own interests. I trust none of them."
"And you want me to tell you if they're lying?"
Vlad sighed, deeply. His mood was as dark as his expression as he watched the city in its perpetual darkness. "It will be a long, irksome affair."
"Threaten me with a good time, why don't you?" Isabel said with a smirk as she sipped her coffee. He had asked her the night prior if she would tell him the truth when faced with a lie that meant him harm. He had asked if she would protect him. Honestly, she didn't know the answer yet. She probably wouldn't until she was faced with the issue first-hand. It seemed he wanted to know 'sooner' rather than 'later.'
"I was not threatening-" he began, then paused, catching himself. "Sarcasm. I see." He sounded cold - and she looked over at him quizzically - he was moodier than usual.
"I'll go. It beats hanging out locked in a room for hours," she grinned, sarcastic again. When he said nothing, and kept staring out the window, she put down her cup and walked up to him. It wasn't until she touched his arm that he turned to look at her. Isabel could feel the pain, the rage and the hatred pouring off of him now that she was closer to him. He was not in the mood for her sarcastic quips. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'd like to go with you."
"What do you apologize for?"
"I didn't mean to upset you - I'm being rude. I shouldn't be. I'm sorry."
Dracula sighed, and his expression softened, as he raised a hand to gently run the back of his knuckles against her cheek. "You apologize to me for your manners… I think not. I think you apologize for my mood, and that is not your blame to bear. Nor shall it ever be so." He leaned forward and placed a kiss against her forehead. He straightened up, his mood darkening again. Quixotic as ever. Once more the Dark Lord. "Come, let us get this over with."
The throne room was certainly something to behold. "Holy shit-" she had burst out as they appeared in the grandiose hall, and thad had sent Vlad laughing despite himself - never having heard those particular words in that combination before.
"That is certainly a new way to blaspheme," he said with a grin, as he walked across the crimson carpet that ran between the towering columns of gold and blazing fire. The throne itself was carved into a massive sculpture of demons and creatures devouring each other - much like the door that had stood guard to is tomb.
The hall wasn't empty, although there were no faces she recognized. Well, save one - Lyon, the priest. He was standing near the throne, waiting for his master to arrive. As Vlad approached - looking ever the part of the King of Vampires - the priest bowed low at the waist, one hand folded in front of him, the other at his back. Vlad's long black coat barely touched the ground as he walked. He had adopted quickly to an only somewhat-classic, formal garb. 'No reason to appear as outdated as they believe me to be,' he had commented as she had fixed his crimson vest.
Isabel stood awkwardly for a moment, not sure where to go. A motion from the priest towards her, and she walked up the steps to stand near him. She rubbed a gloved hand up her bare arm. Vlad would still not let her wear sleeves or anything that would protect her from accidental touch. She had no doubt that rumors had circulated about her, and it was also a warning to them. 'Hands off.'
The priest smiled faintly as she approached, and as she seemed to want to hide behind his height. "I assume such conduct of court is foreign to you."
"It's foreign to most people now," she replied. "I guess the closest thing would be something like a corporate meeting, which can be just as… intimidating. But not nearly as over the top as something like this…"
"I am glad this is a practice that has largely died out. It is a foolish notion, and one that does not garner the respect that it seems to demand," the priest said, matter-of-factly.
"Do try not to debase my position to her, Lyon," Dracula said from the throne, dryly. "At least not in my presence."
"Merely expressing the truth, my lord. As you have told me she can sense lies where they are told." Lyon had said that particularly loudly for his normally quiet demeanor - and she realized quickly it was a setup. He was saying that to warn the others in the room as to exactly why she was present.
It was probably weird, otherwise. For him to appear with his human 'pet' in tow. Looking around the room at the vampires and monsters that stood along the walls, or in groups, watching Vlad warily - she realized exactly how very little, how very powerless she actually was.
Isabel made the mistake of reaching out towards the crowd, scanning the room for feelings and realized that many… many of them wanted her dead. Not because they had any problem with her specifically. No. Because they wanted to hurt Vlad. Because they wanted one more obstacle removed. Or because they just wanted to eat someone in general.
Feeling the color drain from her face, she reflexively took a step away from them, and felt a gentle hand on her gloved wrist. Lyon. Looking up at the tall, pale man, he smiled faintly down at her. The reassurance was clear. 'Stay by me. They will not touch you.'
Isabel did her best to swallow her fear. With one, faint nod, she fought the urge to curl into a ball and hide. Tried her best to straighten up, and not cower like a complete moron. But in no way, did she want to be noticed.
Vlad had said it would be a 'long, irksome affair.'
He hadn't been joking.
First, a vampire would step forward, and announce some other vampire. Usually with some long string of introductions informing Vlad exactly who the hell this person was, and why they mattered. 'Lord Regent of the Northern region of blah-blah, patron of the blah-blah, sired by the blah-blah bloodline.'
Isabel quickly gathered that the vampires had long since divvied up the world into different 'territories.' It was straight up, old-fashioned feudalism. A vampire 'lord' or 'regent' was in charge of lesser-whatevers, and they were in charge of making sure that their kind didn't get out of hand and attract too much attention. Or wipe out a civilization. Y'know. Little details like that.
The problem seemed to be that their 'king' had been dead for over a hundred years - and absent from his throne for many hundred more - and they had learned to cope in his absence. But now he was back - and it had sent their delicate balance into chaos.
So buried inside their stupid titles, manners and etiquette, deep-seated agendas burned away. Political games that had spanned more time than a human life were threatened now that Dracula had returned. Veiled comments flowed, easy to see through - ones not even worth pointing out to Dracula that they were false. But Isabel understood why he thought she might be useful. All these lies, all the carefully crafted falsehoods, were useless in front of her.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was them debasing themselves in front of Dracula to… what, win his favor? And man, they were some over-the-top platitudes. It was all utterly pointless, and the disdain and sheer boredom pouring off of Vlad was what started her urge to laugh.
'My most revered Lord,' 'Blood King,' 'Daywalker' - she'd have to ask Vlad about that one - to her favorite stupid title yet, 'Master of All The Night.'
Isabel had to try very hard not to snicker. It took every ounce of her will to keep a straight face.
Do contain yourself, little dove. Vlad spoke into her mind. He, of course, could sense her glee and sarcastic enjoyment at the situation.
This is so stupid it's funny, she responded. Don't they understand you don't give a flying fuck?
Fascinating turn of phrase. I wonder if that is a practical suggestion. Vlad didn't even budge in his seat as he responded to her, still 'listening' the vampire talk in front of him. While your outburst of laughter at one of these fools would be terribly enjoyable, it would not bode well. I am trying to end this evening without tearing someone's head off.
Isabel chewed on her lip and had to look away to hide her smile. She'd heard that phrase used before - 'trying not to tear someone's head off.' But generally people said it in the metaphorical sense. Not literally. He, undoubtedly, meant it very literally.
Gotcha, Boss. Isabel responded and finally swallowed her giggle.
A flash of confusion from Vlad. He had no idea what 'Boss' meant. She'd explain it later.
Two more people came and went, before finally she felt someone step up with any kind of intense emotion besides 'fear.' Fear was a complex emotion. There is an entire spectrum of emotions that live under that simple, overlying term. The man that approached was not giving off the fear that she knew so personally - the fear of Dracula. This was something else… the fear of being caught. It was a high-pitched kind of feeling, like an engine running too hot. Maybe. Maybe he'd get away with it. Maybe nobody would find out. Maybe this would work.
Her sudden interest was echoed in Vlad, as he picked up on her new focus on the vampire that approached the stairs to the throne. The vampire himself was unremarkable. Attractive, sure, in the way that everyone on TV is attractive. But forgettable. "I am Gregory McClain, my Lord," he bowed at the waist. His accent matched his last name. "I am honored to be welcome here in your hall. I come in hopes you may settle a dispute."
With a bored gesture from Vlad, Gregory kept speaking. "I have been driven from my territory by a usurper who claims he has rightful reign. I have proof he is wrong. I have been unable to obtain the power to unseat him - I am here to beg-"
"I understand what you wish from me." Dracula cut him off, uninterested in more explanation.
"I have the letter here-" the man produced an old, faded envelope from his coat pocket.
Isabel sensed danger the moment before it landed. She let out a begrudging sigh, knowing exactly what Vlad was about to make her do.
So do not make my request public.
His voice echoed in her head and she knew that he'd benefit from her assisting him without his request. So, she'd play along. She had agreed to, anyway. Isabel walked down the stairs towards the vampire, and took off one of her gloves as she did. Gregory looked terribly confused - and insulted - at the fact that a human woman was approaching him.
"Speak to me of what you know, my dear - and speak your words aloud," Dracula cut off her question before she could ask it in their silent form of communication. "So that all may see how deceit has become a fruitless venture."
Isabel marveled at the fact that he could say something that dramatic and not sound ludicrous. Instead of voicing her sarcasm, she decided to play the game.
Looking at Gregory - who still glared at her with disdain, she tilted her head to the side. "He's nervous. Afraid. But not like the others. Not like the ones who've come here afraid of what you can do. No. He's afraid you'll find out."
"Continue." Dracula leaned forward in his throne slightly - the first time he had moved.
"This is absurd-" Gregory tried to interject, but Vlad snarled and slammed his fist into the arm of the chair. She was impressed it didn't shatter.
Isabel held out her bare hand for the letter - and Gregory was very hesitant to hand it to her. He wasn't sure what was happening, or what he was falling into. Why she wanted it - and why she had taken off a glove.
"Give it to her," Vlad demanded.
Gregory, given no choice, put the envelope in her hand. The moment it hit her skin, she half-shut her eyes as she saw a vision in front of her. Saw who had penned the letter, so nervous - so afraid. So angry. So righteous. "He believes he is the rightful owner of the territory. That isn't a lie. He believes he deserves it. This letter… is written by the sire of the… vampire who controls 'his' territory at the moment. Naming Gregory as the successor."
"I could have told you that-" Gregory snarled. "You stupid, pathe-"
"Problem is-" Isabel interrupted him, snapping out of her vision. He looked entirely put-out by being interrupted by a human, and she grinned at him, enjoying what was about to come. From what she could gather, he had this coming. Isabel crumpled up the letter in her hand and dropped it at Gregory's feet. The vampire gasped, and snarled as she turned her back on him to walk away. She finished with a mild shrug, pulling her glove back on. "It's a forgery."
"This is slander! A lie! Who is she-"
"Silence."
The one word, issued from Vlad, shook the room to its core. It was like the walls themselves resonated with his command. And for all she knew - they had. The castle listened to its Master, after all.
Isabel focused on walking back up to where she was before, although her steps may have hitched in momentary fear. Everyone else shared in the same trepidation at the outburst. Dracula commanded respect. That was never in question.
"Kill him," Vlad finally spoke. The verdict was spoken with a bored detachment. It took no time for a creature - who was all fangs, and teeth - three eyes on one side of his head, moved towards Gregory.
The vampire who had been condemned staggered backwards - shrieking as the demon leapt atop him. Isabel turned her face away and cringed at the noise of bone snapping. At the sound like wet meat hitting a cutting board. At the sound of the vampire screaming in pain, only to be cut off with one final crunch. Then, just the wet sound of a creature eating its dinner.
Isabel kept her face turned away, trying not to focus on the horrific sounds of a man being eaten. Isabel tried not to feel sick.
Vlad stood from his throne, and took a few steps forward to the edge of the raised platform. He held out his hands as he addressed the crowd - his voice low. He did not need to raise it - there was no doubt that he would be heard. "This is the price one pays for a single lie. Imagine the cost for many. I recommend you consider your games carefully, 'children.' I recommend you all reconsider your next moves."
Dracula walked from the platform and off to the side - to a doorway that Isabel hadn't seen before. There were other chambers directly attached to this one.
Some official looking creature - she wasn't sure if he was a vampire or not - stepped forward. "Lord Dracula has issued a one hour recess."
A murmur from some of crowd, but mostly fearful silence. Isabel looked up at the priest, unsure of what to do. He was looking out at the crowd, studying the faces - taking a careful read of the situation.
Come.
Isabel winced as the word carried through her mind. It was an order, not a question. Isabel bristled at that, bristled as she wanted to reflexively obey. The command rang through her like an instinct, and it took everything she had not to immediately start walking. As much as it bothered her he could do that - she decided to let it go. After what she had just seen - he was accustomed to ordering people around. And with that kind of demeanor, no kidding… With a sigh, she walked after Vlad. After she crossed the platform, a voice caught her attention.
"Hey-"
Isabel turned. It was Tim - Maverick's companion. The one who had died before her eyes - and was now brought back alive by the Castle, for who-knows-what reason. "Tim?" she asked, smiling. "It's good to see you." Isabel meant it. She knew so few faces - let alone somewhat friendly ones.
"Right back at you, toots," Tim said with a grin, shoving his hands into his pockets. "So hey, I saw what you did - freaky."
"Thanks…?" Isabel replied, not sure if it was a compliment or not. "What're you doing here?"
"Mav's here - him and Aria. Concerned about what'll happen to their 'territory' now that we're all stuck here in this place. I dunno. Mav's still pissed to shit about the whole thing, I don't really care. It's kinda nice, not worrying about all the petty bullshit. Hey - so - are you and Dracula on good terms? Looks like it."
"It's… complicated…" Isabel admitted, not really sure how to explain it.
Tim laughed hard. "Toots, it's always complicated with people like them. Being that old fucks with your head." He got serious for a second. "Hey, uh - I'm sure you're going after him, but - I'd like to talk to you when you get a sec."
Isabel blinked, curiously - he seemed really uncomfortable all of a sudden. "What's up?"
"It's about what he's trying to do to you. Turn you, I mean."
"What, to a vampire?" Isabel blinked. "I don't… I don't think so, he's never brought it up."
"No. Not to a vampire," Tim sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand, clearly feeling awkward about the conversation. "If he was gunna do that, he'd have done it by now. I mean, turn into something like me."
"A.. 'companion' or whatever?"
"Right. The whole 'can sense your feelings, talk into your head' thing."
Isabel snorted. "He does that already anyway."
"Really?!"
"It's because of what I am, I think."
"Well, but - look. There's a lot you need to know. Before you agree to do anything stupid," Tim said, looking far more upset than she had ever seen him before.
"Alright. I'll.. I'll try - he doesn't ever let me out of his sight."
"You're smart, toots. You'll figure something out." Tim smirked. "I'll be out in the hallway," he said with a jerk of his thumb to one side of the throne room. With that, he walked away.
Isabel sighed. Nothing was ever simple, was it? Shaking her head, she turned to walk through the doorway into what seemed like some sort of secondary meeting room. Dracula stood by a window, gazing once more out into the darkness, his hand resting on the stone window frame.
"What was the delay?"
Isabel tried not to bristle again at the question - she had to remind herself that no, she really didn't have any control over her own time. Not now, not for the foreseeable future. The matter was extremely complex and she pushed it off to another time. "Tim. Maverick's companion. We spent time together when I was briefly in Maverick's custody."
"And..?"
"He wanted to talk to me, in private." Dracula finally turned, his red eyes narrowed slightly. Clearly impatient for her to be more forthcoming. Isabel sighed, and shook her head. "He didn't really say why," she lied. She wanted to know what Tim had to say - especially considering how little she knew about what a 'companion' really was. Somewhere between 'Tim' and 'That guy who eats bugs in the book' wasn't really a good data set. "He was nervous. He said something about Maverick and his property - I don't know." That part was true.
"Hm," Dracula responded thoughtfully. Isabel was a superb liar - a gift that came to her by way of her hearing them so clearly. She knew the difference between a good one and a bad one. But she wasn't quite sure if he had 'bought' it or not. "How quickly the vultures move to levy your influence."
Isabel snorted. "Then the joke's on them, isn't it?" At an arch of Dracula's eyebrow, she explained. "One, it's a phrase. Two, meaning - if they think I have influence over you," Isabel shook her head. "They're sorely mistaken."
Dracula smirked, barely, and looked back out the window. "Go speak to him. Be gone no longer than twenty minutes." His voice lowered. "Or I will come find you."
The threat was clear, and her throat tightened. The tiger showed his teeth again, and she nodded. Any 'games' on her part would not be tolerated. Walking away, she wondered if her lie was as seamless as she had thought.
No matter. It was a harmless one. She'd talk to Tim, hear what he had to say - and leave. Walking from the room, she made herself as invisible as possible and walked to the door that Tim had referenced, and through it to a small servant's hallway that seemed to run deeper into the castle.
Tim was leaning against the wall, his feet crossed at the ankles, looking every bit the greaser that he probably was 'back in the day.' A lit cigarette was stuck between his lips, completing the vibe.
Isabel walked up, and stood a little ways from him. "Alright - we have twenty minutes. He knows I'm here, he doesn't know why."
Tim nodded, took a drag from his cigarette and straightened up. "So. He wants to make you like me. A 'companion.' Bullshit term. Makes it seem nicer than it is."
Something had changed about him - something sounded different. But, maybe coming back from the grave would do that to you.
"He's drank your blood. A whole bunch, I bet. Never enough to kill you. Never enough really to hurt you. Dizzy, but you'd sleep it off. You drank his yet?"
"No."
"Good. That's how it's done. See, to make a vampire - they bleed you dry. Just to the brink of death - maybe in one go, maybe in a few if they want to be sick fucks about it. Then you drink their blood. That way, you get a full body mix of yours and theirs. All at once. Right?"
"Sure..?" Isabel followed, but wasn't sure where it was going. That seemed to be the theme lately.
"To make a 'companion' though - to make us a fuckin' puppet - they bleed you slow. Let you come back. Again and again. Till it feels normal. And then they start poisoning you. Like smallpox. A little bit at a time, and you won't catch it. Right?"
Isabel shook her head, and looked away from him, out at the city. "Look, Tim... "
"No, no, let me finish." Tim faced her, and puffed on his cigarette, and then pulling it from his lips, flicked it. "You're going to be his. For all time. Never get away. Never escape. Not even death'll let you go. This is fucking Dracula we're talking about." Tim snorted. "Unless he gets bored of you - and he definitely will-" Tim sidetracked, looking away. "I'm sure he knows a way out of it. Hell, this whole thing was made for him."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Isabel didn't like to think about the future - too far ahead, and no options looked good.
"Oh, he didn't tell you? This whole goddamn curse they can do to us was created, eons ago, because he wanted to not be so 'lonely' anymore. He's tried to do this, time and time again, with dozens and dozens and dozens of girls, trying to make the perfect Bride of Frankenstein, and every time they go fucking nuts. Bet he didn't tell you that, either." Tim snorted, sarcastically. "He treats them like science experiments. Tinkers with their insides until he thinks he's got it right. But it never works for him. His blood's too strong for anybody to become immune. So he's been tinkering and stitching and trying to get just the right person to survive it. You're next on the list. Either way - me and everybody like me? All thanks to his god complex. We're all just watered down versions of him, after all."
"I don't know what's gotten into you, Tim-" Isabel started, but couldn't deny the cold feeling rushing through her. "Look, I don't know if you're pissed about being stuck here now - god knows I'm not thrilled either, but-"
"I have something I've gotta show you." Tim turned around and started towards the exit. "Come on. Won't take long, I promise. Then everything'll make sense."
Isabel gritted her teeth - and knew she shouldn't follow. Knew she should just go back to Dracula and tell him what happened. But what he had said - that she was just the latest in the long line of science experiments… She couldn't deny it was more likely than 'Dracula just liked her.' Isabel cursed herself for being an idiot, in more ways than one. No matter what she did, either way she lost.
She followed Tim, letting out a wavering breath as she made her choice. He lead them through doors and down hallways, down a flight of stairs. She was becoming lost. Oh great. "Tim-" she tried to talk to him, but he raised a hand to shush her as they walked.
And so, she followed him in silence, dwelling over what he had said. 'He's been tinkering and stitching and trying to get just the right person to survive it,' Tim had said. Dracula had told her, verbatim, that he had tortured her to see if she was strong enough 'to survive him.' That alone was reason enough to see what Tim had to show her.
The more she thought about what he had said, the more it made sense. Except for one thing. When she had stormed her way into his mind, she had seen maybe ten women - over four thousand years, that he had loved. Not dozens of girls, tortured and experimented on. The image of the fountain figures reaching out to her, with their stone hands and empty, angelic expressions made her physically flinch as she was reminded that no, he was perfectly capable of torture.
Tim rounded a corner, and came to a large, wooden door with a golden symbol carved into it - Dracula's crest. Tim shoved the door once - to find it stuck. Then twice, then rammed his shoulder into it before it finally grunted free from the jamb.
It was a dark abyss on the other side. Tim reached into his pockets, fumbled for something, then 'ah!' as he pulled out his zippo lighter. With a practiced flick against his pants, he held the flame aloft.
"C'mon."
"Tim… I don't know."
"This is serious, Isabel…" he replied as he walked into the darkness. She watched from the doorway as he found torches along the walls, and lit them.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim room - she realized… it was lined with coffins. Glass coffins. Tucked into the walls like an ancient mausoleum. Each one containing the remains of what had once been a woman, judging by the jewelry, finery or emaciated flesh.
Isabel walked into the room slowly, the cold feeling that had run down her spine now encompassing all of her. There were, indeed… dozens. The room stretched into the darkness, and there was no telling how many there were in this hall of the dead. In his hall of lost 'brides.' Isabel had seen all the ones that he had loved - but what about the ones that he hadn't? Or hadn't had the chance? Would she be in one of them, soon enough?
Tim had looped around the room behind her, and finished lighting a torch. "So, yeah… do you believe me now?"
Isabel turned to look at him, and she blinked as something just looked… off about him. His shadow was cast against the wall - but it… the angle was wrong. Nothing else was casting a shadow at that angle. And it looked… just… weird.
In a place where so many things gave such little warning, fear instinctively took over. Tim paused mid-step as he approached her, like a cat watching its prey. He tilted his head slightly to the side, seeing her stiffen. "What's wrong?"
"Tim, are you telling me everything?"
"Ehm, I mean, no, not my whole life story. Didn't figure we had the time for that."
"You've made your point. He isn't to be trusted. I have a lot to talk to him about, and I won't… I won't agree to this until I've sorted it out. I'd like to go back now."
Tim sighed hard, and turn around. Looking at his shadow, he shook his head. "Fuck. Y'know, I really thought I did a better job…" Tim walked to the wooden door, and slammed it, jamming it back shut with a loud wham.
The noise made her jump, and she realized suddenly she was very… very trapped. Surrounded by corpses.
"Oh well!" Tim exclaimed, and his tone sounded… weird. Different. Not him. He turned, and she recoiled as she realized his eyes were black - entirely black.
"Wraith."
"Kudos! You figured it out!" 'Tim' began to slow clap. "I took the first body I could find that you'd listen to. This stupid shit was pretty easy to blow down the door." 'Tim' looked down at himself. "Gotta say… this body… not the best. I liked my design better. But I guess, betters can't be choosers!"
Tim laughed - and Isabel's blood ran cold as she realized where she had heard that laugh before. A laugh that would make Vincent Price green with envy. Suddenly, he leapt at her like he was a teenager in a haunted house - and it made her shriek and recoil from him, staggering backwards.
That only sent him to giggles. "Oh, oh, I'm sorry… I'm sorry. I just had to. The look on your face is just - so - fucking - perfect. You're jumpy!" He started to walk towards her, which just made her walk backwards again. "C'mere."
"No."
"What're you afraid I'm going to do something you'll like?" His voice dropped low into a growl, and she shuddered, stepping back again. "Where are you going to go, hotness?!" Wraith said with a laugh. "This place only has one door! And I'm between it and you. What're you gunna do, go running off into the darkness? I can see in the shadows. You can't."
Isabel saw the logic in it - the inescapable logic. But she wasn't just going to let him corner her. So she took a defensive stance and held her ground.
Wraith stopped, and snickered. "Oh boy, oh boy… It's going to be fun breaking you." He walked towards her, slower this time.
Isabel waited, tried to remember every tip that Tex and the guys had shown her. Tried to remember every time they had a dust-up in the field. Tried to remember how to play dirty. "You can't touch me."
"I can. I've already seen every part of that silly head of yours. And you, mine. There's nothing left to see. And I plan on touching you. A lot."
The way he said it left no argument for what he intended on doing. Isabel swallowed her fear. She could panic later. Now was not the time to lose her nerve.
He stepped within range, and she faked a kick. He went to block, and she elbowed him in the face. He recoiled with the hit, and she took off past him towards the door.
She made it to the ring, and grabbing it, yanked - once, twice, three times - begging. Pleading. Wishing and trying everything she could. Put her foot on the jamb, put all her weight into it - and it wouldn't budge. It didn't open outwards. Only inwards. And she didn't have the leverage.
One last desperate pull and-
Her head impacted the door.
Isabel crumpled, as Wraith bashed her head into the wood. She felt the floor underneath her, felt herself being pulled along the stone. When her vision began to clear, Wraith was sitting on top of her, straddling her upper legs, keeping her pinned to the ground.
"Get… the fuck off me!" She managed to force out, her vision still dangerously wheeling around.
"Close, but no cigar!" Wraith said loudly into her ear and then straightened up with a cackle again. "See what I did there? Do you get what I'm about to do?" A hand snapped around her throat. "Or do I have to make it painfully obvious?!"
Isabel thrashed, kicking underneath him, trying to push him off of her violently. He howled with laughter, and his fist met her face with a hard thunk. Her head snapped back against the stone and she felt her vision threaten to black out. He wasn't afraid to hurt her. She had to remember that. "I get it." Isabel growled at him as he loomed close to her. "You're just a fucking coward." God, she needed her vision to clear.
Wraith snickered, and leaned into her face, licking up the side of her cheek to her ear, and whispering. "Careful… You're about to really… really resemble that remark…"
Isabel watched, waiting, biding her time for the moment, as he sat back, and fished in his coat pocket. Pulling out a pocket knife, he flicked it open with a practiced gesture, and began running the tip of the blade along her collarbone.
Isabel's breath hitched, and she swore at herself silently for showing any kind of reaction.
"Oooh well, look at that… You like that?"
"Of course not."
"Doesn't matter if you do," Wraith observed, in a sing-song voice, tilting his head to the side as he watched the point of the knife trace along her skin. Pressing down a little harder, he began to scratch a line across the top of her breast, drawing blood, moving towards the strap of the blouse she had worn. "Just lay still. You don't even have to pretend to like it. Or pretend to hate it, for that matter. It's going to happen either way."
The knife slipped under the strap of her blouse, and he cut it loose, and wandered the knife towards the other side. "Why're you doing this?" Her vision was still blurry. Too blurry to do anything. But it seemed like he was keen on taking his time. Good, maybe she could use that. Slow it down.
"Call it an Oedipus complex," Wraith snickered and tore the other strap, and dragged the knife slowly down over her stomach over her shirt to the hemline, and began easily slicing the fabric in half from the bottom up.
He was paying attention to his handiwork, watching as he revealed her skin as he cut away at her shirt, inch by inch. He was distracted. Good. Using every ounce of strength she could summon, she grabbed his wrist, yanked, pulled him off balance and pulled a foot under them - planting it square in his stomach and shoving him off of her. He crashed into the stone wall next to her, and she took the opportunity to scramble to her feet.
Isabel didn't try to make it for the door again - she wasn't an idiot. She turned, and went for the knife he was holding. In trying to grab it, she knocked it from his hand - but in payment he grabbed her wrist. He was laughing - like this was the most fun in the world. Like it was a playful wrestling match. Ducking one swing of his fist, she kneed him in the stomach as hard as she could - but he barely budged. Instead, he only flashed her a sick smile and his fist met her face again, knocking her to the ground.
"Sorry, sugartits," Wraith said with a snicker as she felt his weight on top of her again. "That would've hurt Tim. But Tim ain't home right now. I gotta give you points though… That was pretty damn good. I mean. For someone like you, anyway." He grabbed her wrists yanked them over her head - she felt something tighten around them, and she realized he had lashed her arms together with - something. God knows what. When she tried to move her arms, she blearily looked up - and saw that he had tied her wrists with a rope. Not effective in the long term - but all he needed.
"You keep your hands there. Or I cut off one of your fingers. Do you understand?" he glared down at her.
Isabel pulled her arms down, and he slammed them back painfully to the stone over her head. Suddenly the point of the knife was between her lips, and she froze.
"I am not fucking kidding, girl," he snarled. "You will lay there… you can cry, you can scream in pain, in pleasure, whatever you want… but you will obey what I tell you."
Isabel grit her teeth, glaring in defiance, but didn't move. There had to be another way. Let him think he won.
"Good girl. Good sugartits," he snickered, and pulled the knife from between her lips. He let go of her wrists and gave her a moment to change her mind - before looking back down at her with a grin.
"Now, speaking of.." Wraith looked down at her, now in just her bra, and he clicked his tongue. "Mmh. So, I gotta know. Is this how it was with Drac the first time? Did he throw you to the ground, fuck you raw and ragged while you cried for mercy? Did he hypnotize you into sucking his cock like a porn star? Or was he some sweet and sappy lover, catering to your every whim? Hmmm?"
Isabel kept up her silent glare, which just made him laugh. He tapped the point of the knife on her nose. "Now don't make that face. I've got… like… countless thousands of lives of experience in how to screw a girl like this up here-" he pointed at his own head with his other hand. "So I'm going to be a goddamn rockstar."
Wraith reached his hand down, and grabbed her breast, and squeezed it hard through her bra. Isabel winced, and looked away. It made him laugh again, as he kneaded her flesh roughly.
Isabel had begun carefully, barely, toying with the rope around her wrists. Finding the knots.
Wraith ran his knife under a strap of her bra and sliced it. The other followed quick suit. Straps dealt with, the knife went under the thin strip of fabric that connected the middle of her bra, and he sliced it in half with an easy flick of his wrist. He pulled the ruined fabric free of her and tossed it aside.
"Mmhn," he said appreciatively, and ran the tip of the knife down between her breasts. She twitched as he cut her, leaving a thin line of red against her skin. He lowered himself down to her, one hand on either side of her, and ran his tongue up her skin, tracing the red line.
Isabel could feel progress in the knot around her wrists. Wraith was too distracted with his new toy. Isabel winced, cringing as he moved to began circling his tongue around one of her nipples. Isabel turned her head away, and couldn't help but try and kick at him to get him off her.
A punch to the ribs, and the air was knocked out of her. She gagged, and groaned in pain as he looked up at her. "Stop. Goddamn. Fighting!" He scolded her angrily. "The next time, I stab you. And don't think that means I won't still fuck you afterwards. Do you understand?"
Isabel was silent, her eyes shut, gasping for breath. "I said-" His hand was in her hair, and it wrenched her head up to look at him. "Do you understand?!" he yelled into her face.
"Yeah.." she finally managed to get out. He let go of her hair, and smiled pleasantly down at her.
"Good! Now where was I…" He lowered his head back to her breast, and began hungrily attacking her skin - biting her nipple, which made her yelp in pain, drawing a laugh from him.
Isabel was still working on untying the rope on her wrists. He had done it quickly, hastily, and had paid little attention to the knots. She had picked off one of the knots, and was now working on the second one.
He had the knife under one of his hands, and was leaning on it as he lifted his other hand to squeeze and grope at her other breast - but quickly became bored with that and began undoing her pants.
She twitched and fought the urge to kick at him. He lifted his head, and 'tsked' at her. "Now now… remember... You fight, this knife goes into your kidney." Isabel did her best to lay still, and he cooed up at her like she was an animal. "Good girl…"
His hand finished undoing the fly of her pants, and he slipped a hand inside. "Heh," he snickered and pushed his face up towards hers again, hovering his lips near hers. "I bet you were wet for Drac when he did this. Oh well. I can make due." Pulling his hand back out, he kissed her, harshly. She laid there, unmoving - afraid that if she even turned her head, he'd make good on his threat to stab her.
Isabel was well through the second knot on her wrists, relying on his distraction to keep him from noticing her tinkering away. He sat up, looking down at her hungrily, and Isabel realized when she'd have her chance. The asshole needed two hands to undo his own pants.
Sure enough, he put the knife down on the ground next to her, and went to undo his fly.
With that, she yanked her hand free of the rope, and snatched the knife from the ground, driving the blade into the side of his neck. Wraith's eyes went wide, and he made a 'hork' noise, gagged, and coughed blood up onto her.
The hot liquid splashed down onto her as she drove the knife further into his neck, snarling in anger as she did - the adrenaline clearing her head fast.
Isabel had no idea, looking back at the moment, whether or not the roar of fire had happened just prior to, or just after her stabbing Wraith - or Tim, or both of them - in the throat with the knife.
Either way, it wasn't her who threw his body aside, finally removing the weight from on top of her.
Isabel's heart was pounding as laid there, the feeling of hot blood against her bare skin, up at the looming figure of Dracula in the darkness.
All she could see were his red eyes, reflecting the flame. She managed to sit up - or aptly, roll over to one side, and push herself up that way, her head lowered. It was spinning - she probably had a concussion. And a bruised rib, by the feeling of it.
Isabel pushed herself to standing - slowly, wincing. It wasn't until she was standing vertical that he moved - pulling his coat from his shoulders and slinging it around her. It was hysterically large for her frame, but she appreciated the gesture.
"I"m going to get blood on it," she muttered.
He did not answer for a painfully long time. "You find humor in this." A statement, not a question. He was a flurry of emotions - disappointment, rage, hatred pointed both inwards and outwards. The desire to protect her. The desire to hurt her.
"I find humor in the worst of things. I-" her knees gave out as the room swam, and she felt his arm wrap around her to hold her up. "I hate concussions."
A whirl of fire, and she was back in his chambers. He released her, letting her find her own way to the sofa. She sat down, happy for the large swath of black fabric to wrap around her. Although the blood was starting to get cold and sticky. But at least she wasn't in the dark room, filled with glass coffins of past attempts. Past hopes. Past versions of her. Her future. At least if he was going to kill her, it wouldn't be there, with the hollow, empty sockets of unseeing eyes looking at her.
Isabel had enough of things looking at her. And so she stared at the carpet, not wanting to meet his gaze. Afraid of what she'd see there. Isabel truly had no idea where to begin. She felt… empty. She should feel a lot more for what had just happened to her. So, she started with facts. "It was Wraith," she commented.
"I know."
"If you're going to yell at me, hit me, kill me, or whatever, just… do it."
He was silent. So, she continued.
"He told me he needed to show me something. Tell me about what… what you're trying to do. He said he had information about you turning me into a 'companion' - or, whatever you want to call it." Isabel paused. "You think I betrayed you. I didn't. I want to go into this eyes open. And if someone - who has direct experience - wants to warn me… I would be a fool not to hear them out."
A roar of fire, and he was gone.
It was his sudden disappearance that was the last straw, and that caused the tears to roll down her cheeks. No. Quit it, she scolded herself, and swiped them off her face . Isabel let out a small, wavering breath - and decided she could cry later. Practical matters first. Clean off. Look at her bruises. Tex would be proud.
Now only if she could make it to the bathroom without falling over…
Every time she turned a corner in Dracula's chambers, she expected to find him looming there. And she wasn't sure if she was disappointed or not when he wasn't there. She had showered, dressed, gotten herself a stiff drink, and decided to get some air.
Stepping out into the night air, she felt the coolness against her face and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. God, it felt good.
"... Hullo."
Isabel screamed and whirled around, dropping her drink with a crash against the stone.
Looking up - where the deep weird voice had spoken, she blinked at a giant…. Gargoyle… looming on the roof over the door she had just stepped through. It was a hulking mass of stone, and large wings that had no business being useful for something made out of rock. But Isabel couldn't fathom how else it had managed to get up there - even though its claws looked functional. It looked like someone crossbred a pitbull, a dragon and a boulder. And it seemed to have the demeanor of one, as it looked down at her flatly.
"... Sorry," it said, in the same stunted and… lumbering way as before.
"Uh… it's… it's okay. I wasn't… expecting you there. I've had a rough day."
"... Master said so. Master said you'd scream."
Isabel grumbled unkind things under her breath at that. "Alright… did your Master tell you why you were here?"
"... Grundo guard lady. Even if lady doesn't like it. Master said so."
Isabel sighed, and looked down at the shattered glass. "I'm Isabel. Nice to meet you. I'm going to go get a rag and another drink." Isabel walked off of the terrace, not honestly surprised. After all, she'd been attacked after wandering off. Of course he'd issue her a bodyguard.
At least it seemed content to stay outside.
After cleaning up the glass, and fixing herself another drink, she decided to sit on the thick stone railing of the terrace. The stone was about three feet thick, and she figured if she'd fell, 'Grundo' would just catch her anyway.
It wasn't long before she decided to just go fetch the bottle.
"Wanna glass, Grundo?"
"... Grundo no drink."
"I figured. Thought I should ask, though."
"... Grundo thankful."
Isabel smiled up at the clearly-less-than-bright gargoyle. "You're welcome."
Grundo wasn't chatty. And for that she was glad.
And so, she sat. Feet dangling off the edge, looking out over at the night sky - out at the castle, and what remained of Boston. It was horrific and cruel, and beautiful in its own weird way. Isabel knew she'd never condone the death, the suffering - but she had to learn to live with it, it seemed. This place was violent. She learned that - today, especially. And it was her world, now. At least for the time being.
So she kicked her feet idly, and raised the bottle of bourbon to her lips and took a sip. A glass had seemed a silly thing to bring, especially after breaking the last one.
A rustle next to her, and motion out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. This time, it wasn't a ghost - it was Vlad, who had appeared at some point and was now leaning on the railing near her. "I hope you are not developing a drinking problem," he observed dryly.
"After today, I deserve this."
"Fair."
Silence reigned for a long time, before she put the bottle down on the stone next to her. "Are we going to talk about what happened today?"
More silence. She had to look to make sure he hadn't disappeared again. He was staring out a the city, his face its usual dour mask.
"Are you angry with me?"
More silence. Isabel sighed, and shut her eyes for a moment, before looking out at the city. Alright. Fine. It was her play to make, it seems. "I'm sorry. I really am. I knew Tim wasn't really trustworthy. What I did was beyond stupid. I don't need to be reminded or told. But if you aren't going to talk… I'm going to explain."
Still silence. So she shrugged, and kept talking. "You want me to trust you blindly. And you have to admit, I'm handling this whole scenario really well. Consider everything I've been through in the past few weeks. Do you blame me, for wanting to know the 'whole story' behind what you plan for me?"
Again, nothing. This time, she turned to look at him. She pulled off her glove and held out her hand to him. "Here. Full reign. Look inside my mind if you think I'm lying. That's it. I just want the whole story. And what I saw down there - if it is what he said it was - I think we both share in some regret tonight."
"Why did you not call for me, when you were in danger?"
"Finally, he speaks!" she threw up her hands and looked back out at the city. "Honestly? Because I forgot I could. That simple. I was in a tough situation, and I'm not used to hearing people in my head."
"What you saw, I cannot deny."
Isabel winced, and ran a hand along her face. At least it was the truth. He moved to stand behind her, and she felt a hand snake into her hair, combing slowly through it - as if testing the waters. She didn't fight him, and let him run his nails along her scalp slowly. Honestly, it was nice, after what had happened today.
"So what you're planning on doing to me, might kill me."
"Yes."
"And it's never worked before. Not once."
".. No."
Isabel shut her eyes. He had told her this much. 'The only escape from me is death.' He didn't mince words.
She had cut a deal with him. If she could convince Adrian to leave, he would move the castle from Boston, to somewhere it could do no harm. She had struck a deal with him - do that, and she would agree to be his 'companion.' Or die trying. Isabel shut her eyes - and knew she couldn't go back on it.
Where would she go? What could she honestly do, if it wasn't this? How could she go back to a normal life, without her 'family' of Adam, Eric and Tex with her? After all she had seen, after all she had suffered… this was it, now. She was at his mercy. If he were to throw her from the balcony, it was his right.
All she could do, was play her hand.
"Promise me something," she said with a wavering breath out. "If and when I die - don't put me down there. Please. Do anything else. Make me a fucking table lamp, I don't care. Just not… not in there, not with them."
He wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her back against his chest, and she felt his head rest atop hers. She wasn't sure who exactly he was trying to comfort. Perhaps both. I give you my word, he spoke into her mind.
She put a hand atop his, and squeezed it gently. After a long moment, he let go of her, and moved again to stand beside her. So much had just passed between them, so much was just left understood.
She would keep her end of the bargain. She was sorry for wandering off. He was sorry for not telling her of his past failures. They both understood why.
God, she wanted not to dwell on it. So she did what she always did - she decided to lighten the mood. Isabel patted the railing next to her, and he looked at her hand, then to her quizzically.
Isabel sighed. "It means, 'come sit with me.'"
"I am not a dog."
Isabel laughed once. He was both stern and quizzical at once - looking at her thoroughly confused at her sudden switch and her sudden request. "Oh I'm sorry," she started with a playful sarcastic tone. "Will you grace me with your presence, m'lord?"
"I already am," he stated, just as flat as before.
"Oh for fucks sake, will you sit your ass on the railing with me?!" she finally exclaimed through a laugh. "I'm trying to have a legitimate moment here with you, you numbnuts."
With a deep sigh, the vampire slung a leg, then another, over the railing, and sat at her side, looking out at the city with her. "Does that word mean what I believe it to be?" he asked after a pause.
With a snicker, she raised the bottle to her lips and took another small sip. "More or less."
He looked down at her, an eyebrow raised. "Do all women now speak with such questionable vocabulary?"
Still smirking, she looked back out at the city. "Nope. I have a mouth on me, I'm aware," she replied with a shrug. "I've been told many times I'm 'not ladylike.'"
"I believe I have had my fill of 'proper ladies,'" Vlad sighed and looked out at the city as well. "A flower is a charming thing - beautiful, but delicate… too easy to crush, too weak, too quick to fade. Many of those 'ladies' would not have the fortitude you do… to sit here, contemplating the events of today instead of fashioning a noose."
Isabel shrugged. "I'm trying not to dwell on it."
Dracula continued after another pause. "I mind not your language, if I do wish it were not so frequently pointed in my direction."
Isabel grinned. "Stop asking for it, then."
"I do no such thing."
Isabel laughed - he was obviously naive about modern language, and watching him struggle with it was far more fun than it should be. "It's a phrase. Like, if someone were to insult you, and you hit them, you could say they were 'asking for it.'"
"Ah."
And so, they fell into an amicable, if strange silence. Isabel didn't want to rehash what had happened that day. It was just another nightmare in a long list of horrors. Instead, she was honestly finding herself enjoying this quiet moment between her and the vampire king. Even with everything she had learned. Isabel's innate empathy made it hard to hold grudges… not when you knew exactly why a person felt the way they did.
Looking down at the bourbon in her hand, a question popped into her head. "Do you get drunk?"
"Excuse me?"
"Are vampires able to get drunk?" she looked up at him, and his still quizzical, now albeit amused expression. "Like, physically. I've seen you drink wine."
"I enjoy the flavor. And yes, we are able. Oddly enough, it works counterintuitively to humans. If I have not fed, it is harder for inebriation to take hold."
"I guess it makes sense. No blood in your system, no blood for the alcohol to absorb into."
"Precisely."
"Follow up-" she was now really interested, never having really thought through the 'logistics' of vampirism. And god, it was a good distraction from the thoughts of the day. "If you feed on someone who's blasted-"
"Blasted." He repeated the word with a flat candor that made her wonder if he was being obtuse on purpose for the humor of it.
Isabel laughed. "You know what I mean."
"I'm afraid I do not." The barest twinge of a smirk on his lips revealed that he was bluffing. She shoved his arm playfully, and the smirk bloomed to a faint smile. "Very well. Younger vampires may become ill from feeding from those that are… eh… 'blasted,' as you say. I just find it rather unenjoyable. Alcohol is far preferable to barbiturates or other chemicals. One vampire I knew many centuries ago became significantly addicted to feeding on those who had consumed such things." Vlad looked off to the city again. "It did not end well for him."
Isabel offered him the bottle of bourbon, a grin on her face. He took it shaking his head, but humoring her, and took a drink from it, and handed it back. He hissed in a breath. "How do you drink that without any reaction?"
"Practice." Isabel sipped the liquid to prove her point. "Tex would punch me in the arm every time I flinched. I learned to stop, or live with the bruise. He drank. A lot. And he never wanted to drink alone."
"You were close with him."
Isabel nodded, and her mood dropped as she remembered that she would never see him again. "We were good friends. I don't get many in my life."
"I took him from you."
Isabel shook her head, and sighed. It took her a moment to gather the right words. "You did. But I saw you. You were starving. You were just… eating. I get it. There's a difference between murder, and the food chain…"
"I have done plenty of both."
"I know," again she tried not to dwell on it. "Besides, we all knew our line of work had serious threats. He won't be the first one we've poured a glass out for at a bar." Isabel blinked. "We never did do that for Tex… I should get Erik and Adam together-" she realized she might have overstepped, and back-peddled. "With your permission."
Dracula was silent for a long moment, and then took the bottle from her. He raised it out to the city. "To fallen friends." He sipped the liquor, and handed it back.
She seconded the toast, and put the bottle down on the railing next to her. They sat for a long time again in silence, before he spoke. "I am… impressed at how you handled the events of today."
Isabel sighed, and kicked her foot idly, as she thought how to phrase her response. "I'm upset. Of course I am. It'll give me nightmares, I'm sure. But if I give into the fear, he wins. And… to be brutally frank… what he did, is no less than what I saw inside that fountain. Is no less than what souls and memories he's made of. He is collection of deaths, bathed in torture and born from madness. My madness." Isabel paused as she thought. "It makes me an even bigger fool for wandering off while he was on the loose."
"You did not know he could take another's body. But all are suspect, now… you must be careful."
"Like you're letting me roam free again," she said with a snort. "Come on. If you don't trust me in your private quarters without him," she jutted a thumb to point behind her up at the gargoyle. "Seriously."
Dracula smirked. "You seem to handle this best when not reminded you are my prisoner by overt means. I am attempting to keep it such."
"Right. Sure. I mean, what're my other options?" she snickered again.
A coy grin spread across his pale features. "If you wish to have me fashion a leash for you, I'm sure I could have it arranged-"
Isabel shoved him hard with a laugh, and if she could have pushed him hard enough, she would have tossed him from the railing. "Dick."
He was grinning at her playfully now. "So the leash is out of the question, then?"
Isabel swatted at his arm, and he laughed loudly as she did, and suddenly scooped her up and pulled her against him - a hand wrapping into her hair as he kissed her.
You cannot leave me so soon.
It was then that she felt it - the pain that he had felt, that she had almost died and if Wraith had not planned to violate her, he would have arrived too late to stop it. That was the betrayal that he felt. Not her conversation with Tim. That she did not call to him, when it may have meant her life.
Isabel placed her hands against his shoulders, and kissed him back. She let it end, slowly, and pulling from him, she looked into his red eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
He smiled faintly back, and simply held her to him, and she rested against him, her head on his shoulder, and just let herself enjoy the moment for what it was.
She was curled up against his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. They were in his coffin - the one hidden away in the castle where no doors or windows led to it. He had asked her what she wished - to return to her quarters, or stay with him. And she had chosen to stay with him.
As he did not truly sleep in his own quarters - it meant here.
So he took her here, pulled her beside him, and shut the lid. And she had fallen asleep in his arms, in his coffin. This time, the dreams had stayed away. Now she lay there in the darkness, which had once terrified her so badly. The feeling of his arm draped around her no longer horrified her.
Every moment his hand rested against her skin - every time he caressed her cheek, every time he was near her, he was so much closer than a simple touch. She could sense him beneath the surface. When she shut her eyes, she could almost feel the night as he did. Like she was standing atop the point of the castle, gazing out at the midnight sky and endless forests of a land long since lost to time.
Gentle and violent, kind and cruel - he was all things at once. Images of him tearing apart a man to wallow in his blood flashed through her mind. He killed. He both reveled in the act and loathed it. Sometimes, he was the king of a sea of blood, lusting for the moment where the eyes went glassy and the soul fled. In another era, he all but starved himself, feeding on livestock or willing victims - never taking a life. Guilt or prideful defiance. The difference little mattered.
Lying here in total darkness, the visions danced in front of her as she traveled her way through his mind.
Careful. You may become lost.
Isabel was atop the castle again - standing on the sharply angled roof of the highest tower. The fear of falling hit her suddenly and she stepped backwards - into a familiar brick wall of a chest. A quiet laugh, and an arm slung around her, keeping her pressed to him.
Looking on at the stars, she realized that they were not ones she recognized. Over his thousands of years of existence, they had changed. She felt a cold and empty loneliness wash over her, and she began to understand. The empty void seemed to stretch on for eternity… and it very well might.
Countries rose and fell - empires became dust. Mountains crumbled, islands rendered to sand. Everything he had ever known he had seen bloom and die before him.
Even his stars were gone.
For the first time, Isabel felt like she had truly wrapped her mind around his world. "This is how you live," she said quietly, barely above a whisper. "On and on, endlessly."
His cape whipped in the wind around them - it looked tattered and torn, the crimson lining like ragged bloody claws against the moonlight. Vlad spoke after a long silence. "I have not 'lived' for a very long time."
She knew he meant more than just his undeath. He meant this cycle. This path that stretched endlessly before him filled with death. Every attempt he had made to break the cycle had been undone. Every attempt to veer from his fate had failed. In her, he saw a chance for a break in that cycle - even temporarily. Some way to meander from that desperate march through time. But he could not suffer as he had done before. Not again. He would rather be alone than to have his hopes dashed upon the stones like so many of his lovers.
He protected her, to keep her safe from those that would do her harm. He tortured her, to protect himself from the harm she could do to him.
Isabel wiped at the tears that fell from the corners of her eyes. She felt him place a kiss atop her head, and she let herself rest back against him.
"Why do you cry, little dove?" he sounded almost amused.
"For you."
He turned her to face him, but kept her close, looking down at her with his red eyes. His expression was muddled confusion and scrutiny. His face was pale in the moonlight. He lifted a hand to her cheek, and brushed the back of his fingers along her skin, gently wiping away the tear that remained.
"After all that you have seen - after all you know I have done. Forget not the suffering and death I have wrought - and for all that I will do in years to come. You pity me?"
"It's not pity."
"Then what is it?" he questioned - although there was no cruelty in his voice. Instead, he sounded almost desperate to know.
Isabel didn't know how to explain it - she didn't understand it herself. Yet, she reached up with both hands and took his face in her hands and pulled him down to her - and kissed him. She shut her eyes as she did, and felt both his arms move to wrap around her, hugging her to him tightly.
For the first time, since this whole misadventure had begun, she let down her guard. She let down the barriers she kept between them - keeping his mind from hers. Keeping him from using their connection to share in her emotions, as she did his. She could force an emotion on another person - but this was different. This wasn't a battering ram, but an opening of a door. Isabel needed him to understand something she could not put to words. Something too complicated, too vulnerable.
Was he afraid of what she might mean to him? Was she afraid of the darkness and terror that he embodied? Whose fear was whose became indistinguishable. It made no difference.
Finally, she broke the kiss, and kept her face close to his, her palms still resting against his jawline. "I know you, vampire…" she kept her voice at a whisper, her eyes shut. "I know you for everything you have been and ever will be." Isabel paused, unable to speak for a moment, before she finally forced herself to say the words. "I will crumble to dust. I will fade away like your stars. I won't live as long as you, even if I live ten thousand years... " Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to continue. "But in this moment - you are loved."
His reaction was not what she expected.
Isabel awoke with a start - as she was violently dragged from the coffin. She scrambled to grab onto whatever had wrenched her from where she was laying. It was a solid few seconds before she realized it was Vlad that had done it.
Dracula had pulled her to standing and had her up against the wall - his fists gripping her upper arms painfully. She winced, reminded that he could crush her with a gesture if he wanted to. "Do not lie to me-" he hissed, his eyes wide narrowed in fury. "You may say anything you wish to me - curse me to the depths of hell - but you will not lie to me like that!" he howled in rage.
Isabel stammered uselessly - becoming very sick of being pinned to the wall by crazy people. Was she lying? He seemed so certain, he made her doubt. He quietly seethed, glaring at her as she tried to sort herself out. The adrenaline from being awoken so quickly was making her heart pound like a drum in her ears.
God help her, it was true.
How could she not? She knew all of his life, all of his pain and triumph. His joy and sorrow. All she had to do was touch him, and it was there. He was there.
Her curse let her share in his.
Isabel didn't know what to do - didn't know how to convince him. Didn't know if she should even try. Maybe it would be better for her if he just tore out her throat, right here and now.
Dracula let go of one of her arms, reaching a clawed hand as if to tear her open. "Answer me!" he howled in rage. But she couldn't. She didn't know how.
So she shut her eyes, and waited. And accepted it. He released her other arm, and for a long moment, she waited for the pain that would welcome death. She had felt it a thousand times, suspended in the Well of Souls. One more time was nothing.
Isabel opened her eyes as she jolted, startled as she heard a resounding crash from the room. Dracula had upended his coffin, sending it hurtling against the wall, shattering it into nothing but kindling and splinters. He stood there, his back to her, fists clenched, fuming in rage.
Then, all at once - the blazing inferno of anger crumbled - and she watched as he sunk to his knees, curled over on himself, his head in his hands.
Isabel walked towards him, slowly - not sure if he would lash out at her. He stayed on his knees, unmoving - his sharpened nails visible through his hair where he grabbed his head in both hands.
She walked to his side and knelt down next to him - and not knowing what else to do, wrapped her arms around him, and placed her head on his. Isabel wasn't a fool enough to think she could console him - not really. Not when she was the source of the problem.
He knelt there, doubled over on himself, his head in his hands - for a long time. Finally, he lowered them, resting them in his lap. She sat back on her heels, still feeling so small next to him.
He looked down into the palms of his hands. "You have dealt me the worst of blows…"
"I'm not… you know I'm not lying…" she said, barely above a whisper.
"And in that, comes the wound... The words you speak ring truth as from above… You know me, for my true nature… you… dare to love me… and you will die." His hands clenched into fists for a moment before relaxing again.
"Then kill me," she responded, her voice still barely audible. "If you can't stand to go forward thinking you might someday feel the same and lose me - then kill me now." She picked up his hand in hers, and placed it flat against her chest over her heart.
His hand snaked behind her neck, and he wrenched her close to him - she heard him growl a low, feral noise. Isabel saw his fangs extend, flashing white in the firelight, and she gripped his shirt in her hands as he pulled her onto his lap. Isabel let out a gasp as he yanked her head sideways, and she heard him pull in a hiss as he hovered his fangs over her neck.
This was different than all the times before. This was meant to kill. Isabel shut her eyes, and waited.
Once more, the blow never came. Instead, he released her head from its angle, and she found herself clutched to him as he bent his head onto her shoulder. Isabel just wrapped her arms around him in return.
He knelt there, holding her to him like a drowning man would a raft, for what seemed like minutes before he finally spoke. "It is too late for that…"