Of Ghosts & Liars

by BeyondFloating

Isabel is a treasure hunter who gets more than she bargains for, when her and her team find a coffin chained shut in a crypt. An empath with the ability to not only sense things around her but to see the memories of whatever she touches - she crosses paths with the King of Vampires himself and finds herself unwittingly involved in a dispute for the throne of darkness.

15. Chapter 15

Hello all!

Very sorry for the long delay. My work was in major crunch as I said, and I just managed to come out of it now. This is a longer chapter to make up for that. It took me several rewrites to get it to the point that I was happy with it.

Rated M again for very sexy bits down at the end of it.

Thank you again everyone for the reviews! It keeps me going. :P

Enjoy!

---

"Ow! Quit it-"

"Be still."

"If you say that to me one more time, I swear I'll deck you-"

"If you would cease your childish squirming-"

Isabel swatted the offending hand away, and glared up at the vampire pointedly. They had barely spoken since the night before - since he destroyed his coffin in a fit of rage. Since that was the only place he felt safe enough to sleep - he brought them both back to his chambers, so at least she might try to rest.

Unfortunately, sleep eluded her. A combination of too many thoughts crowding through her head at once, replaying the previous day over and over again - and the searing pain in her side.

The later had prompted her to go into the bathroom to inspect the damage that Wraith - in the body of Tim - had caused. A purple and green bruise had bloomed along the left side of her jaw, but that wasn't her main concern. Lifting her blouse over her head carefully, cringing as she moved her right arm, she turned to inspect Wraith's 'handiwork.' The blotch on her jaw paled in comparison to the rainbow and candy-cane stain that dominated her right ribs. Isabel couldn't help but wince and hiss through her teeth when she saw it. Cracked rib - no doubt about it. Hopefully just a hairline fracture. Anything worse, and she probably wouldn't still be breathing without screaming.

Rooting through the drawers, she found a bandage stuffed under the sink. She had a pretty extensive background in first aid - both from her 'hands on' experience working with Tex, Adam and Eric, and from her decades of scavenged memories she had buzzing around in her mind.

If she could just wrap her ribs tightly enough, it would help. But she couldn't do it with just two hands. And she only had one option when it came to solving that problem. Putting her hand to her forehead, she sighed. Vlad had been silent - absolutely silent since the night before. Not wanting to speak of Wraith, of what the possessing spirit had tried to do - or about Dracula and her's exchange, of him destroying his coffin and what led to that. None of it.

Asking for his help right now was going to push his buttons, she knew it. Not that he wouldn't want to help her - but because the sight of the damage would set him off. This was not going to go well. Not well at all.

But the other option was she put up with the pain, and try to hide it - and that would go over even worse.

"Vlad?" she asked tentatively, knowing he was still in his library, staring into the fire. "Can… Would you mind helping me for a moment?"

It wasn't long before he walked in, appearing in the mirror behind her (a myth, she was glad to find out,) looming like some sort of dark spectre. Something about it almost made her want to recoil - but she held her ground. Watching his reflection as he took in the sight of the bruises that had been given to her.

She didn't need to be an empath to feel the hatred pouring off of him. The anger. The rage. Isabel winced again, preparing for an outburst - for anything. But nothing came. LIke some passing storm cloud, the anger cleared - and his face returned to the dour expression that seemed to be his reflexive mask.

"Yes?" he asked, as if nothing had transpired.

Isabel sighed, shut her eyes for a moment, and decided to let a sleeping tiger lie. Opening her eyes, she picked up the bandage from the counter, and unraveled one portion of it, and handed it to him. "Could you just… hold this to my back? I need a hand wrapping this…"

That seemed to have caught him off guard. Whatever he had been expecting from her, it was not that. With a blink, he did as she asked, and she pulled the bandage around her front, and then held the roll out to him. "If you could just… pull that around, not too tightly, but firmly enough-"

"I know how…" he scolded, his voice quiet - almost sounding… vulnerable. She decided not to push him, and let him take the roll from her, and watched in the glass as he carefully began to wrap her ribs.

It wasn't until after he was finished, and had tucked the end of the bandage under one of the wraps, that the 'argument' began. His strange reverie while bandaging her was gone, and he was now examining the bruise on her jawline. She let him turn her head to one side, let him follow the line of the damage up behind her ear - and as he traced the edge of it, he took his thumb and pressed it into a spot on the back of her head, close to the top of her neck.

"Ow! Quit it-"

"Be still."

"If you say that to me one more time, I swear I'll deck you-"

"If you would cease your childish squirming-"

Isabel swatted his hand away and looked up at him, glaring at the vampire - all thoughts of sleeping tigers pushed aside. A hand on her shoulder turned her to face him, and she had to crane her head back to look up at him - as he was standing close to her, almost pinning her to the sink.

"Let me heal you."

The words were an abyss, and resonated with a meaning that made her hair stand on end. Everything in her wanted to back away from him, as if she were trying to back away from the edge of a cliff. In many ways, he was just that. She knew what he meant. There was only one thing he could mean.

"Drink from me."

He hadn't needed to clarify - but that drove it home.

"I-" she stammered, and tried to move away from him - but an arm on either side of her kept her trapped. Fear. Images of the women in those coffins - his failed experiments - his failed 'companions.' The hollow, dead and empty eyes looking at her, calling out to her as if she were one of them… She was. Or at least, she was going to be.

Wraith had brought her there to hurt her. But what he had shown her had been real.

"Once will not kill you," Vlad soothed quietly, his voice low as to not startle her, like you'd talk to a trapped animal. The terror was written plainly across her, she was sure.

Since physically hiding was out of the question, maybe there was another way out. Any way to buy time. Her scrambling mind found something worth an attempt. "That wasn't our deal," she finally asserted. "Not until you give me a chance to talk Adrian into leaving. Not until I get you to move this castle out of Boston - or I fail."

That was the bargain they had struck, after all. EIther she would succeed in getting Adrian to leave - in which case Vlad would uproot the castle and give up his siege of Boston, or she would fail. Either way, her fate was the same.

Vlad let out a long, heavy sigh, and shut his eyes. He lowered his head, his dark hair falling along his face. "You are unbreakable in mind and spirit, my little dove… but I fear what others may do to the rest of you."

Isabel shook her head. "I won't go wandering off again… And it's just Adrian, anyway."

Vlad lifted his head, just barely, his red eyes flickering embers that once more bore through her. His voice had returned to its lofty sense of irony, his lips curling into a slight sneer. "Do not discount his capacity for cruelty, my dear. He is my son after all…"

And with that, he pushed away from her, and walked from the bathroom, leaving her standing against the sink, trembling. Damn him and his unpredictable moods. One way or another, those moods were hers to deal with now… short term or long term, it didn't matter - it was all she'd have until she died.

The thought did nothing to help her nerves, and she shakily finished dressing, and made herself look somewhat presentable - although with the dark blotch against her jaw, there was little she could do.

With one last moment to gather her resolve, she walked out of the bathroom. He stood by a window, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the castle parapets and the perpetual night sky beyond. When he turned to look at her, he was impassive both in appearance and from what she could sense from him. But Vlad was nothing if he was not like a riptide beneath a frozen surface.

Part of her was offended that he was 'shutting her out' - after everything they had exchanged the night prior. But part of her was also still in fear at the idea of 'drinking from him.' Of her deal with the vampire king and what it really meant to her (very likely limited) future.

"Let us make good on my end of this foolish bargain," he held out his hand to her with a bored sigh. "So you may finally see the futility in your goal and we may move forward free of your childish naivety."

Isabel bristled at the insult, but ignored it. Arguing wasn't going to get her anywhere with him. He was angry - upset - in turmoil. And if she admitted it, she knew why. She was to blame - in all manner of ways. She had refused to drink from him, hiding behind their deal. She had refused to call for him, when Wraith had nearly killed her. She pushed him away - and yet, last night, she had told him that she loved him.

To be honest? She did. In some strange, awful, messed up way, she did… And yet, she was terrified of him. Isabel suspected that would never change, no matter how long this went on. Last night, she had accepted death at his hands if he chose it - if he wanted to spare himself the pain of losing her if he came to care about her. And he had claimed it was too late.

In all that, was the reason for his cold behavior. In all that, was her. And that is why she ignored his insult - his petty attempt to lash out at her. She only put her hand in his, and let him take them both to somewhere else in a whirl of fire.

---

"Chuckles!"

That was a voice he did not expect to hear again.

Yet, there she was.

Isabel had been sitting on a bench, for what seemed like some time, as her feet were crossed at the ankles and she was leaning back on the wall. She was wearing clothes that looked distinctly different in style than she would choose on her own. Reds, blacks, and lacking in sleeves and her hooded coat of choice. His father's influence, no doubt. As he watched, Isabel stood up and the smile on her features seemed genuine. It made him no less nervous.

Suspicion on his part was an instantaneous reaction - his hand was upon the handle of his sword before he could register that she smelled… human. Untainted. Her heartbeat was audible to him, just below the surface. It made no difference. His father's corruption was clear, nonetheless. She had disappeared with the priest, and he found her here - now.

Adrian stood there in silence, his eyes narrowed, waiting for the trap to spring. Save the hand on his blade, he made no motion - no reaction to her presence.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and looked around left and right as if she were also looking for a trap, not realizing that she was the bait. Poor girl.

"It has been two weeks since last we met. You have spent that time in my father's… care."

Isabel - whom he had no reason to believe was anything less than remarkably quick witted - followed his line of reasoning, sighed and nodded. Dejectedly, she sat back down on the bench, and crossed her feet at her ankles in front of her again. "Right. I'm the enemy you're waiting for."

"A lure perhaps."

That seemed to confuse her, and she looked at him with renewed scrutiny. Curiously, she tilted her head to the side as she tried to discern some deeper reasoning. "What, like I'm some damsel in distress you couldn't help but save?" she laughed quietly at the notion. "No one's coming to get the jump on you. I'm here with Vlad's permission."

He noticed the purple bruise along her jaw by her ear - and it seemed fresh. "Has he struck you?"

"Huh?" she blinked, and then pointed to her jaw. "This? No. Not him. That's… that was somebody else entirely. A long story I'd rather not get into…"

Adrian's eyes narrowed slightly as he observed her. He could not detect that as a lie - but talented empaths made impervious liars, in his experience.

Her words did nothing to calm his sense of danger. When his hand tightened on his sword hilt, she winced, sensing it. He forgot she was such a keen empath. It was not that Adrian made practice of guarding his emotions and his thoughts - but he had become accustomed to the armor that was his natural trait. To see himself so easily read was both severely disconcerting and fascinating.

Isabel waved her gloved hands as if to try and dissuade him from attacking her. "Look - no. It's not like that. Let me explain."

His silence was enough of a cue for her to continue.

The burden of her situation - of the magnitude of what she had to express to him, suddenly weighed on her like it had physically manifested. He watched her shoulders slump, as she visibly doubted her own bearing. He pitied her, as much as he respected her constitution. To withstand what she had done so far - to maintain some semblance of herself in this madness, was an enormous task.

"I know this is pointless," she ran a gloved hand over her face. "I know I can't convince you. But I have to try."

Such words he had heard muttered too many times, by fallen friends and foes alike. By townsfolk piteously outmatched, willing to die with the knowledge that they aspired to do great deeds. Too many times he had shared that same sentiment. 'We cannot succeed - but we must must try.'

Never had he been the subject of such hopeless endeavors - the immovable object. How many times in his years had he looked upon the throne of his father, and known that it was all for naught? That any real victory was hopeless? That he could not be convinced to cease his war?

Adrian was not an unfeeling stone, as many had accused him of over his years. If he were such a thing, why would he return? Century after century? To seek to put an end to the plague that was his bloodline? For love of his mother. For love of the part of him that was human. For the part of him that wept for what could never be. In her, he saw the same pain. The sorrow with which she met his gaze broke his heart.

He removed his hand from his blade, and walked towards her.

---

Isabel was surprised as Adrian sat on the bench next to her. Surprised even more at the sympathy that she felt from him. If she had pushed her own feelings onto him, she hadn't intended to - but when she looked up at him, there was a softness to his cold features that she hadn't seen before.

"I will listen."

That almost brought her to tears alone - god, she needed something to go 'her way' today.

But Isabel wasn't even sure where to begin. It took her a long while to gather her thoughts enough to start. "I don't believe anyone can ever change their nature. Not truly. Your father… is what he is. And what he will always be. God only knows how old he really is - I don't even think Vlad knows for sure. He kills. He's a vampire - sorry, that's what… you guys do."

"Then you are not foolish, as many have sought after such impossible goals. My mother, in fact, was guilty of such misguided and optimistic intentions."

Isabel nodded, looking down at the floor. What she knew of Lisa, that was true. Isabel had been inside too many minds - seen too much of what people were capable of, to think 'the best' of people. "But, I believe people can be tempered. By knowledge, experiences, by others… Influenced, not changed." Isabel looked up from the floor, and looked at the stained glass window across from them - of some black-winged angel, holding a blade. "And Vlad likes to play games. He can be bargained with."

A heavy sigh - one that sounded distinctly familial. She decided not to point that out. "What deal have you struck?" Adrian asked her, sounding as though he would almost rather not know.

"If I can convince you to leave here, peacefully… he'll move the castle. From Boston, off to somewhere it'll do no damage. He'll stop his war against humans, for now. How long, I don't know. I'm not asking you to be family again. I'm asking you to agree to a ceasefire. To let him try and find a new way to live."

Adrian was silent for a long time, before he spoke again. "What else?"

Of course, he'd know that wasn't it. Of course he'd know Vlad was too much of a 'businessman' to cut a deal that guaranteed him nothing. "That if he let me try to convince you - I'd… uh…" Isabel let out a sigh. "Agree to try and become his 'companion.'"

Isabel had expected him to be disappointed - to sigh, to shake his head - not to stand up quickly and turn to face her, a dire look on his face. "So that is why he has not made you into a vampire. Do you know what you have done?! You agree to death, then, by simply coming here to speak with me!"

"I'm dead anyway!" she argued back - startled by his anger and not sure what to do with it except return the favor. "Think about it. He's not going to just let me walk out that door - even if I-" Isabel realized she had walked into an open door, and it was going to get her into trouble. But there was no turning back now. "Shit."

"'Even if you' what?"

Isabel let out a groan, and put her head in her hands for a moment before committing to her mistake and finishing the sentence, looking back up at him, exasperated. "Even if I wanted to leave." Adrian turned away from her, and she felt the turmoil rage inside him. "I'm sorry."

"You love him."

Isabel paused for a long time. "It's complicated."

"He has tortured you, corrupted you, done the same to your friends - and you love him." Adrian's hands were fists at his side. "Do you not see what he has done?!"

"I know perfectly well what he's done," she responded. "I know why you don't believe me. You don't know how much time I've spent in his head. Seeing his past. Seeing into who he is. I'm an empath - I can't help it." When he didn't respond, she continued. "I know you think he's hypnotized me. Tricked me into feeling this way. But that isn't the case."

"I should take you from here. I should send you away - where his influence can fade. Your life can continue. You think it gone, but you have hope. Ours are lost, Isabel."

"Hope. There's what's interesting." Isabel stood up from the bench, and walked up to him. "I'll try this again. I know I won't leave here alive, Adrian… and I know that, not because I've lost hope - but because I understand that I have to be here. Because everything I have ever cared about is here, now. Adam, Eric… and yes, even Vlad. I don't know what I feel for him - it's a grab-bag by-the-moment toss up between love and terror. But do you know what he has? Hope. Hope that he might, someday, somehow, care for someone again. Hope that maybe, despite his millennia of years that say otherwise, he might find a new way to exist outside of this… cycle you two are on. That maybe someday, you two can stop this hell you both put yourselves in." Isabel put her hand on his shoulder.

Adrian shrugged her off of him, and whirled on her angrily - and she saw his fangs for the first time. "Do you think I wish to be trapped in this purgatory?! Do you think I wish to be as Sisyphus upon the hill?! Never have I been given the freedom to walk the earth - and never have I been arrogant and egotistical enough to steal love and hope from others as he does!"

Isabel blinked, caught off guard by his fierce anger. His words made sense. Vlad had stolen her away - hunted her, trapped her, and kept her as his prisoner. In hopes that she would love him. And she did - blame it on her empathic ability if she wanted, but she did. And there wasn't denying that she had little choice but to be where she was. "Fine."

"What?" Adrian was caught off guard, her admission hitching his anger mid-stride.

"You're right. He did. One way or another, he did. I won't argue that fact out of pride, or, to defend him. I don't feel any need to defend the things he's done. And no, you didn't ask to be like this. And I'm trying to give you a chance to break the cycle - or at least stall it for a time. I don't know how long - maybe only weeks until this whole 'ritual' goes wrong, and he's poisoned me and I die." It was Isabel's turn to walk away, to a planter that held what looked like glass roses - but she suspected they weren't some strange sculpture and had actually grown there.

Isabel reached out to touch one, running her gloved hand along the glass petals of the rose. "How many times have you killed him?"

"Three."

"How many times has he left you wandering in the wings for weeks, never entering the keep?"

Adrian paused for a long time. "Never."

"So that means he can keep you out if he wants to."

Silence. Then, reluctant admission. "Perhaps."

"Then why do you think he let you into the keep that many times?" Another long silence. "Two reasons." Oh, she was going to catch serious shit for this later. "One, he doesn't want to kill you, and doom you to this place like everyone else. You two aren't on speaking terms, but you're still his son. He still loves you. Two, you're his insurance policy."

"Excuse me?"

Isabel sighed. Right. 15th century man, lacking in modern phrases. She turned to look at him, his features for the first time since she had met him looked uncertain. Exposed. "He doesn't want to kill the world," she said with a small, sad laugh. "He barely knows it. I just don't think he has any other way to be, anymore. Vlad wants this all to end. I think every time you kill him, he hopes he'll stay dead, once and for all. I wish I could make you understand what it's like to be that… alone." Isabel looked back to the glass roses. Fragile, beautiful, and sharp. "He keeps you in the wings until he's done suffering through another pointless cycle. Then, he lets you kill him. Same with all the Belmonts. Same with the Helsing family. He doesn't want to live like this either…"

His voice was quiet, she felt a pang of hurt from him, hollowing out his anger. "And you are certain of this..?"

"I saw the moment he became the first vampire. I saw him as a man, however many thousands of years ago - drinking the blood of his murdered lost love. I've seen all his triumphs, all his failures… I know his pain. I've seen every world he has once called home, and lost.. I know the cruelty he's suffered, and the cruelty he's dealt in kind. That's why I've come to feel the way I do for him… I know him. I know more about his past than I do about my own," she said with a half-laugh. "So, yes. I'm certain."

Looking back to him, Isabel watched Adrian as he struggled with what she was saying. But when he didn't interrupt to call her a liar, she continued. "But he still has hope. Hope that even after all this time, he might not have to always be alone. Hope there might be another kind of life for him. All he's known is loss. Death. Hate. Every attempt to love and be loved has been a lie or been snatched away from him. I have to try to be something other than that. Even if it means I lose my stupid little life, I have to try to bring him something else." She turned her back to him again, feeling the tears sting her eyes and not wanting to cry in front of the stoic vampire. "That's why I can't leave. That's why I can't walk out that door. I have to try." Isabel laughed again, sarcastically at herself. "Even if it's for a hot second before I die when my heart fucking explodes."

A hand on her shoulder and she turned - shocked at the gesture.

"I hope… for all our sakes… you are successful."

Isabel paused for a moment, in surprise, and looked at him curiously. The expression on his face was unreadable, and like his father - he was the storm beneath a glass surface. "Does... this... mean you'll agree?" She was afraid to ask.

Adrian paused, looked upon the stained glass window that cast the colored shards of light upon the lush carpet and marble floor. Finally, he nodded. "But I will leave only once he moves this place away." Adrian paused, before finishing his thought. "And I would speak to him before I go."

Isabel hugged him - she couldn't help it. He seemed shocked, holding his arms as if he was afraid to touch her. She knew how to hug people without letting their skin touch. She felt one of his gloved hands settle on her back - his means of returning the gesture.

"Thank you, Chuckles…"

"Stop calling me that." She could hear the smile in his voice - glad for some routine in the angst.

"Oh!" Isabel pushed away from him. "I almost forgot." Walking to the stone bench, she picked up a silver dagger in a hilt from the surface, and turned to hand it to him. "You gave me this, and Vlad told me it was a gift to you from your mother. You should have it back."

When she held it out to him, he placed his hand on hers, and curled her fingers back around the hilt. "No. It was a gift and I do not give such things lightly." His voice was soft again, a rare gentle moment from the icy figure. "It is blessed, and capable of ending his life. Should you ever need to do such…"

Isabel looked down at it - and could only smile faintly. He couldn't help but try to protect everyone, even if it was hopeless. So, she looked up at him with the same slight smile. "Thank you."

"You are welcome. Now… I think I will go seek the priest. He and I have words to exchange." Adrian turned to leave her, walking towards the door at the end of the corridor. "Perhaps the castle will be more amicable in its construction, now that we come to an accord."

"I wouldn't be surprised," she replied to him as he opened the large wood door. "See you soon. … Chuckles."

He only shook his head, and she could catch the faintest smirk on his lips as he shut the door behind him.

---

Isabel hadn't made it two steps past the door before she heard his voice inside her head.

Come.

Isabel winced, feeling the command run to her very soul, and she sighed, and quipped back at him in her mind. Quit calling me like I'm a dog.

Silence was her response, and she walked to the other door and knew that no matter where the door had originally run - it would now run straight to him. The castle obeyed its master, after all.

Sure enough, a twist of the knob and she found herself in a hallway that made her steps falter. This was the crypt that Tim had brought her to - the crest on the old wooden door was Dracula's. It had been pushed open, and flickering torchlight from inside the room cast strange shadows on the stone floor.

"It is safe," she heard his voice - spoken this time, from inside the crypt. It really didn't do much to make her less nervous. "Come here," he said, now clearly irritated at the delay.

The order was again - simple. His voice still drove straight through her to soul - reminding her exactly how ever-present he really was in her world, now. A bird in a cage. He always called her a 'little dove.' For a moment, she felt the debate renew, sparked by Adrian's words. That she was only under some kind of spell. Isabel admitted it, at least to herself now - that she had fallen in love with him. Was it real? Did it matter? Love at what cost? Freedom - or him? There would not be both.

Truthfully, she wasn't sure there was even still an option on the table.

She had promised this - that she would try to become his 'companion' - even if she didn't fully understand what that meant. She would do it, to try and save hundreds or thousands of lives. To try and save countless more, if he started a war against humanity itself.

And Eric and Adam were still here. Her friends, her family. There was nothing left for her anywhere else. (And in some strange way, the only things she had left of Tex.)

So what did it matter, if she was in a cage? Isabel struggled with the idea of being a prisoner - but if he opened the door to the castle for her right now, and said 'walk out with my blessings,' she knew she couldn't. She hadn't lied to Adrian - it was too late for that.

He had said it himself, when he, in a perfectly round-about way, admitted that he cared for her too much to end her life to spare himself inevitable suffering. He would be her life, or her death, no matter how it panned out.

So now, there was no point in disobeying him. Why dig her heels in? What was the point? Isabel prided herself on being sensible, logical, rational. When one was beset by emotions from all side, you need any kind of rock to hold onto. So she honed it like a blade, to cut through the madness of having so many extra emotions rushing through her at all times.

After all that crossed her mind in a flash of a moment, she swallowed nervously and walked into the crypt. Vlad stood in its center, watching as she entered the room, eyes glinting in the torchlight. When she had been here yesterday - only one torch was lit. Now, they all danced their light across the glass and stone. For the first time, she saw the room in its entirety.

It made her want to cry. Or throw up. Or both.

At first, she wondered why Vlad had brought her here - but the reasoning suddenly rang through her like a bell. He wanted to show her, on his terms, the path to what she was meant to become. What she was meant to transcend. The path that had brought him here.

She took a few, tentative steps forward, feeling the weight of it all press against her. All she wanted to do was turn around, take his hand and have him take her away from here. From them. But this had to happen. She had to know.

The room felt like an old, stone and dirt cellar of any old building. It was hard to imagine how far down into the depths of the labyrinth they must be - if location ever actually mattered in a place like Dracula's castle. A puddle of blood - dried, but dark brown against the floor, was all that remained of Tim and the knife she put through his throat. She wondered if he was truly dead - being a companion and all - or if he woke up here, in a place like this.

Another matter for another time. Forcing herself to stop focusing on the distractions, she looked back to the coffins. One after another after another, of various ages and styles. But all of them were made of glass. All of them deprived of privacy for their death and decay. Glass coffins always struck her as perfect example of how a person's ego could manifest in the weirdest of ways. Either because they were unable to accept the fact of death, unable to let go, or accept that things - including their loved ones - would rot. But for Vlad… this was not some selfish way to cling to those that lay within them. This was to remind him of his failures.

Even for as long as they had laid there, their minds pressed against hers. Ghosts. Great. Now that she focused on them, she felt like she was standing in a crowd. Listen! See! Isabel's breath quickened as she struggled to keep them from overtaking her, right then and there. Shutting her eyes, she could feel them reaching for her. Like the statue had done.

Join us, sister. Listen to us. See us. See what he has done.

It wasn't voices in her mind - not like Dracula could do. No, this was a feeling. An overwhelming sensation of words expressed. Flashes of imagery, colors, memories, a hug, a hello, a cried greeting from a balcony. A wave. Smiling, tearful greetings at a wake or a funeral.

It wasn't malignant. It wasn't with intent to harm. They didn't want to hurt her.

Join us, sister.

It wasn't a threat. They didn't want her to die like they had. They wanted to know, and be known.

Isabel laced her hands together across the back of her neck, and lowered her head, feeling their closeness. This wasn't the first time that she had come in contact with ghosts. Hardly. Anytime there was someone 'there and not there,' this would happen.

It's not like she could ever see them, or actually hear them. She could just feel their emotions like anyone else. It took her many years to learn how to interpret what it was they were trying to say - and to stop having a panic attack every time it happened.

Isabel opened her eyes after a long moment and let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Turning to look back at Dracula, he seemed… uncomfortable. He was looking past her - down the rows of the dozens of corpses he had placed here, one by one, and seemed to be listening to his own ghosts. Those, undoubtedly, were less exterior than hers.

Isabel had once kicked her way into his mind - dragged him through the muck and mire of his lost loves. His loneliness. But not a single one of these women were part of those memories. These were all the 'could have been's. The ones who died, suffering through what was about to be her future.

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides - and it took a long moment before his red eyes flicked to hers. The stoic expression on his face flashed through a litany of shame, hatred, loss, anger… then back to nothing as quickly as it had come. He was in turmoil, rolling through a sea of something that she couldn't put a finger on. It wasn't just being faced with his failures - it wasn't just being reminded of every time he lost. It was something else. "What's wrong..?" she asked, her voice sounding impossibly small in the crypt.

In the flickering light, his red eyes glinted like torches of their own. He spoke, his voice quiet, carrying in the silence of the tomb broken only by the burning crackle of the torches in their sconces. The words were cold - but the sorrow that burned away in him made her heart crack. Some of it was for him - most of it was for those that surrounded her.

"I do not remember them all…"

The air, despite its chill was thick with memories, thick with the past. It was like being in a pool of it - so powerful it crackled in the air around her. So many times he had done this - so many times he had tried, and failed. He could not remember each one - not every name, not every death...

Isabel shut her eyes again as both his mind, and those of the dead crashed against her. Their agony - his loss. Opening her eyes and letting out a breath… she decided it was time to do what she knew she had to do - but dreaded. To see. To listen.

She walked to one of the glass coffins, one that seemed to call out to her, and she pulled the glove from her hand. Hovering her hand over the glass, she took a breath in, then out - trying to prepare herself.

The glass was cold under her touch as she laid her fingers gently on the ancient container. It was a beautiful piece of work - carefully and meticulously framed in metal. All thoughts of craftsmanship were pushed aside as the vision played out in front of her.

Oh God above, they've all left me! They are sacrificing me!

The memory in front of her was several hundred years old. It was hard to tell, when all peasant clothing probably looked the same for almost a thousand years. The woods around them were dark, pressing in around them like a void that chittered and chirped with insects, animals and danger.

She had awoken, tied to a stake in the middle of the clearing, dressed in the only nice white gown the village had managed to dig up. Her blonde hair fell around her shoulders in beautiful curls and waves. The girl had been drugged at a dinner the night prior by the town elders. This was their way of 'placating the demon king.'

A single torch, shoved into the ground nearby, was her only source of light. The only source of keeping the woods at bay. Wolves howled in the distance, and she let out a shriek of fear. She was terrified of the dark. Had been since she was a little girl. "Help!" she cried out - but knew no one would come to her. "Please, help!"

In a swirl of darkness, he appeared. Standing across the clearing from the beautiful girl, watching her as she pulled on the ropes that secured her wrists to the post over her head. Upon seeing him, she screamed, her struggle becoming frantic, like prey in a trap. And that, she was meant to become.

"Be still," he commanded, his voice tearing through her like a white-hot branding iron. In its wake, she was left stunned, agog. Unable to do anything but obey. She stood still, wrapt, watching the regal monster before her with wide, terrified green eyes.

He approached her, and she felt her soul quake at his presence. His long, white hair flowed around his shoulders, his pale skin only barely a different shade. The red eyes of the vampire bored into her - through her - as she trembled.

His hand reached up to the ropes that bound her wrist, and he undid them with a careful ease, releasing her hands. She clasped her hands close to her chest, back still pressing against the wood post.

"You are free," he said to her, quietly.

That was not what she had expected. She had expected him to murder her - to take her and do horrible things - to feed her to the monsters that hunted the forests amongst the wolves and trees. Not to gently release her hands, and then… release her.

But where would she go?

If she returned to the town, they would burn her for being a witch, she was certain. No one returned from this - no one came back from being an offering to the devil himself.

If she ran, she wouldn't make it far. She was not educated like the elders, who could read and write, but she was not stupid.

But would it be better to die in the forests at the teeth of wolves than at the hand of the devil himself? Her eyes darted off to the darkness beyond - and she felt her soul quake with terror at the idea of walking into those trees. Alone.

She shook her head frantically, shrinking back to be as small as she could make herself. No, no, please no. Kill her here, kill her now, not like that… anything but the darkness.

"Very well," was all he responded, as they disappeared in a rush of flame.

She died, barely a month later, her body wracked in pain and terror as it felt like her blood burned inside her. As her mind hollowed out to nothingness and finally surrendered to the darkness she feared so much. Screaming, begging for pity, for mercy, for the light to take her as he looked down upon her in regret.

Isabel pulled her hand from the coffin and chewed on her lip, feeling the woman's own fear recede from her mind like a bad dream. She didn't look back at Vlad - knew she would find no solace in him - so simply moved to another casket. Another touch, and another story.

Her sinewy legs were wrapped around his waist he knelt amongst the pillows and cushions in front of the fire. He filled her to the brim, and she wanted more. Moving her skin against his, she felt him crush her against his chest, felt the cold marble under her ripple as he withdrew, only to fill her again.

One of his arms slung around her lower back, the other hand squeezing her ample breast in between strong fingers. Teeth descended onto her neck, and she cried out in joy as pleasure rushed her body at his deadly kiss. The fire of his touched delighted her. The fire of his blood consumed her. And now she lay alone in the cold.

Isabel moved to the next casket.

Drop by drop.

Drop by drop.

Drop by drop he took her life. And she took his.

The clothes pegged this as somewhere around the 17th century - when 'science' was a laugh riot by any modern means. But the science of the castle had always been far more advanced, far more gifted than leeches or trepanning.

The girl, red hair like fire, spirit to match, was sitting in a chair, her arm strapped to it - not to hold her there, but simply to make it easier upon the 'doctor.' The monster - or whatever he was - who was carefully and gently working the needle into her arm. Do not harm the mistress, the doctor knew. Or you die.

Her blood was being taken out - siphoned carefully into a gold gilt container. Bit by bit, day after day, he took the smallest amounts from her, and drank it from a chalice with the greatest of reverence. Her king, her lover, her master. She was dedicated to him, mind body and soul. He would have her in any way he deemed her worthy.

And he wanted her by her side for all eternity. So she would throw herself to the inferno of hell to see it done. She looked up at him, adoringly, as he stood beside her, a finger toying with one of the long curls of her hair.

Once he had emptied the chalice, he put his finger into his mouth, pierced the skin of his fingertip with his tooth, and held it out, over her. She opened her mouth, obedient - ready - wanting it more than anything. Wanting him more than anything.

Drop by drop, he said. Perhaps then, it would not take her life. Without his eternal kiss, instead by filter and machine. Perhaps then, it would not poison her.

Months, it took her to die. Burning in the inferno.

And she would do it all again, if he ever asked it of her.

Isabel shook her head free of the cobwebs as she pulled her hand from the glass. She wanted to curl into herself - wanted to go sit in some dark place in quiet away from all of this. That was enough. She had seen enough.

Rubbing both hands over her face, she let out a wavering breath and turned to look over at Vlad - who stood, stock-still, watching her with a muddled expression of concern and defiance.

"Do you regret any of it?" she asked - unsure where the question came from. Maybe from her, maybe from the women still around her, pressing close to her.

"Of course. But, I have long learned not to spend my thoughts upon regret. Lest I be utterly consumed with that, and nothing else." He turned his gaze from her, to the coffins in the walls. He walked up to one, and laid a hand on the glass, as she had done moments prior. As if he almost wanted to share in what she had seen - to remember. To touch them once more. "I have enough to spill over even the countless lives I have lived."

Isabel walked up to him, slowly, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts as he looked down at the dessicated corpse within the glass, empty sockets looking back up at him in silence.

"Your words… to my son…" he said quietly, his voice barely a whisper. "They were spoken truth. This is a mistake I will make, again and again… This is a failure I cannot escape. The alternative, I cannot accept… To persist, like this… alone… without ever having hope of anything else, I-"

She had never heard him at a loss for words like that, never heard him unable to express himself. Isabel finally reached his side, and slipped her hand into his other one, lacing her fingers through his, as she looked up at him.

His eyes shut at her touch, and he lowered his head, his dark hair obscuring his features as he stood there, overwhelmed with the loss that filled his past, overwhelmed by the loss in his future.

"Hey," she tried to break him out of it. "Let's go… I think I've seen as much as I can handle."

He nodded, lifting his head and his stature was once again the king, and not a man, crushed by the weight of his world. Red eyes looked down to her, and she felt him squeeze her hand, if barely, in return. A thank you, for the reprieve.

A roar of fire, and they were gone. Back to his chambers, where they had been several hours prior. It was such a relief, to be somewhere less… crowded.

Although, they were not entirely alone.

"My lord," a voice came from close to the door. She turned - and couldn't hide the startled look on her face. A vampire, judging by the skin color and demeanor, dressed in garb that looked like that of an 18th century french noble. Seeing the look on her face, he bowed deep at the waist. "Forgive the intrusion, my lady."

She'd never get used to being called 'lady.' It made her snicker every time.

"I was perfectly clear that I was not to be disturbed," Dracula snarled angrily at the other vampire, and stepped towards him, with the clear intent to smear him all over the walls.

"Your command, Master-" the french vampire took a step back, his hands raised. "Was to find you, immediately, upon finding Lord Maverick's bonded mortal."

That stopped the advance of the vampire king. Vlad pulled up short, and growled low in his throat. "Speak."

The frenchman nodded, but was nervous, shifting on his feet. "It is hard to explain, my Lord. I believe you must… see him for yourself."

Another annoyed noise from the older vampire, before responding. "Very well. Allow me a moment, and I will join you."

"Of course, my Master. We are in the main library." And with a bow, the younger vampire was gone in a swirl of mist.

Isabel had been chewing on her lip for the duration of the short conversation. "What do you mean, they 'found Tim?' Did we lose him? I mean, I put a knife in his throat. I know things around here don't stay dead but..."

"He was not there upon returning, and could not be found," Vlad stated, matter-of-factly.

"You didn't think to mention this?" Oh great! The psychotic, can-apparently-possess-people, hive-mind collection of dead people's souls was on the loose. No cause for alarm.

Vlad turned to look at her with an arched eyebrow. "Am I to report to you, now?"

"After what he tried to do? After what he did? I thought-" she saw quickly this line of reasoning wasn't going to get her anywhere. The look on his face said as much. "Never mind," she finished with a defeated sigh.

"I will return shortly."

"Wait-" Isabel started, and took a step towards him. "I… I feel like I should go. If they found Tim, I owe him an explanation - an apology."

Vlad's jaw twitched once, as he looked down at her with his usual dour impassiveness. "It would put you into needless danger."

"I won't wander off. I won't leave your side, I promise." Isabel insisted. "And besides - if he's still possessed by Wraith, I'm probably the only one who can tell he's still in there," she pointed out.

Vlad looked off, thought for a moment, then shook his head as he spoke. "As you wish. But this is a needless risk." He held out his hand to her, and she took it - stepping into him. It was becoming a familiar routine. He looked down at her with a faint smirk, as if he too were reflecting on how comfortable she was becoming with his presence. But, he said nothing.

In a roar of fire, the room was gone - and reappeared instead as an elaborate, golden library. Rows of books, instruments of study - and a gigantic, slowly rotating 'orrery' model of the… well, it wasn't the solar system, so she wasn't sure what it was meant to represent. Vlad left her to ponder it, or rather, stare up at it in awe… especially when she noticed it wasn't suspended by anything, instead just floating there magically.

"I do not believe you will be able to apologize to him after all," she heard him say from across the room.

As she finally looked to where he was standing - she felt her stomach drop. "Oh, Tim…" she said quietly as she followed after him, and took in the scene in front of her.

Several people stood about in small clusters, including the frenchman vampire who had come to deliver the news. Two faces she recognized in the group - Maverick and Aria. She smiled at them faintly, but they were distracted… by Tim.

Who was nailed to the wall.

Standing, pinned by two pieces of broken wood - which clearly came from an up-ended and shattered table nearby, he was pinned there like an insect collector would pin a prize beatle. One stake of wood through each shoulder. Blood had soaked the front of his shirt and down his jeans - but he was alive, and breathing.

His eyes were… open. But he was staring, lifelessly - straight ahead, his head slumped to one side like he were limp. Indeed, if it weren't for the stakes of wood holding him to the lavishly wallpapered, bloodied surface, he would have fallen.

Next to him on the wall, smeared in blood over the gilt wallpaper, read 'MINE NOW' in large, handwritten streaks.

She walked past Vlad, who let her approach the man pinned to the wall. His blood had a metallic, raw smell that made her nose twinge. Isabel stopped about two feet away - enough distance that if he moved, she would be safe. But something told her that would not be a problem.

He was… hollow.

"I don't… feel anything from him," she glanced back at Vlad. "The lights are on, but nobody's home."

"Excuse me?"

"A turn of phrase, m'lord," a vampire tried to provide helpfully from one side. "It means-" A snarl from Dracula silenced the man instantly.

Isabel stepped closer, and took the glove off her right hand. Reaching out, she touched Tim's bare arm - and…. Nothing happened. No rush of memories, no feelings - no visions. And she knew it wasn't because she could 'suddenly touch people.' "He's awake. Conscious. But nobody's inside. Wraith's not here. But neither is Tim…"

"Are you able to discern what happened to him? " Maverick asked her as he walked to her side, looking up at the vacant body of his companion. 'Bonded mortal' - whatever they wanted to call it.

Isabel let out a wavering breath, and reaching up with her bare hand, grabbed hold of one of the wooden table legs that kept Tim's body trapped against the wall. As her hand met the wood, she felt the vision take her over.

A hand was next to hers on the wood stake as she saw into the memory imprinted on the object. Turning her head, and looking at the man who had done the deed. Long, red hair that reached his shoulders. Piercing blue eyes. Perfect features, marred by a sadistic, fanged grin. A vampire. "I know you're watching, baby girl…" he purred.

Isabel froze. There was no mistaking that tone of voice. Wraith. In a different body.

"Don't you worry," he said with a smile, pushing the wooden object further into the limp body of Tim. "I'm not really here. You're just watching the instant replay." He took a step back, and picked up the other table leg that was lying on the floor, and flipped it over in his hand a few times, end-over-end, like a juggling club.

"Tim's in here now, with the rest of us-" he said as he tapped his temple with a thin finger. "I ate him, when I ditched that dumb ride for something… a bit more my speed." He stepped forward and rammed the wooden leg in through Tim's other shoulder. It made a sickening noise as it tore through sinew and bone. It almost sounded like a thick knife going into a watermelon. The wet sound of an inner structure being forced apart.

Isabel tried not to blanch as he leaned his weight into the shard of wood, pushing it further through Tim's limp, lifeless body with a 'shlurp' and into the wall beyond. Tim was awake - alive - but there was no one there, no consciousness to register the pain.

Wraith - in the body of some unfortunate vampire - was now licking the blood off of his fingers slowly, luxuriously enjoying the sensation.

"Didn't want you to think I'd forgotten about you, sweet thing," he said as he finished. Wraith's voice turned dark as he flashed a vicious grin one more. "I'll be seeing you around… real soon."

Isabel had seen enough, and she pulled her hand from the wooden stake. Despite her best attempts to mask what she had seen, she knew she was pale - and she quickly pulled her glove back onto her hand to help hide the fact that it was trembling.

"What did you see?" Maverick asked - insistent, but not rude.

"Tim's… gone." Isabel paused for a moment before elaborating. "Wraith can jump bodies. I saw him in the body of a vampire I don't recognize. Long red hair, blue eyes, medium frame. He… took Tim's soul - mind - whatever you want to call it - with him as he went…" Isabel looked up at the empty husk of the former companion and felt her heart crack. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault," she said, quietly to the man who could not - nor would he ever - hear her words. "You didn't deserve this."

"This is not your fault," Maverick corrected gently. "Because of you, perhaps - but you had no part to play in this. Not a willing one, at the very least." Maverick shot a pointed glare at Vlad.

"I will excuse the insult, Maverick," Dracula responded with a dangerous edge to his tone. "For sake of your loss. But I will not excuse another."

Maverick's jaw clenched and he looked back to his former friend, pinned to the wall, and sighed. He reached out, and placed his hand on Tim's shoulder, and gave it a light squeeze. Saying farewell. Isabel felt the grief in him, the carefully contained pain. He was a 'gentleman' after all, and showing such things outwardly would be distasteful. Maverick turned to look at Vlad after a long moment. "His body will have to be destroyed."

"We can bring him to the forges beneath the castle," the frenchman vampire from before stepped forward to assist, a look of sympathy on his regal, gentry-born features. He was so very clearly 'from the castle,' and not one from the 'outside world' like Maverick. It was fascinating to see the two stand side-by-side in contrast. Both gentlemen, from ages long since gone. Both vampires, never to age. But one was left out to weather in the storm of the world, the other kept in a veritable time capsule in the Castle. She wondered idly which one thought they were the lucky one.

A thought occurred to her suddenly. The forge? "Is that how you… uh... " Isabel trailed off, not knowing how to finish her question.

"Release of someone who is bound to our blood?" the frenchman said with a faint, sad smile. "Yes, my lady… they must be reduced to ash, I am afraid."

"Ah," she replied, and didn't really know what else to do with that. It made her uncomfortable, to think that Tim would suffer that fate - but leaving him like this to waste away was worse. But that it was the only way 'release' someone from their blood-bound state to a vampire… meant that if she didn't die in the process, there really was no way out.

It's not like she thought there ever was an open door for her. Some loophole. Some escape clause. But every time she found another way blocked, it darkened her world just a little bit more. Another nail in the literal coffin.

It still broke her heart, seeing Tim like this. They met in the worst of circumstances - with him kidnapping her, and her putting a bullet through his chest. And now, they said farewell in the worst of circumstances.

Isabel looked to Maverick, and wished she could fully explain what it was that she felt - but instead, could only say "I'm sorry…" The words were a pitiful attempt at explaining the breadth of 'sorry' she felt, but she hoped it would make due.

Maverick reached a hand out to her, meaning to put it on her shoulder. But Vlad still insisted she remain sleeveless - and his realized his mistake. He lowered his hand with a small shake of his head. "Thank you, Isabel. He was a dear friend. I will miss him. But such is our curse - to see those we care for fade away. Even if we may attempt to keep them alongside us for a time, it is oft a futile effort. We are creatures of blood - and such things follow us wherever we go." Maverick just barely smiled at her, more of a feeling than an expression. "But I fear you already know that."

It is time to go, she heard the vampire king echo into her head. She returned the faint smile at Maverick, and turned to walk back to Dracula. He held his hand out to her, and she took it, letting him pull her in close to him. She felt dwarfed by his massive frame, as she always did - and felt his mind curl around her like a cloak.

"Take care, Isabel," Maverick said before they disappeared in a roar of fire.

They reappeared - but not in his quarters as she had expected. This time, they were outdoors. It looked like some sort of garden, but it was small - walled in on all sides by the castle. Like a courtyard, she realized.

The sky was clear overhead, shining with stars that would have been blotted out by the light pollution of Boston. Instead, without the myriad of street lamps and city lights to marr the sky, the stars shone brightly. The moon was new, leaving them in darkness save for a few lightly burning torches in sconces along the columns that surrounded the courtyard garden.

Statuary - beautiful, mournful and twisted, stood amongst their leafy companions of shrubs, roses, flowering trees, and bushes. The walkway was entirely white marble, in stark contrast to the shadows cast by the dim lighting.

Dracula walked forward, still holding her hand, pulling her along with him as he lead her through the small courtyard. It was almost romantic. For a moment, she could have been fooled that they were lovers, sneaking away for a kiss. That this was normal. That they weren't a vampire king and a lost empath.

She realized it was arranged somewhat like an old maze - or a labyrinth. Too small to become lost, but the curved benches and marble-lined raised beds for the gardens created a sort of concentric circle pattern, leading towards the middle.

The center was a fountain - but not at all like the one she saw in her nightmares. This one was a classical, tiered construction, with water quietly bubbling over the edges, down to the basin beneath.

"What, no blood?" Isabel dryly observed.

Dracula looked back at her with a smirk, and then led her to the benches that ran alongside the fountain.

"Why're we here?" she asked curiously. "Not that I'm complaining for some fresh air."

"In the dream in which we first met - when you found me at the piano, do you remember?"

Isabel chuckled. How could she forget that? "You chased me through a garden," she replied. And then blinked, putting it together. "Oh. It looked a lot like this." She never would have thought that the King of Vampires would be 'sentimental,' but yet, it seemed so.

"That is where our chase began." He guided her to sit down on the bench in front of him. Without any real reason to disagree, she did so. He released her hand then, and she put them down on the bench next to her, feeling the cool marble underneath her touch, even through the gloves.

His red eyes glinted like embers, his pale features seeming even more so in the faint starlight. His next words were not cruel, but they felt like it. "And here, is where I would like it to end."

Fear suddenly gripped her, and she moved to recoil - but he placed a hand on one of her shoulders, his thumb against the side of her neck, and watched her carefully. Scrutinizing her reaction as he spoke. "We had an accord, little dove… did we not?"

Isabel swallowed, and looked away from his gaze - that always seemed to look through her. He was right. This was their deal. If he let her speak to Adrian, to convince him to leave - then she would willingly try to become his 'companion.' But it made it no less terrifying.

His hand slid gently up her neck, and then pressed his thumb just slightly into the bruise along her jaw. She winced, and glared up at him, her fear muted for a moment by her defiance. He smirked, having received the reaction he was looking for, but the amusement faded as quickly as it had come. "Let me heal you."

Her mind was reeling again, trying to find a way out. Trying to find an escape. "I… may I ask some questions first?"

Vlad shut his eyes, shook his head. "You are stalling." He moved without warning, the hand at her jawline moved to her shoulder, pressing her down onto the bench. Her cracked rib reminded her of its existence acutely and abruptly, and she catched her breath painfully in her lungs. She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to tell her muscles to stop twitching, it just makes it worse.

When she was able to focus on anything other than the searing pain in her side, she opened her eyes to find that he was once again looming over her - one knee between her legs as he half-knelt on the marble bench, looking down at her with a predatory, curious expression.

One of his hands went to the bench beside her head, and he lowered himself down towards her - just as he had done in the dream where they had first met. A low noise in his throat - somewhere between a growl and a purr, and he leaned his head down towards her ear, and kissed the bruise that ran up along her jaw.

Isabel couldn't help it - she was trembling. From pain, from exhaustion - but mostly from him. He knew it, and she felt his lips curl into a smile against her skin as he moved his lips to her ear. "You have three questions…" he whispered to her.

Shit. Now she had to come up with questions. He pulled his head back to look down at her with an arched eyebrow - challenging her silence. Isabel knew he wasn't stupid - he knew quite well she was just pointlessly buying time. Delaying the inevitable.

"You die, and then return. … A lot," she said, barely above a whisper. One of her hands had found its way to his shirt and vest as he had moved in close to her - and she kept it there, tangled in the fabric. Half clinging to him, half pushing him away. "If this works-" which it probably won't, she added silently to herself, "And you 'die,' what happens to me?

"I do not know," he admitted. "I have never successfully bound another to my life. That is your first question."

Isabel knew he was, in no small way, enjoying her fear. Enjoying that even still the 'chase had ended,' she was prey. "Why not just turn me into a vampire, then?" Isabel had wondered that for some time.

"Twofold. First, you would be unable to be such a thing, with your innate gift… It would drive you mad, I believe, to drink from others." He replied, his free hand running a finger along her jawline, moving slowly to trace a pointed nail along the swell of her bottom lip. Her breath hitched as he did. "Perhaps it is a selfish desire. I will spend my eternity in the cold, my little dove. I do not wish to share my coffin with another corpse. I wish to have one bound to me, as I am to them... Not a creature created from my blood, lesser to myself." He leaned down, and let his lips take the place of his finger, kissing her slowly. She couldn't help but kiss him back, even through her fear. As he let the kiss break as slowly as it had began, he smirked down at her. "That was your second question…"

How is it that he could fill her with such dread and excitement, all at once?

Isabel knew he never lied to her, she would give him that much credit. He knew how pointless it was with her gift allowing her to see through any lie, but, even still, it seemed his way, to be truthful. So it made her very much not want to ask the next question. "Is it going to hurt?"

He grinned at her, enjoying the innocence of her question. "As it progresses… yes. It becomes a poison. But at first it, it is euphoric. Addicting. Indeed, it is… intoxicating. I am eager to see your reaction," he said ponderously.

It looked as though he wanted to eat her whole. She didn't doubt that he could.

"That… was your third and last question. Now, where were we?" he said, a low rumble in his chest. "You thought perhaps you could distract me, away from the matter at hand?" He said with a pleased grin, enjoying his own pun. Vlad placed the palm of his left hand over her cracked rib, and she hissed in pain as the skin lit up like a thousand needles prickled beneath her blouse. And he hadn't even pressed down.

"Funny, asshole," she growled at him. "I don't-"

His hand was suddenly at the back of her neck, pulling her head to his, and he was kissing her - exploring her with his tongue. It was a hunger. A need. A need to fill the void. The hope to replace the emptiness. A reminder that she was different. She was strong. More than any other that came before. A hope that those words were true.

A hunger for her warmth. Her life. He broke the kiss, slowly, his teeth grazing her lip as he pulled away from her. The hand in her hair slid to her chin, and he ran the tip of a pointed nail along the line of her lower lip again, tracing the pink skin, now swollen from his attentions.

"I remind you that you must be a willing partner in this..." he muttered to her quietly, more a rumble in his chest than a whisper. The finger that traced her lip now ran along her jawline, before slowly running his hand through her hair, nails barely brushing against her scalp. "You are a powerful mind. Stronger willed than most I have met, in my thousands of years. I have no doubt that if you fight the poison, you will die. Your body would consume itself before your mind would surrender, I expect."

His hand was now at her collarbone, at the neckline of her blouse, his nails running a slow circle along her skin. It sent a chill down her spine, and she felt her body get hot and cold all at once. She shut her eyes, relishing it, shifting against him, feeling her own desire flare. Isabel could feel his own through his touch into her mind. Not just for her body - but for all of her.

He could turn her into putty in his hands so easily. She felt burned away in the heat of his caress, destroying any defiance she might have felt. Equal halves of her were screaming for him, and for her to run. But it was too late for that. She had made her decisions. She had cut her deals, stalled for time. The time for that was over. Maybe that was the influence of his mind on hers - the feeling of his touch and his presence that enwrapped her just beyond his touch, his cool skin on hers.

Without a word, he slipped the gloves from her hands, then the blouse from her body was next, slipping it up and over her head and discarded to the ground. It exposed her bruise, and the cool touch of air on her damaged skin was both wonderful, and painful at the same time. He let his hand trace along her bruise, careful not to cause too much pain. She jolted at his touch all the same.

He spoke again, his voice low, a base rumble. "How beautiful… And you are mine." Isabel felt it hard to focus as his hand drifted again to the base of her neck, and she felt his thumb on her throat, and she knew he could feel her heartbeat beneath his fingertips. His cool skin against hers which seemed to grow hotter every second.

He shifted, narrowing the distance between them as he slid closer to her. She felt his body press against hers, and felt his cold breath against her ear as he growled low in his chest. Isabel could feel his hunger consuming him, and knew that it was her he wanted to sate it. In more ways than one. "I can taste your fear…" A shiver ran down her spine at his words - at how much he enjoyed what he could bring out in her. How much he wanted to love her, and yet… hunt her. Consume her. He would forever be the wolf, and she the deer. "Let me erase the damage that has been done by another. I wish to decorate your flesh with my own marks…"

Rational thought fled her mind for a moment as she let out a shuddering gasp as his nails traced dangerously down her side, teasing the edge of the bruise, and coming to rest against her hip. He was overwhelming - and she didn't stand a chance. For every part of her mind that still screamed that this was dangerous, every other part drowned it out with her own desire. He was terrifying. A spectre in the woods, a figure that would chase her - overcome her time and time again - and she loved it. God help her. She wanted to feel him take her.

Isabel tilted her head away slightly, revealing her neck to him. For the first time, she invited him to feed from her. For the first time, she admitted to herself that she needed it. And knew another part of her was now his. She had given him her body, her heart, and now her mind. Only the soul remained.

Another growl rumbled deep in Vlad's chest, and she felt his pure ecstasy at her willing surrender. The hand against her hip pulled her against him, pressing him into her, and she felt the desire already forming hard against her body. Isabel wasn't given a moment to process it, though, as his fangs pierced her skin.

Isabel cried out as the sharp pain turned quickly into something else. With the low tempo of her heart beat, the pain flashed into pleasure as his heart began to beat in time with hers. It was the only time he had a pulse - when he fed. She heard the low, primal purr deep in his chest as he drank from her. It felt like it had gone on for minutes, although she was sure not nearly that much time had passed. Slowly, he pulled away from her neck, and she felt his tongue run lazy circles around the mark, licking up what little blood he had spilt.

Her head swam as he slowly pulled away. He straightened up, still with one knee on the bench. She watched as he undid the buttons of his shirt, and pulled the fabric apart, baring his pale, muscular chest. Putting a hand to his collarbone, he ran the sharp nail of his pointer finger against the skin. Isabel watched as the line turned red, and began to seep the dark red blood of the vampire. Some of that is mine, she observed idly.

He reached his hand out to her, and she placed her hand tentatively in his. Gently, supporting her back with his other hand, he pulled her up to him. Isabel knelt, both knees on the bench, looking up at him. She paused, unsure - her breath quick, her head still swimming.

But, he did not force her - his hand stayed on her neck, but it was clear the choice was hers to make.

This was the end of the path for her. She let her hands rest against his chest, and she leaned in, kissing the pale skin of his collarbone gently. His hand stroked her hair. The smell of his blood was different than what had been spilt by Tim. She couldn't place it at all.

There was no returning from this. But the decision had been made long ago. She couldn't refuse him - what was the point?

When she let herself tentatively, shyly lick along the red line, she heard Vlad moan, low in his throat - and glancing up at him, his head was back, eyes shut.

The liquid tasted odd - not like she'd expect. Not the salty, metallic taste of her own blood. Isabel realized the feeling she was starting to sense growing inside her was her own hunger - that some deep part of her wanted this. Something primal in her was calling out for it, now that the first drop had passed her lips.

Isabel felt something else in her take over - some other instinct took command as she began to hungrily drink from him. Vlad moaned again, and she felt his fingers tangle in her hair, as he held her head to him, his moan turning to a low snarl as she fed.

The line between them muddied as she drank - feeling both the sensation of his hot blood against her lips and his pleasure as it fled his body. The feeling of his skin against her hand, the feeling of her hot lips against his body. With a snap - the link was broken. She whimpered as he pulled her head back from the wound.

"No-" she murmured, but her words were cut silent as he kissed her, and she could feel the desire and hunger still rampaging within him. The taste of his own blood in his mouth, the taste of hers mingled within his.

Enough for now, my pet…

Even though she was no longer drinking from him - her head wouldn't clear. Isabel suddenly felt… high. She had never done drugs before in her life - tried weed once or twice, sure. But never the 'hard stuff' they saw on the road all the time. That said, she had once been given opiates to treat a broken ankle in the jungle when she had to hobble back to the jeep. That warm, fuzzy - detached and buzzing sensation - that's what this felt like. Her body was vibrating with every touch, every feeling, and she just somehow felt more of everything. Everything was… brighter. Sharper. And she wanted more.

His tongue pushed its way possessively past her lips, tangling with her own, as he kissed her with a demanding need. His hand went to her bruised side, and squeezed.

Isabel let out a startled cry, and recoiled from his lips - and realized… it hadn't hurt. He opened his eyes, the smoldering embers of his gaze scorching her. Isabel looked down to the injury - and saw that it was nearly entirely gone. Instead of a dark and angry rainbow of colors, it was now only a barely visible yellow stain on her skin.

He reached behind her now with both hands, undid her bra and slipped it from her body, tossing it aside. He raked a claw across her skin, leaving raised marks as he did, and she hissed in pain through her teeth. "You belong to me now... " he growled. He lowered his head to her, and let his tongue slowly slide along the blood he had drawn. As she watched, the wound underneath… healed. Vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. Then, he arched her backwards, lowering his head and pulled her nipple into his mouth, biting down hard enough to hurt. Isabel cried out as he did, and arched her back into him.

She couldn't deny that it hurt - and couldn't deny that god, it felt good. With his blood still in her body, the lancing moments of pain made it more intense. Every movement of his nails across her skin brought a sharp pain, and then a… tingle, as it healed.

He raised his head from her, and she felt his hand slip up between her breasts, to her mouth, slipping his index finger past her moist, parted lips. She instantly closed her mouth around him, running her tongue in slow circles around his digit, tasting his skin, letting her eyes slip shut at the sensation.

He moaned, deep in his throat. He tilted her back up to meet his kiss, his tongue hungrilly deviling in to ravish her once again.

She wanted more. She wanted to taste more of him. Of his skin. Of everything about him. No - she didn't just want to. She needed to. … She just didn't know what to do. Isabel felt him grin against her, and then his mind echoed inside of hers. Then kneel…

Isabel couldn't describe the feeling that suddenly took over the pit of her stomach - desire, excitement, fear - all of it. It was an empty hole that threatened to fill up with a loss of control that scared her. But it was too late. The rush of his blood tearing through her felt too good to fight. She would fall into that pit happily, if it meant more of him.

Vlad shifted, moving to sit on the bench as she moved with him, feeling unsure and never more sure of anything in her life. She could feel his eyes piercing through her as he watched, hungrily waiting to see if she would again submit to her desire.

There wasn't any other option. She needed it too badly. Her body - her mind - was crying out for him. She sunk down to her knees in front of him and she slipped in closer to him. Despite her inexperience, she wasn't naive. And she had never been terribly 'shy.' And besides - she had the memories of a thousand people running through her mind…

He let her move forward of her own volition. He wanted to see how deep her hunger truly ran - and if it would challenge her conviction. She ran her hands along the fabric of his pants, up towards the bulge that so clearly outlined his own want.

Any shyness, any nervousness was crushed by the pounding of the blood in her veins. She was drunk on him. Drunk on her hunger. By her need to have more of him. If she couldn't have his blood, she'd consume him in other ways.

Running her hand over his erection, she leaned her head in and kissed it over the fabric, and she heard a low growl from him - and could feel his sudden impatience. With little assistance, she worked the clasp to his pants and freed his manhood from its confines. Letting her own desire guide her, she took his hard length in her hand and slowly ran her tongue up along it, tasting his skin.

Vlad hissed in air through his teeth, and she felt him twitch in her hand, felt him - cool against her hot breath, even as it throbbed against her, thrumming with the heartbeat he had borrowed from her. She let her tongue wander along him - her eyes sliding shut as she gave in to the abandon that was pulling her to the edge.

His hand tangled in her hair again as she explored him - her inexperience leading her to wander as she relished her first time doing anything like this. Never once did she imagine she'd ever kiss a man, let alone…

Suddenly, his hand fisted in her hair and he pulled on it, tilting her head back ever so slightly, to look down at her face as she knelt between his legs. She gasped as he did, her lips parted - the pain of the tug felt amazing. Vlad lingered there for a moment, watching her, savoring her, before he loosened his grip, if barely, to let her the freedom to explore him once more. Fingers still tangled in her soft hair.

"You… are truly gorgeous," he said to her, his voice husky and low. "You will ever surprise and delight me…" The words inspired her to be bolder, to let her tongue wander around the tip of his length, swirling around him slowly. Finally, she parted her lips, and slid him into her mouth, moaning quietly, and feeling his skin vibrate with her muffled noise.

With a tight moan in return, his hand gripped her hair again. His hips pressed up towards her - urging her her to take him further. To cease her unintentional teasing. She obliged him, feeling him slip deep into her, her lips sealed around him as he pressed her head down onto him. She felt him pull at her hair, lifting her head along him before pressing her back down. Isabel gave in to the rhythm, embraced it, feeling him push further and further into her mouth with every press - moaning and whimpering as he did. Instinctively, she began to suck on him in time with the motions, and wrapped her hand around what of him was left.

He snarled, his breath choppy and ragged as he fisted her hair tightly. The soft, sultry lips around him threatened to undo him. Yet, she was so oblivious to what she was capable of, innocent to what she could do to him… Unbelieving, perhaps. It made it all the more wonderful. "Nngh… yes… Just like that…"

Isabel felt his mind tangled up in her own. Every time a jolt ran through him, she felt it like it was her own. Every rush of pleasure was hers to share. Their desires were a muddled, blurry mess between them. Who wanted what was meaningless. It made it impossible not to continue.

When he pushed himself deeper into her throat, she resisted the urge to gag - forced herself not to tense as he cut off her air. He held himself there for a long moment, before letting up the pressure on the back of her head. She pulled away from him and gasped, and looked up at him, panting for breath.

"Oh, my beautiful little creature… Reading my mind as if to torture me… If you continue, I am afraid you will meet the beast in me…"

She ran her fingers along her lips, still tasting him in her mouth, lightheaded. The rush of his blood still pouring through her. His eyes followed the movement of her hand and the growl in his throat crescendoed as she suddenly found herself planted firmly on her back on the bench once more.

He had half thrown her, half placed her there - and she let out a startled 'unf!' as he was suddenly on top of her. Supporting himself on his forearm, his other hand snapped around her throat, and squeezed - just enough to restrict her air, but not silence it all together. Just enough to make it clear who was in command. She moaned and arched underneath him, pressing herself against his chest - and couldn't deny what the feeling did to her.

His lips were against her ear, whispering to her as he pressed his body against hers. "You are my angel and my devil, aren't you… Your innocence… your raw, unbridled corruption… You tempt me now? Do you truly know the depths to which I am capable of bringing you…?"

She knew she was playing with fire, and she could feel his violent want. Once she went down this path, there was no turning back. To accept him as what he was - that meant to accept all of it. All the violence - the darkness - the twisted side she could feel beneath the surface.

Opening her eyes, she met his, and reached up to pull his face to hers, kissing him with her own passion - wanting to feel him against her lips again. He kissed her back, snarling low in his throat as he was pulled one more step towards losing control. Everything she did, every motion, every unguided and wanton noise - brought forth by nothing but her surrender to it all, threatened to send him over the edge.

His thoughts were her own, and she felt the power she had over him - even as she lay there, pinned beneath him, even as he promised to do god-knows-what things to her, she wanted it. Wanted him to do it all.

Isabel was barely aware of him removing the rest of her clothes - his lips didn't leave hers for more than a moment. It wasn't until he grabbed her hips, roughly, that anything broke the kiss. And it was white-hot pain as he rammed into her at full tilt, taking no pity on her.

She cried out, arching her back against him, as his hand dug into her skin. His onslaught was merciless, brutal - and her mind went blank from it all. Her pain, her pleasure, his ecstasy. He lifted her hips to him, snarling in his throat as he ravished her. The line between their minds was meaningless.

So fragile. So resilient. Mine.

She was crying out sharply with each impact, each hard thrust of him into her body - her mind empty of all things but him. The maddening tempo continued for what seemed like minutes, or like hours. All she knew was the violence - the pleasure. The feeling of him.

As her body flashed white-hot again, this time as her pleasure climaxed and threatened to end all thought for good, it was too much for him. It had all been too much for him. He let out a primal snarl - as he too, was engulfed.

Isabel felt like there was nothing left that hadn't been burned away in the passion. His lips met hers in a fierce, all-devouring kiss as he kept her body crushed against his, even as the tempo had ended.

Oh, how I wonder if you understand what you have undone in me, he purred into her mind, and dragged his nails against the skin of her side, making her squirm underneath him. How much I will enjoy dragging you into the depths of my soul.

He stood, suddenly, yanking her up with him - and in a roar of fire they were gone. She could barely register what was happening. He crushed her against him once more in a kiss, before he suddenly whirled her around, pressing her back to his chest, one of his hands splaying across her stomach. The other arm wrapped around her, pinning her to him as he kissed her shoulder - again and again, letting his teeth nip at her skin every time.

Isabel couldn't help but moan, letting her head roll away from him. She felt drunk - hypnotized, even. Wrapped up in everything he was. His hands ran across her skin, along her stomach, her breasts, her hips. If he had not been holding onto her, her knees would have given out.

He pushed her forward suddenly, and she squeaked as she bumped into something. She opened her eyes and realized they were in his private crypt. What he had pushed her into was the edge of his coffin. That was about as much thought as she could put together before he was on her again, pressing his lips against her throat beneath her ear.

His hands were on her breasts, kneading the skin, rolling her nipples between his fingers before he slid one up to her shoulder, and pushed her down, bending her over the edge of the black lacquered wood. She felt him press against her entrance again, and his hands ran along her back, slowly tracing the lines of her muscles as he reached her hips, gripped them with both hands and drove his length into her, trapping her between the hard wood surface and his muscular body as she cried out.

He pressed hard against her until he filled her completely. It hurt. And she wanted more. His hand snaked into her hair and pulled, tilting her head and arching her back. He leaned into her, letting his tongue run up her jaw slowly to her ear, and whispered. "I will enjoy corrupting you, slowly, piece by piece…"

What followed was savage, primal - and threatened to empty her mind of all thought for good. With their minds, their blood, their bodies, tangled in each other, there was nothing else in the world that existed to her.

Her body reached the precipice, as he turned her head to kiss her, voraciously. She cried out against him, muffled as her body writhed beneath his, her body overcome as he continued his torment. He joined her there a few moments later, growling loudly as he slammed his fist into the lid of his coffin.

Isabel felt like she could barely move - like her limbs were foreign to her as he gently lifted her, and scooped her up in his arms. She heard, more than she saw, the lid of the coffin open. Velvet and fabric followed, and then darkness.

She could feel the effects of his blood wearing off - and it left her spent, tired, and unwilling to move. The crash from the high.

His arms were around her, holding her close as she felt herself begin to slip into unconsciousness. A gentle kiss on her forehead was the last thing she remembered.