It is actually a dark and stormy night right now, and my gothic heart is super happy. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter.


"But dreams come through stone walls, light up dark rooms, or darken light ones, and their persons make their exits and their entrances as they please, and laugh at locksmiths."

- Carmilla, Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu


"Are you alright, my dear?"

Bonnie pulls herself to a stop in the sitting room doorway, face to face with Madame Pearce.

"Ah." She clears her throat. "Yes. Yes, I am."

The lady looks doubtful. 'Perhaps you ought to take some of that soup that Leah's made."

Bonnie nods, absent-minded, then shakes her head. "I need to go check on that rider first."

She had moved the rider beneath the underbrush after Madame Pearce's insistence that she would not have a decaying corpse on the Bennett grounds. Bonnie had been far too preoccupied with the carriage's resident at the time to protest, and she had quickly done the older woman's bidding. The thought comes back to her now, haltingly, that she had planned to send a note to the inspector. The events of the early evening feels like a lifetime ago.

"Perhaps you had better not go there now, dear." Madame Pearce's brow is furrowed, her eyes searching. "Are you quite sure you are alright? You look rather faint."

Bonnie nods again, but she can't quite articulate her response, not through the haze of confusion in her head. There is something unfurling within her, an old dislodged memory, the barely recognisable scent of something long-hidden.

She tries to shake her head, stand firm. "No, I really must-" but the lady is pulling her by the arm, closer to the fireside, and the heat is pressing on Bonnie, making her eyelids droop, her limbs heavy, and she succumbs to the warmth of the chaise.


The dark is rent by the sound of pain, or perhaps anger, though none would linger long enough in the woods to discern the difference. Nothing much moves in the forest freely at this time of night. The creeping shadows are more than just those of the stretching branches, and the moon is rarely willing to offer aid to anything foolish enough to risk its life. Anything that moves does so with the certainty that it will be either predator or prey.

Another distant howl, and Bonnie jolts awake in her bedroom, her covers stifling her with their warmth, her tongue parched and sticking to the roof of her mouth. She drags herself from out under the covers, disoriented, limbs heavy, stumbling to the stand where her jug of water sits. The water is lukewarm, not nearly cool enough, and she turns, taking slow steps to the wide windows. She pulls aside the lace curtains, opening the doors to let the night air wash over her. It is bliss. The cold darkness kisses her skin, raising goosebumps, and she leans over the balcony railing. Her eyes run over the silhouettes of the trees under the moving clouds, her mind twinging with the memory of a howl, a nightmare that rendered her sleep restless and unsatisfying.

She is still heavy-lidded with slumber, legs too weak to hold her up, and she stumbles back to her bed, leaving the windows wide open behind her to let the night wind blow through her room. Her covers are cooler now as she slides between them, their friction delicious against her skin, and she sinks once more into a half-slumber.

It is not long before she is dreaming again. Dreaming of a presence behind her, hovering at the edge of her bed, and for a moment she does not move, enjoys the thought that someone might be watching over her.

When she does turn her guardian laughs softly under his breath, caresses a hand against her cheek, runs soft fingers over her smiling lips.

"Good morning, my darling," he whispers, and he sounds closer than he is. He bends over her and Bonnie sighs. This is what she wants. She wants him close, as close as can be, his breath fluttering hot over her face, the heat of him making her skin prickle under her nightgown. She reaches out an arm, pulling him atop her, and he lowers himself onto her with a quiet growl.

"You are hard to resist," his words whisper against her skin, almost angry, the stubble on his chin scratching her cheeks.

She murmurs wordlessly, uncertain of why he should try to resist at all, arching up against him, her skin on fire as the thin fabric of her nightgown rubs between them.

"I'm not certain why I'm trying to resist you myself." He laughs again, and Bonnie thinks that it is the loveliest and cruelest sound she has ever heard.

His fingers sink into her hair, and his lips are on hers, hot, wicked, mind-numbing. Bonnie wants to forget everything but this, everything but his lips. But then his tongue pushes into her mouth, and she gasps at the thought that there could be something more wicked than his lips. It drives her mindless, pulls whimpers from deep within her as he chuckles against her lips.

"It's alright, darling," he murmurs between kisses. "Let me hear you." His lips travel over her chin, down her neck, his fingers tightening in her hair to tug her head back. His tongue, hot and wet, slips out to slide languorously up her throat. Bonnie trembles underneath him, fingers tightening in his hair.

"Klaus," she pants. Klaus? Him? She's dreaming of him?

"Mm," he murmurs, his head moving under her chin, travelling further down. His lips cover her breast, and Bonnie gasps.

"You are delectable," he says, and she feels certain his breath will set her on fire. He moves up, his lips finding hers again, his hips grinding against her, and she jolts at the heat of him against her thigh. She moves against him with a vicious need, and though she relishes in the secrecy of the dream, it still makes her face burn with shame.

Klaus - for it is Klaus - tugs her closer, pulls her closer, harder against him. She is pinned to the bed, hips writhing against his, chest moving against his.

"I never dreamt - I never dreamt I would have you in my arms," he whispers. He kisses down her jaw, teeth nipping at her skin, tongue caressing her neck. He murmurs her name, and it is like a chant in her head, the timbre of his voice, her name in his mouth, all swirling into one sinful ritual. The need rising inside her makes her shudder, takes her breath away. Her fingers brush his head as it moves at her jaw, his low growls thrumming against her neck, her skin reaching a fever temperature that she feels the need to tear away every bit of clothing.

The change from pleasure to pain is sudden. A white, hot piercing stabs her at the base of her throat, and she jolts against her dream visitor. He hunches over her, unmoving, and Bonnie struggles, tries to dislodge him.

"No!" The word tears out of her lips, a gritty, vicious cry that rips through her dream. But it is no dream. The pain is burning through her and Bonnie clutches at her throat, crying out, expecting rivulets of blood. But she can feel nothing, not even the trace of a scratch. Neither can she feel the presence of anyone atop her.

When she opens her eyes and sits up, body aflame, blinking against the darkness, it is to see a wolf slinking towards her bedroom door and then disappear through it as if it was made of nothing more than smoke.


Review and let me know what you think :)