A/n: Special thanks to Gica (read Agnus Dei on pain of bloody torture and an even bloodier death!! Read and Review!!) for the help with my OC- she suggested names, and the colour of her hair and eyes, and also provided moral support. She's one of my best friends! Either read this as a story or read only the first chapter as a one-shot, which it originally was, but then I had another Carlton-inspired dream (this time Half a week before the Winter) and went on. The story is dark, but not that dark. I think I do enough dark. I need to do something clean.

Dawn. He was weak- weak and half-blinded. Pain engulfed his senses and he could feel it building up in his skull. He knew he needed to feed- and what he needed to feed upon. Somehow he was not as sickened by the thought as he should have been, which sickened him in itself. He knew he could barely stand, and knew that if he fed he'd have the strength to. He would be able to escape.

He heard the sounds of dogs and men approaching, most likely hunters. There was nothing he could do. He cracked his eyes open and light poured in, but he soon adjusted. The sky was grey, and it looked like it would rain. A dog came over to him, sniffing. He felt its warm, wet tongue lick his face, and the sound of its heartbeat was nearly overwhelming. Mechanically, automatically, his hands shot up and seized the now whimpering animal, and brought its neck to his mouth. Shame now coursing through him, he felt the odd feeling of one's canines lengthening and sunk his teeth into the fur, draining it of its blood swiftly.

There were shouts, although he paid them no mind. He felt himself grow stronger in a morbid fascination and he found his way to his feet, then roughly wiped the smeared blood from his face.

He shook his head to see but soon found that was unnecessary as he gave a cry of pain as the blade of a hunting knife was thrust through his ribs, then another cut his arm, his shoulder, stabbing at him repeatedly. The wounds should have been healing, he thought, but they weren't…or were they? Perhaps it took time for the spell to take hold. He groaned and kicked the man before him, then flung the other away. He heard the others yelling and fled from the clearing, heading into the dark of the shadowy forest. He felt the sun life and his vision became blurry…was he about to pass out? He fell to his knees…well, it seemed he was...blacking…out.

---later---

He felt a light pressure on his temples moving in a circular motion. It was somewhat calming, relieving him of the burning headache he had. He could hear a faint song being hummed in the background, and he painstakingly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a deep, dark green- was he still in the forest? Then his eyes focused and he became aware of eyes, full of concern. A pointed button nose, and beneath it, a girl's lips. A girl was humming to him, was massaging his aching head. She had black hair in tight, tiny curls, messy and cluttered with the odd leaf or twig.

"Where….?" He managed, and the girl hushed him, removing her fingers from his head. "Shhh," she said in a soothing tone of voice. "Please. You had a rough day."

"Day?" he repeated, dazed. She nodded and brushed some of her hair from her wide eyes. "Yes. I found you this morning unconscious, and you've been sleeping this entire time. It's evening now."

He sat up a bit and took in his surroundings slowly. He was lying in a bed, in a small home that she seemed to live in alone. He glanced down and saw that she had stripped him of his shirt. She was quick to explain.

"You were bleeding badly, when I found you, anyway. I had to treat the wounds," she said hurriedly. He nodded, never once taking away his gaze.

"Speaking of which, lie back down while I check those out," she said, and he complied. It was a curious feeling, he decided, to have her fingertips on his chest, running along the bandages she had placed upon him while he slept. Her hands were cold at first, but he warmed to her touch quickly.

Finally she set her hand upon his forehead and her brow furrowed. "You have a fever," she said to him. "I think…I think you'll have to stay with me for a while, Sir. Your wife won't mind terribly, will she?"

He laughed harshly. "Count, actually. And I am unmarried."

She nodded briefly, biting her lip. "I'll make you a tea, Count-"

"-but don't call me that. My name is Vladislaus."

She bowed her head. "Oh course, my Lord. Forgive me-"

"-Vladislaus. There is nothing to forgive, Miss….ah…." he tried a smirk in amusement and failed. "I don't believe you've told me your name, which is unfortunate as I have shared my own."

She blushed a bit at her impolite actions and said, "I'm….I'm Sironka."

He tried to smirk again, but it still didn't work like it should have. He was too tired. "I'm charmed to meet you, Lady Sironka."

"Lady of the Woods, perhaps," she snorted in retort, and left to make the tea. He leaned back against the pillows and waited patiently for her to return.

She did and handed him a cup of tea. It smelled like honey.

"I insist upon you drinking it," she said firmly, sitting in the seat beside the bed. He did not immediately comply, instead asking with a polite but detached air, "What is it?"

"It is tea, Count Vladislaus; it will help with the slight fever you have. And help you to sleep. You need sleep."

"Fever…?" he repeated, frowning slightly. "Have I really got one?"

She nodded and leaned forwards, washing off the remaining bloodstains from his skin with a warm, wet cloth. She paid no attention to him, but rather to the wounds. "You were delirious a little while ago," she continued, dipping the cloth into a bowl of water. The water reddened with his blood. "Crying out…praying frantically to God, and cursing him for leaving you with Lucifer, or something."

He froze a bit, then acted as though he wasn't fazed. He took a drink of the warm liquid in the cup, which was surprisingly good. He continued to drink it.

He felt the cloth against his skin gently, careful not to harm him where it already hurt.

"Have you considered going to a Priest about it? A confession, perhaps," she went on lightly. He took her wrist lightly, not enough to hurt her but enough to capture her attention.

Her eyes met his, confused. He marveled at the colour, then cleared his throat. "You do not know about the situation you're talking about. A Priest will do me no good."

Sironka stared back at him. "What could you have done that is so bad even God has forsaken you?" she asked him.

He held her gaze seriously. "That I can not say."

The girl nodded, her expression strangely unreadable, and immersed herself in rinsing the injuries. He leaned back, watching her quietly, before he felt himself grow tired, the tea taking hold. As he fell asleep, he slowly forgot her green eyes upon his face.