Author's Notes: Wow...heh, been a bit, huh? I am really sorry for the wait! (Same note every chapter, I know). Life got super busy again. Not much time to write for me...:/ Meh! Okay! FYI I was stuck for MONTHS on Abby's and the Count's reunion. It was really hard for me to write. I eventually gave up rereading it. I nearly have it memorized now and can't pick out any typos or nonsense. So, please, forgive them and me. I wanted an update and new I had to move on in order for it to happen. This chapter is longer than the last dinky ones...so, there's that! XD Ahem, thank you all for your continued reviews and support! You are what powers this story! :3333 Lots of fingers in this chapter, oddly XD Onwards to bad grammar and multiple period abuse! XDDD

Love or Blood

Chapter Seventy-five: The Woman of Wants

XXXX

Black orbs remained fixated on Abigale Lynn's back. He watched her. Dangerous eyes daring her to move while his lip was caught between his teeth, his person cloaked in shadows, rain, and hatred. The dark clouds in his mind further gathered as the assassin watched the woman he loved as she ran off and alerted several soldiers. His every fiber was consumed from all his anger, and his muscles burned from great restraint, but there was more emotion tangled within him. It was something that paired with his violence - and although for him that was a normal sentiment - it was tinged with a rather unfamiliar thing...admiration.

This was a foreign mixture that presently tormented the Dark Brotherhood Speaker. He closed her eyes for a moment, his breath already ragged, utterly confounded. Lucien Lachance had felt pride before - oh yes - but typically, the emotion was brought on from a good kill or a flourishing underling. And of course, he had felt sorrow before as well, though not too deeply; that was not a concept he was accustomed to nor had any interest in. However, he began to mentally prepare himself for it, as such a betrayal was assuredly upon him, for Abigale Lynn continued her conversation with the guards.

Entwining his life with someone completely, making them a core of his existence, was perhaps not the wisest of judgments. Lucien Lachance long knew now that a life with the Dibellan came with the risk of all shattering bloodily. Nevertheless, the assassin was profoundly skilled in ensuring his personal satisfaction. So, foolishly, he went about all perhaps a touch too carelessly and now was suffering the consequences...

It was making Lucien very dangerous.

And yet, he felt pride. The woman who was once too frightened to speak to anyone currently ran freely from him and used her wiles to acquire her desires. Now was not the first time she ran, no, but this time it was not done from fear - not solely, at any rate. It was her choice, she was determined and was seeing her ambitions to fruition. Did he appreciate her decision? By Sithis, no. But he did like to think that, in some way, he had helped nurture her into the woman he now saw. Stronger. Free...at least for the moment.

His pride dissipated as he sampled those thoughts and a cold bitterness crept into his heart.

Then, remarkably, to the Speaker who was preparing to fight his way out of the city, relief and tenderness overtook him as Abigale Lynn and the guards began marching towards the Castle. They ignored his presence. Not even the slightest shift in demeanor among the group. He did not exist to them. Abigale Lynn said nothing about the Dark Brotherhood Speaker lurking in the alley.

Swallowing his hurt, the assassin closed his eyes once more and sighed deeply. This was not how he wished to part with Abigale Lynn but she grew suspicious at the worst of times. He had hoped that they would share a fond farewell. Or perhaps he naively thought he could charm her away from the Count of Skingrad. It was a childish notion, yet he had humored it, and all wounded his pride further.

The assassin withdrew further into the alley, sheathing the sword he had half drawn. The unfortunate truth was that Abigale Lynn had selected the Count of Skingrad for her lover instead of himself. This was of course due to her delusions created from the vampire Count, Lucien knew. The only way he could hope to make his love see reason was to remove the undead nobleman from the equation entirely. And soon. The Speaker was unsure if he could contain himself, yet he needed to wait.

Lucien Lachance's companion, his beloved and his unborn child were leaving him. He already felt the loneliness sinking in his chest. He wanted them dearly but knew better to remain in the shadows for a time. In spite of the absolute hatred the assassin harbored for the Count of Skingrad, he knew Janus Hassildor would not immediately harm his love, Abigale Lynn. After all, the 'prize' returned to the Count, and he would naturally be pleased. With this, Abigale could rest, and Sithis knew she would need it for all the Dark Brotherhood Speaker had planned for her anointed lover.

Slowly, Lucien went to return to his accommodations. For now, he permitted himself to sulk and feel vengeful. He needed to harbor these loathsome feelings for a time so that Abigale Lynn could ponder her mistake while nurturing her body. Then Lucien could exact all the troublesome sentiments that plagued him and secure his beloved lady once more and return her to her true Family.

xxxx

The outside of the Castle stood imposingly as ever. The Gates, the maw of the keep, beckoned me closer to the stone entrance, both welcoming and frightening. Light rain continued to stream from the grey sky with no signs of stopping near. I absorbed many things that perhaps I normally would not. My entire being felt vastly disoriented and raw, making me acutely aware of each sensation. My thoughts ran amuck the closer we drew to the Castle.

Harshly bright magical fires still burned along the bridge. The flames sizzled and cracked from the weather, the wind howled, the metal boots of the soldiers at my back clamored, sounding impossibly loud. I was terrified...but ready. Or I simply lied to myself enough to believe it.

My fingers slipped nervously along the satchel's strap - a mixture of rainwater and sweat - as the Guards finally came to a stop behind me. My mind hummed, but no thoughts were coherent. I mentally struggled for purchase in my own consciousness as the doors to Castle Skingrad's courtyard began to open. One of the soldiers, Idran, spoke to me. He pointed to the door, gave me verbal instruction, and bade me farewell. I only moved in response: a quirk of my lip, a nod of my head, the nervous flicker of my wrist that vaguely resembled a wave.

I swallowed thickly as the doors to the fortress opened. The Courtyard was vast and meticulously tended, as I remembered it to be. With the warmth of spring, all was thriving and beautifully green and lush. The pebbled path I traversed split into many smaller trails, all of which led to various sections of the Castle. In particular, a very much unbeaten path directed one to the Count's private veranda. I did not dare let my eyes, never mind my feet, wander to it. Instead, I walked on, legs moving shakily along the widest of trails. Soon I was before the Courtyard well, which could almost serve as a marker, as it divided the grounds in half with its central position. Several guardsmen and servants bustled near it, some having just finished gathering water for laundry, washes, and cooking. My gaze caught the color of a stark creamy apron and I stumbled for unknown reasons; my heels digging into the stone and mud, my body coming to a grinding halt by the well.

I was home. I had wanted to be home for so long...but by the Gods, I was afraid of it.

No one saw my fumble and I was thankful for that. My free hand reached out to grip the large, damp crank mindlessly. Shakily. I stared down into the dark grating of the well, limbs cold, throat tight and chest heavy. The well itself was like an abyss. A pit that seemed endless, fathomlessly deep and treacherous. Realizing all and feeling the rising waves of impending panic nearly brought me to my knees. I was home. I did not know how long I could be home, nor how much longer I was permitted to live, but I had made it.

It felt impossible but I had made it. I thought, perhaps, it was improper for me to even mentally refer to Castle Skingrad as my home, but it was the only term that fit my connection. And as I stared down into the blackness of the well, unable to absorb a single feature, I was forced to reexamine all the things I had associated with Skingrad. All was to be different now and I was fearful but ready to embrace the changes, if able...'If' being the key.

I thought on my position and all that I had done. The woman I once was had so changed and I was unsure if it was for the better. My entire view of myself as a person had warped. Everything I thought I had known about my values and self, had been tainted. I succumbed to fear and weakness. In the darkness, found out that I was not so virtuous. I was not as innocent and benevolent as I once thought considered myself to be. I was impure, impossibly flawed, and a touch cursed...I could point the finger of blame towards no one but myself. I made poor decisions, I always seemed to, but now I wanted to right my wrongs. More than ever, I was ready to accept the consequences.

Steeling myself, I took a deep breath and carefully pushed myself away from the well and began the uneasy march towards the final door to the Castle. It was not a long walk, and the soldiers on guard were already grasping the handle at my approach. Once I was reasonably close, the one to my right addressed me formally. "Welcome to Skingrad Castle. Those on business are welcome to enter the Main Hall of the keep, though you are not permitted to venture any farther than that. And should you wish to seek an audience with the Count, consult with Hal-Liurz or Mercator Hosidus, the Count's Stewards...But I would advise against getting your hopes up. The Count is a private, busy man." The guard then paused and looked me over, no doubt trying to ascertain my position and importance. "Visitors, however, are not permitted to pass the door's threshold until an appointment has been made. So, what is your business here, my lady?"

My lady.

I blanched at the echoes of Lucien's little pet name - one of many - and the mention of the Count...but I nodded all the same. I did not want to appear frightened or unimportant. I could not be turned away after coming so far. "I-I am expected." I croaked in response, quickly lifting my chin afterward in attempts to appear firm and true. I was expected, after all...at least, I was in a way...

"Then you may enter. But mind yourself. Any questionable activity will have you removed from the Castle permanently. Good day." With that, the guard nodded to the soldier opposite him, and together they opened the doors wide.

Warmth enveloped me. The main hall was brightly illuminated. Washed stone and polished candelabras all gleamed, winking at me brightly. The heavy carpeted floor appeared redder and more elaborate than I remembered. The tall columns seemed impossibly high, as did all the pointed arches, all directing one's gaze to the large chandelier that hung beautifully in the center of the vaulted stone ceiling.

Holding my breath, I took another tentative step further into the hall, finding it, at present, empty. Several small tables for those important enough to wait remained untouched and finely decorated with expensive baubles that only one such as the Count could leave out to the public without a worry for thieves. I was the only one foolish enough to ever steal from the man. I paid dearly for it but was shown mercy and kindness...

So, like a stray dog once fed, I returned with my tail between my legs.

Fiddling oddly with the satchel that contained the Count's cure, I managed another few steps until I stood beneath the great chandelier. I dared let my eyes wander to the grand staircase to my left and the mezzanine it led to. The balustrade on the overlook wrapped around the inner half of the Castle's Hall. Many doors and halls lined its opposite side, all leading deeper into the upper levels of the Castle but my gaze found one alcove in particular and lingered. My mouth dried as I stared fixedly at the corner that led to the Private Quarters, Grand Hall and the Count's apartments. His Manor. His home. Where he no doubt now was...

"Well, well, just look who finally decided to return. I am utterly flattered to be graced by your presence first. Although you did take your sweet, sweet time to do said returning, hmm?" Sauntering over to me, taking strides that were far too long for such a stout man, was none other than Mercator Hosidus. After having been so very tense from the initial shock of being addressed, I loosened quite fast. My shoulders relaxed some and I let out a breath that I did not know I was holding. It was only the Steward. I had almost forgotten the man existed and this, for a flickering moment, surprised me greatly. "It seems the cat has your tongue once more! You never cease to amuse." Mercator laughed then, a loud bark that seemed to reverberate off the very stone.

I realized then, through the onslaught of misplaced laughter, that once upon a time, this man had frightened me terribly. I had been rendered to a trembling mess once addressed by the Steward. I had seen a lecher, small and portly. Arrogant and slick but more. A predator. I still thought these things, of course, but it was not as terrifying now.

He was just a man. I had known so much worse.

"The only positive quality of mine, then," I remarked with a small bow of acknowledgment. I did not want to flaunt my bravery, for it was still little, but I believed a positive way to work the man addressing me was by flattery and I intended to try my greatest to act proper. Mercator was my best option to see the Count. I did not have the heart to dare attempt to sneak in. I felt my desperation would not only get me into trouble with the guard but also be unkind. I wanted to beseech the Count's pride...I wanted a formal audience with the Count; for him to see acknowledge my presence and decide whether or not he wished for me. The Count deserved to reject me. And I wanted to give him that small option in supplication. "It is good to see you, Steward. And yes, my return is long overdue. And I am glad to be back. Would you please let the Count know of my arrival? I-I very much need to see him."

The Steward hummed in contemplation. "It is good to see that you have returned to your proper master, yes...but you seem awful eager. If I were you I would hold on the celebration. I am afraid the Count's temperament has been a smidge hostile since your leave. And, obviously, all is directed at you." I blanched at this but managed to reserve my emotions all the same. As Mercator beckoned me to sit in a nearby empty chair, he continued to make a play on my fears. "Tred with care once you do see him - if he allows it, that. So much anger... I worry for you, I truly do. All that blood and viscera...It would not be pleasant to clean from the carpets, especially if it is your own, hmm?" Soon I was left worrying my lip as the Steward watched me sit, his beady eyes still assessing. Still poking and prodding my resolve. "I shall announce you proper. Let us both hope that the Count is in good humor. Otherwise...well, it was a joy to see you. A joy to know you."

And he left me. He left me there seated at a pretty little table in the Grand Hall, utterly frozen.

I had long known that seeing the Count could very well end badly. Terribly. Still, despite my fear, I was ready for it all. His anger was warranted, especially now. It was my choice to face it. Him. As long as I could see him, if he would let me...it was worth it.

xxxx

Over an hour had passed, then two, while I sat rigidly at the table. I fought my nerves, fear and even sleep. For somehow in spite of everything, fatigue crept into me. It was a struggle to stay attentive. Then again, it was not. I was caught somewhere in between exhaustion and panic. Again, it was due. However, all wore on my patience and endurance. I was eager and fearful. I wanted, needed, to see the Count, and all the waiting was torture...

But, again, and again, it was due.

I had been tempted to speak to a guard but knew I would make no progression to the Count by doing so. The men who stood at attention in the Main Hall had seen my conversation with Mercator hours prior. They knew I awaited an audience and would tell me to remain. Speaking to them was moot.

Just as I was ready to give up all hope of seeing the Count soon, and warm sleep grabbed at the corners of my mind, a green figure entered my gaze. It strode with purpose, clad in green silks, shimmering in the lighting of the hall as it rounded the overlook. Hal-Liurz? I thought, quickly perking up and rubbing the exhaustion from my features. A sudden excitement overtook me, both curious and eager. However, it was ripped from me swiftly and my stomach sank as I registered the being to be Mercator Hosidus descending the staircase.

Instantly deflating and absorbing the pompous Steward's gait, my present worrying grew stronger. If the Steward had been gone for such an amount of time only to now stride in as if he owned the Castle himself, all lead me to believe a terrible thing.

He will not see me. The Count will not see me.

Perhaps I had half expected that upon hearing of me, the Count would come and address me himself. Or, at the very least, collect me sooner. Now all seemed silly. Of course, he did not want to summon me in a timely manner, for he did not want me near at all.

I had known it was a possibility, perhaps even a great one, but the sudden revelation of the Count's rejection destroyed all my hope. My limbs turned to ice and my breath hitched. Suddenly, everything hurt. Everything. What was I to do without him? I knew I was not untouchable. I knew I had angered the Count. I knew I deserved nothing from him. I knew all of this. But I just wanted...

"Ready, my dear?" The Steward inquired, quite normally, as though my entire being hadn't been shattered into nothingness by the Count's denial. I boggled, looking up at the Imperial, almost unable to process his words. Somehow, I managed a nod, attempting to blink away my stupor. All was perhaps not lost. Not yet. If anything, I had the Count's cure. He would need that. He wanted that.

"He...t-the Count...the Count will see me?" I asked, unable to keep the suspicion from my gaze or tone.

"Well, I suppose we shall find that out now, won't we?" This gave me pause and my suspicion turned to quiet contempt. Mercator had left me to speak with the Count on my behalf. Had he told the Count at all? Did he know I was here waiting?

"But...I was under the impression that you were speaking with him...about me." I pressed, eyeing the arm the Steward offered me.

"Oh no. I'm afraid I had another, much more pressing matter to attend to. Your, ahem, arrangement with the Count is not high on my list of priorities. I am a busy man, after all. Not that a little woman such as yourself will understand." He chuckled at my visible irritation and placed his hand over my own and near hefted me out of my seat. For one so small, he was oddly strong. "But, come. I shall bring you to the Throne Room and announce you properly, as I promised earlier."

I nodded stiffly, feeling a touch lightheaded as we began to walk. The Throne Room was an awfully intimidating place. I supposed it made sense. Still, I had hoped to be with the Count in a more intimate setting. Or at least a more familiar one. The Count and I had never truly spent any time together in that particular chamber.

"Am I not permitted to wander alone?" I dared to ask as we ascended the stairs and approached the overlook. All was so grand and familiar but...it felt cold. I felt cold and out of place. An intruder. I did not belong.

"Your fabricated pedigree causes me unease. I am the Steward and know of your true origin and absence. So, thusly, I think it greatly unwise and irresponsible to let you roam free." We paused at the door. Silver keys and clicking locks followed. We were drawing nearer. The Steward was right and I found his judgment sound. Yet his words puzzled me.

"My fabricated pedigree?" I inquired, softly. We were so close now. My curiosity was one of the only things to combat the extreme unease and lightheadedness I was currently plagued with.

"You are a Lady of Skingrad and now you are also a Mages Guild Evoker. Quite the title for one of such lowly birth. Still, no matter how grand the status, you and I both know you are little more than a pretty face. And beauty alone does not make one trustworthy nor noble. Especially should the hands belonging to said 'pretty face' have a history of grabbing ahold of things that don't belong to them."

"Better to be safe rather than sorry," I mumbled, barely acknowledging that I was doing so. The sheer reality of seeing the Count had finally struck. It had been weeks. Months. Far too long and yet not long at all. I was quiet. Quiet in the mind as all thoughts left. I walked alongside the Steward without thought. I remained utterly mute until we entered the Throne Room. Only then did I turn to Mercator and ask, as calmly and nicely as possible, "Will you ask him now?"

The notes of desperation that I could not conceal pleased the Steward. He grinned and nodded. "Of course. I shall now announce you and be gone. I haven't the time to linger. And, of course, I feel the need to 'miss' this reunion. I shan't be present for this confusion. Fewer witnesses, less mess." In a flourish of green silks, he vanished up the stairs and to the adjacent hallway that led to the Count's apartments and left me once more.

I did not stare long after him as I desired. I could not yet bring my attention to wander past my immediate space. Nor did I dare walk farther from the place I was stationed. As silent and still as the Castle itself, I stood motionless on the red carpets. More time passed, the swell of my chest - as I regulated my breath - became the only indication of life in the hall. Eventually, with some mustering of courage, I managed to pull my gaze and permitted myself to look upon the Count's chair. His throne...and it made me feel ill.

Much like the Hall, all was imposing as ever. This room too was lined with tall columns that met with the vaulted ceiling; decorated with large, red banners and tapestries - all of which hung stiffly and met the floor in a swath of clean cloth. Large wrought iron ornate candle holders, ever burning with magic fire, rested by the tall pillars, effectively stamping a path to the Count's chair. Coupled with the staircases that ran the length on either side of the hall, it was easy to see and gauge the room's desired 'grand' effect.

All drew one's gaze to the visage of wealth before them - the Count's Throne.

The small steps that led up to the Count's chair were carpeted, as was the floor's main path, and all stones were smoothly polished. His Throne was intricately carved dark wood, plush with expensive fabrics lining his seat. Above him, deeply embossed in the wood of his chair, and perhaps the rooms 'brightest' feature, was the symbol of Skingrad. I could see how once had all been lovely. However, now it was only cold and ominous.

I felt the urge to look away, swallowing thickly and turning my head to a cold firepit upon the stairs. I found it easier to look anywhere but the Count's Throne and all his fabulous wealth. His power and reach again daunted me. So, when my gaze drifted back to the hall Mercator had vanished down, my entire self froze as I noticed an impossibly tall silhouette standing in the arch and the glowing eyes set where I stood.

Vampire.

The one I sought.

Oh, Gods. Do not fall. Do not move. Do not...

The Count of Skingrad stood as still as stone. He remained under the arch. I could not decern his features. I could not see his face, but it was him, there was no one I knew who could fit such an imposing shadow.

Ice crept into my veins. I had wanted for the Count so strongly for what felt like so long that I was rendered stupid upon finally seeing him. Stupid and afraid. I had not a clue as to what he thought of me. He could hate me. He could want me dead. I did not know. I felt dirty and again out of place. I wanted to violently wash my body and I did not know why. Another very prominently want that ailed me was the desire to cry.

Relief, sadness, anger, fear, happiness. I knew not what I felt. But he was there and I had wanted that for so long...

"Abigale Lynn..." I did not think it possible, but I managed to stiffen further at his deep baritone. Shadows melted away as he steadily emerged. His pale and handsome face came into light, gently creased with age and curiosity. Hollowed cheeks, strong jaw, solemn brows knitted with disbelief, framing his piercing gaze. It was like a dream. I met his eyes and my breath left me. They were red -so, so red. Much like garnets - always garnets. Or blood, or roses...

All thoughts skewed as my vision distorted, hearing soon to follow. My ears rang, black spots edged along my peripheral; my fingers tingled from cold and I felt myself sway where I stood. Heart racing, I blinked back stars and steadied myself. He had said my name so sweetly. Such shock and gentleness had slipped along my name when he spoke. So much fell apart upon hearing his voice. Watching him take that first tentative, curious step into the firelight made my knees want to buckle. He was so handsome. So questioning. So baffled.

He hurt me. I betrayed him. I was afraid of him. I needed him. I loved him. Was it awful?

He began to descend the stairs and walk to me. Slow, meticulous steps, that still covered much ground due to his long stride. An involuntary puff of air escaped my lips as I heard his soft leather boot hit the carpet only a few feet away. The Count grew nearer so quickly. What was I to do? A hot wave of panic consumed me. I briefly wondered if it was all real. And if it was, was it wrong for me to be here?

I squeezed my eyes shut and bowed my head. The knuckles of my hands had turned ice-white upon the satchel I clutched. The worn strap tethered me to the present, albeit loosely.

All too soon the Count came to a stop and the hall grew deathly silent. My breathing was irregular, my heart violently hammering, and I knew he could hear all. Feel all of it, and all of me. Somehow I managed to experience even greater shame at this, and the exasperation that followed was crippling.

With a small sound of involuntary disapproval escaping me, I dared my eyes to open. There were our shoes. His and mine. The smallness of my feet near his much larger ones made me feel so insignificant and minute. Not like a child, not like a baby, but a bug. An insect to be squashed, such as the pest I was; infiltrating once more.

Feebly, my thoughts sought foolish comforts and desperately scrambled. The Count had loved me once. Before that, he had nearly fawned over me for weeks, all the while I had pretended not to notice... What I would give to go back to that. What I would do for him to see me the way he once had.

Oddly, my mind brought me memories of when I had first denied the Count's affections. It was a painful recollection now. As the memory of the Count's voice played within me, I thought bitterly about the sheer dread I had once felt at his sincerity. Now I was jealous of the reality that no longer was. 'You came into my life out of thin air. Quite literally it seemed, for me. Now you are here with me always and forever. Such little time has passed since we first met, yet I have watched you change so much. And I had long thought I'd forgotten what change looked like, Abigale Lynn. How wonderfully beautiful it is...Every time I see you I am reminded of such beauty.'

I sobbed. It was a desperate, fearful and pathetic sound - the embodiment of myself. At his old sentiments echo, I was mournful and bitter from the loss. But my frustrations - tearful as they were - granted me a second wind as I garnered the strength to look upon the Count once more. And in that single instant, our eyes and souls locked. I saw and knew him through my tears. His large and demanding presence made my chest swell with emotion. Knowing he was still willing to grace me with his presence after all I had done humbled me. But his stare chilled my marrow. It was not malicious, but intense and surprised - jarringly perplexed and not in a pleasant fashion to see me.

Yet oh love, at long last I was seen...

I drank him in. His dark hair, his stern face, his fine clothes. I wanted him to call me to him. I wanted his smile and his cool hand in mine. I wanted laughter and looks. I wanted him to touch me sweetly as he once had. No more violence. No more pain. But could I have him again? I did not think I was worthy. He could wish me dead but I hoped he did not.

At a loss for words, the Count simply wetted his lips and looked me over as though I was unreal or altered. I wanted to nod to affirm his suspicions but could not. I was changed, yes, but agreeing so readily could anger him. I was unwilling to accept his dismissal, so desperation kept me still. Knowing that I was not a sweet girl and never was would inevitably betray the Count in a different manner, perhaps still in equal amounts of my unfaithfulness. I was always a thief and coward, my time with the assassin affirmed this. And now I was tainted further. Lucien Lachance's stain was on me, a hand black as ink left its mark on my soul with fresh hurt.

I thought back to when I felt the Count's anger over my unfaithfulness. It was still with him, I did not doubt. I hurt him so. Was it due for as he hurt me? I did not know but I did not want this hurt. The Count's, Lucien's or mine.

I wanted this. To be under the Count's stare and command. The assurance of his plans. I only needed to do as told and all would be well. Whatever his whims, I would bend. It was as I wanted, and should he want to hurt me, it would be just.

Was I needed? Was I ever?

I wanted this. I saw my reflection in his eyes, wan and trembling. I wanted this. I needed to find my voice. I needed to speak. To say anything to this man who had, and was still, waiting for me. Nothing I could say would ever repair the damage, yet I needed to make amends, even if in a small way. It could be my last act on Nirn. I wanted it to be meaningful. "I-I...I am so sorry, my Lord." Was all that numbly left my lips. The Count only stared at me. Simply watched. I began to tremble and quickly removed my gaze from his. "I-I...I...I brought you-c-cure..." I tried louder, brandishing the pack, edging it a small bit closer to him. The Cure. I chanced a look and watched the Count glance down at it. His eyes - I saw nothing in them. Empty. As he looked away from the pack and recaptured my gaze, my hands quivered and the contents of the satchel began to lightly chime. "I...I am sorry. I don't...I have ruined everything -"

"No," The Count said fast. Stern. Shocking me into a rigid posture. I stared up at him, breath gone, highly aware and hanging on to his every movement and word. He gave a light shake of the head and knitted his dark brows. "No, you...you have ruined nothing, Abigale Lynn. Nothing. Please," He gestured to my trembling hands and gingerly coaxed the satchel from me. I accommodated him, dumbfoundedly, noting his conscious decision not to let our skin meet, though I desperately wanted it to. Chewing my lip, I watched as the Count placed the pack and its precious contents by our side. I felt he should not have abandoned the bag but said nothing. Then the Count straightened and looked down upon me once more, snapping me from the off thought and bringing me back to him. For a long while, he only stared. "Are you - How can I help you right now, at this moment?" He finally inquired, the intensity of his red gaze had me still rendered dumb and quiet. His voice, however, took on a deeper more careful tone as he spoke, and sparked some mournful life into me. His compassion - true or trickery - moved me. This left me feeling more guilty. So guilty. "I wish to help you, should you allow me."

I blinked, thick tears spilling down my cheeks as I sampled the taste of my consequences - the hurt I caused another and would ultimately live with - however long that was to be. But I pushed these thoughts as easily as the heel of my palm pushed the tears from my face.

"You would help me still." I breathed, the sting still fresh. I wondered if I should not feel so ashamed. The Count had hurt me first, but I felt my guilt was well deserved. I did not wish to contemplate right and wrong, however. I was one step closer to my desire and I was not allowing my own self to ruin my chances at fulfillment any longer. Unsure of what entirely possessed me - aside from the madness that had no doubt claimed me prior - I expressed another once-subdued want that given circumstance was an embarrassingly personal admonition. "May I touch you, Sir? I-I feel I need to terribly." Voice thick and breaking with emotion, I stood firm on my request.

I stared up at the Count, hopeful that perhaps my pitiful state would sway him as it once had. The way his mouth opened and closed displayed his trepidation and want for me. I was the chink in his armor. I was the small crack in his otherwise unbreakable self.

"Of course you can."

I continued to watch his mouth and eyed his fangs carefully, aware of them again and gulping at what I once beheld within me. I suppressed a shudder, feeling the ghost of pain along my neck. They were prominent, his fangs, fully drawn and I knew it was all for me. The Count was as confounded as I was. His body knew not whether to be ready for defense or warmth. Nor did I.

I wondered what he thought of me. His words were soft and deep, but his teeth were brandished like daggers. I was reminded of how we fit. How alike we were in the oddest of aspects. After all, we were both lost in this confusing mess of our own making.

With no more thought but great care, I stepped closer to him, inching near him, wanting to close the gap between us. My arms hung loosely at my sides. I once was afraid to touch him, now he was the most tempting of treasures; the precious unyielding stone of my soul, always a constant in my thoughts and cherished in my heart. I was open for him and ready - truly ready, even if frightened. I would not fight.

His eyes followed my hand as I dared to lift it to his own. Swallowing thickly, I brought my fingertips to his knuckles. Waves upon waves of emotions crashed over me upon contact and I was quickly overcome. How strange he was to me now - no longer being my norm. The Count was colder than memory served, his skin's temperature akin to steel. Swept up in the revelation, I thought on the man I left not many hours before. Lucien was warm, the heat of fresh blood coursed beneath the assassin's flesh. No longer did the Count have such a function. His body worked differently, a delicate combination of science and magic, as he once told me. He was not mortal...No longer human. No longer alive.

Casting away my hesitation, I grasped the Count's hand. "I left you..." I muttered like a curse. Squeezing his cold fingers, I tried my best to reach him. I tried to close my consciousness to all but him. It was not a difficult feat. "I-I left you and I hurt you..." Absorbing his features, my voice died in my throat, much like it would when the Count and I first spoke. Shame burned my cheeks. I thought of the assassin and the many morally compromising activities I partook in. I felt much like the whore all thought me to be long ago. This was worse, however, as I was to confess my lewdness to the man and master who loved me once. The Count had thought me sweet and innocent. I was anything but that. Dibellan blood or no, I was a licentious creature. My most recent actions cheapened the union of the Count and myself. I gave myself to him - denoted him worthy of my body. At present, I doubted now he would think similarly and knowing this had left me feeling the strangest of pains. "I cannot ever be forgiven, Sir." I cried, giving into the disgrace and humiliation I felt, my body quickly wracked with sobs. Indeed, I gave in. And my soppy display cemented my shame further.

I came to this man with nothing good about my person to offer while wanting all he could. It was unfair of me to want, so I cried. The desire to hold him and weep uncontrollably was nearly as great as the urge to weep. I suppressed it, however, and tried to find fulfillment in the chilly touch of his digits. It was good, but I wanted more, greedy as I was - my true selfish inner nature.

Then, to my utter astonishment, tentative pressure touched my shoulder. Slight, curious, and compassionate. The Count's free hand had fallen to my me - trepidation present in the lightness of his touch. The gentleness of the action had me internally shaken, but his willingness to touch me more humbled me greatly. "I have missed you very much." His fingers twitched anxiously along my back, again he was unsure on how to proceed but I found comfort in his cold, odd grasp. Perhaps too much comfort. "I am glad to see you. Actually, the term 'glad' falls terribly short. I wish to...to embrace you, Abigale Lynn...May I?"

His confession made me feel faint from sheer relief alone. Thankfully my what little willpower I had left in me prevailed as I fought the encroaching darkness and pushed myself to move even nearer to him - stumble forward for him. "Please do, Sir. I-I think I may fall if you do not."

And then he held me. The action so moving that I instantaneously burst into more fitful tears. His large, solid body quickly overtook mine, and I molded myself to him freely and without reserve. The Count's cool, still frame welcomed me. His arms encircled my body, with one hand cradling the back of my head. His scent was familiar and spiritually provoking. Through my tears, I was ignited like a fire with emotion and gratitude. I felt complete in his embrace, even if my 'complete' was tossed together haphazardly and loosely bound.

"It will be alright now. Do not worry anymore." The Count soothed - soothed! I knew I was unworthy but it made my aching and confused heart so glad. Undeserving as I was, I wanted to be comforted.

For a time while I cried, I attempted to remind myself that this man was no saint. This proved more difficult to do than thought. My mind played out my wrongs with woeful clarity. His sins quickly paled in comparison. So much so that salvation in the Count's arms seemed quite unfair to him. "I-I am so sorry for what I have done. F-for what I did. I am sorry that I am hurting you now. I am sorry that I hurt you then. I am sorry I lied." I rambled, finding myself alarmingly open by the feeling of icy fingers raking through my hair. I felt so senselessly grateful that I could have laughed...Instead, I wept further, softly. I indulged myself in his grace and marveled at his composure through it all. Tears caught in the corner of my mouth as I shook my head at all the madness. On the verge of hysterics, I continued to ramble, thoughts tumbling numbly from my lips and tasting of salt. "Is it still beautiful? D-do you still find my humanity and mortality beautiful?"

The feeling of the Count's fine clothes beneath my fingertips brought forth thousands of feelings and thoughts. His cool, still frame filled me with joy that even I could not help but to question. My love for the Count was a strange one indeed, and built upon many wrongs. It was so ineffable, unnatural and yet…right. "I find you beautiful. Every part. Every bit."

This epiphany brought the air back into the room, air which I gulped in greedily...so much so that it began to tear at my already raw esophagus. I suddenly could not get enough of that sweet air, and my chest heaved for it while my heart decided to pound as though I had a dagger to my neck. All was happening too well. Too dream-like. I began to sincerely fret over my own reality. Was all this a sweet dream? Had I made it to Castle Skingrad at all or was this simply passing imagery as I faded at the end of the Dark Brotherhood Speaker's hand? The assassin would be so angry. So jealous.

Lucien's ever-black eyes narrowed in my soul and questioned - no, demanded my time's comeuppance. Stomach turning, vision narrowing and world tilting, I squeezed the Count all that much tighter. Panic. I was ensnared by the looming fear that was Lucien Lachance, and all my now severed ties with him. My fractured self could not cope with this added stress. I grabbed at the fur collar of the Count's overcoat, demanding his attention and needing him to help me in ways I should not dare ask. But I would. And I was ready to beg and bleed and die for the man before me and I wanted was to prove it but knew not how. "A-all I want is you! You are all I ever, ever wanted and more, Sir!" So long as the Count loved me, I would be protected by all. All but him, naturally, and that was a risk I was ready to take. Though change is not without fear, so I panicked further in the Count's embrace as I continued to fret over the world...

XXXX

There were only several moments in Janus Hassildor's long life that he would describe as genuinely 'surprising'. Mostly, said 'surprises' were destructive and crude, leaving the Count of Skingrad to loathe them. However, the surprise of Abigale Lynn standing in his Throne Room awaiting his presence was a sincere shock but not a terrible one in the least. Nevertheless, it horrified Janus to his marrow and stopped him in the arch of the hall.

It was her heart that he heard first. He knew that sound like no other.

His Steward, Mercator Hosidus, had announced a visitor. Having been dealing often with the Mages Guild recently, the Count was unsurprised and found the visit long overdue. With all his current matters, he no doubt misplaced a letter about the meeting. Janus had been none the wiser and walked to the Throne Room with ease, sensing the new life unquestioningly, paying more mind to how his Steward scampered off. He knew now why...

Before the Count had even graced his gaze with her, he heard it - the gentle thumping of her chest. It was an instant recognition on the Count's vampiric part. He had long committed the gentle song of her blood to memory. He would drum it, softly, on the binding of a book or the surface of his desk. Hearing it again organically in his home... This stunned Janus Hassildor in a way that made him feel remarkably human.

He remained frozen under the arch as he stared at her. Even when her eyes met his own the Count remained unmoving. She was beautiful as she awaited him, beautiful as she found him in the dark, beautiful like ever. It was unfathomable that she would come back to his wretched self. His chest ached, and he would swear his heart was trying to beat, but his mind argued that he had finally gone truly mad. Or, madder than he was originally.

For what was perhaps too long, the Count of Skingrad remained unmoving. He was more than amazed and utterly stricken dumb. Despite this, he called to her, a trick of the mind or no. Janus questioned his actions, certainly - fearing perhaps a helpless red-haired mage stood in his Throne Room and at the end of his madness. Still, the Count weighed the risk and found it worth taking.

And soon they were talking, they were touching, they were embracing, and the Count soon found himself lost in the haze of emotion. He longed to weep for delight. His love had returned! But it was soon evident that this reunion was not to be a joyous one, and in his sheer rapture, he had almost forgotten why. She came back, after all. He was still so very confounded.

Before the Count could properly process and think on further actions besides minimal words of comfort, Abigale Lynn's sorrow worsened. Her pretty heartbeat turned thunderous. She was so afraid. His love always seemed to be locked in a perpetual state of woe, and Janus was never able to help. Or could not. He doubted his capacity for goodness, but for Abigale Lynn, he would change. He would.

So the Count pulled Abigale Lynn's body away from his and stared down into those beautiful emerald orbs of hers. Janus felt the nearly overwhelming desire to simply fawn over her beauty in his mind and continue to stare. Instead, he took her small hand back in his own and gave it what he hoped to be an affirming squeeze. "Breathe and come with me, please." Was all he could articulate before turning away, tugging her hand loosely all the while, letting her pull away if she wished to.

Which she did not.

They made their way silently through the manor and to his apartments. Janus came to a stop at the entrance to the Green Room and hastily opened the door. here he held Abigale Lynn in his hands again, marveling at the smallness of her in his fingers. He found himself thinking how utterly insane it was to permit his love to leave...then he realized how terrible those thoughts were and forced such things away. "Abigale Lynn, rest. I shall have someone tend to you as fast as I am able."

The girl stared back at him, eyes freshly welling with new tears. "I do not want you to go." She implored, stroking the fabric of his coat, her jaw and limbs trembling. "I-I do not want to be alone. Please, I do not want you to go."

Again his chest ached. The Count did not want to leave her, he did not. But Janus knew it was the right thing to do. At present, Abigale Lynn was unwell and he had not a clue as to what was making her this way. He longed for her to confide in him but knew such a thing would be uncomfortable to her, especially now. No, she needed him to be away. She needed to catch her breath from all she was out running. Janus knew he had been one such thing in the not so recent past. "Nor do I, but I must." He insisted. In an attempt to show some genuine comfort, the Count held Abigale Lynn's face lightly in his hands and kissed the top of her head, marveling at the warmth of her hair for the briefest of moments...while ignoring the smell of that of another man... "Let me do this for you now. For us both. You will...you will not be locked in. The door can stay opened. Anything you want, I promise. But, please, I believe you need this. Please...?"

She stared then, and Janus was elated to find that the way her eyes met his own had not changed. Her gaze was deep and the tether they shared - he felt it remained.

Abigale Lynn nodded and stepped back into the room. She wiped her tears and looked about for a moment. The Count ran a hand through his hair as he noted how very jerky his love moved now. The grace she normally exuded was replaced by odd twitchy movements. Janus naturally blamed himself. "M-may I wash, my Lord?" Abigale Lynn squeaked suddenly, jarring the Count from his thoughts. He nodded, the action stiff itself, before moving away from the entrance. She thanked him in a whisper before moving to close the door.

No sooner had it shut did the Count seek out his Stewardess. To his manor, he dashed, ringing the bell with obnoxious force before firmly planting himself in his chair. He wanted to rush further, but Abigale Lynn wanted to bathe, and privacy was required.

The Count could not fathom what Abigale Lynn had gone through. All that had transpired just by him alone would cause him to blush if he possessed the ability to do so. His actions and letters shamed him, yet she returned. He did not deserve her and that tormented him. All that he had done proved how unworthy he was of her affection. Still, he desired it now above all things...and what a bold declaration that was to make to oneself.

Finally, after what had felt like so long, he was again complete. It would be a lie if he said he was not hurt by her deeds while away. Still, all that she did was owed. This was justice for his wrongs. The Count would love this hurt forever if it meant his love would stay. He could no longer take his loneliness and anger - anger was him, unfortunately, but the young woman loved him and came back to him still. She returned after all that he had done.

He offset the thoughts by watching the passing of time. It took his Stewardess exactly four minutes and thirty-seven seconds to reach his room, and he did not give her the luxury to enter. "Hal-Liurz!" The Count called as he made his way to the door before opening it fast.

"My Lord?" The aging Argonian rasped, hands at her sides and brows furrowed in scrutiny. In her hands, she held the satchel Abigale Lynn carried. Cure.

"She-she is in there." The Count pointed, still looking horribly shaken. He somehow managed to compose himself after and take the pack from his company as quickly and kindly as possible.

The Stewardess followed his direction and glanced down the hall. "Who is down where, my Lord? Are you certain it wasn't a nightmare-"

"Abigale Lynn is in the Green Room!" Janus interrupted, causing the already fading green hues of Hal-Liurz's scales to further blanch. "Please, please, I implore you to tend to her. Every need, every whim. I care not her desires grandness, see that it is done." His fingers raked through his hair again as he paused, giving his Stewardess a moment to absorb his order - his plea. "Mostly, Hal-Liurz, I beg of you to be there for her now, for I cannot be. She needs a genuine hand...One that has never harmed her." Janus watched the maw on his Stewardess as it twitched with stress and question. Unfortunately, he had no answers and only made a gesture for her to comply before turning away. "Please, go."

And his door again closed. Janus walked away to the other end of his quarters and stood by the mantle. The last few minutes slowly began to take its toll. All that happened, and all that was yet to happened filled the Count with terrible emotions. So much joy, hurt and loss...So much loss had yet to come.

Feeling overwhelmed and overstimulated, the Count sank down the wall, red streams racing down his cheeks. He thought of the girl down the hall. He fretted over what happened now perhaps more than he had worried prior. She looked so very lost and all was his falt. Her time away after he severed their magical ties could have been horriific, and he was to blame.

How he wanted to help her now. But no, that was a selfish want. Janus could not currently bring himself to aid his love as much as he desired it. Cruelly, Abigale Lynn may not love him at all and only wish to be with him to hide. The Count would accept this and house her without commitment on her part of any sort and however she desired. Still, it hurt to acknowledge the probable possibility.

Then...then the thought of his wife he was soon to commit to the ground resurfaced in full strength. His love's suffering and the suffering of his wife weighed on his guilty heart. He cursed himself. All left him feeling as though he were drowning and he knew it was owed. So he accepted it, humbly. Janus' eyes glazed and bled a crimson so rich, his pupils all but vanished in the red pool.

Author's Notes: Yeah...wasn't gonna make you go through an entire recap! I do apologize for the wait and quality. So many errors...Ew! You guys deserve better, you really, really do. For now, I'll go away...XD