Author's Notes: PREPARE FOR PERIOD AND COMMA ABUSE! Unf. Your reviews feed me! Thank you all so much who reviewed! It really inspired me to put this update out. Hang in for this chapter though. It is all over the place, time jumps and all other stuffs!
WARNING: This chapter is rated M. for Sexual Situations. You have been warned.
Love or Blood
Chapter Seventy-seven: Rats
xxxx
The Count led me by hand to the seating area near the fireplace. This felt good but strange, as the Count's touch was so very cold. There was much that I would again have to grow used to. My senses felt overwhelmed by him, both good and bad. However, I felt a small but distinctive pang of sorrow once he let me go and offered me a chair. Missing his closeness with jarring intensity, I thanked him fast - perhaps too fast - and accepted. I sat and stared up at the Count, taking him all in as he lingered by the chair. With his back to the flame and light swelling along his broad shoulders, I found myself intimidated. The Count was...well, the Count.
He was white, so very white; not unlike my own paleness but with an otherworldly shade that seemed to emanate from his skin - the cold of his affliction. I found I longed to warm him, but the images such a thought conjured were far from innocent, even now. I flushed and tore my gaze from him and set it rightfully on the floor, where it landed on his impossibly large shadow. More shame flooded me. My tears had still not yet dried from my cheeks and yet I could envision myself if the Count's arms once more.
My own desperation was an ugly thing and I glanced back up at the Count to see if he had yet detected it. His expression remained quite the same - unempathetic - at least, to those who did not know him. But I found him to be hovering, as he had often done. However, I was no longer sure how I was to accept this behavior. Our relations had certainly changed. I turned in my seat to further search his features, trying to glean his motives. Instead, I found just how very much I missed his face. Just how much I had missed him.
This revelation brought a new bout of fresh tears to form. Still, something inside me felt glad, so I too stared back and drank him in. Each finely made characteristic. His strong jaw that I wished to trace. His Imperial nose that I could kiss. Those dark brows, and how they knitted as he laughed. Pale, cool, full lips that made my skin prickle. Skin lightly etched from age, coarse by his jaw but soft around the eyes. And his eyes. Those piercing eyes. Two brilliant garnets, precious, rare, frightening and beautiful. All this made my Count. This was the face, the man, of my dreams and nightmares. But all this was only on the surface. Pleasing as it could be, there was so, so much more.
"May I bring you anything?" He asked, jarring me from my thoughts. As he spoke, my gaze flitted to his mouth. The Count's parted lips revealed his fangs. Large, dangerous, painful. They too were a part of my Count. A vastly large part of my Count. I knew I was to love them too as a piece of him. But memories of being anchored to the Count by his deadly kiss flooded me. I could not shut them out. Absently, I touched my neck and swallowed. Something I could not name came to me then. A sensation close to that of resignment consumed me before I let my hand fall to my lap. Garnering the courage to look him in the eyes once more, I found that his dark lashes gleamed red and fanned it gently above his cheeks. For a long moment, I only stared into his eyes, watching in a mixture of wonderment and confusion as red swirled about his gaze. The Count was watching my every move and he too fought the urge to weep.
"No," I finally answered, voice thick with emotion. I did not want the Count to cry. It solidified my hurt that much more. "Please, Sir, do not...I am so sorry."
"You are misplacing my poorly concealed emotion. I am glad, so glad, Abigale Lynn. Overwhelmed with joy, truly. Having you back home is not something I had envisioned, let alone deserve." I blinked, hardly able to conceal my surprise. The Count was treating my coming home as a gift. I was the one who felt gifted another chance. Knowing that the Count felt similarly pained me deeply. He was right, he was no 'saint', but he still did not deserve the hurt I inflicted upon him.
And yet, deep down, I also knew that I did not deserve the hurt he had inflicted upon me.
"Please do not feel that way." Looking away, I quietly begged both him and myself. The Count remained standing idle by the chair's side. Being that I was no longer used the Count's different version of attentiveness, I fussed with my gown as I sat, wringing the fabric into a coil. "I am not so wonderful as you believe me to be, my Lord."
I could feel his stare on me. My stomach knotted as I wondered why I continued to bring up my terrible deeds. Guilt, I thought. It was foolish for me to wish to tell the Count of my indiscretions, but I had every intention of doing so, whether or not he wished to hear of them. Or acknowledge them. I longed to be judged by him once more. I felt so very stained and small and needed some form of correction. The Count was my love and Master and I betrayed him in all ways. How could I hope to get away with all unscathed? I did not want to go unpunished. Something had to be done or I would be forever waiting for repercussions. I could not bear his sincere happiness over my simple presence. It was torture.
The Count finally rounded the chair to stand before me. I could not look up at him this time. He was too tall, so above me in all ways, and my head was heavy with burden. "You must stop thinking about yourself so darkly." I heard him say as I glared off at the carpets, despising myself as the rugs began to swim and bleed into obscure colors from more tears.
Darkly. If only my thoughts of myself could be characterized as dark alone. I was repulsive and bewildered. Timid and sick.
"How?" I asked in a whisper, white-knuckled and on the verge of trembling. There was no adequate way to express the frustration in me. No way to output all the emotions I felt. These expressions were beyond me. "I-I do not know how." I felt ill by my choices, decisions, thoughts, self. I hated that woman - that girl - in the mirror and all she did. What a desperate creature I was, scrambling inside my own mind and into other beds simply to feel. "All I did was...I am nothing b-but you look at me with such wonderment and all I can think of is how I hurt you. How much this all hurts." My hand drifted to my chest, fingers embedding into my own flesh in an attempt to stop the terrible ache inside from spreading. "How will I ever hope to condone for what I have done to you? How can I ever stop you or I from hurting again?"
"This is what I ask myself when I see you, Abigale Lynn. And I find that I see you always. Whenever I close my eyes you are there." The Count knelt before me then, something he did just for me. With icy, gentle fingers, he captured my face in his hands. My lip quivered at his words and I melted into his touch. I had been so desperate for him, yet undeserving and afraid. Even now his words frightened me still. There was so much passion in this cold man and I worried over my handling. "I do not blame you for your actions, as it was I who put you there. If I had not hurt you, you would not feel this way now. If I were a good man, you would not be in such pain now. Do not regard yourself in a lesser light because of this. If you harbor any malice direct it justly towards me."
"No." I snapped, startling myself with the intensity of my response. It shocked us both, and the Count carefully withdrew his touch. Instantly longing and frustrated with myself, I bit back more bitter tears as I turned my head from the Count once more. I realized I was having great difficulty meeting and keeping his gaze. "I...I'm sorry I-I am confused. No, I...I do not understand how I feel."
There was a pause between us and I felt that strange chasm return. The Count broke the tense quiet. I was so very grateful for this, but found his response to be morose and conflicting."Do not define yourself by this. I am the cause of your pain. We should not deny it."
I tried to straighten, guiltily uncomfortable with our proximity over the topic of conversation. But this was the Count's way - a way I dearly missed - regardless of how his words made me feel. "Am I not responsible for my own actions, my Lord?"
"In this, I cannot answer with certainty, but only how I feel, and the blame falls to me. You may hate me for this response if you like. I cannot fault you there either."
"I do not hate you -"
"Abigale Lynn," The Count stopped me. He sounded a touch stern now and this startled me. Rightfully or no, I sat back in the seat some. "I do not wish to talk about myself. Please, tell me if you are alright. Tell me what happened, what you need, where you are hurting..." He paused, the light cast from the fire illuminating his already intense stare. I understood then. The Count was far more curious over my welfare, not my actions. I was moved by the Count's consideration after everything I had done, but it was a bitter thing all the same. "Did they hurt you?"
The question caught me off-guard despite my knowing it was soon to come. "They did." More tears. Lucien Lachance's face came to my mind then. Our last exchange only hours prior. I had whispered goodbye as I tore myself from the man and his endless gaze. I wondered if he had heard me. I also wondered why I cared. "They did so badly, Sir."
Unfortunately, for me, I realized too late that I wanted to be alone. All too vividly I could hear the bustling, laughter in the inn, and see Lucien's face. So fiercely stunned. My ankles had been cold as the door's draft hit me. The mist touching my cheeks as I ran from him. Of course, he watched as I ran, following me out of the inn like a mad lover...A purely mad lover, indeed. He hurt me more than I thought possible. He put my family in the ground. I longed to hate him.
"What was done?"
The Count's voice shook me from my thoughts. I felt startled and caught. "I-I am afraid I cannot say."
"You must let me help you. Tell me what you are able." The fire popped like a warning.
I wetted my lips. This was it, I knew it was time to test the Count's approval of myself and his fractured ties to the Dark Brotherhood. No doubt he was going to be furious. "Sir, y-you must realize that the things I tell you are...they are very bad things, Sir." The Count only nodded for me to continue, but I noted the way his jaw set. More quiet followed. The Count's stare was unwavering. I deeply wondered then if I possessed the capacity to tell the Count of my wrongs and the Dark Brotherhood's utilization of myself. "I-it was Master Vicente's plan. He wanted to help you, he said. And I...I asked him to take me away from you." I watched the Count for a change, as of yet, there was none. "Vicente told me I would travel for the cure for you with Miss Vlando and her Brother. Vicente had told me a half-truth."
"He lied."
"No, he did not, Sir. But I was greatly deceived." Here I paused. I realized that if I was to tell the Count that I was accosted in the alleyway by Lucien Lachance - and I subsequently slept with him...oh how harshly I would be judged. Despite being fully ready to confess such a thing, however, a little voice told me to withhold such information. And I did just that, only feeling ashamed after the time to bring up the truth had passed. "Y-you see, Nerah Vlando did not stay with me. I was to travel alone with a man who is important - to their cult, I mean. A-and he is a dangerous man. He killed many." As the comment slipped, I gulped. I wanted to speak as little of Lucien as possible, though I was not fully certain why.
"A Silencer, correct? Did he harm you?" The Count asked suddenly, causing my brows to jump.
"N-no and no, Sir. I do think that is one of their words...b-but he is a Speaker, Sir."
"What?" The Count made a small sound in the back of his throat, something resembling a grunt and a growl. "I believe his significance may have been told to me prior when you had first gone. I cannot fathom Vicente's reasons for pitting you with one so dangerous...at least you were not...What more can you tell me?"
"I was given a necklace and orders not to take it off." I supplied, thinking of that bittersweet little black gem, trying to ignore the Count's fumbling of words. "It was imbued with several different properties a-and it protected me."
"This was a magical inhibitor. I knew there was something horribly awry when you had first left. I felt you distanced yourself from me but thought it was due to the pleasure of being without me. I was so blinded by foolishness, it took me days to figure out that this was untrue." The Count stood then, bringing a hand through his hair and I watched him with much interest. The smoothness of his movements, how easily he rose and his impressive height, had me recoiling some. At least when the Dark Brotherhood was the topic of our conversation. "You were lied to when they told you it was for your protection."
"No, that was the truth." I clarified in a nervous mumble. I believe he noted my hesitance, however, and turned away from me some, revealing his profile. I tried to put a measure of confidence in my voice but could not. Not now, on such a topic. "It defended me from the Brotherhood and promised aid to me by them. The most important part being that if I wore it they would not harm me. It was made to let all know that I was untouchable." I cursed my wording. I proved to be all things but untouchable. Still, I continued, near the point of babbling from nerves alone. "T-this was utilized to the fullest extent as my compliance was demanded at all times. I was so easily manipulated into a routine. B-but although I knew this was happening, I found some form of comfort in it. I felt controlled and I needed that. They knew I needed that. B-but it was not so terrible."
A strange look ghosted the Count's features but he remained silent, so I continued with greater care. "This Speaker had me travel with him. During my absence, I was only left behind by him once for a week when he deemed a trek too dangerous. He was persistent, and we became close. I-I was so very frightened, but not by him -by his deeds and all things. By the Dark Brotherhood, by that witch, b-by you." I paused, hands beginning to tremble as I watched the Count's expression change. He looked so pained and guilty. He closed his eyes, as though bracing himself.
"This man...did he treat you well?" The Count asked suddenly, and his inquiry squeezed my heart so tightly, it hurt to breathe.
The answer to this question was complicated and painful. There were many awful things Lucien Lachance did, but to me, directly, he was mostly good. Rather, I enjoyed him. I had been swayed by roguish charms when I greatly needed soothing. Only in the end did it truly go rotten - a rather crude pattern on my life, thus far that I aimed to change. "Yes." I finally managed to answer, wincing at the truth. "I am so weak and I...I do not exactly know when it started but he was...I-I found comfort in more than his control over me. I...I found comfort in him. I did, Sir. I did."
The room grew deathly quiet, even the fire seemed to calm. The Count remained unmoving. I noticed then with tears welling that his hand had formed into a fist, his large knuckles bone-white. I entertained the thought of him striking me, my arms quickly moving around so that I could hold myself. His silence was torture. Moments before he mentioned my infidelity with near indifference. Now, being in the air from my lips, it became true. A unmistakable truth. I knew then that we both felt the chasm between us return and expand. I wanted to close that space but did not know how to.
More time passed and nothing was said. I hiccupped some and swallowed thickly, wondering what I was to do. My mind brought me back to the night I 'forgave' the Count for attacking me. The truth was, I never forgave him. I never would. It was something I would have to accept had happened if I wanted to be with the Count. I realized that this too was such a thing.
The Count that night had broken before me, sobbing on his knees, bloodied and ruined. I was so frightened of him, I still was, but I wanted more than anything for him to comfort me then. I wondered if he desired such a profession of sorrow...
I did not deserve forgiveness. I did not want it. Nor would I give him mine, I realized. What I desired, what I only wanted, was for him to accept me as I accepted him. To love me as desperately as I did him.
With shaking limbs, I carefully lifted myself from the chair and stepped forth. Tentatively, so very tentatively, I reached out to the Count's shoulder but retracted my touch before finding him. He remained unmoving, so I gathered some courage and went to the Count, walking around his body to stand in front of him. However, I had to suppress a gasp once I faced him fully. I was shocked by his gaze. The Count's eyes were full of red, white vanishing completely beneath the thick, sanguine. His pupils were small black pools in all that crimson, looking much like a dark well, attempting to return the blood back into him.
The Count's tears had not yet shed and his expression remained unreadable. This further drove me. With determination, I mustered more heart, so very unsure of him and my actions as I moved forward until our bodies met. He was as I remembered. Solid, large, cold. So like a statue. He looked down to me then, stared into me, through me. My arms slipped around him, albeit shakily, and I pressed my head to his chest. It was still there. Silent. No beating greeted me. No warmth. I had to make my own for him. "I am so sorry for what I did, my Lord," I whispered into his clothing, allowing him to feel the truth of my words as I took in his form. "I am so sorry that you are hurting now because of me. I will never betray you again. I love you, I have long loved you. I am so ashamed of myself. I will not ask you to forgive me b-but please continue to love me, Sir. I beg you to."
"My love for you has not wavered at all." He proclaimed above my head suddenly, thick arms wrapping around me. I heard a soft patter by my ear as a bloodied tear fell upon my shoulder. "Gods I love you. I have missed you." A hand came up to my neck, taking my face and tilting it back so gently. My chest hitched. His tears had finally fallen. Strangely, I was relieved that I was no longer the one crying. Still, it was offputting to see streaks of blood running down his face once more. My breath left me sharply as the Count suddenly bowed his head to mine. Doubt consumed me, but only fleetingly. I rose to meet him, standing on tip-toes, pressing my lips to his so very cold ones.
Much like our first kiss, the act was stunning. The Count moved his mouth so gently against my own, almost experimentally. I believe we both questioned the swiftness of our closeness, but neither of us voiced this aloud, and after the initial touch, flames between us ignited and desperation flowed from me. My hands traveled his chest to rest upon his shoulders. I clutched him, recklessly taking in as much of him as I could, all the while silently weeping during our kiss. His fingers wove into my hair as I marveled at the softness of his lips and great stature. Hands roaming fast, I took hold of his face, feeling the slick of his blood coat my needy fingertips. I loved the feel of his skin, his cheek, red-stained or no.
I took in his scent, that spice, and knew I was home within his hold. The epiphany had ensnared me. I was helpless to my affection for this man. His insistent caress left me trembling and the world had long gone beneath my feet. The Count's arm wrapped around my back and clasped me to him. I felt the air leave me in a great rush, and there I remembered his strength. The fleeting fear of being literally crushed in his embrace resounded inside me, but I simply accepted the possibility as a sweet fate and kissed him without air. Then I thought of how wrong such a thought was...but I smiled - a strange little twist of my lip - yes, I smiled into his kiss, pressing my lips so firmly to his that I could feel his fangs beneath. I wanted all of him, even the terrible parts.
It was the Count who pulled away first, halting my attempts at drowning in him. He broke the kiss carefully, his grip loosening. Sinking down him, I gulped for air, panting softly into his clothes, watching the fur lining sway in time with my breaths. "Your heart is so loud, Abigale Lynn." He observed, sounding winded himself despite the lack of need for air. "Is it me? This is too much. Does this frighten you now? Do I, at present?"
Looking up to the Count, having his intense gaze cleared and set on myself made my chest swell with so many different emotions. Mostly, I felt in awe. Awe over his touch and the continuing tingle of my lips from it. The trails his tears had left smeared along his face had dried scarlet. Glancing down at my palms, they too had. Such a way to cry was jarring. I tried to tell myself it was not. "I cannot put into words how I feel, Sir," I admitted, still breathless. "I do not think the way I feel yet has words." I wetted my lips, tasted the Count, and felt my heart skip a beat. "But I do feel overwhelmed. It is as though I am dreaming. Or stuck between being asleep and awake. I...I am not sure what I am supposed to do."
The Count granted me more space and stepped back, holding my elbows, not ready to let go of me just yet. He began to study me there, as was his way. I found myself leaning back to grant him a better look of my whole self. "Nor I. Not fully." The Count confessed, long fingers stroking up near my shoulders. "There is much to be said and done, but we have time to decide what it is we are going to do and say."
xxxx
One Month Later
xxxx
Yelping, I looked down at the blood that quickly bloomed. I winced at the new injury. On instinct, I squeezed the hurt digit, mindful now of my needle's location. "I pricked myself again," I sighed, grabbing for some spare cloth before wrapping my finger. "Ah well. Anyway, what do you think of it?"
Tualga perked up from the corner of my room, turning toward me, a perfumed roll of silk disappearing in the dresser as she spoke. "Very skillfully done, my Lady." Her joints popped as she straightened, her smile and bright eyes never revealing her true age. "Though I'll be the first to admit, I'ave never seen the Count with roses on his shirt. It will be a first."
Pursing my lips, I carefully ran my hand over the embroidered little flowers that I had crafted into the Count's collar. "I thought it considerate. Should he spill, it will blend. All this white is so stark. And the Count, he -"
"Goes through shirts like shit through a goose?" The Nord supplied, chortling some as she continued to sort through my dressers. I tutted, but could not help hide my smile. Indeed, the Count's laundry seemed staggering. One missed drop and an entire outfit was destroyed. "I'm sure he'll love it. He needs it too."
My little smile turned into a full grin as Tualga fussed about the room. She came to my bedside and began sorting each of the Count's newly embellished tunics. "Precisely my train of thought. I made each different. Not all flowers, and such -"
"Gods, Lynn!" The Housekeeper cut me off, looking bewildered as she flipped through the linens. "You did them all? Already?"
"There has been little else for me to do," I said somberly, gesturing to the bedcovers - my perch. Returning to the Castle, though good for my soul, had seemed particularly grueling. I had only just started to grow used to the stuffiness once more. For the first few days, I had been tired and slept. Then all the food had soured my stomach. I needed to again grow accustomed to the richness of Skingrad's dishes, and only now did a semblance of an appetite return. "Has he woken yet? I feel much better."
"Aye, he has. I don't think he'll be too pleased knowing you've been up waiting for him. You were told to rest." She lectured, wagging a finger in my direction before going to retrieve a dress for me. This, too, I was steadily coming to terms with. The Count had indeed raised my station. Very much so. I was unsure how to handle such a role, and so I did small things.
Being nearly bedridden had me doing much thinking. I had many complaints, but the Count did not abandon me to my thoughts. We talked much, about my journey, mostly. Also, his wife, but this was touched upon so delicately...
The Count came to me each night, or I him, should I feel well enough. I kept much of my time with Lachance secret. I did not know what I could tell the Count, and so told him little. If I could, I answered him directly. However, I had yet to tell him of my family's demise at the assassin's hands. I longed to confide this in the Count but thought better of it. Such a secret thing should be kept as such. I would not endanger the Count by giving him too much information. Or, perhaps, I was simply not ready to tell him the terrible truth of all.
Thankfully, while in bed, the Count had also introduced me to small tasks. He had purchased a little table for my bed so that I was able to go over documents with him. He showed me small things that I could help him with and how to properly seal letters. I found I quite enjoyed our time together, even if said time was full of tension.
The most frustrating dilemma I was currently faced with was the distance the Count and I had mutually agreed to. The day of my return we both agreed, after our kiss, that romantic intimacy was to be kept to a minimum. We would not lie together and touching was mostly chaste. As much as I did desire the Count and he myself, he was still vowed to another; it went against my conscience and I had expressed this to him as gently as I could. I was so very grateful that the Count agreed to my wishes, calling them sound and honorable.
I found it easier to talk to the Count after having traveled with Lachance. This action surprised the Count and he happily commented upon it daily. However, not all conversations between the Count and I were pleasant and agreeable...
Countess Rona. I had yet to see her again and truth be told, I did not want to. She was a chilling topic that the Count gently spoke of. He easily sensed my unease and so only told me little. I did feel guilty over my aversion considering the Countess but it was something I could not stifle. It still listened, however, and what I was told only strengthened my reluctance.
She would be put to rest in a matter of days. Truly, we knew not the time. The Count had somehow summoned the witch, Melisande, to his Castle and she was to wake the Count's catatonic wife.
The prospect of seeing the woman of stone brought to life made my blood run cold. We knew not the state she would be in when she woke. Weak or ravenous was my unsettling musing. The Count also spoke of the possibility of the Countess Rona passing during the waking process - something that frightened him. He spoke cryptically over the need to cure her before her death, believing it was what she wanted. But this drove me to ask questions that made the Count grow solemn and the topic to go frigid and die. What would happen should the Countess wake and survive the cure? What if her body - though frail - lasted the transition? What would happen if she set her eyes upon the Count and want to live?
Divorce, he had said, and that answer put me to bed for days with a bitter feeling. He had unfortunately elaborated and spoke of dying love, something I could not comprehend, but ached my chest nonetheless.
Not wanting to further think about such things, I stood and began the process of dressing, opting for a soft, blue and grey gown - perhaps the least embellished dress in my new wardrobe. Most things, especially my clothes, had been upgraded. Some gowns even took the help of Tualga to settle and lace on my body. All was becoming grand and elaborate, perhaps even a touch excessively so. This was only a personal opinion that I would not voice. The last thing I wanted to do was insult the Count's way of showing me his affection.
"Blue, black, grey?" Tualga asked with a chortle as she began poking through my shoes. "Any would match that dress...Sure you don't wanna' wear this purple and gold one? It looks so pretty on you, Lady Lynn."
"It is heavy though." I sighed, pulling my hair from the back of my gown. "This will do. And black, I suppose, thank you. I am not sure my shoes need to match so." I winced, though not from pain, as the House Keeper - my former superior - dropped to her knees and grabbed my leg, beginning the work of applying a pair of stockings on myself. This I refused to be used to but had long given up the battle of protest.
"Ah, but they do. A Lady must take care of her appearance. Being lovely, you would look good in a sack of potatoes. Still, I gotta' dress ya. The Count won't like me not doing my duties to you." My shoes were slipped on, followed by a hot puff of air and a little shine from Tualga's elbow. My frown remained deeply set as I eyed her fading blonde curls. She should not serve me so, I thought, but she seemed to very happy to do so. "Now how 'bout something pretty 'round your neck?" I made another little face, which the Nord only chortled at before rising, bones popping like a fire before coming back to me with a small string of pearls.
xxxx
After the tedious act of dressing, I was with the Count once more. I reciprocate his fanged smile so quickly now, the nervous twist blooming into genuine happiness up to my eyes. There was always a measure of excitement and trepidation upon first seeing him. The charming flash of his fangs set my heart aflutter. I had not yet felt their sting yet again. The Count, agreeing to our new chastity, made a point to not feed on me. We both highly doubted our self-control when coupled with the bite's magic. I also believed him to still feel guilty and not wish me pain, as he continued to vaguely express this.
The Count blamed my entire infidelity on himself. He only let me sample my own guilt, allowing me small sips of sorrow over my actions before claiming all was his fault. I did not like it, nor did I know what to do about it. We blamed ourselves. I supposed it was better than blaming each other.
Seated on the sofa, I watched my Count as he poured me an ample glass of wine, enough to last me most of the night. "Did you rest well, Sir?" I asked, noting his expression: lips pressed into a line and brows furrowed.
"I did, thank you. However, I do have some news you may not like. I surely do not appreciate it." Taking a tentative sip, feeling the cool sweetness roll over my tongue, I only nodded for the Count to continue. He did, though slowly. "I received another letter today."
"Another?" I found myself repeating incredulously before a scowl I could not suppress broke through my features. "This is the fifth. Will he not stop?" The glass in my hand felt far too fragile. After another drink, I set it on the table before me, looking to the Count for his answer. His posture, straight and still, did not bode well, I knew.
"No, I don't think he will. I have invited him here, Abigale Lynn. It is time to settle this now." My body went rigid and stare grew cold and distant. Over the last month, the Count had been near harassed by couriers from the Dark Brotherhood, expressing how greatly important their bond to Skingrad was, and their want to send Vicente as an envoy to aid in 'repairing' their relations.
"Sir," I sighed, finger running along the goblet's stem. Fragments of memories began to play in my mind - my time with Lucien Lachance, his family. There was far too much that I had yet to allow myself to think on that came with the Dark Brotherhood's call. Especially the Speaker himself. I had not heard from him, not once, not one stolen letter. I did not know how to feel about this, or why I expected such a thing. I certainly did not want it...
"I understand this must make you uncomfortable -" The Count began, entering my thoughts.
"Yes, Sir, it does very much." I cut him off freshly, apologizing shortly afterward. Vicente Valtieri. My conversations with him, on many occasions, had been improper. Deep and personal. I had lied and used the three-hundred-year-old vampire while in his care. Overplaying my affection and working him as efficiently as the Count had once worked me. At least, I did this until his Speaker came home. Then I let him know how little I cared for him as I abandoned him completely. I knew not the goal of this vampire, only that he liked to involve himself in my affairs. I did not like him or all he knew any longer. Mostly, I felt a flush of shame thinking back on our conversations.
"This is proof of his affection!" The vampire insisted, smacking the parchment in his hand, causing me to flinch. "Why refuse him? Why accept Lachance? Janus loves you!" An image of the Count came to me and I felt my heart break anew. I felt defeated. I felt longing and fear. Mostly, I felt anger towards all of Nirn. I despised myself, the vampire before me and the vampire I loved. Again tears clouded my vision, but I steeled myself and straightened, meeting Vicente's stare the best I could. For a moment nothing was said as my chest rose and fell rapidly with my labored breathing, my heart racing despite my stillness. Hatred, desire, and confusion mixed together in my heart and caused my honesty.
"And I love him," I confessed, demanding myself to continue to look upon the vampire before me. "But I cannot be with him."
"Why?"
"He cannot love me as I love him. I am a possession and not a person. I understand his way of thinking and he is not wrong for it...But if I return, I will die. As his possession, he longs for my end so that I may be with him eternally. The Count longs to turn me, Master Vicente. I swore to him that if I returned I would do as he wished. Marriage and death...and I do not want to die."
"Janus is changing."
"Are you alright?" The Count asked me suddenly, taking in my scarlet cheeks and bitter expression. He sat down next to me, placing a hand in my lap. Indeed, it was a contradiction. I was a contradiction now. I cared not if I was to die...I wanted to be with the Count. That is what I wanted. All else was simply damage that could not be avoided. This too was such a thing, though I did not yet want to face it. "Abigale Lynn, this must be done."
"Why?" I asked, feeling almost childish with my questioning.
"Because I must protect you. The Brotherhood knows my secrets, and I theirs. I cannot simply continue to ignore his call. I must at least let him assess the damage. I owe him that." I, for obvious reasons, was not so trusting. Believing that the Count knew better than myself only helped me a little. I was still bitter and nervous. After all, what if it was not Vicente who came on behalf of the Dark Brotherhood? What if they promised the Vicente and sent another?
What if, in fact, Lucien Lachance came to the Castle. His silence had me worrying - something I tried not to think about.
"Do you?" I found myself near demanding, my tone desperate. I did not think the Count owed the Dark Brotherhood anything. They were beyond dangerous and devious. I had learned much in my time with them. Mostly, not to cross them. This thought, however, evoked another more chilling memory.
Vicente moved even nearer, which evoked a scowl on my features as his expression lightened, secret knowing about his stare. "But you do not love Speaker Lachance, do you, Abigale Lynn?"
I swallowed thickly, lifting my chin to the vampire as a smirk slowly snaked its way across his lips. "What concern of that is yours?"
"Dear girl, what do you think will occur when Lucien finds that your heart is firmly attached to the Count? You and I both know of the love you still feel for the man. How long do you think Lachance's patience will last you? What will he do when he discovers your affection stunted?" I stiffened for a moment as Vicente eyed me from my head to my shoes, gauging my doubt, smelling my fears...
"He will kill."
"This is not something we can continue to avoid." The Count insisted, capturing my hand and giving it a small, icy kiss. I swallowed thickly at the timing of his words. "You need not be present when he arrives, I just thought it wrong not to tell you."
Observing the Count reminded me that this was not an easy task for him either. He was to talk to his 'friend' once more, face to face. Such a thing had to be taxing. Vicente fooled us all - good intentions or not. But, truly, I did not know Vicente's mind nor did I want to. However, it would be irresponsible of me to ignore Vicente. I was the one who had been with him and as such I could keep the lies from the story. I would tell all the terrible truth if needed be. "I will not let you face him alone, should you permit me to stay."
Another kiss was planted on my hand. "I hoped you might. I could use you to weave out any falsehoods. Thank you. You are too good to me."
"Do not thank me just yet, Sir. We do not know exactly what is on their minds." I reminded, though now smiling at the Count's lightened expression. "When shall he arrive?"
"Next week, at the latest." I sighed, dread forming. There was much Vicente - if it was Vicente who I would see - would probably want to discuss. I could only hope my behavior was not such a thing.
Not wanting to linger on the topic any longer, I decided to change the conversation. "Will the rats be gone by that time?"
The Count, thankfully, though exasperated, still smiled and shook his head. "The exterminator only found some in storage. None in the Castle. I have a mind to hire a new one." The Count paused and glanced about. The Stewardess claimed the Count mad, saying the Castle had far too many charms upon it for vermin to spread. I believed the Count, however, knowing his senses to be keen. "I can hear them, a light patter every now and again. Even now."
"No one has seen any, Sir. I never have."
"Nor have I. But I do hear them."
XXXX
Nerah Vlando hauled another large bag of salt rice to the Inn's main room. She wiped sweat from her brow with a bony, quivering hand. Her Speaker stood mutely, shrouded in black by the counter, watching her with disinterest. The young Imperial woman set lavender eyes - another 'regrettable' side effect from the vampirism cure - hatefully upon her Master.
Yes, she was Vampire no more, and she loathed her Speaker because of it. For it was by his order that she return to a living status. She hated him for this, reciting 'hate him, hate him, hate him' in her mind like a divine mantra. His reason for her returned life? She was the sentence inflicted upon Vicente Valtieri. By order of the Black Hand, Nerah Vlando was not to be made a vampire for the next ten years as punishment to her former Maker. And assassins rarely lived so long. Why was Vicente punished and not Lachance? Sithis knew...but he was rather tight-lipped.
She should have been more mad about living again. However, Nerah intended to long outlast her predetermined expiration. After all, she had technically already died. She believed that counted for something. So should she still want to be turned, she could. Though she did question this...the thought of living forever now made her tired.
Tripping over herself and cursing aloud after smacking her hip, Nerah again bit her tongue. She had only been returned to mortal for a little over a month now and was still unused to her body. To make matters worse, Lucien Lachance - the current bane of her existence - had ordered her to accompany him to an abandoned Inn, again only Sithis knew why. Lucien Lachance claimed for supplies. Having 'taken care of' the previous occupants sometime before, the Imperial Bridge Inn was deathly quiet. And dusty.
"Last bag, Speaker," Nerah grunted, massaging the now forming bruise on her hip. "Not sure how much of this is actually needed, though. The Sanctuary is well supplied..." The young Imperial let her comment hang, expecting some form of rebuke but was granted none. Speaker Lachance had grown stern over the last month. Quiet. Serious. It was more difficult working under him now, she realized, deeply missing the Family Man she had been training under for some years now.
Even his little, black heart can be broken, Nerah mused, watching as Lucien simply counted the bags. She knew Lucien Lachance was still licking the wounds, the ones self-inflicted by losing Abigale Lynn. Truthfully, he was not the only one in the Sanctuary that lamented over the girl's absence. Many of her Family, including herself, had grown attached to the Dibellan. Some felt so poorly over it that they now whispered in the halls about it. The Sanctuary had been shamed, after all.
"You shall be glad of this when the winter comes." Lachance eventually responded, letting his hood fall. "It will take some time to get this home. At any rate, we are staying here this evening."
"But it's dusty!" The girl rounded, looking mortified, deep thought gone from her head. "I am still getting used to breathing again, Speaker. Can't I sleep outside?"
"Perhaps after." Was her Speaker's answer, his voice still sounding so very bored now. "I have a task for you first. Come with me." Nerah audibly groaned before following her beckoning Master. Together, they climbed the inn's rickety staircase, up to a small landing lined with silent rooms. "You are eighteen now, correct?" Lachance asked the young Imperial suddenly, the odd inquiry taking her off-guard.
Duh. "Uh, yes? Why?"
"Good. I have a task for you." Lachance repeated. Distrusting of her Master's cryptic commands, Nerah wrinkled her nose but remained utterly quiet as he motioned for her to enter a seemingly random room. The accommodations were small and barren but the chamber housed a decently-sized bed. Still, all was caked in dust and weathered. A large, ominous, stain discolored the wooden planks by the bed. "Go in. Light a candle."
Nerah obeyed, stepping by her Speaker and into the room. She located a flint box with little difficulty and lit the lone candle by the bed. She stood to glance about more, only to find that her Master had too entered the room and closed the door behind him. "So...er, what are we doing, exactly?"
Lucien Lachance went to her then, voice smooth and arms open. "I require your assistance. This is something I believe only one such as you can help me with."
"Oh?"
Nerah watched, off-put as her Speaker drew closer and closer. He eyed her strangely, looking almost angry as he did so, before carefully placing his hands over the young Imperial's shoulders. His thumbs traced the fabric of her tunic. He frowned. "I know you are not pleased with me now, but I know also that you are one I can trust. We are strangely like-minded, you and I...So similar in our appetites." He grew quiet once more before running a hand through Nerah's cropped blue-black hair. This action causing the girl to go wide-eyed. It was too soothing. Too strange and familiar. Intimate.
Oh boy...
"You have grown into a woman now. A lovely woman that I am proud of. Calling you my Sister is an honor." Lucien continued, his one hand still gripping her shoulder tightening some. "I must know, dear Sister...Do you love me thusly?"
Sonofabitch, Nerah thought, eyes going wide and expression twisting as her Master planted a kiss to her brow. Having been a part of the Dark Brotherhood now for some time, Nerah knew well where her Speaker's little task was heading. Sex among 'Siblings' was highly encouraged. Of course, Nerah had never once thought Lucien Lachance would come to her, of all people...Perhaps he was right, though, as she believed their desires rather similar.
"I do," She began cautiously, watching Lucien retract some to allow her response. No more came to her, however, as she carefully absorbed her present situation. Lucien Lachance lusted. She knew he simply wanted to use her body as an outlet for said lust. After all, she was one who could easily detach herself and simply enjoy sex. His plan was sound. Reasonable and well-thought. Still, Nerah knew her Speaker to still be mourning Abigale Lynn. She wondered if he could perform for her under such circumstance. She also wondered if it was wrong to take him up on his offer while knowing of his fractured little heart.
"Care to show me how deeply your affections run?"
"Speaker, if you are asking for what I think you are -"
"I am your Speaker and 'ask' nothing." Came the rather terse response, certainly a contradiction to his touch. "But...if you are maid and only blustered otherwise, or find me desperately repugnant, this can stop."
How generous, her mind chided. Having been happily acquainted with the opposite sex for many years now, such an excuse of virginity would not aid her. Nor would she dare vocalize her distaste to her Speaker as a person. However, as she eyed the way her Master stood. Strong, handsome, evil...he would be a good lay, but she was none too pleased about how he sprung himself on her. And, this would no doubt hurt Vicente should he find out. Which, of course, he would.
Nerah sighed, though not as upset as she should have been. "I am no virgin, Speaker, and I like your...features."
"Good." Was her Master's only reply before he took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to her own. Nerah, though not the blushing type, still startled at the act. More so, once a hot, wet, tongue slid its way into her mouth. His head tilted, lips moving slow and tongue sensually teasing her own. Nerah swore internally, she had long known her Speaker to be skilled, but just not how much.
Rough hands went to her shirt's hem, pulling it from it's tucked position out of her soft-leather pants. It was then swiftly drawn over her head and cast to the floor. Her Speaker's hands were warm and fast. He returned to her mouth quickly, letting his touch roam over her flat stomach before dipping right into her trousers - the young Imperial enjoying his swift, unabashed caress far more than she had originally anticipated. She mused it was due to her current lack of intimacy from a certain Vampire.
Hot fingers worked her slowly, focusing more on stimulation rather than swiftness as Lucien played. His kiss was starved and turning desperate as more clothes were shed. Soon he retracted his touch and too was removing garments, so that only soft black-cotton pants and hide boots remained. "I will be kind, little Sister, kind as I can be." He attempted to soothe, kneading the little bit of softness on her hips as he pulled her toward the bed.
Recoiling a tad at the Dark Brotherhood's incest infatuation, Nerah still obediently followed her Speaker to the bedside. She found herself quite pleasantly winded and thus far satisfied. Not wanting to displease her Master, she made a small show of crawling onto the bed. Naked as the day she was born, she sprawled onto the covers for her Speaker, grabbing at what little bust she had in an attempt to be sensual; quite pleased with the outcome as her Master's arousal was pulled from his trousers.
Though not disappointed, she thought it would be bigger than it was. He was larger than Vicente's at any rate.
"Charming." Was Lucien's lackluster response to her show before he griped her pale, taut thigh. Drawing her to the bed's edge, Lachance openly frowned at her now lean and muscular form. It was obvious to Nerah what he wanted, but she was not so soft and fleshy as the lovely Abigale Lynn. "Face away. I may be whoever you wish." A pleasant flutter ran through Nerah's belly at his command and she eagerly went to comply, scrambling to all fours but stopping once a flash of red caught her vision as Lachance reached into his pocket. "Face away." Her Speaker repeated, more firmly, grabbing her head and turning it towards the wall.
In his free hand, he clutched a lock of Abigale Lynn's hair. Now, a normal person would have been affronted. Nerah only felt suddenly dirty - as though she was somehow violating Abigale Lynn. But the young Imperial swallowed down the sentiment, too drunk on her Master's touch to care for consequence.
Positioned as instructed, her Speaker took hold of Nerah's hips once more before slipping himself into her. Letting out a long, pleasurable sigh, Nerah quickly set to work, carefully tossing herself back onto Lachance. He let her experiment on him until she worked herself into a fine sweat. Being far more accommodating then she would have ever imagined, his hand slipped beneath her and toyed with her sex, his hips carefully meeting hers. Enjoying herself far too much, Nerah forgot the circumstance of their union and turned her head back just enough to see her Speaker. What she saw, she had forgotten, remembered and expected.
Her Speaker's eyes were closed, the red lock of hair wrapped around his knuckles on his freed hand, said hand currently positioned beneath his nose. There he inhaled the lingering scent, envisioning Abigale Lynn while sheathed in Nerah Vlando.
XXXX
Lucien Lachance watched Nerah Vlando sleep, placing gentle kisses on her shoulder. He was quite thankful for the intimacy, as his usual women did not stir him in the least. Truthfully, neither did Miss Vlando. However, seeing her brought about memories of Abigale Lynn. Coupling that with his precious lock of Abigale's hair transported him back to her - though only partially. Being in a bed that he had previously had the girl in certainly helped too, or he told himself it did.
The Dark Brotherhood Spreaker rolled onto his back and stared up at the inn's ceiling. He missed her. Thinking of her made him feel empty and uncertain. He had not yet recovered from her loss, the wound still bleeding fresh within him. His entire body felt tired and hollow - so cold despite the bed's heat.
Abigale Lynn tormented him in his dreams with warmth and laughter, hot limbs and sweet words. Her soft embrace now was gone from him. Lucien now only had the memories of her to appease his aching soul. He could not stand his current self, but tolerated him all the same, as soon his pain would be absolved. Lucien Lachance would not continue to suffer. He fully intended to retrieve his companion, his true love, but had to do so carefully. It was already in motion now. He was laying plans and had easily crafted a way to enter Castle Skingrad and eliminate its Count.
Author's Notes: Lucien in crazeh. I'm a pervert but I try to keep this stuff kinda classy guys XD. ALSO. Lucien Lachance certainly did not treat Abbey 'well'. We are dealing with damaged people here, their definitions of 'well' are baaad. Almost everything they do is bad. Don't be like these characters! XDD