Author's Notes: God, how is everyone holding up? Miss you guys. This world is completely mad and it put me in such a dark place. Over the course of 2020, I had another hard battle with anxiety and other stuff. Le. Fucking. Sigh. But life goes on. In an attempt for normalcy, I started gaming again. Fell in LOVE with the Witcher 3 too. Doing my damndest not to start a fanfiction on that. Hehe. And I'm back typing up this lovely pooh. Been feeling so nostalgic for TES. Bummed that the community feels so dang dead now. Even while typing out this fanfiction, it just feels like I'm shouting into the damn void XD Then I noticed a huge bump in views on this story and felt compelled to sit and write, just in case someone out there wants some good ol' TES fannyfiction too.

Love or Blood

Chapter Seventy-nine: Ignorance

Some hours went by, most of which I spent silently weeping alone after the Count left me to collect myself. I was thankful for this, needing the hours to recoup. After our confessions, I did feel lighter, even if by a small margin. Still, I was lamenting over all that remained unsaid. I wanted to release the rest of my woes, no matter how shameful or painful, but knew now that it was an unfair wish. I was not alone in all this quiet turmoil. The Count was equally affected, and equally at blame. We both felt embarrassed, we both felt powerless over each other's actions. Yet, likewise, we both coped differently.

My feelings were respected, it was more than I deserved.

After night had surely fallen, the Count came for me again. After his knock, I opened the door of my chamber and was greeted by a far better-dressed Count than earlier. He wore the shirts I embroidered, and a doublet, ornate and deep-red in color, the fine brocade gleaming brightly and stitched with gold. Over that, he had donned a black overcoat comprised of velvet and thick fur trim - a staple of his. Tall black boots and dark trousers completed his ensemble and the simple sheen of his footwear left me feeling so at home in his company, regardless of our circumstance. I tried a smile once he brandished his arm, cloaks draped upon it. "Are you still willing to walk with me tonight?"

Nodding, I accepted the garment, hesitating only slightly when I spotted the cloak's fastener. "Anything else about you that is a product of Skingrad? Anymore 'symbols' of his affection and ownership?" The feeling that washed over me was strange. It was oddly surreal, again seeing the little emblem of Skingrad on dark fabric. I was troubled by the memory of Lucien Lachance violently tearing the button from my chest and casting it into the stream. "The path to freedom is a painful one, my dear." He had chided, further fueling me with anger and desperation. My attachment to the Count had never left, despite Lucien's efforts to strip me of it. I found it sad that he believed removing items would somehow abate my desires. Sadder still, I wondered if Lucien's words held more weight than I had originally thought. Again, I was owned by the Count, his mark both visible and not. But...did such a thing matter so long as we both loved each other?

This cloak and its fastener were new. I tightly wrapped myself in it and attempted to push my rogue thoughts.

"We shall go at the pace you set." The Count remarked as we made our way through his manor. "Should you feel unwell, tell me of it. I do not want you to stress yourself." This made me truly smile, small yet honest. My prior ailments had cemented my fragility to the Count once more. If he worried so of overworking me with a simple walk, I doubted he would attempt to push me to exert myself in other manners. It made me comfortable to know but also conflicted me tantamount. I longed for intimacy with the Count, yet I still feared it and knew it to be wrong while his wife suffered. Although my desires were mostly tame, even thinking about finding comfort in the Count's arms guilted me. This was something I knew I could never conquer. No matter what transpired between us now, this way of thinking, whether right or wrong, would remain.

In little time we were out of the Castle and stepping onto the veranda. The night air smelt sweet and felt remarkably good on my skin. I wanted to bask, close my eyes, and drink in the sensations but did not want to Count to notice how deeply I savored the outside. I did not want to guilt him.

We strolled further in silence, leaving the grounds altogether. Soon we were atop a small hillside, the very same hill we wandered to on the night the Count took me for our first walk. There we stopped, overlooking Skingrad and observing the night. My heart was glad to be out again, especially with the Count by my side, but all was drastically different now when compared to our first trip.

I glanced over at the Count, recalling how very privileged and special I had felt when at his side months before. I loved him then, I decided, little and strange as the foreign feeling had been to me. I did not want to feel it, I tried so hard to ignore it, but truly it was as grand and prominent as Skingrad in the distance. Now, the memory left me longing. How seemingly easy it could have been to love him, as I only worried then about our stations and his disease...I knew not of other more tender secrets. I knew not of the darkness in him or myself nor how tainted and feeble I could be. It was before so much awfulness. If possible, I would go back in time and grab my prior self and beg her to savor her sweet ignorance.

The Count's cool hand enveloped my own then, jarring me some. He looked down upon me and smiled, the expression a touch bitter. "I doubt they remain proud of me now, Abigale Lynn." Puzzled, I only stared, not understanding who the Count was currently referring to or what he spoke of. "You told me once in this very spot that you believed my predecessors to be proud of my accomplishments. I doubt it now. I have lost their pride, most assuredly."

At first, I only blinked, not remembering the comment at all. Our walk so many months prior had left my mind messed. Too many exciting and new emotions had plagued me then. However, I fully believed I would have said such a thing, even if only to compliment the Count. I wanted to make him feel as good and important as he had made me feel. Hearing him now reflect so solemnly hurt and frightened me. I wondered why he no longer felt joy when remembering my remark. Guiltily, I questioned my involvement and suspected my wrongdoings. No doubt he felt less of himself. I sympathized. "That is not true Sir. W-why would you think such a thing?"

His eyes met mine for a fleeting moment before he turned his attention back to the city once more, looking almost as though to be steeling himself. "Because I took you here only once." The Count's words hung thick in the air. It was a bitter realization for us both, and such an awkward truth to hear aloud. In all the months I resided in Skingrad, the Count and I only willingly left the Castle together once. Once. How strange it was to hear from his own mouth. Regardless of his feelings for myself, he kept me inside and under close watch. It made sense logically, I was his prisoner, and yet it hurt. It did not feel right to my heart, but I loved him still.

I had to cast my attention to my feet, feeling so strongly ashamed by something I could not name nor fathom. The Count squeezed my hand and I knew he felt this way too, for his own reasons. My heart began to race and I had to concentrate to control my breath. I did not want these thoughts, nor did I want to feel this way while reflecting. I did not want perpetual sorrow to be all that we knew together. The sheer amount of self-pity - both his and my own - sickened me. There was good in our past, I knew there was. I wanted him to see it too. "Is sorrow all that binds us now, my Lord?" I asked, feeling so very tempted to work my hand from his grip. A wave of strange, cool anger slipped into me. I thought of our talk beforehand and his promise to not burden himself with all blame. "I thought we reached something earlier today. I-I feel alone in our memories. I thought there was good. P-perhaps I am alone in this. I want to be glad with you. I want to be happy. I...Should you not see-"

I was again startled by the Count as he let go of me. Abruptly, he turned to me, standing directly in front of myself and crouched some, taking my face and cupping it in his very large hands. The Count's look was assertive. I blinked and recoiled some on instinct, his touch preventing me from moving away. When he spoke it was slow and meaningful. "That evening the moon bathed us in blue. You looked as though you were made of pure porcelain. And your touch, when you placed your hand in my own...your touch to me is all fire, Abigale Lynn." He paused, his face both so stern and somehow desperate, reflecting how he felt. I did not understand, not fully, as I was too wrapped in my own emotions. Inside I was taken by the now-familiar grip of devotion and fear. One never knew what passions controlled the Count at any given moment. This uncertainty was another thing that would forever remain. No matter the depth of my love I would always fear this man. "You made me feel so very extraordinary that night. Fortunate too. You saved me from a terrible dream." His fingers curled into my hair, thumbs icy against my cheek. "To be glad together is my most fervent prayer. But to move forward, we must look back, or else we could fall into previous patterns. We must be critical. I will never allow myself to make the same mistakes again. I cannot."

The Count went quiet, and I felt that terrible, dark chasm of confusion and hurt begin to bubble itself into existence. Again I believed him to be taking all blame and it disappointed me so. I went to turn from him but was kept firmly in place by his touch. I did not like it, being so reminded of how impossible it was to make the Count simply shift his hold. I could only make a small sound of displeasure and furrow my brows in frustration. "I asked you to not do this and you promised me you would try," I argued lamely, though fixing him with a glare for further impact. "This is not trying. T-this is pity. Conceding defeat."

The Count's lips pressed then. He shook his head, a luxury I was not given. "I swear to you I am not defeated nor am I going back on any promises made. I will be a better man to you. Allow me to reflect and acknowledge our wrongs, so we may not do such foolishness again." I felt my pout deepen by the intensity of his look, red eyes glowing brightly. "I will protect you, even from myself. Whatever it takes, I will make you happy with me again."

I was unsure why, but I only could continue to glare. It was unfortunate, but I could only trust the Count so much. His words and actions earlier were as moving as they were unsettling. I knew not how to proceed any longer. I doubted if I ever did.

"I think," He began again after a fresh bout of silence, his expression lightening. "That you are taking my prior request quite literally. Watching me. You look at me as though I will shift into a different form."

"Your hold prevents me from doing little else, my Lord." The Count apologized at this and carefully retracted his touch, but still, he did not yet stand. He continued to watch me, features further softening as he did so. I wondered what he was thinking and was made only more perplexed as I saw the glint of his fangs. He smiled at me, small and curiously. "What...what is amusing?" I finally gained the courage to ask, feeling my tolerance for his changeable moods thinning for the evening.

"The effect you have on me, I suppose. You are...and do forgive me should this be a touch backhanded, but you are astoundingly adorable, even when on this uncomfortable topic." Again the Count touched my hair, carefully holding a lock between his forefinger and thumb. "I am happy you are better, no matter what depressing things we must face. I missed your energy and self. I have missed this feeling of completion when you are near. And your gaze," His grin broadened, leaving me to feel so flabbergasted by the joy he now exuded. "Though at present, you look at me as if I were quite the fool."

Unable to hold back, I scoffed, then made several more unintelligible noises in sheer exasperation as sentences formed and broke. When I gave in and accepted the abnormality that was my Count, I only sighed in defeat and tried to smile too, though it felt more false and submissive than I would have liked. "You are not, nor have you ever been a fool, Sir. But to be a touch backhanded as well...?" I lead, waiting for the Count's nod of approval before I dared to speak my mind on how I felt. "You are unstable. It is taxing, at times."

The Count frowned but nodded all the same, finally rising to his full height. "I suppose that is fair. If you are adorable, I am unstable. It is not the first time I heard such a thing, I'm afraid." He retook my hand then and stepped a small bit closer. I found a semblance of comfort in his touch. However, I was still very much unused to it. "Forgive me for flustering you so. It was not my intention. I believe my madness convinces me to approach solutions in odd manners."

Again we began to stroll, our pace slow and without a destination. "You are not mad, Sir. I have known madness." My correction was meant to be light and jovial, but the image such a statement conjured compelled me to falter. Lucien Lachance. Madness, I have known him, and I have lain with him too.

In that very instant, our walking stopped as the Count halted. I pulled my lip between my teeth and froze, staring up at the Count's suddenly very stern face. Again the change was jarring. I questioned myself inwardly. Had I offended him? I wondered if I had spoken aloud. I also wondered, albeit foolishly, if the Count somehow read my mind. His actions made little sense, but this was disconcerting. He was so still, starring off along the hillside with a narrowed gaze. I swallowed hard and tried to decipher the Count's very sudden change in demeanor once more.

Before I could attempt to come to any sort of conclusion, the Count spoke again, voice tense and strange. "Something is amiss." I followed his glare, trying to peer off near the vineyards but could make out nothing above the ordinary. The Count too glanced about then, turning back to view his Castle in the distance, then bringing his stare again to me, appearing conflicted. "Abigale Lynn, you are to come with me. Follow me at a distance, but not a far one. The Castle is too great a journey for me to permit you to go alone. You will be silent and slow. Proceed with caution and stay back."

I nodded, wetting my lips, feeling bewildered and anxious over the threat I could not perceive. Lucien Lachance entered my thoughts once more and left me more ill at ease. "W-what is it Sir? The...Brotherho-"

"No. I smell rot. Old rot." The Count released my hand for the second time of the evening and began to make his way forward. I followed rigidly, eyes darting wildly about our surroundings. In little time we approached the vineyard the Count believed to be untoward. I observed the area, soon noting the distinctive feel of magic in the air. "They are talking. You are to stay low and quiet, do you understand? It is imperative that you do." I nodded, swallowing thickly, soon noting that I too could hear something so vague carried on the wind. "Someone seeks me, I must go. Look away if you must."

Then, in a rush of dark color, the Count was gone. I stood, utterly mystified, scanning the night in attempts to locate my now missing Count. I was still so unused to his powers again that it was near comical. I hesitated for a long moment - being so dumbfounded - before I began to carefully move more towards the vineyard. I knew to walk with caution, but my fear of the unknown had set my pace to a brisk step. Once I approached the old wooden fencing, my hand just having lain upon I beam, did I hear the shrill and terrible cry of a woman.

All sense left me. I staggered forward, frantically. I was overcome with worry and terror but not for my own preservation. The Count had vanished, his disappearance soon accompanied by this disturbing wail. This stranger on the Count's land happened to be a female, a female who was in serious danger should she anger the Count in some odd way. I knew this, it sickened my heart and I needed to intervene. I did not know the circumstance, nor what I could potentially run into, but another woman to be so struck and helpless compelled me to move. I did not know her, yet I could not leave her to such a fate. In my panic, my thoughts went dark and made disturbing links. I had overlooked death given by the hands of another before. I could not let such a thing happen again. It was almost surreal to feel such a blinding sense of urgency, yet I felt it, and could only surmise it to be selfish still.

The Count had to be better than Lucien Lachance. He absolutely needed to be...And I was sad, so, so sad that the first conclusion I would come up with regarding the Count was dark and bloody.

It took only a moment for me to crest the hilltop. Hidden in lush vines and new trees, I looked down from my perch by the fence and regretted it instantly. Not far below me, I saw what one could only describe as a massacre.

Two bodies lay motionless in the grass. Dark pools of blood blackened by night soaked the ground around them. Smatterings of gore discolored fresh grass in inky smears. It was savage. Messy. My breath hitched and my limbs turned icy, bile rose in the back of my throat as I noted parts of what once had been someone. The carnage shook me and I knew not how so much had occurred in such little time.

It took another minute before I further noted the corpses and their clothing, the discovery chilling. The dead were clad in dark robes. Black, hooded shrouds... The panic that struck me then was one of the most harrowing sensations I had ever known. I knew not who the bodies belonged to, but the possibility that one could have been Lucien Lachance forced me to move. The Count's command for me to keep my distance vanished from my mind as I sprinted down the hill. I was no longer aware of myself and only knew to move.

Was Lucien here? Was he so foolish? Was he dead? Where was the Count?

"You will regret this! They will come for me!" The hysteric shouting of another brought me to a halt as I descended half the hillside. I turned, winded, to finally see the Count and another man, near hidden in a cluster of trees by the road. The Count's back was to me, I could not see his face, nor could I decern the other's features, as he was dowsed in red and swollen. Yet he was small, portly, with matted blonde hair and fine clothes. Once coupled with his voice I knew it to be none other than Mercator Hosidus. "They will avenge me, Hassildor! My death will be an eternal mistake!" I watched on foolishly as Mercator backed himself into the trunk of a tree. His expression appeared to be a mix of fear and anger. I knew not what happened, I dared not to look around at the bodies nearby. I focused on the discourse, confused and intrigued and incapable of much else.

The Count followed Mercator's movements, stepping closer. I awaited his shout, to hear his voice boom in the air as he demanded answers. Internally, I braced myself, unsure of how my body would physically react to such a thing again. However, the Count said nothing. I wondered if he was rendered silent, then my thoughts came to an abrupt stop as the Count's fist suddenly smashed into Mercator's face with such force that the other Imperial's head collided into the tree behind him with a loud thud. My body jerked at the violence but I managed to suppress a gasp, staring wide-eyed as more blood began to pour from Mercator, this time weeping from his lips. He parted them, eyes opened and unfocused, several teeth slipping down the river of red that ran from his mouth.

Again with movements that were far too fast to process, the Count's hands were raised and grasping at Mercator's face. I could not look away no matter how desperately I wanted to. I knew what I was about to witness would be terrible, but I could not move. I was no stranger to death now but this was inhuman and strange; my own mortality in question as I watched the Count. His left arm bent upright and locked, followed by his right arm reaching, with fingers probing into the ruined maw of Mercator Hosidius, one hand grasping his upper palate, the other wrenching down his jaw and chin. By way of Mercator's mouth, the Count gave a great silent pull.

The tearing. A 'pop' and burst. Red. Black, blue, flecks of white and grey. Red. So, so much red.

With no effort, hardly any physical strain at all, the Count had torn off the head of Mercator Hosidus. More than that, he ripped it in two, from ear to ear...

I could only stand there. In a mixture of shock, awe, and mortification, my body beginning to tremble. It was a slight waver about my person, more notable was the sudden perspiration accumulating at the base of my skull. It was damp and oddly distracting. I was keenly aware of my quivering limbs and the trickle of moisture dampening my shirt's collar. To be alive and feel my body work when everything else wanted to stop...

I heard a soft 'plop' and slight rustle of grass, the sound bringing my consciousness back to reality once more. Slowly, the world around me came back into focus, like the Count's large figure and how he now stood. He was so unnaturally still until he wasn't. Again I watched on, a pale spectator, as the Count brought his own hand back to his attention. He focused on it, as did I. The fine fur trimming of his sleeve dripped fast, the entirety of his jacket soaked red up to his elbow. He angled his body strangely, unknowingly, allowing me a better look, while his hand slowly made its way closer to his face. He stared down into his open palm, coated and glistening crimson in the moonlight, looking so very far away as he did so. The gleam in his eye was crazed and desperate. Then, like a man possessed, the Count brought his opened hand closer still to his face and ran his tongue along his blood-soaked palm.

"S-sir..." I heard myself breathe, feeling confused and wrong all over. I wanted to close my eyes but still could not bring myself to look away. I hardly understood what brought me the courage to speak. I only knew I wanted all to stop once more. This was madness I was no longer used to, nor could I understand it. I could not fathom it. The raw strength and instinct left me conflicted and terrified. How easy it was for him to do such a thing. How simple. Yet, I stood, hardly able to formulate words of protest...

Moments before he called me adorable.

The Count turned, head perking toward me fast. He at first appeared as though he had been caught, but then true to his fashion, the look dropped and his refined poise returned. He straightened and began making his way toward me, eyes sweeping over my every inch, assessing my state. I only swallowed thickly and regretting the attention. I would not dare retreat. "Are you alright?" He asked, near closing the space between us. My heart hammered and I knew he heard this. Carefully, slowly, he placed his large, bloodied hands on my shoulders, disregarding the gore they would leave. I wish he did not feel compelled to attempt this form of comfort. He looked down at me with a soft expression. It was dizzying. He was filthy. The burst of Mercator's vessels had streaked him. His handsome face and hair. I watched fixedly as red dripped down his temple, lazily running over his cheek. "Try to calm, you are in no danger. Not anymore. I can explain this. It was needed, it -"

Again, so, so quickly, he changed. The Count's head snapped to the side to glare several feet away at the ground. I followed his look, slowly making out another body caught in the madness with me. This form, however, moved. It - she - was alive.

She was curled tightly into herself, pressing her frame into the large boulder she crouched by, as though trying to melt into it. Her hand, which grasped at the rock, was a deep tan. Short, ashen-brown waves of hair shook in time with her head. Her robes, though tattered now, were the signature green and brown of a journeying mage. While in the company of Lucien Lachance, I had seen many students at the Arcane University who wore them. I fretted some over this, wondering if perhaps she knew something about my person, but the worry was slight compared to all the present awfulness. This woman was no doubt the one who I had heard scream. Again I wondered what happened in such a short amount of time, but I was relieved to see she yet lived, though I worried tantamount that the Count would soon end this.

The Count removed himself from me and swiftly turned toward the woman on the ground. I grasped at the air where he had been in a panic, attempting to stop him. Perhaps it was wrong of me, as I knew not what had truly transpired. Still, I had tried to stop him but failed. In three long strides, the Count was upon her, standing over her crumpled person. I watched her shrink further and listened to her small sound of dread. It compelled me to do something. Tentatively, I took a step forward, thankful that the Count had yet to close in.

"You impossible fool." He began suddenly, startling me further. I thought his anger was directed at me, but no, he spoke now to the still petrified woman on the ground. She had yet to look up and flinched at his words. "What possessed you to think I would suggest a meeting here, of all places?!" Perhaps it was the Count's words, or perhaps it was the fact that she remained alive, but her quivering slowed. I could hear her deep breaths. Then the woman, to her credit, garnered the strength to glance upward. Her features were strong and strictly Imperial. She was afraid, petrified, but managed to meet the Count's look with palpable trepidation. I pitied her and began to inch closer, her attention so fixed on the Count that she had yet to notice me. "I cannot fathom the unmitigated stupidity your guild harbors! Had I not been about, you would be dead."

A pregnant pause followed. The woman, now looking more bewildered than afraid, began to carefully loosen. I too moved, closer still to the Count, inching toward him as I watched her regain some poise. I still knew not who this person was, but the Count seemed to have some idea. A mage, that much was evident. Before I was at his side, the woman's eyes met mine and I froze on the spot. She glanced between us, puzzled, wetting her lips before managing to speak. "Y-you are...S-Skingrad's ruler?"

"Yes. I am Count Janus Hassildor, at your service. And a 'thank you' might be in order at this point. If not for me, you would not be having this rather embarrassingly obvious epiphany." The Count glanced back to me whilst wiping some red from his cheek. He cocked his brow and beckoned me closer with a tilt of his head, continuing only when I was in arms reach once more. "Well, at least your gullibility served some purpose. I knew of Mercator but not his friends. Now none of them are a threat to me any longer. I suppose it is good to have gotten something more out of this mess."

The woman's eyes flashed back and forth between the Count and myself, then to the corpses lying in the grass. I tried not to even think on them, it was too much. So much. Her face turned sickly, displaying the emotions I longed to hide. "Y-you tore him a-apart!" Finally, like a bubble burst, she spoke, pallid and bewildered and perspiring. "You are inflicted? A vampire...Count?...Why? You saved me. Why? Who was he?"

"Do you not recognize a Necromancer when you see one?" The Count questioned cooly, though I easily sensed the underlying tension in him build. It frightened me. I did not want any more bloodshed nor could I guarantee that the Count would not lash out further in anger and hurt the mage he spoke to. I longed to wilt, slink off or somehow remove myself from all...but I could not, and as the Count's anger rose, I knew I had to try something from worsening matters. "Almost butchered in a field, yet the vampire who aides you renders you stunned? This is what the Guild sends to me now... Abhorrent." I still knew not of what had happened, nor the part the stranger played, but the Count sparing her thus far urged me to act. Should she be innocent, she now knew of the Count's secret vampirism. A calm was needed, but I was clueless as to how to obtain it.

Carefully, I slipped my hand into his, noting how each digit was slick and cold. "Sir, please, she is afraid. Please, be gentle. I-I am scared too."

Some of the Count's tension dissipated. "Forgive me." He nodded, filthy fingers raking through his hair before he spoke again. "His name was Mercator. I had him in my employ as I could better watch his behavior in my realm. I knew him to be actively involved in Necromancy but was unwilling to move against him without knowing his station. The identities of his allies reveal much. Their lacking skill displays low-ranking magic, but they were not acting totally alone. It would appear as though the necromancers are more productive than I formerly anticipated."

The woman on the ground continued to stare up at the Count and I, no doubt all she had been through was dizzying. I understood that but knew the night could get far worse if she said the wrong thing. The Count's affliction was a very tender topic when someone other than himself brought it up. I dearly hoped she would not bring up the Count's vampirism again, no matter how shocking a revelation it was so that the tentative tranquility would remain. "T-they told me I needed a book." She began suddenly, her voice hoarse. "I came here for it. Y-you borrowed -"

"Is that so? Truly? Perhaps your Guild has not been entirely honest with you." The Count interrupted, his gaze narrowing some, to which the woman nodded tentatively. What little I did know of the Count's relationship with the Mages Guild was that it happened to be anything but trusting. The woman's unquestioning faith in their organization again set the Count on edge. "Do you really believe they sent you here for a book? No. They sent you here to spy on me! They have heard the same rumors as I have about the Necromancers rising cult, among other things too, I am sure. And despite what your guild may think, I have not thrown in with the Necromancers and would never do so. Go and tell your council that. And the next time they want something from me, whether it be books, information, or something to do with their mundane politics, they come themselves. They do not send another under false pretenses. You may pass along that message."

The woman on the ground swallowed hard and bowed her head. When she spoke again, I could hear the composure returning to her voice. The Count was sparing her life, after all. And yet she knew of his vampirism now. This confused me greatly. "I am sorry Count Hassildor. I did not know."

"Yes, I see that." The Count responded fast, his voice and poise regal once more. "I regret that Traven has involved you in this way. It is plain that you are shaken, for more reasons than the attack, no doubt. There is much about your Guild that you are yet to discover, I'm afraid. At least you have survived their nonsense...for now. And for what it is worth, Skingrad is still an ally to your council. This may tarnish my views further, but I will still gladly cooperate with your superiors. Provided, of course, your absolute secrecy over my situation."

"I solemnly swear it!" The woman on the ground exclaimed, clasping her hands in front of her, as though ready to plead. This I could not stand to watch and had to turn my head. "No soul shall ever hear of this! It is as you wish, my Lord, I -"

"It was not a suggestion, I have no need for your proclamation. This will never be spoken of outside of particular circles." The Count cut her off firmly. She listened to him, so closely, her dark eyes glazed. "Your Guild would easily be done would you if they doubted your trustworthiness. They remedy themselves of those who cannot keep secrets..." Finally, the woman nodded again, head bowing in respect. Then the Count turned, taking my arm in his hand as he did so, removing us both from the terrible scene. "We are done here. I suggest you return to your council, mage."

And indeed, he was done. The Count's stride was brisk, his clothes and self stained and tarnished, yet he walked from the crumpled mage as if she were nothing. As if nothing had happened. Done. Utterly done. And after such a massacre. I looked back to the woman, she remained seated, watching us walk, still trembling slightly. I wondered if this was her first time seeing death. I doubted it. However, seeing the raw strength of a vampire, that was most likely a first, and it too was terrifying. "Sir," I glanced up to the Count, my free hand carefully falling over his bloodied grip on my arm, as I attempted to garner his fullest attention. "S-should we not...provide more? S-she may be hurt. Or...in need of an escort. She was attacked."

The Count's eyes fell to me, his look impossible to read. Suddenly, he stopped, long strides coming to a halt. "Your approach is very diplomatic. It would secure more trust." He touched his chin, thoughtfully and cast an uninterested look back at the woman by the rock. "Very well. Let this be your first ruling. It has my full approval." His comment made me gulp. I felt it was off and unneeded. Were my words a ruling? I did not think so. Yet I spoke them to the Count, much like an advisor would, yet my request was not made out of tactical advantage or political coercion. I only pitied her, the woman by the stone. "Mage!" The Count called, causing me to startle, musings gone. "Come. You are to return to my grounds. Accompany us. I shall have you sent back to the University in a coach. You would attract unwanted attention wandering the roads in such a state."

Quiet first. Then she spoke once more, still sounding unsure. "Please, I do not want to impose."

"It would be improper of us to do otherwise. We shall see to it that you return safely. I want my message heard, after all."

XXXX

The assassin was utterly soiled, from head to toe, drenched in red. Yet he stood, patiently, arms folded over his chest, back against the shabby walls of the Leyawiin cottage. He listened to the steady drip, drip of blood as it pattered from table to floor, the mer strewn upon it long since cold.

Lucien Lachance was keenly aware of the trails of sweat that ran down from his hairline and over the tip of his nose. His robes, sticking to his skin with perspiration acting like an adhesive. How he loathed Leyawiin, finding the climate brutal, yet his disdain for the city had abated some. He had fond memories here now, after all. Memories that now felt so far and distant. It was but another thing he loathed.

As Speaker, Lucien Lachance had been able to turn the current troubles his Sancyuary faced on all but himself. It was the Count of Skingrad's fault, being of unsound mind and changeable disposition, his mixed demands caused confusion. It was an easy twist and not an entirely false one. All but the Listener, who had remained remarkably quiet - even for himself - during their conversations had agreed. Lucien's punishment was little, a slap on the wrist. He was to fulfill the undesirable contracts, those with little pay and high risk. At present, he had completed dispatching a rival drug supplier to the city of Leyawiin. It was not the easiest of contracts, true, but it was better than the previous two.

It was not glamorous, there were no embellishments, but it was done. The assassin only suffering a shiner beneath his left eye - a sloppy mistake he had yet to heal. This was also not the first time Lucien Lachance had unfortunately sustained an injury as of late. His temper flared quickly, leaving him open on several occasions. Nothing lethal, he was not so clumsy, but it was enough to give the assassin pause. He needed to reflect, though he knew the true reason why his soul was restless.

The assassin's hand twitched, a small tick his body had kindly adopted over the last few weeks.

'You are an asset to happiness.'

Black pools, surrounded by the bloodshot coat of his eyes, opened. The echo of his own words awakening the feeling of deep betrayal. He reflected often. No, he could not stop reflecting. Abigale Lynn, their time, their ventures and talk, was all that played out in the assassin's mind. It was an endless play that would drive the average being mad. Her voice, her smell, it was all he could focus on, despite her absence. How unfair and cruel it was. Lucien could not pull himself from the girl. He felt stuck, firmly rooted in a permanent bog of her. She had been his. He had won! She was his in all but name, a partner whom he could finally bleed his true self into. They were one. How dare she go...

'Heed me, Abigale. Heed me. Should you return to that dead man, you will die. You will die, my beloved.'

He was laying plans, yet knew not which one to follow. Lucien was jaded, after all, he did not take kindly to rejection. Part of him greatly debated a rather...sinister deed. Though he wanted Abigale Lynn all to himself, he could not anticipate the feelings seeing her would evoke. One look could fill him up in the worst of ways. Perhaps she was better off dead. It was as she wished, was it not? And she so wished to die... How poetic it could be. He would make it lovely...

But one look could also render him witless. Her look, her smile, it was like a feast when she smiled. Perhaps she would say his name in a breath, sing it as a song, choke it out in the most guttural and pained gurgle...so long as he heard it uttered on those pretty, pink lips...Sithis knew how desperately he wanted that. It made the idea of ending her lose some of its appeal. Some. After all, if he could not have her, why should the Count of Skingrad?

Lucien pushed himself towards the dead mer, wondering what he lacked, truly lacked, to the point of losing Abigale Lynn. Her dead parents, he thought, were hardly the real reason. Was it the appeal of eternity? Was she simply seduced by the vampire's seduction? He knew not, nor did he like to think too greatly on it, for it maddened him with jealousy. Just knowing she was with him, in his clutches, in his bed, beneath him once more!

Without much thought, the Dark Brotherhood Speaker plunged his blade into the lifeless body of his target. Is vampirism so seductive? Lucien wondered. He could see it. He could see the appeal in it. The push and give of his blade as it broke deeply. The thud of his hand striking flesh. The warm gush of red seeping through to his touch, marking every crack in his fingers. But to taste? Be vampire?

He examined his work more closely...

No. No he did not want that. He did not wish that for Abigale Lynn, either. Death was preferable. He only needed to collect himself, then her. She was with child still, that was worth her living...for now. All would be right, should his plans work. And why would they not?

His hand twitched again.

'There will come a time when Hassildor and I shall meet face to face. The man cannot make her life worse if he is not 'alive' to do so.'

xxxx

At the Count's request, I entered the Castle and summoned Shum, the butler. He came fast, ready to assist the frightened mage with the Count's requested accommodations. Some food and gold were given, then she was escorted to the stables and placed on a coach that would bring her directly back to the Imperial City. Our simple little walk had turned into a dark adventure. After all was settled and to the Count's satisfaction, we returned to his manor. I was mortified by how little time had passed. The evening had taken a toll on my entire being. I was fatigued and so sat on the sofa in the Count's chambers, awaiting him to finish bathing. He had been filthy.

It was dark, to see one you loved so taken by violence. My mind repeated the Count's attack on Mercator. It was like watching another tear a page from a book, how he easily rendered his Steward down to less than half of a head...

The imagery soured my stomach. The Count's infinite power and strength were utterly harrowing. I tried to calm myself, convince myself that what he did was for the greater good, but could not. I could see him clear as day, the look in his eyes when he sampled the blood soaking his hands...I knew that look. He settled it upon me often.

"Forgive me for keeping you." The Count interrupted my thoughts, returning from his bathing chambers, still dripping wet at the ends of his hair. I eyed his attire, noting the little red roses I had sewn into the fabric of his tunic's collar. They were damp now. I had thought they would aid in hiding the accidental rogue droplet of blood, should it spill. After what had just transpired, I thought them foolish and small. A childish notion. "I am...deeply aggrieved that you had to bear witness to such violence tonight. Dispatching Mercator Hosidus was planned quite some time ago, I only kept him for information, but he offered so little. After tonight, I could no longer postpone his demise. Nor could I justify his existence. He was a foul human." The Count paused but continued to make his way closer. "Regardless, I wish I could have spared you such a vision. Are you alright? Truly?"

I was unsure of how to respond. I turned from the Count and looked into the fireplace. The light danced and warmth radiated, yet I felt cold and dark. It hurt to see such things, but the truly terrible occurrence of the evening was my own deep despondency. I had honestly believed the Count was killing indiscriminately, much like Lucien Lachance. I had run to stop him, knowing full well that I was powerless. I was willing to do anything to keep the Count 'good'. Yet I knew not the meaning of such a word. Not anymore.

Rubbing my hands together, I thought of how I woefully viewed the Count. My fingertips were stained pink by his actions, by holding his hand after Mercator and the others were killed. Worse still, I had feared he had dispatched Lucien Lachance. It was haunting how panicked an idea could make me. I knew not how I felt toward the assassin, but after all was said and done, I still did not want him harmed. I wanted him to remain far away, like a distant memory. The Count would undoubtedly destroy the Speaker should he venture near. It was but another thing I could not bear. The Count could ruin much with blinding swiftness.

I loved the Count desperately, yet in spite of everything, I did not trust him. I never would. And I feared him, at times, to the point of blindness.

"I am sorry, Sir." I breathed, unsure of all and loathing it. "I was afraid of you tonight, for more reasons than you know. I-I understand that you did what needed to be done. You saved that young woman. You were a hero this evening..." My voice trailed off, brows knitting in confusion as I tried to vocalize my feelings. "But so much happened. I thought you killed...someone-" An image of Lucien Lachance, clad in dark robes and strewn about in the grass flashed in my mind's eye. It stilled my heart. I was relieved to know it was untrue but was equally troubled by how the image made me feel; it was persistent and awful. "I...when I saw t-that you did, I knew not the reasons and only panicked. I feared you were following in the footsteps of another I know. I want to trust your actions. A-and I wanted to protect all around you. I wanted to protect you from yourself. But I am powerless. I know this. I am no stranger to such terrible things now, my Lord. Yet I wish I was."

The Count's weight registered on the sofa next to me. I instinctively shut my eyes to him. I could not bring myself to look at him. A part of me felt betrayed by his deeds, which I knew was selfish. The Count killed. I knew the Count killed. His victims...I trusted them to be 'deserving'...yet I thought of myself. I was such a victim, was I not still deserving of his wrath? My mind raced and my own thoughts confused me. I loved this man, I truly, truly, did. But he was terrifying. Even if deigned good or right by a deity, he would always be terrifying. I could never stop him, I could never get away, I could never outsmart him. I had to rely on his control and judgment, I had to pray not to end up like Mercator...

The Count's arms wrapped around my body. So slowly, I was engulfed by him, as he moved with care to hold me. I tried to endure, I had to endure. I loved him.

'Do you wish to drive me mad? I will possess your heart even if I have to tear it from your chest!' I could see the Steward being torn asunder. I could see the Count lapping at the blood on his hands, I could register my own pulsing throughout my body. I could feel Lucien's teeth on my throat as he tried to mimic the man I loved.

"Please, Sir...let go of me." I choked, eyes screwing shut tighter. The Count's embrace went lax and silence followed. He withdrew some, but not fully, only enough to stare me down in confusion - I could sense his stare. I clung to his shirt, unsure when I had initially grabbed him and unable to loosen my grip despite begging him to release me. I did not want him to hold me, I did not want to be touched. I was both afraid of him and undeserving. I could not stand myself. I could not stand all I had done. I hated that I dared to judge anyone other than myself. Of all who walked Nirn, surely I was the lowliest of scum. The Count of Skingrad welcomed me back with open arms and heart and still I thought so lowly of him. I was so afraid of him. It was sickening. I was sickening. "S-Sir, I cannot think. I am desperate, I am a fool. I need you to let go of me. It is the only thing that I do know."

"Abigale Lynn," The Count began, and I dared to look at him, his tone soft but expression uncomfortably serious. I vainly tried to pull away. "I will never let you go again. Never. I say this with the utmost respect." I balked, feeling terribly confined and uneasy. It was as if he had struck me, the absolute crushing damnation I felt by his words and look. Still, coward that I was, I could only stare back as I wondered if I was to be harmed or loved. I did not know, I never would. "Hate me for this action if you must, but I will not let you be alone in your pain. Tonight I provoked you with my actions and prompted this sorrow. I did not mean to coax such emotions from you, I did not want you to see such madness. I am sorry for it. But I am here for you. I will not let you be alone."

I stared up into the Count's eyes, acknowledging them as the bloodiest jewels of Cyrodiil. Purely red. More so than the blood that stained hands. They made my heart race. I did not want them so focused on me. His stare was unwavering and intense. My mouth went dry, my lips parted. I searched him and myself, deriving no conclusions, nothing concrete or useful. I only knew love when I looked into his eyes, and desperation when I saw my own reflection in them.

'I am utterly helpless. I am a burden.'

Shifting quickly, thoughts swimming in black, I utilized my grip on the Count's shirt and pulled myself to him. He kept me in his hold, watching on in a mixture of confusion and interest until I was too close to view. Then, my lips met him fast, pushing against his own with perhaps too much force as I sloppily attempted to pacify my own conflicted mind. There were far too many moments for me to sample, all culminating into an ugly, demented passion. I needed all my woes to leave me and so sought the Count for comfort. It was a trick I had learned and mastered. I was ready to utilize the skill.

I felt the Count go rigid from my touch, yet he clasped me tighter to him. I knew not whether he was stunned, besotted, or repulsed by my licentiousness, regardless, I moved closer. With trembling fingers, I reached up to cup his face in my hands, still not daring to give him space or gauge his reaction. I loved this man, no matter the fear that coupled my heart. And I was lonely and cold. I wanted to fill the emptiness inside me, I wanted to quiet the confusion within my soul. The Count did not like my silence, and he refused to relent his grasp, I had little other choice than to employ the tricks I had honed with Lucien Lachance.

Tomorrow I would hate myself more, but it was a sacrifice I was ready for. I needed to do anything within my power to soothe the aches of my troubled heart. I needed to prove to myself that I was not in danger with the Count, that I could share myself with him, and I needed to do it now. This though, I did not understand fully, it simply was.

The Count broke our kiss, but not our closeness. He turned his head away from me some, but I kept his face in my hands and pressed my lips to his cool cheek instead. "Abigale Lynn," He breathed, sounding thoroughly winded and taxed. I wove my fingers in his hair, licking my lips, savoring the nearly untraceable taste of him before lowering my mouth to his neck. I kissed him there, nuzzled his chilled flesh. "Abigale Lynn," The Count repeated, more firmly this time. It was just enough to slow me, but I again shook my fears of his wrath and wrapped my arms around him despite his tone. "What is this?"

"I need you, Sir. Please," I touched his back, tracing the large muscles beneath his shirt, feeling the cold radiating so softly from him. I longed to melt into him and fade away from thought. I pushed my bust to his chest, attempting to eliminate all space between us. His body was hard and unyielding, and I was determined to be reacquainted with it. His physical desires promptly responded to my caress, fueling me with biased encouragement.

"You begged me to release you. I know I repulsed you. Now this...?" The Count again spoke, sounding as though he were pained, his hands slipping to my hips. He touched me so tentatively as if I would break from too strong a stroke. "This is...not what you want. I know it. You will regret me." I paused my shameless fondling, daring to open my eyes to stare at the Count's unmarred, freckleless skin. He was so pale, so unnaturally unblemished and white - near grey. And so still...

My own hand caught my eye, pink as a spring bloom against him. This pigment was also unnatural and not mine. I swallowed hard, again noting the blood that smeared and stained my hands. The Count had touched me when bloodied, I remembered once more, and I had yet to wash. Again I was soiled.

Why was I attempting to seduce the Count? Comfort? Distraction? To prove he would not harm me?

'How moot.' I could hear Lucien chide within my mind, the disembodied voice within alarming me.

"I love you," The Count continued, his grip now tightening as he shifted into me, voice strained. "And I miss you. Oh, how I miss you, Abigale Lynn. But I do not want to compromise your morals. I never wish to be lumped within your regrets again." He had me close, as I had initiated, yet now my fire cooled and dissipated into near nothingness. I could not see his face, given our position, but could hear the lust in his voice. It was jarring, all suddenly so stark. Stubbornly, nervously, I considered continuation, wondering with childish disappointment and anxiousness, why I could not use the Count's body to quell my woes, as I had done with Lucien Lachance. Then, as my hand fell to the Count's thigh, where I could feel his immense arousal, I remembered how vastly different the two men were; both physically and not. This was not the assassin to whom I had once trusted myself to. This was the Count of Skingrad. My Count, an entirely different and now foreign entity. "I beg of you, stop. Remove yourself, I have a mind to ruin you."

XXXX

Her movements, her scent, her softness, and heat were all so maddening. Gods how he wanted her. Janus held her, his Abigale Lynn, internally beseeching any Gods for strength. He felt ready to burst from his own skin. Anything, do anything to feel her more. Every part of him ached with terrible longing. To have her in his grasp again, to touch her in such a way boggled his already blood-drunk mind. His desires were painful to his own flesh. Screwing his eyes shut, he gnashed his teeth, fangs dipping easily into his lip, That pain was hardly noted. Though he would swear he could hear the snapping of his trouser's front stitches.

Of course, after he warned his love of his lacking control, she removed herself fast. Abigale Lynn quickly wriggled out of his arms and righted herself on the opposite end of the sofa, leaving Janus cold and alone. He swallowed hard, gulping down some of his own bitter copper, and stared at the woman at his side. How lovely she was. How sad she was. Already, he missed her heat and regretted speaking. The Count ran a hand through his hair, fighting every bodily instinct to ravage the girl. Ashamedly, it was more complex than his natural desire for her closeness. Much more complex.

Janus felt deadly. A blend of desires had him fixed in their grip. The actions of Abigale Lynn were not those of the girl he knew. Her touch was different. She was a novice before, fumbling and exploring. Now, she latched onto him with excellence, hands going to where she desired, lips and tongue playfully skilled against his skin...

Someone had taught her. Someone had taught her well and it burned him.

It was conflicting. To enjoy her touch all the while knowing another had guided her hands across them. To be on the end of her desires again felt like a Gods given gift. However, all her new skills she wished to enact upon him were not initially garnered for him. Quite the contrary. All she had explored and refined was made for the sole purpose of being away from himself...It was his fault, but it hurt. It seared.

Janus boyishly wanted to show her what she was missing. He wanted to prove himself more of a man than her other. It was foolish, he knew this, but it was a new deep-seated desire he harbored. The Count tried to calm, loosening his over-taught limbs with difficulty, before setting his gaze again upon Abigale Lynn. Her face was flushed from shame. Her eyes going from his own to the floor and back again. He pitied her. He loved her. Janus knew there was much to overcome between them, but he greatly looked forward to each challenge, so long as she was by his side. Never again did he want her to look back upon their intimacy with doubt in her heart.

"Forgive me," He said again as he continued to still himself. His desires and jealousy left him smoldering, but Janus attempted normalcy. "I did not mean to startle you. I will not hurt you, Abigale Lynn...And I hope I did not offend you."

"You did not, Sir." Abigale Lynn answered fast, arms wrapping protectively around herself. "I am sorry. I do not fully understand why I...I should not have acted such a way."

"It is not unwelcome." Janus attempted a smile, mentally cursing his fangs and their prominence. No, it was not 'unwelcome' at all, yet it had to be. The Count had marked this young woman before her journey. Janus had felt her explore the other male as a way to pacify her feelings. She was no longer marked by him, the majority of her feelings now belonging only to her. However, Janus knew Abigale Lynn. This was not a desire for her, this was something more lonely. It was an escape from her present feelings. He did not want to make love to her all the while knowing her heart was in a different place. "But I would like to take our tomorrows into consideration before we act. I truly do not want to be something you regret, Abigale Lynn. I want you to love our moments and think of them fondly."

The young woman looked to the Count, her expression strange, hair so red against the fire's light as she weighed his words. Her stare was a calculating one, no doubt ascertaining the Count's understanding. Slowly, she wetted her lips and nodded. "I do, my Lord, and I would still, should you desire to proceed."

The Count quirked a dark brow, sensing her bluff and 'feeling' her half-truth. She did not wish to lie with him, she only longed for a way out of her own thoughts. It pained the Count, but again, this was his fault. "Would you though? Truly? Come the morning would you not feel shame?"

Miraculously, Abigale Lynn's cheeks and nose deepened their pink hue as she turned sharply away from Janus. She attempted to hide her expression, but the Count caught it, eyes glassed and brows furrowed before she stood. Then she curtsied, back to him, before making her way toward the door. Her scampering gait displayed her fear, her tone exhibiting confusion. "We are done. You needn't worry. Forgive me. Goodnight."

"Abigale Lynn...Stop." Janus bristled and stood, attempting to force his temper away. As expected, the young woman froze, turning to the Count with eyes brimming with unshed tears and a sharp gaze. The Count was taken aback by her look, she seemed so hateful. She looked at him as though she loathed his existence. Janus frowned deeply, seeking the answers in her expression, yet coming up with so little. He only knew he was wrong. "It is a tender emotion, I understand, I...no. No, I do not understand. Not fully. I am incapable of feeling the way that you do. But I am here for you in all ways and I sympathize." He paused, she remained unmoved, and so he continued, taking care as he spoke. "I know you are confused. I am certain tonight did little to help. I know you are still afraid of me, I cannot blame you for it. But I shall endeavor to do all that I can to secure your happiness and mine. It will take time. I want nothing forced, nothing rushed. I do not want you to drown in us." This admonition gave Abigale Lynn pause. She relaxed some, turning her body toward the Count once more, eyes open and pleading. Janus made his way toward her, glad that she did not flinch or stiffen. "I meant what I said earlier tonight, that you are above me. You need not lower yourself to my shabby standards. I must rise to yours. I shall honor your morals. All of them." Janus carefully stood before the young woman, giving another more honest expression a chance. He lifted his hand to her cheek and sighed with relief as her eyes fluttered closed. It was trust, even if only a small measure, and Janus truly treasured the warmth that bloomed within him upon contact. "This is enough for me now. I shall wait for you. Know that I desire your happiness above all things."

"Thank you, Sir." Abigale Lynn placed her little hand over the Count's. Still, she was not herself, but the Count could see her slowly returning to normalcy. It was hard, it would take time, but he was ready. "I-I...I love you, Sir."

Janus felt his chest cease at her words. How they filled him with such devotion. "And I love you, Abigale Lynn. For you to be happy is all I want."

Author's Notes: Hai, look, Mages Guild! Kewl, right? Mer. Kay, lots of contradictory thoughts in hur. And embellishments. Gotta get that word count up! XD Ya'll this one was interesting. Trying to get back into writing. We shall see. Gee, it's only been 10 months since the last update? Wooooow, that thing called life. Oof. Oh, and Lucien is going craycray. Huzzah! Reviews are appreciated, dunno if I should keep putting this up or naw. Old freakin' fic. XD