Author's Notes: A moment of silence for the sheer amount of 'slightest bit' and 'smallest bit' plastered throughout previous chapters. W.T.F. Not too sure how that went over my head. Looking back, I face-palmed to the point of bruising. Like, yo, feel free to point that crap out XDDD It's been nearly impossible to write due to mothering. Children are loud. So, so loud XD. But I'm not without motivation! Just...not exactly for this story. Hehe...Got all hung up on vampires again...so this happened. Something else 'might' happen too. Got more notes at the end of this chapter. And, yeah, it ends abruptly. Couldn't stare at it anymore. XD

Love or Blood

Chapter Eighty: Broken Vows

xxxx

Several more days went by, the tension obvious to any who dared venture into the Count's manor. After my pathetic display of need, I did all I could to hide myself from the Count. I was thankful that he gifted me some space, but was highly aware of his presence as he routinely paced by my bed chamber's door. I felt terribly ashamed. I had all but abandoned my morals again. In an attempt to stop my heart's fearful ache and fulfill the emptiness within me, I had readied myself for wanton debauchery. The calamity of that awful night had sparked my needfulness again. It was embarrassing until it was terrifying. My bodily desires were crippling, more so than the norm. I knew not what was wrong with me, but I was eternally grateful for the Count's present control over himself, though his stalking left me nervous...

All passed uneventfully, however. Only on one unseasonably warm evening did our routine grow interesting once more.

I read in the library, feeling brave after hearing the voice of Hal-Liurz sometime before. She had greeted me briefly, still at odds and watchful over my person whenever she was able, then left to occupy the Count. I knew not what they presently discussed, but deigned it quite important by the switching of the Stewardess' tail. I did strain my hearing but could not discern any sound, the thick castle walls preventing any talk from reaching me. Then, quite suddenly, the Stewardess left in a huff. She marched down the corridor with hands clenched past the open library door without so much as another word.

Blinking and curious, I closed the book, Sacred Witness before me. I stood, turning my back to place the tome upon the shelf, only to stop once I felt eyes upon my back. Without looking, I knew the Count had joined me in the space. Being alone with him distressed me, but the current unease was a product of my own doing.

Glancing over my shoulder, I found him easily by the door as a dark and imposing mass. The Count stood tall, appeared calm, yet I quickly sensed the tense demeanor surrounding him, by the way of his tensed jaw. His eyes set my skin into prickles but I smiled all the same once his gaze met mine. I swallowed down my shame and fright, testing normalcy as I looked into the otherworldly gleam of his stare. "Good evening, my Lord. Is...is all well? The Stewardess left fast."

"Hal-Liurz is upset with me." The Count answered, his tone definitive. "We have received word again from Vicente Valtieri. He awaits our summons in the city." I blanched, feeling an onslaught of terrible emotion in an instant. I had to look away, the Count's stare now far too intense for me to keep. "I would like to finally handle this matter. The Stewardess thinks it unwise. She believes we should no longer keep ties with the Brotherhood. I wondered what you think and how you would feel about it. Should the decision be totally mine, I would meet with him tonight. It all depends on you, my love."

I swallowed hard, fingers nervously running along the book's cover. It was difficult, if not impossible, to measure the amount of unease I felt at the mere thought of again seeing the Dark Brother, never mind the true action of reunion. I was tempted to refuse, to claim myself unprepared, yet I knew that such actions would be more damning than useful in the long run. Moreover, I needed to be present. I needed to control the flow of information to the Count. I needed to be the truth's buffer. I had no intention of lying to the Count, but tact was required upon delivery.

The Dark Brotherhood would not be ignored. They wanted the Count, his gold and reach. I had been a great opportunity for them to obtain more. Yet, it all went to pot, and now they worked to mend broken bridges. Their reasoning was not difficult to ascertain, but knowing I was to again face Vicente Valtieri soured my stomach. The man plotted with heart, unguarded and tactful; a paradox of the soul. He had been correct regarding the assassin's treachery, and in regards to my reuniting with the Count. It was chilling how all played. I needed to be aware of his next moves, I could not simply sit and hope to be left out of his schemes. Good or no, I felt them to be wrong.

"Sir, I..." Chewing my lip, I mentally debated, uncertain on what to say and how to say it. "This feels so sudden. Perhaps tomorrow would be better...?" I internally juggled, juxtaposed between who I was and what I needed to do. I looked away from the Count, focusing on my wording, dodging lies with care. "Y-you are right, we need to handle this. But I would like to rest and ready myself, if acceptable. I will offer no further objections, should we postpone until tomorrow night."

"I understand, Abigale Lynn. Tomorrow night then. It shall be done." The Count responded fast, no doubt hoping to cut my nervous babbling short. I was thankful, if not still a touch intimidated by the prospect of all impending discomfort. I finally turned my back and placed the book back upon the shelf, resigning myself to accept the sudden bitterness that settled in my chest. I knew it was my dues to face the Dark Brotherhood, as I had been so intimately involved, still, all felt unfair. The Count and I were just starting to recoup. I loathed the thought of disruption. "And..." The Count continued, his tone so soft and gentle. "Should you not wish to be here during our talk, I would understand, Abigale Lynn. I would. Seeing him may be unsavory for you."

My mood flipped, my head snapping to the side as I glared at the Count from over my shoulder. "I do not want you alone with him." I near snarled, surprising myself with my own venom. No sooner had all transpired did I register the disdain I felt, and the disrespect I had just shown to the Count. It startled me. Froze me. It seemed the simmering hate I felt toward our current dilemma was determined to make itself known. I felt powerless to hide my true feelings, yet I knew I had to, somehow. I blinked and with great effort, attempted a quick recovery, the Count's eyes narrowing ever so slightly. No doubt he was suspicious, he knew I longed to hide. It was not my entire intention. I only desired to staunch and soften the truth, dampen its impact. This though, I could not tell him. "I-it is all my fault, after all, my Lord. I do not want you to be alone to deal with such problems. I wish to face all with you...Together."

Silence followed my scramble for normalcy. The Count most likely believing me to be hiding something more damning from him. I partly was, so I could not blame him for the sudden darkening of his look. We remained in silence for a moment more before the Count nodded at me. "Of course." He continued to stand, eyeing me quietly, the look going from suspicion to something akin to concern. The Count then held a hand out to me, a beacon I was most thankful for. "Come to me love."

Breathing in deeply, righting myself, I turned fully to face the Count and made my way towards him. "I am sorry for my outburst," I offered carefully, the words leaving me in a whispered mumble. I knew his keen ears could detect my soft and pathetic apology, I could only hope that it held some weight no matter its sad execution. "I feel so exposed, in this and all things. I-I have been reacting, not thinking beforehand. I am normally not so impulsive. I do not understand..." My words trailed off as I stood before the Count, my hand instinctively slipping into his. I focused on his cold touch and stillness, the only constant in my currently addled state.

"You have more right to be than most. I am glad of it, in certain respects. You need not perform for me." The Count supplied, giving my hand a small, affirming squeeze. I brought my gaze to him, seeing my own unease mirrored. I knew that this was potentially harmful to the Count as well. Should Vicente Valtieri wish to cause me more strife, he could poison the truth, make it worse than it already was. It would hurt the Count then, should the elder vampire wish to exacerbate my doings with false embellishments. I had to take part in this terrible reunion. I needed to prevent more wrongs from being done. "We do not need to pretend this is anything but what it is. Neither of us want this, but it is our duty."

I nodded, gaze falling to our conjoined hands. The smallness of my digits beside his much greater ones instilled me with confidence...though it did not last. He was my protector again. I did not want to lose him. I did not want him to hurt me. I wanted only to love this man. I moved our hold upwards and pressed his cold palm to my cheek, making a conscious effort to not look away. "I feel as though I cannot bear this task. But, so long as I am with you, I shall."

The Count drew me in closer. His eyes roamed me in an assessing sort of way. I wondered if he doubted me, I wondered if he lusted. He left me to guess, however, as he closed the gap between us and placed his cool lips to my forehead. There, he remained, unmoving for a time. "You have such courage. The air about you is stronger now. Potent, loud, and bright. A literal brightness. It has always been such a way, and yet...I feel there is more life within you."

Focusing again on his touch, I allowed his words to lull me. "I am determined, Sir. Perhaps that is why."

xxxx

There were flowers here.

I roamed strange corridors comprised of stone, the masonry a chaotic mix of the Count's manor and the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary. Yet the floors jutted, the halls were narrow, the doors so numerous...It was eerily quiet and cold. Strange blooms dotted the cracked stone, their thorns wicked. I was angry over the dilapidated fusion. It confused me. I did not know where to walk, I only knew I needed to leave before detection.

Stumbling through doors, my woes surmounting, I reached an area of relative calm. The room was similar to the training area I had practiced my magic in. I was tempted to search for Teinaava but knew to cast such a thought quickly. None of them were to be trusted, it was as it had to be.

A shield lay upon the ground in a random patch of grass, perched against a column. It gleamed brightly, casting the reflection of my ankles within. I was naked, it seemed, and this troubled me some. Yet I noted such a small pair of legs by my side. Pale legs, small legs - that of a child. That was truly concerning, far more so...

"My dear lady."

All prior thoughts vanished as I turned. Everything that I ran from manifested into the lovely and terrible form of Lucien Lachance. I acted quickly, bending to grab the buckler, tossing the shield at the assassin fast. However, for reasons unknown, all strength I had pushed into the throw was for naught. The metal fell only several feet from me, no sound emitted upon impact with the stone. Instead, the ground wobbled, a ripple that pulsed throughout the chamber.

My world was alive.

Lucien smiled, so sweet and boyishly. My blood boiled as I stared, feeling utterly betrayed by his presence. I was done with him, how dare he show himself? I wanted to harm him but knew not how. Then, I heard his voice, cutting through the thick darkness around me, his tone a stark opposite to his jovial expression. His lips, however, remained unmoving. "Beloved. Beloved. Abigale. You will die, Beloved. Die. Die!"

All turned red. The floor, the stone, the air, all bathed in an unholy glow. The Dark Brotherhood Speaker's smile vanished as he lunged toward me. I turned, will gone, as I attempted to flee. Yet my movements were slow, like trudging through water. I was not quick enough and could no longer focus as all swam before me in crimson hues. It took the assassin little time to draw near. I felt his breath, then I felt the intrusion of metal sinking into my shoulder. I knew it was there, and though the pain was little, it caused me to scream.

It tore into my flesh, striking true into the faded mark a Prince had left. My hand reached across my chest to feel the hilt of the assassin's dagger embedded in my shoulder. My heart broke anew. This was preordained, I thought, but still felt betrayed. In spite of this, I felt it just. Owed. Deserved.

I sobbed bitterly, wondering when the assault would continue. The assassin turned me to face him, expression unreadable - untrue. He stared hard into my eyes, attempting to hold my focus. He could not, however, as I heard another approach from behind.

The dagger was slowly pulled from me, its glide unmistakable. Cold hands carefully touching tender flesh. I glanced over my wounded self, seeing the Count, watching as he examined the damage done. He bent in close, startling me as his tongue ran the path of red that trickled down my back. I thought of Mercator and that black look the Count had. This was different and yet so similar.

Bal's mark burned, the sensation so strangely pleasant. I turned in the Count's arms, granting Lucien Lachance the opportunity to tear me newly, should he wish to. I cared not, so long as the Count held me. However, I was then astounded, thoroughly astounded, as both cold and warm hands began to run over my bared flesh. The Count's mouth met mine, the assassin's lips traveling over the injury he had caused. Such a kiss, a lover's kiss, robbed me of protest.

It turned both remarkable and disturbing in moments. There was no sense in what began to transpire, but it felt good. Too good to stop or pay any mind to the voice of reason that howled somewhere within me.

Red. Raw.

All switched and changed, our naked bodies, still bathed in red now worked upon the ground. Thorned vines wrapped around the pillars of the dilapidated training area. I watched them steadily climb to the ceiling, before bringing my attention back down to the Count beneath me. I rocked myself on him, working like an animal in heat. The assassin, aided by the blood that ran rivers down my back, worked himself into my behind. Again, I offered no protest, having quite liked the few times we played in this area. Once within me, feeling that shameful fullness, I basked.

This was debased. Filthy and, so, so wrong. Yet it was delightful. I had them both. Kissing, touching, tasting, moving. They were mine. I worked my hands into each head of hair, squeezing tightly, biting back a mad grin. It was all mine. They needed me. They needed what I did. They lived for my touch. I was in control. They moved for me.

Blood continued to pool on the ground from the dagger's puncture, smattering our bodies in dark ichor. Coated red and slick, I went from mouth to mouth, kissing each, cold and hot.

"Dibellan arts. Dibellan blood. Warm and delicious, is it not?" A disembodied voice posed. I knew the voice, my shoulder burned...yet I could not bring myself to halt my pleasure. Not in the slightest. "Is it such an awful proposition now, pretty pawn? Should my trials consist of this, of their forms, you would agree, no? You bend so easily now." I did not want to hear the voice if only to not disrupt my pleasure. I cared not for the words. I looked down to the Count, watching myself in his eyes, seduced by my own bouncing form. "I suppose it matters not. You shall come to me yet. Your schemes are futile. I will be known to you, my matron of blood. What sire would I be, should I abandon my own offspring?"

"H-he is mine. The Count...mine. Mine!" I declared between pants. The assassin's hands fell to my hips, my own hands forming fists into the Count's hair, driving my point, uncaring if it discomforted him. "All...all mine."

"He is not the one I speak of." The voice continued, laced with mirth. I did not stop, I did not slow. My gaze again followed the vines, they had climbed to the ceiling, blooming bloody roses. Roses that covered everything. "To have three sires...what spawn could be so lucky but the one I beget." Petals fell, slowly. I watched, mystified, as they drifted down to me, touching me in a soft caress before dissolving into blood upon my skin. More fell. Then more. Coating us further, marring us all in so much red. "Unborn and gifted such a boon. Fortunate scion. Be glad of this, little one. Bask. He shall be strong. Now, play. Entertain me more. Drink it in."

Such pretty flowers.

We did, I did. I could not stop, could not focus or listen as heat bloomed within me faster than the roses overhead. My hair stuck to my body, the Count and Lucien now so dark and crimson that little skin was visible. I closed my eyes, hands gliding over hard, slick flesh. I grew close, feeling perpetually rooted on the cusp of release. I loved it, loved it as I loved the man beneath me, craved it as I once had craved the man at my back. Nothing mattered though I knew chaos dwelled within the blooms. This was all I cared for. This was as I wanted.

"You carry mine, mortal. He is all of us as one."

xxxx

I awoke with a start, feeling warmth and flushed all over. A slight sheen of sweat adorned me, my body in a strange and heightened state. All my senses tingled, and in my confusion, I realized I was on the brink of climax. This utterly bewildered me. My muscles clenched and throbbed with want. It was almost frightening. Swallowing hard, I dared raise the blankets, finding no sign of stimulation, only my nightdress, bunched and messed from sleep. My heart raced on, blood pumping hard through me. I was confounded, my dream slowly piecing together in my very addled mind.

There was little for me to remember...save the actions of myself and the Count...and Lucien. I wracked my mind, knowing there was more for me to digest within the dream, but could not recall anything beyond the very vivid sexual aspects. It was jarring. Licentious and terrible. Had I ever desired such a thing? Thought of it, even? I did not believe so, but such an experience left me gasping in the covers, untouched, with only my imagination to blame. Hoping my arousal would subside, I closed my eyes and attempted to even my breathing, yet found even this action difficult. The unbearable warmth was all that had my focus.

All I wanted was my release. This was not the first time my body did things I did not understand, so, I wanted to be gentle with myself. I had been lusting for the Count recently. It shamed me, yet I mostly understood it. Needs that had been awoken within me begged for tending. Feeling so conflicted and still in an unbalanced state from broken sleep, I worked my hand beneath the covers. Greedy as I was - I rationalized the action. Should I appease it, I could rest again and forget all in the morning. It seemed logical. I could also further think on the dream itself, and try to find the root within me, should I dare. Perhaps there was a deeper meaning I had yet to identify, being so drunk with confused lust.

Hardly conscious of possible repercussions, I slipped my hand into my undergarments, lip between my teeth. I wanted it done. I needed to relax, wake and focus. I needed this. I tried not to berate myself. It had been long now since I had pleasure - my time with the assassin being the last. Perhaps my abstaining had brought the dream. My time with Lucien Lachance was all sex, exploration, and play, for weeks on end. All ceased upon my return to Skingrad. I supposed such a drastic change would eventually take its toll. I snuffed my bodily desires, compelled to purge myself of them. After all, they had been warped by the Dark Brotherhood Speaker - or so I told myself.

I hoped the action would please me, possibly even clear my mind. However, even in this, I was astoundingly foolish. I was never alone.

"Abigale Lynn, it is alright." I heard the Count say so suddenly, just outside the bed chamber's door. I froze. Hot blood turning to ice fast in my veins. Then, after a mild delay, I bit back a confounded shriek and I pulled my hand from my smalls. My already racing heart quickened its pace as I reeled and attempted to right myself. "It was only a nightmare, I am here." He continued, rattling at the door before opening it fully. I moved in jitters, yanking covers to my chest before sitting up in bed, straight as an arrow.

"I am here..."

The door opened and in the Count walked. The room's blackness was briefly illuminated by the light of the hall. His face, at first, was laced with concern. It melted me, seeing him so worried. No sooner had our eyes met did guilt strike me with incredible force. He was attempting to help, longing for the hero's welcome, much like a dutiful father rousing his suffering child from a terrible dream. Yet the ever perceptive Count was soon alerted to the odd air suffocating us both within the chamber. He froze, as though caught. Being so blessed and cursed with vampirism, or perhaps my blatant obviousness, the Count quickly discerned the true origins of my 'distress'.

My eyes screwed shut of their own accord, remaining such a way until the Count's voice broke the silence. "Forgive me. I thought you were in misery." His tone was taught, confusion audible. I was quickly in tune with his discomfiture. The Count felt terribly awkward. Now was not the first time he had walked in on me in an indecent state. Yet this was far, far more embarrassing a situation for us both. I forced myself to look at him, yet I knew not how to broach any aspect of this conversation. I only stared, searching his face in the blackness as the door slowly closed of its own accord. "Your heart was racing. I had heard you...What I thought I heard, rather, was worrying. My nightmares are...I wish someone would wake me from mine. I...Forgiveness. I apologize."

Bringing the covers down some, I observed the Count's form. He was respectable, still attempting to hold an air of concern and professionalism. Despite the embracement that painted me red, I found myself eyeing the man before me. I was both grateful and sadly disappointed that he had yet to capitalize on my folly. It was a gritty realization, to be so torn by morals and desires. I wanted him to pursue me. I wanted him to see this as an opportunity for closeness. Yet, again, I also did not want such a thing. I wanted him to keep his distance whilst I wallowed in my own misery. It was confusing.

As I assessed him, I wondered how he was able to conclude my actions. He was so in tune with the world around him that I often forgot. This, however, left me wondering what sense tickled him to the truth. The apparent invasion of my bodily privacy spurred me to speak. "I-I was dreaming..." I began lamely, now finding it impossible to look away from his large figure, and finding his appealing stature equally impossible to ignore. "It turned into...I am sorry for worrying you, Sir."

"No, no. I am sorry. This was entirely my fault. You should have privacy. I should not insert myself so."

I listened to the Count, finding myself lost in the depth of his voice, even when so heavily laced with humiliation. I noted his attire, his relaxed state of dress, and his kempt hair. I wondered if he had been stationed outside of the chamber all night, or if he had caught an odd sound whilst pacing the halls. Regardless of the absolute lack of privacy, I held no resentment. His constant presence did make me nervous, and I did feel violated in some respect, but I wanted him around. I longed to have him near. "I-I love that about you, Sir. H-how you insert yourself." I started in an awkward ramble, scooting a touch closer to the Count's station by the bed's foot. "It shows how greatly you care for me. I appreciate it. I truly do."

"I'm glad." He remarked awkwardly. "I am sorry, though. I should leave you be. Goodn-"

"Please do not leave." I interrupted fast, my mouth having gone dry. I did not want the Count to turn away, I did not want him to leave the room. It was startling realizing how much I desired this man's constant presence in spite of it all. And it was jarring, so very jarring, how desperately I now hounded him. With all that I was and all my capabilities, I felt compelled to toss myself before him. I wanted him in all ways. It was not a feeling I could articulate, as I was still so afraid of the Count, but that fear mixed within my desire and twisted into an unidentifiable need. Again, I was left with want for him and little else. "Sir, I...I don't want to be alone."

Feeling terribly vulnerable yet determined, I held his gaze. Then, with as much bravery as I could muster, I touched the bedside meaningfully. I had no truer goal than to tempt his company, but realizing I was welcoming the Count into my still-warm sheets further worsened my blush. It was a pitiful attempt to coax him to me, however, blessedly, it stirred him just enough. His eagerness became plain, though he attempted to conceal it; even when coupled with the blackness of the room, the change was striking. "You are certain?" The Count lingered closer. Exposed as I was, as humiliating my situation happened to be, I was glad of it - at least in part. I was shamefully willing to endure a thorough tarnishing of myself if only to lure the Count to my side.

He came closer still. The tension was thick and almost exciting, in a more 'thrilling' sort of way. The Count, looking quite unlike himself, carefully sat where I beckoned. No sooner had the bed dipped with his weight did I pull the covers back further, ready and willing to see how far I could tempt him to me. Again, I had no real goal, only want for his company. This I knew, in some capacity, was dangerous. Still, I ignored the whispered unease I felt and persued. "Will you...lie with me, Sir? Rest by my side?" Hearing my own eagerness so direct and obvious itched at my conscience. It was uncomfortable. Still, my desire to pursue his companionship ushered me on.

For a moment, the Count only stared. When he decided to speak, his words were careful and weighted. "You think it wise? We discussed this before."

His comment generated a deep, foreign, emotional response within me. I chewed my lip, feeling so suddenly stuck and unprepared. I desired the Count strongly, nevertheless, I knew it to be wrong. Similarly, the Count desired me. Now, this man I loved and honored again left me to question my own motives. What did I really hope to gain from our present setting? Did I want him to touch me or did I want him only for his company? I plumbed through my own thoughts, delving too deeply, feeling resentment's sting. Confused as I was by my motives, I knew them to be less complex than I made them out to be. I did not trust the Count, nor did I trust myself. That was it, that was the mystery's end. Deeply, I hoped that I could again rely on both him and myself, in time. I knew we would have to wander our desires with caution, and so this moment was opportune.

"I-I only want your company," I offered lamely, hearing my own fragility. Months prior, I could barely bring myself to sleep in the Count's bed. Now, I beckoned him to mine. The switch was odd and I knew my former self would find my actions brazen and desperate. Lucien Lachance, however, trained me to be comfortable with a man - at least, when it came to the actual act of rest. Regardless, I needed this moment. I needed his closeness. It was but another test I hoped not to fail. "I promise to behave myself. I...I miss you. Feeling you. It's so lonely, I never realized..." My voice trailed as I came to the realization of the Count's qualms and loneliness. I wondered if speaking of my own was crass and uncaring. I did not want him to think so but I knew not how to soothe or correct my words. I was tired of being so confounded. I was tired of directing my every action and word, but it had to be done. So, I only sat quietly in the darkness as the Count mulled over his options mutely.

He shifted, carefully, hesitantly, then he moved. With utmost care, the Count began to undress. He removed his boots and more decorative attire. With his embellishments gone, the Count granted me one more questioning glance in the dark, his eyes aglow, before settling further by my side. His careful actions lifted me. There was a twinge of fear that accompanied the pleasant swelling rising in my chest, and I did my best to disregard it. I was unsure how we would continue the evening, yet I was eager all the same. I would be careful, but I wanted him near so desperately.

In an almost comical way, the Count dwarfed the bed. Although a sizeable piece, the Green Room's bed was nowhere near as large or grand as the Count's. Him being so big, I understood its necessity and worried for his comfort. But I was selfish and wanted him near, I cared little for all else. It was but another small sin I offered myself this night. I was utterly besotted with my own selfishness for him. Bitterly, I wondered if he deserved it.

The Count pulled the covers back further before he slid fully beside me. I relished this. In an instant, my confused pining became a more tender emotion. To have him so near moved me. He did not need to lower himself for me, yet he did.

As the Count settled, his body abnormally still, I noted his position. He lied flat on his back, arms folded over his broad chest in a defensive posture, his eyes closed. What little I could see of his expression in the dark was troubling. His black brows were furrowed, lips pulled thin. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to hold him. I wondered how he would react should I act on such a notion and found my conclusions troubling. Instead, I swallowed hard, attempting to be appreciative of his willingness to stoop down to my lowly level. I supposed a modicum of abuse was necessary for each of us when coming together.

I too reclined, attempting to find comfort in the sheets. However, this too proved difficult. I was far too attuned to all the Count did. His silence and his position on the mattress troubled me greatly. I wondered why he said nothing, why he had yet to look at me, why he stayed so still. His movements - or lack thereof - were foreign to me once more.

"Sir?" I finally garnered the courage to begin, my tone a question, hoping to break away from our troubling silence. No doubt he questioned me, as I did him.

"Hmm?"

"You are quiet." It was a foolish thing to note. Of all our overwhelming differences and circumstance, his quiet was the least remarkable. Feeling so exposed roused my stupidity. I felt terribly vulnerable, and I knew how covetous I was for coaxing the Count to me. It was a gritty reminder of all I did wrong. I lacked conviction and so sought worldly comforts, all the while knowing the harm they could pose. It was as I did now: tempting fate all the while knowing the 'likely' repercussions. I did not think I would ever understand what drove me to act in such a way. "W-what are you thinking about?"

"The silence...I am focusing."

"Focusing? What are you focusing on?" I near squeaked, trying to be away from my thoughts and thankful for the man at my side. Then, sheepishly, I chewed my lip in an attempt to hush myself.

"My willpower, I suppose." The Count sighed deeply, a cool exhale through his nostrils, his eyes remaining closed. This admission flushed me. Excited me. I did my best to stifle the sentiment. It was both good and bad. Thrilling and worrisome. There were only so many passions that swayed the Count and his hungers could prove problematic. "You are ever dainty...and warm."

I flushed, though I knew not wholly why, thinking perhaps it was our closeness that caused it. I stared at the Count through the dark. He was so serene, so still. Otherworldly in so many aspects. I was left in awe by his lying figure. He was dangerous and beautiful. A haunting visage that I wanted all for my own, the sole object I clumsily tried to obtain. Feeling as though I was on the precipice of some unnameable emotion or circumstance, I felt compelled to touch the Count. I needed to feel him. The mere thought of contact made the little hairs on my arms rise. "And you..."

Tentatively, I placed my hand over his. The Count's skin was so cool.

"...You are cold."

Saying so aloud made me feel foolish. I flushed, but the Count only smiled. With eyes still closed, the softest of tilts touched the corner of his lips, the shadows by his mouth deepening in the blackness of the room. "You sound so resolute. I do not think I ever asked you this, Abigale Lynn - does it repulse you?"

"No. No, not at all, Sir. I find it refreshing." I hurried to say. If the Count only knew how terribly I had missed his cold touch, he would never have had to ask. The doubts in his mind were my doing.

"Refreshing." He suddenly repeated, sampling the term. The Count then made a small, puzzled sound. "Is it different to you now?" His eyes finally flashed open and his gaze met mine. The brilliant glow of his iris captivated me and rendered me silent. They were piercing, bright, punching through the dark with an otherworldly luminescence. The Count's eyes were an amazing thing to behold, but something curious and sad swirled subtly within them. It unsettled me. "Have you grown...used to warmth?" His tone was not unkind, nor was his look. It was careful and almost casual. Still, his stare and query had me mentally balking. I was affronted by how easily the question was posed. More so at the forethought behind it. He no doubt caught this, his gentle smile slipping from him, worry in its place. "Forgive me. I am too forward. Too jealous and flawed. I know not how I sound...then your eyes tell me plainly."

I gulped and retracted my touch from him. I was uncertain of how to proceed. Was such a question wrong for him to ask? Was he not permitted to do so? We were silent for a moment, but I forced myself to speak, all the while hoping I did not sound too foolish. "I...understand the want to know, my Lord. I do not think you are flawed for that." I eventually managed, tone careful, fingers toying with the linens. "I became accustomed to it. Forgive me. I promised to answer any questions you have. But..." I chewed my lip, eyes falling to the massive figure of my Count once more. "B-but, tonight, I...I selfishly wanted not to think or talk of anything other than you."

The Count's stare intensified, turning almost curious and yet empathetic. "I still find myself glossing over your feelings. I think of what was done - not what I do. It is pitiful." His hands made a strange gesture; large, white hands emptying in the air. He gazed into them, looking still so curious in the dark. "It is a shade of envy I did not know existed, nor realized how deep it could run. I hope to conquer it, I truly do." Another sigh escaped the Count, this one longer than the last. I thought how strange a turn of events our entire discourse had become, and yet it was comforting. The Count and I had a very strange relationship, indeed. "Causing more suffering at my hands. To be alone with me...it is grim. All alone in a castle with a vampire."

Again, I assessed his figure in the dark. Our union was... tumultuous. Truly stormy, at times, and perhaps even wrong. Yet he, this, it was all I wanted. If my safety was assured in his arms, I would have it all..."I am at home with the man I love."

There was a pause. A long, thoughtful break as my words hovered above. Tenderness returned fast. The Count moved closer and coaxed me down to his side. His hand gently cupped my cheek, fingers wove into my messed hair. Too close, a voice in the back of my mind urged randomly. I swallowed hard at the strange warning and tried to ignore it. When the Count spoke again, his tone was low yet warm. "Such miraculous linguistic sorcery you cast now. You've become quite good with talk. Forgive me, please, for being such a fool. I love you so. Yet we both can wholly admit, I am a bleak creature, at best." He moved closer still, speaking fast before I could hope to reply. "Well, enough of it. You had mentioned...Were you thinking of me tonight? No, forgive me. That, too, is unfair to ask-"

The Count was rambling. From his apologies to his look, everything about him seemed so 'off'. Riled. It was as if even the smallness of the bed had attempted to drive the point that I was too dense to see. The Count very much felt out of place. He still did not know how to act, nor did I, truly. Regardless, all slowly made perfect sense, and I knew not why I had not noticed sooner. The Count was terribly nervous. I longed to soothe him. I did not want his mood to sour. Lethally volatile.

"I-I was, my Lord." I blushed to admit, purposely avoiding the Count's increasing intensity over my words. Again, I questioned my mind's negative harping. It had me shamefully focused on darker aspects of my Count. How still he could be, how fixated he could become over my person... It made me long to hide, even when comforted by his presence, the Count's attention was oppressive. The powerlessness I harbored was dizzying, especially whilst in his arms...Unmovable. Unbreakable.

"You spoke before of dreams about me. One day, when ready, I hope you will divulge such secrets."

"Perhaps one day," I mumbled, words soft as the Count further gathered me in his arms. His body engulfed my own, thick arms wrapping and locking around me. His touch made me anxious, no matter how I longed to welcome him. I wanted him, I needed him, but everything about the man...Gods, it was frightening.

I could not think about how strong the Count's hold upon me truly was. I could not think about how easily this man could manipulate my body and self, should the desire strike him. Nor could I think about his darkest secrets, age-old secrets, still cold and present...

"I love you so, Abigale Lynn." The Count confessed suddenly, words calm but strong with conviction. I swallowed thickly, cursing the timing of my thoughts. I attempted to let the feel of the Count's body drown out my worries, but found it near impossible. He was too big, too imposing, too dangerous. I could not ignore it. It was infuriating how terribly fast all could change within me. I wanted the Count madly until I did not. My instincts, honed by pain and abuse, refused me any lasting comforts. His hand stroked my cheek, knuckles like ice over me. I could not help but contemplate how easily all could stop existing for me should he wish it. One harsh push against my throat and all would be gone. "You were so warm moments ago, now you are fearful." the Count noted, sensing the sudden change in my demeanor. "It is alright. I am here...and I will not hurt you."

He pulled me closer, and Gods, I felt so small beneath him. My heart raced. I pushed my hands to his torso, gently, and could not help but to marvel at how insignificant they looked compared to the broad span of the Count's chest. Resistance was useless. With the Count, it did not exist. There was no calming this notion. It could not be refuted as we had our history. Yet I tried desperately to calm myself. I was still alive, after all...for now. "Y-yes but...But you could, Sir." I admitted foolishly, feeling the pressure of my woes. A lump formed in my throat, constricting all sound. It was obscene. I was obscene. Was it unfair for me to be so untrusting? I had just beckoned this man to my bedside. Now, I mourned the decision. Why? Mere thoughts stole away my peace. I wondered if I would ever again feel a prolonged sense of safety whilst with the Count. I loathed my flippant disposition. I just wanted to be.

"You need not trouble yourself with such thoughts, though I understand why they plague you. Especially with my brutish handling of that nuisance only days before. I personally should not have acted on the matter. We should have come home..." His voice trailed, gaze everywhere. We lapsed into quiet stares, assessing each other. I knew not how to respond, but tried not to dwell on earlier events with little success.

As the Count continued to stare, my worries became heavier, burdening me to the point of absolute motionlessness. I tried to pretend they did not exist, that all was well, while my insides screeched of danger. It was maddening. I felt powerless to my fears, though I understood their origin. It was a rational thing, an instinct spurred by preservation. The Count was dangerous.

I thought on my time with the assassin, the trained and seasoned killer... Never, not even after all harm done, had I feared Lucien Lachance more than I did the Count. It was two entirely different emotions. Of course, I had been afraid of the Dark Brotherhood Speaker - I still was - but the sentiment paled when in comparison to my anxieties towards the Count. The entirety of it all was ludicrous, yet it was how I felt. I could only curse myself and wallow. This was the path I chose. I wanted this. Danger or death, no matter how terrible, was the tradeoff I selected.

Then, whilst being lost somewhere within the confines of my internal panic, all began to change. There was a softening to the Count's gaze. He shifted some, the simple action seizing me in alarm. Slowly, the Count lowered his body closer to mine. The gentle resistance of my hands did not even register against him. My stomach knotted, with both butterflies and unease. "It is alright," The Count repeated again suddenly, startling me further. I pulled my lip between my teeth, knowing better than to communicate any form of protest. With great care, he pulled me into him until there was no space remaining between us. He positioned us gently, maneuvering me beneath him with ease, each touch as tentative as he was able. I questioned this, I questioned him, I questioned myself. My heart hammered angrily, echoing in my ears, the sound deafening. I swallowed thickly, staring up into the red eyes that instilled both fear and longing within me. Their glow...they were purely hypnotic. "You are safe, Abigale Lynn. You are safe here with me. This I promise you."

Only the Gods knew how desperately I wanted to believe him. I looked away, trying to quell the onslaught of emotions that rose in my chest alongside his words. He stopped me, however, taking my face in his hand, forcing me to him with gentle pressure. "Sir," I breathed, seeking refusal, but not understanding what I wished to stop nor how to end it. I also fully acknowledged that, whatever this was, trickery or true, I would be a perilous fool should I hope to object. "Sir," I repeated, feeling what little dignity I had left flee. The reality of impending subjugation drove more terror into me. It was an impossible feeling, I could sense myself getting smaller, while also being near ready to burst.

His stare was too intense. I could not help but reflect upon his strength and anger. It chilled me. I regretted wanting him while wanting him - a perilously blurred line I seemed rooted to with the Count. The altering emotions were so very conflicting, yet strongly married. All embarrassed me. I longed for resolution, or to simply be away from myself. Instead, I could summon nothing but confusion and ugly tears.

"Abigale Lynn, I will not hurt you."

Helpless as I was, cruel as I was, this man still took pity on me.

"B-but you could. Y-you can-" You have... The thoughts were nauseating. It was pure torment. We had not been so close in so long. There was no lust pouring through and clouding judgment. I had nothing but him and myself in the little bed. I felt paralyzed by the situation I started. One wrong move or word could ruin me. Still, I loved the Count. "I am scared."

"I know." He brought his face close to mine, then lowered it towards my nape. His cheek against my jaw, mouth emitting a wash of cold along my throat. Would he bite me? Would he hurt me? I knew not. My chest grew tight as waves of uncertainty continued to assault me. I readied myself for pain whilst the Count continued to hold me. It was a sweet, gentle embrace that I longed to cherish but could not trust.

"I am so sorry. I-I do not understand t-this dread." I gulped, speaking mostly truth. I had been so happy, warm and wanting. The change was swift and terrible. "I-I just want..." I rambled, but my voice died in my throat. I knew not what I wanted. My limbs trembled. I was tempted to beg the Count to feed upon me. To have the rush of lust take away all my misery seemed a beautiful escape, but there would be pain and blood. I doubted my ability to handle such violence. Additionally, I knew not which desires my blood would tickle the Count towards.

With little else to do, drowning in pitiful disorientation, I carefully placed my jittering arms over the Count's back. I held him, embracing all awfulness. I pushed my head to his and screwed my eyes tightly shut. I only wanted to feel him and nothing more. I wanted all to be alright. I wanted to be safe and loved.

"I mean you no harm, my love. Let me hold you and care for you. It will be alright." As he spoke, voice low and rumbling, the Count continued stroking me, touches tender. I focused on the feeling. Trying hard to preserve the pleasurable sensations and not mentally poison them. "Try to calm. Please, try."

"I-I cannot," I choked. The Count's kindness worried me. I did not want him to think I did not appreciate it, as I truly did. However, the sentiment was as soothing as it was cruel; I knew not how long it would last. My throat tightened, though my jaw felt slack. Thinking as quickly as my addled mind allowed, I reached into myself and sought further humiliation. I would happily shame myself to stave off perceived aggression, simmering or imaginary. "P-perhaps it is the visit that has me so startled." I offered, dearly hoping that the olive branch would be accepted.

"Think not of it." The Count insisted, pulling back some to look at me once more. I wished he had not, and sank further beneath him. "You must calm, Abigale Lynn. Please. Your breath is shallow. And heart..." His stare, so impassioned and alarming; what little imperceptible light from the room reflected from his pupils in silver and gold hues. I could not bear the power within them. I could feel the impermanence of my own existence when meeting the Count's stare in the dark. "Your heart..." He said again, more forcefully this time, his tone thick, almost strangled. It alarmed me, forcing me back to him. "It...it is loud."

My heart.

'Why?! Why do you do this?! Do you wish to drive me mad? I will possess your heart even if I have to tear it from your chest!' It was a dark echo, a ghostly proclamation that haunted me persistently, my passionate avower atop of me. This too, I could not bear.

My foolish heart.

I could feel the organ thundering in my chest, pushing life through me, coursing through my neck and pounding loudly in my ears. Panic made my blood run swift, enriching every vessel, filling me with that dark ichor he so craved. It rushed within me, racing fast like a wild stream, ready to spill into his waiting mouth.

My palms grew slick along him as I then grasped my true reason for panic - at least this present panic. I swallowed, steadily grasping that all terror I mentally subjected myself to was in preparation. My body primed itself for his thirsts, physically reacting and bracing, ready to make good on our bargain from so long before. My body - I - anticipated pain while with the Count, no matter how sweet his embrace. I was his, I belonged to him, no matter if I ran off with a man or within myself. The epiphany was jarring but true. It alarmed me in a different way, spurring my attentiveness in a new direction: the parting of the Count's lips.

"My heart, i-it was made for you. I am m-made for you." I blurted, fingers twisting into the nightshirt he wore, the shrillness of my voice startling us both. This was what he wanted. What I wanted. "You...feel it too. You know this-this is s-supposed to be." I wetted my lips, and he watched the action curiously. I longed to touch his cheek, but fear of the unknown kept me from doing so. I pitied both him and myself. It was unfair. "Sorry for my cowardice, Sir. You deserve more..."

The piercing glow of the Count's stare melted into a wobbly shimmer as fresh tears flooded my eyes. It was confusing, it was painful, but I cherished this man. No matter all the pain and danger, no matter the panic and fear; I only wanted to please him. I wanted the Count to see me as I was: little more than a confused girl who was desperately in love with him, so very sorry for the hurt she inflicted, and willing to do anything to earn his affection. I needed to be worthy, but the question of the Count's worthiness burned bitter in the back of my throat. He was not saintly, though he was good, and his past treatment of me left much to be desired.

All forced me to reflect. Why? Why did I love this man so much?...

His eyes. Those eyes. The emotions that swirled within them. His passion, whether it be derived from anger or love. His smile, so soft and sweet, the charm that oozed from his upturned lips was astounding; the points of his fangs that gleamed and demanded attention. His laugh - how I longed to hear it more. And his touch...it could be so soft. So astoundingly gentle for a being of such strength. The first time he held my wrists in his large, cold, hands often lingered in my thoughts. I thought he did not want me, such a sweet caress purified all woes and soothed my troubled heart. He loved me. He loved me in his own powerful way. It was often wrong, it was an emotion he could abuse, but it was true. And though he hurt us both with his passionate ways I would not change him. I loved him.

In ways I did not understand, my devotion made me sad. I accepted this, being with the Count was worth my tears and fright.

"You are too cruel to yourself." He finally spoke, voice estranged. The Count came ever closer. The space between us was so little I could feel the cold air leave his mouth as he talked. "I have given you every right to fear me. Please, do not think yourself lowly for it." The Count's hand came up to me, resting against my cheek with a tentative air. "I love you, with all that I am. It is a love much stronger than that of my hungers."

I believed him.

XXXX

Author's Notes: Okay, this took forever. Honestly, I know where I'm going here, but getting there...I'm all burnt out on LOB. There's no TES stuff going on, no inspiration to keep me going. LOB is gonna keep being updated whenever I get the desire to write it. Right now, it's just not there. Instead, I have been writing a story for the Witcher. Nothing posted, still unsure about the title too. However, it's a new fic that I'm passionate about. Until that spark comes back for TES, I won't be forcing myself to write. The story isn't dead, necessarily, but she does like her naps, eh? I've also considered making an account on different sites like AO3. I'm getting old, guys. Not too sure where to post fanny-fics anymore. ANYWAYZ. If you happen to be a Witcher fan, (talking the game, hur. I don't watch the show, haven't read the books, am a filthy heathen) and can tolerate my work, swing on by here! Might have something up soon. Ain't gonna be as long as this pooh, but hopefully, it will be decent. Dark, fun, nasty, pitiful...yeah, all my fave topics XD

P.S LOB is always dear to my dopey-ass heart. Like I said, she ain't done, just taking a breather, trying new things. Some might be like 'duuude you haven't updated in a yeaaaar'. Yeah, but I write almost every dang day, and when I'm not, I'm thinking about it. It's a GRIND. I WANT my TES spark back, but I gotta wait for SPACEGAAAAAME to hurry up (will it be good? No clue. Am I excited for it?...Mer...). So, no writing this until I get inspired, I don't wanna do LOB dirty like that. Dunno. Lemme know yer thoughts!