I know, I know, it's been a long time. I'm sorry. I've been going through a rough patch and I'm not sure how or when I'll be able to get out of it. But enough about me. Thanks for reviewing, following, and favouriting, everyone! Knowing that you still enjoy my story helps keep me writing it.

Okay, about this chapter. Firstly, you've got to know that it's not been edited so there might be some mistakes. I apologize in advance... And secondly, I'll only say this: hang on to your hats, guys! This one's important, and not just because you'll finally learn about that vampiric power I've been hinting at. A step is about to be taken... Forward or backward? Well, read on to find out ;)

Almost forgot... I don't know if it's necessary but better safe than sorry. Trigger warning: I'm mentioning rape later in the chapter, when Enola starts talking about the binding ritual for Katrina. Just as a concept but still, I thought you should know.

When Enola got to the estate, night had long since fallen. The sky, utterly obscured by dense clouds, looked as though a titanic hand had swept the moon and the stars right off it. Without their light, the darkness was so complete it almost felt like a tangible thing that the young woman absorbed with each needless breath she took. She didn't mind, though. Vampires were creatures of darkness; it was there that they were at their strongest, there that they hunted, drawing the shadows around them like a veil that hid them from their prey and disguised bites as open-mouth kisses. Night was humming in every fibre of her body, a melody like dark velvet that roused her senses and invited her to go back in town and have a taste of its nightlife. The young vampire shook her head and pushed away her urges. Maybe she'd go hunting later but first, she had a job to do.

She kept her ears cocked as she reverted to her human form but she heard no noise from either the house or the stable, except for the creaking of wood and the pitter-patter of mice. She concluded that Abraham was already gone and, when she found his trail a few moments later, the smell of dry blood and decomposing flesh mingled with his and Archon's confirmed that he had taken the bodies with him. A quick search through the tetanus funfair in the carriage house yielded a rusty—naturally—shovel. With it in hand, she flitted through the woods, as silent as a shadow, following the scents until she came upon her quarry about half a mile north of the estate.

Abraham was already knee-deep in the hole he was busy digging in the ground of a small opening between the trees while Archon waited patiently. He had draped his coat over a nearby moss-covered boulder and rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms. A lantern sat on the ground by the hole, darkness crowding outside the orb of weak gold-orange light it gave forth. The corpses were heaped carelessly under the boulder and Enola's gaze automatically snapped away from them as her insides clenched in unease—it would be a long time before she came to terms with what she had done.

When she slowed down to a brisk walk, the crunching of the dead leaves underneath her feet betrayed her approach and both Abraham's and Archon's heads shot up. The latter greeted her with a friendly nicker while the former frowned in puzzlement.

"As you can see, I have the situation well in hand—but obviously, you already knew that," Abraham said with a nod at the vampire's shovel. "Which begs the question of why you are here."

"I don't like letting people clean up behind me," Enola answered with a shrug. "It's a matter of principle."

She stuck her shovel into the pile of dirt that the Horseman had removed before striding to the boulder under his assessing gaze. She removed her coat, her scarf, and her blood-stained jumper, which she laid next to his coat, pushed the sleeves of her burgundy top up to her elbows, and went back to her shovel.

"You can start widening the hole," Abraham instructed as the vampire yanked the rusty tool from the dirt.

Enola set to work, taking care not to break the blade when she brought her foot down on its edge. She hadn't removed more than a couple of shovelfuls of dirt when Abraham finally asked the question she'd been waiting for since she had arrived.

"What happened?"

The young woman glanced at him: he was still digging without looking at her, his face expressionless, though it hardened considerably as she related the events of the day. When she fell silent, he said nothing but went on working, his gestures just a little more forceful than before. Enola stole a few glances at him, waiting for him to complain about Katrina's absence, and was quite perplexed when he didn't. Maybe he was more understanding than she gave him credit for. Or maybe he didn't really care whether Katrina came back or not, but it would mean that his desire for her was fading and that didn't seem likely. For a minute, she toyed with the idea of commenting on Parrish and Moloch's disregard for their promise to him, but that would only ignite his temper and she was in no mood for a fight. No, what she wanted was to get this grim chore over with.

Thanks to their superior strength and their formidable endurance, they finished digging within the hour. Enola, unwilling to show any weakness in front of Abraham, gritted her teeth, grabbed one of the bodies, hauled it to the pit and dumped it there while the Horseman did the same with the other two—it took every ounce of her will not to flinch at the dull thuds with which they hit the bottom.

As they busied themselves filling the hole, Enola didn't fail to notice that Abraham's gestures were becoming more and more aggressive, and his glare more and more murderous. All the while, the air around him was growing colder, prompting Enola to hold back a resigned sigh. He was very obviously about to explode which, naturally, meant that she'd have to play the punching-bag-that-could-punch-back. She was tempted to ask him what angered him the most—Parrish and Moloch's betrayal or their attempt on Katrina's life—but she'd prefer to finish their task before he tried to tear her head off.

The moment they were done, Abraham threw his shovel to the ground so violently that it bounced back. Stiff with rage, he marched to the nearest tree and punched it with all his might, one, two, three times while Enola watched, her lips pursed, trying to refrain from any remark... but she quickly gave in.

"You're a bloody hypocrite, you know that?" she huffed, dropping her shovel to prop her hands on her hips.

The Horseman immediately turned away from the poor tree to round on her with so withering a glare that, by all rights, she should have crumbled into ashes on the spot.

"For your sake, Enola, I suggest you hold your tongue!" he snarled.

The vampire let the threat whizz straight past her without so much as a glance.

"Shall I remind you that you were planning to decapitate her until she decided to stay of her own free will?"

For the sole purpose of spying on him and Parrish, of course, but it was probably best not to mention that.

"What are you talking about?" he spat, his eyes narrowed in perplexity.

"Uh, the binding ritual? Doesn't it involve chopping Katrina's head off?"

Abraham scoffed and shook his head, his lips quirked in a disbelieving grimace.

"No, it doesn't. Where on earth did you get that idea?"

Enola's indignation faltered for a second. It appeared that Ichabod's nightmare had been just that—a nightmare. A manifestation of his worst fear. Or the Codex Tchacos was inaccurate. Still, even without Katrina's death, the ritual remained, in Enola's opinion, an abomination, something she was determined to point out.

"Doesn't matter," she retorted with a shake of her head. "That ritual is... it's rape."

At this word, a mixture of incomprehension and shock washed over Abraham's face, removing all traces of ire. He attempted to protest but Enola didn't let him utter even one syllable.

"You were going to take her for yourself against her will," she bit out, jabbing a finger at him. "Your spells would have overcome and twisted her mind until all that remained was utter loyalty and devotion to you—she would have become your unwitting slave. It's a violation of her free will, a denial of her worth, a destruction of her soul."

She took a few steps towards him while he remained completely still, frozen in place by her uncompromising stare and her harsh words, each of them like a punch to his gut.

"So now, go ahead, tell me how different that is from rape."

Abraham opened his mouth but when, after a few seconds, his churning thoughts failed to provide him with an acceptable reply, he closed it again, making it painfully obvious that he had never considered the ritual as a misdeed in the first place. In his mind, he would merely have been reclaiming what was rightfully his.

"Oh, but perhaps that's not a problem to you. After kidnapping, why not rape, right?"

That got a prompt reaction out of him.

"Don't you dare," he growled as he strode to Enola until his illusional nose almost touched hers, his face hard with anger. "I may not be a paragon of virtue but there are some lines that I would never cross!"

"Really? Then tell me this: if Katrina changed her mind and decided to go back to her husband, would you force the ritual on her?"

"She won't."

"You're avoiding the question."

Yes, he was. The answer should have been obvious, except... it wasn't. Because Katrina was the whole reason why he'd become the Horseman of Death. Unable to accept losing her, he'd made a deal with Moloch for a chance to get her back. Giving a negative answer would be exactly that—to accept losing her. And then what would be the point of his alliance with the demon? Hell, the point of his very existence? Well, he still had to kill Ichabod, of course, but he'd have to go through Enola first, which was unlikely to happen.

However, he couldn't give a positive answer either, not after what Enola had just said. Not after Katrina's presence had reminded him that he cared about her. Funny, he mused, how both women had a knack for dragging his humanity to the surface, although their methods were as different as night and day. Katrina's composure had first cooled the blind rage that had been possessing him, and now, Enola's uncompromising bluntness shoved his mistakes and his contradictions right under his nose, and threw a harsh new light on his past and present actions. The worst part was that he could neither dismiss nor ignore her words—they struck too deep and true. As a matter of fact, those she had hurled at him during her second visit to his estate were still burrowing in his mind, insisting that Katrina didn't belong to him. And now, that humanity was telling him in no uncertain terms that the ritual was one of those limits he would never cross.

So he chose the answer that it wanted him to choose. The answer that wouldn't paint a look of pure loathing over Enola's face, the answer that wouldn't insure she would never see him as anything more than a monster—a notion which, for a reason he didn't dare examine too closely, made him quite uneasy.

"No, I would not," he said without meeting Enola's eyes.

She remained silent but he could feel her searching gaze on his face, and he knew she was wondering if he had merely told her what she wanted to hear. Only when, after a few moments, she took a step back, did he look at her. She was considering him with a strangely hesitant expression and he understood why a second later.

"Hm. How about a quid pro quo?" she offered, folding her arms—a gesture that betrayed her discomfort. "You conceded one of my points, so now I'll concede one of yours."

Well, that was... unexpected. If he didn't know any better, he would have believed that she was trying to soothe the cut which his admission had dealt to his pride. However, Enola wasn't one to go out of her way to spare people's sensitivities, especially not his. And he was correct: she was actually seeking to ease her own reluctance. This was something she needed to tell him, though, because he'd been the first to raise that point and also because he was the closest thing to a vampire she had on hand—someone who had been human before being turned into a lethal undead creature. The only other vampires she knew were Cyrille's friends, whom she had no intention of contacting. She had left them behind along with her life in France when, taking advantage of the dual citizenship she held thanks to her American mother, she'd fled her native country and come to the US over two years ago.

She had thought hard on her way to Willow Point estate, flying more slowly than she would otherwise have and drifting too far to the south in her distraction. Vampires were violent, bloodthirsty creatures by nature, there was no denying that. Those instincts were still very much part of her but, in her determination to control herself well enough that she wouldn't kill the people she fed on, she had chained them so tightly that she'd foolishly thought she wouldn't have to worry too much about them anymore. So she'd become complacent and... Well, she couldn't believe she was even considering it but Abraham was—ugh—right. Somewhere along the road, she had forgotten about the savage beast inside her.

Now, she had a decision to make. She could lock her beast away again and refuse to think about it until it exploded out of her once more, totally uncontrollable. Or she could accept its presence, familiarize herself with it, and make it hers to unleash at the right moments—the choice of which being what would ultimately define who she was.

Fortunately, Cyrille had taught her to accept herself as a vampire. She was fine with drinking human blood. Fine with her unbeating heart and her cold pale skin. Fine with her fangs and her red eyes. Fine with the creature she could turn into at will. And now, she would just have to be fine with her newly rediscovered, most vicious impulses, unless she wanted to spend eternity mired in self-loathing, an option that didn't appeal to her in the slightest.

So, there it was. Decision made, crystal clear. She wouldn't back away from a challenge that would determine what kind of person she was—a woman brave enough to acknowledge her darkness and strong enough not let herself be consumed by it... or the monster vampires were created to be. The moment she resolved to be the former, she felt a knot loosen in her chest.

She knew what to do, now. She'd gotten a good hold on her life again, one looser than before, yes, but it was a necessary concession so it wouldn't slip from her hands once more, as a wet piece of soap did when gripped tightly.

"You were right," Enola said after giving a small sigh, her fingers digging into her arms. "I did forget what vampires are capable of, what... I had inside me. I won't make that mistake again."

"I must say, I didn't expect you to be this... accepting," Abraham remarked with a raised eyebrow.

The vampire let out a bark of laughter and uncrossed her arms to place her hands on her hips, a sarcastic smile floating on her lips.

"Well, what's the alternative? Self-hatred? I'm a vampire, I've accepted that years ago. Violence and death come with the package, and that's fine. I just... have to control myself."

A sly smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Or not. There's a time for everything."

Much to her surprise, Abraham chuckled and his eyes gleamed with wry amusement.

"Quite right," he agreed.

For a moment, neither of them knew what to say next, whether to end the conversation or prolong it, and so they merely stood there looking at each other. And in that moment, something in the air changed—a tension that strung out between them, as tight as a wire. Their lopsided smiles slid off their faces. It was as though all the significance of their conversation had only just caught up to them.

Not only was this the third talk they'd had that hadn't ended with shouts and/or blows, and the second one in a row no less, but they had also opened up in a way that should have been impossible to the mortal enemies they were supposed to be. To say that this notion made them uncomfortable would have been like saying that Moloch was a bit of a rascal—a massive understatement.

Enola had confided to Abraham something that she hadn't even told her friends, and most likely never would. As for Abraham, in a mere four words, he had admitted that he'd started to question the very thing his unlife was revolving around, the very thing that dictated his every decision, that gave his existence meaning—his obsession with Katrina, born of his wounded pride. Enola was far from oblivious to this but she didn't know how to feel about it. On one hand, she couldn't say that she was unhappy to know that Abraham was finally starting to pull his head out of his arse. On the other, she would much prefer they both remain in their respective roles—those of mortal enemies who couldn't stand each other. Much simpler that way. Much less room for embarrassing questions.

Unfortunately, life is never simple. Although, as it would turn out, that was actually for the best.

It was high time to plan an exit strategy, Enola thought. Something subtle and graceful. Because everyone knows that subtlety and grace are my main qualities.

"Anyway!" she exclaimed loudly, clapping her hands and putting a few more steps between them.

… Yeah, that was about as subtle as an army of Daleks in the streets. Oh well, at least it worked.

"Now that the drama's over, let's go back to the estate. There's still blood to clean up."

"Do you think I spent the whole afternoon pacing and wringing my hands?" the Horseman grated. "It's already done."

Actually, he'd only done the pacing part, and only for a part of the afternoon, after he'd finished washing the blood off the floor and the furniture. The thought that, stuck indoors until the sun went down, he was powerless to do anything had more than once threatened to send him into a rage. The only reason why he hadn't lost what little composure he'd managed to scrape up was the conviction that Enola and the Witnesses, especially Ichabod, would do everything in their power to save Katrina. And he'd been correct. It seemed that he owed her his gratitude once again.

"It is? Great," Enola replied as she strode past him towards the boulder to retrieve her clothes. And, because she could never resist ruffling him, she glanced at him over her shoulder and added with a smirk, "Thanks, sweetie."

As expected and much to her amusement, Abraham's features drew together in a thunderous scowl. The glare he gave her would have sent Moloch's demon army running back to their master.

"Stop calling me that," he snapped.

"Not a chance!" the vampire chirped, threading her arms through the sleeves of her jumper.

She could practically hear Abraham seething behind her. At this point, smoke was probably pouring out of his ears, a picture that made her grin in mischievous satisfaction as she put on her coat and her scarf.

"I am beginning to regret not killing you in your sleep when I had the chance," the Horseman growled.

For a moment, Enola wondered when exactly he'd that opportunity, and then she recalled the few hours she'd spent asleep on the sofa in his living room after the Mary Wells incident.

"You'd be bored without me," she quipped when she passed him on her way to pick up their shovels.

She threw one to Abraham, who caught it easily.

"I would have one fewer problem," he shot back. "Why did you even take that risk? You must have known I would be tempted."

"Of course, I knew, but vampire sleep comes with an alarm. I assure you, if I had been in serious danger, I would've woken up."

He acknowledged Enola's statement with a nod before beckoning Archon to him. It occurred to him that he should perhaps be a gentleman and offer the young woman a ride back to the estate but the idea lasted as long as a rabbit among hungry wolves. First because, even on foot, she was faster than Archon and second because, for reasons he'd rather overlook, the thought of her pressed against him was enough to tie his bowels into knots. Although, he might have had his priorities wrong...

"Well, I'll be going now," the vampire declared with a last glance at the fresh grave. "I guess I'll see you the next time we try to hack each other to pieces."

At these words, a corner of Abraham's lips quirked up into a wry smile that vanished the moment she started to change. Her contours blurred as her body grew taller and absorbed her clothes and her hair, its curves shifting and its colours altering into a uniform dark hue. In a matter of seconds, he was no longer looking at a beautiful young woman but at what he could only describe as a gargoyle.

All sleek lines and wiry muscles, its—her?—slate grey skin as smooth as lambskin leather, it—no, she—stood on three clawed toes; even counting his head, she was maybe four inches taller than him. Her fingers were tipped with black razor-sharp claws that he recognized as the ones that had killed Parrish's men and almost ripped his heart out. Her narrow face, with its sunken cheeks and its prominent cheekbones that threatened to tear the skin covering them, was a far cry from its heart-shaped human self. Her nose was broad and flat, her nostrils stretched upwards, and her deep-set eyes as black as polished onyx. Her parted lips, divided down their middle by the philtrum which extended down to the tip of her chin in a thin shallow cleft, showed two rows of pointed teeth, the upper canines distinctly longer. Her large leaf-shaped ears were planted close to her skull on each side of her bald head; thin horizontal ridges barred the cup of their inner surface.

And finally, there were the wings.

They were attached to her back and closely resembled those of a bat—or, given their strong musculature, those of a dragon—, their thumbs each sporting a curved claw. When the vampire unfolded them, they spanned maybe two and a half times her height. Their thin membranes were a shade lighter than her skin and looked as velvety as parchment, an observation than made Abraham's fingers twitch as he wondered what they would feel like to the touch.

Most people would have found her terrifyingly monstrous. He too would have, before. When he was still human. But now, he stood there watching her in wonder because he saw beauty in the fierce, raw power that radiated from her strong body, in the undeniable elegance that her arched legs imparted to her stance, in the cold white gleam that floated on the surface of her fathomless eyes like moonlight reflected on a lake.

He was still staring at her when she shot up with a mighty flap of her wings that blew away the dead leaves on the ground, and his eyes didn't leave her until the crowns of the trees had hidden her from him.

So, yeah. My vampires don't change into mere bats. No, they go full-on gargoyle. I'll admit I was strongly inspired by the Vampire Lords in Skyrim (great video game). You can have a good idea of what my version looks like if you search for pictures of them on the internet.

I hope you'll tell me what you thought of that conversation between Enola and Abraham because it was pretty hard to write. And also because it's the first really big milestone in their relationship. I just couldn't not talk about that binding ritual because I've always found it utterly repugnant. I did my best with the very delicate subject that is rape but I don't know it well. For this reason, I didn't expand on it too much so as to avoid spouting absurdities. Please tell me if I didn't succeed and if there are things I should change. The only other option was to skip the conversation entirely but, as I said, I couldn't.

I haven't finished writing the next chapter because I recently re-read it and decided it was utter rubbish. You'll have to be a little patient, again. Sorry...