Stone House, Forest of Oak

by bcbdrums

Her skin was covered in scars, some shallow, some deep. There was a long, jagged scar almost straight across her middle that looked to have been made with a saw. Another small succession of scars across her arm looked like they could have been done with pruning shears. And one deep, ugly scar across the swell of one breast looked to have been made with the careless throw of an axe.

A/N: This is a Fantasy AU. I repeat, this is a Fantasy AU.

I've never done fantasy before, and I don't know what I'm doing. I tried to do research on the specific lore I get into, but sources I found were conflicting and even directly contradictory on facts. It appears that when it comes to fantasy, authors write whatever they need to make their story work. So...that's exactly what I did.

Being a fantasy, this has some quite dark elements. There's some violence and certain mature themes... I consider this fic an "M" rating, though I've categorized it "T" so it shows up in searches. So, be aware. Especially of the violence.

In terms of this being a Kim Possible AU...frankly, I don't think it resembles the characters at all except in names and basic features. The Drakken-modeled character does to a degree, but I don't think the Shego-character does at all. Ah well.

This story was written for the queen of the Fantasy AU herself, wolfofsheep. Friend, I've gotta admit...writing this was FUN! ^_^

---

Prologue

A stone house stood timeless in a small clearing on the shallow slope of a hill. The hill was the highest in the land, but the house was concealed by trees that peppered the sides of that hill and others, as far as the eye could see. Oak and ash, beech and elm, and so many others grew wild over the land that was largely untamed.

But years passed on the Earth, and the years brought change.

Towns would spring up in the fertile valleys between the hills, but they either remained small or were quickly abandoned, once their people learned of the horror that lived in the stone house. But the knowledge never went far in the wild land, and so centuries would pass with town after town rising and falling, their peoples fleeing or falling prey to the dark terror from atop the hill.

New centuries brought new ideas. And in the present day, whenever the people built their towns they would cut the trees. Gone were brick and stone and sod, as logs and timber took their place. Timber for their houses and furniture, timber for their wagons and the boats that sailed the river. The once-lush hills became sparse. And as the need for lumber grew, the number of woodsmen increased, and the clearing of the forests on the hills happened ever faster. The natural beauty of the land was slowly destroyed, and the forests dwindled to thin groves of no use or enjoyment to anyone.

But on the shallow slope of the hill the stone house remained, because no one ever dared to go near enough to cut the trees that surrounded it. For fear of their lives they stayed away, and would only whisper among themselves of the horror that lived there.

Those that knew and endured made their peace with it, knowing that any day they would either live or die. The three closest towns formed a dark agreement, that to protect that which they loved most they would sacrifice the weak. And in that cycle the three towns were sustained and grew, never losing respect for the terror of the stone house.

Over time their people prospered, and their populace grew. And the numbers of the trees grew ever less.

---

Shego's chest ached for breath as she ran through the grove of trees, her pursuers closing in fast. Each time she glanced back their torches grew nearer, and her step grew slower. But she had to keep going, as far away as possible even if it meant her life. She couldn't betray her home to them, her beloved and wise old oak.

Even under the cover of night and with her silent steps, the dryad's pursuers never faltered. They had tracked her for years, memorizing her paths and patterns, driving her further and further away from her home, until that night they had finally cornered her as she took her human-form to cross the river. But cross she had not, because it would lead back to the one place she could never let them find.

She wouldn't let them near her home as long as she had breath. She would be a willing sacrifice for her oak and had nearly already been on many, many occasions. She could still feel the agony of the woodsmen's blades from the times they had caught her in the past, and her arm was bleeding sap from the axes that had glanced her that night. But the idea of her own death, as terrifying as it was, wasn't nearly as horrible as would be the death of her oak.

So she ran.

She must have been running for an hour that time as her pursuers refused to relent. Her human form, unused to such rigors, was giving out. She had been struggling to find real cover on the ancient hillside, so sparse with trees due to the humans' interference. But in the distance down the other side of the hill she could see the tall towers of beech and elm that would be her salvation. If she could only hide herself, take her true form...

The men would search for awhile, as they always did, but then they would give up. And she would spend yet another day trying to get back home.

She darted around a small, straight row of ash saplings, her heart feeling as though it might burst, when she stopped suddenly. Between her and her destination was a stone house. And standing in front of it was a man, holding a spade in one hand and an oil lamp in the other.

Shego's head began to swim. She couldn't get to the trees without the man seeing her. And what if he was as bad as the others?

As she caught her breath and calculated her next move, she realized the man was tending a flower garden. A dirt path led away from the door of the house, and on either side were two small ponds with blooming water lilies. Standing above each pond were four trained angel's trumpets, their trunks growing against tall pillars of stone and their branches weaving into natural arbors along wrought iron bars above the ponds.

The man had leaned his spade against the house and was kneeling to tend some night orchids that grew by his door. Shego took a longer look at the stone house, far older than her hundred years. It was covered in climbing vines of white moonflowers, and the path that led away from the door was lined with beautiful evening primrose. Lush grass and purple verbena covered the ground everywhere around the ponds, and at the end of the path was a wrought iron trellis, also adorned with moonflowers. The roof of the house was sod, with green grass peeking through the vines.

Of greatest interest to Shego were the scattered dark manzanita trees that grew in between where she stood and the beautiful garden of night flowers in front of the house. She realized then that the even row of saplings she had passed weren't wild and had been planted, probably by the man of the stone house.

A shout from behind her caused her breath to catch, and the man looked up with a furrowed brow. Seeing his obvious care for growing things, she took a risk and darted towards the closest manzanita tree. She ran past it until she reached an ideal spot and then stood firm as she shifted into her oaken form, nothing more than a tree to any eye of man or beast that may light upon her. And to her relief, she didn't think the man of the house had noticed her.

Her pursuers suddenly appeared over the crest of the hill and from behind the last safety of old elms she had left, their torches high and blazing in the dark night. She held as still as possible, but the exhaustion of her human form was overwhelming her. She worried she wouldn't be able to stand for long. And while the manzanita was a blessing, it wasn't enough cover; she was the only oak near the house.

The shouting and the fiery glow drew nearer. Terror ripped through her aching heart as she saw the dangerous light gleam on the woodsmen's axe-heads. And then, the man tending the flower garden stood and turned to face her pursuers, a perturbed look on his face.

The woodsmen suddenly halted their approach just as they reached the saplings, looking as though they'd seen a ghost.

"It's...it's him!" a man shouted, his eyes wild as he pointed.

"It's Drakken!"

Shego looked between the woodsmen and the gardener, who looked mildly annoyed at the most by the presence of the intruders. But then a small smirk came over the man's face. He took off his gardener's gloves and dropped them on the path and licked his lips.

The woodsmen turned and ran screaming back over the hill from whence they came.

Shego looked back to the gardener just in time to see him roll his eyes, and he knelt again and continued tending to his night orchid after replacing his gloves.

'Drakken?' she thought. Whoever he was...his garden of night flowers was beautiful.

That was her last thought before her strength gave out. She slipped from her oaken form back into a human and collapsed on the soft earth below.

---

Drakken sighed and shook his head as he trimmed the dead leaves from his plant. Why on earth a mob would come to attack him and then leave in a terror before even getting within fifty yards of his door was beyond him. And why a mob would suddenly appear after so many years... All of the surrounding towns were used to him. They made their sacrifices to him, and for the most part he let them be. Their attack made no sense.

A soft thud caught his ear, and he turned in the direction of the sound, toward his manzanitas. An unfamiliar pale green...something, was on the ground beneath the farthest tree, and there was a small cascade of oak leaves falling to the ground around whatever it was.

His brow furrowed. There wasn't a single oak nearby.

He rose from his knee and lifted his oil lamp as he walked the dark path between the ponds and approached the green form at the edge of his land.

As he drew near his eyes began to widen and his jaw slackened at the sight before him. The green form on the ground was...a woman.

He halted his approach at about twenty feet as he realized she was naked, though most of her form was covered by her thick, dark hair. As she lay on the ground beneath the manzanita, surrounded by the mysterious oak leaves, he wondered...

Had that mob actually been after her?

"Hello?" he called loudly. "Madam?"

There was no sound or sign of life from the woman.

He gathered his courage and approached her, his heart pounding for fear of what he may find. But the fear began to be replaced by curiosity as he neared her side and he realized... Her skin, while pale, was most decidedly green. Not that that should bother him, as his own was a pale blue. But he'd never met a green-skinned person before.

"Madam?" he asked again as he stood over her.

She didn't respond.

He knelt and with his glove-clad hands carefully began turning her over. Her dark hair fell away from her face and his breath caught. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her long, dark eyelashes stood out against the pale green of her cheeks, and her lips were like the darkest wine.

His awe was interrupted as he dared to look below her neck, and he gasped not at the beauty of her womanly form but at what he saw marring it. Her skin was covered in scars, some shallow, some deep. There was a long, jagged scar almost straight across her midsection that looked to have been made with a saw. Another small succession of scars across her arm looked like they could have been done with his own pruning shears. And one deep, ugly scar across the swell of one breast looked to have been made with the careless throw of an axe.

He shook his head in disbelief as he looked at the beautiful woman, no part of her body save her face untouched by various blades. And two places on her right arm bled dark and slow as he allowed himself a closer look at her.

She had clearly been tortured for years, to have received so many horrendous scars. And she was so young—barely more than twenty, if he could guess. But what did he know anymore, at his advanced age...

"Madam? Madam?"

She still didn't respond.

Rage against that mob filled him, and he considered pursuing them right then and returning some of the torment they and those like them had clearly laid on the stunning woman. But her two bleeding wounds and her silence stayed his wrath for the time being.

He gathered her up in his arms and made to carry her into his house. After he tended to her and saw that she was well, perhaps learn of why she had been tortured for so many years... Then, the next night, he would avenge her.

Inside his stone house he laid her on his bed and began lighting his lamps. He couldn't remember the last time he lit his house so brightly, but he wanted to be sure he didn't miss any fresh wounds.

She was breathing, but had still made no sound or sign that she was aware of him. He worriedly filled a basin with water to clean her wounds and tore some strips of linen from an old shirt for bandages. He pulled a chair next to the bedside and turned up the lamp on the wall above before bringing the basin of water nearer.

In the bright lamplight, his breath caught again as he got a better look at her. Indeed, there wasn't a part of her body that hadn't been touched viciously by a blade, and the scars ran so much deeper than he had first thought. Captivated, he ran his fingers over deep gouges in her thigh that appeared to have been made by an axe.

Who would do such a thing? To mutilate such beauty and leave her alive, only to do it again and again? Because it was clear that the wounds had not all occurred in one or even a few incidents. What had been done to her had been done over a very, very long time.

He himself only tortured his victims when it was warranted. And after so many years on the Earth, he no longer took pleasure in it. Not even the weekly sacrifices the humans brought him. His life had become mundane, and futile. Only his flowers brought him joy anymore.

He dampened a washcloth in his hand and gently began running it over the slice in her upper arm that bled dark. The blood seemed to have dried and had something sticky mixed with it, as it took some effort to remove it. Once he had, he wrapped the wound with one of the linen strips and tied it tightly. He briefly wondered about infection, but thought that with having taken so many wounds in the past she must be impervious.

He moved on to clean the next wound and his eyes strayed to her face again. The symmetry of her features was almost unbelievable in its perfection, and with the pale green of her skin she had an almost ethereal quality to her. His eyes strayed to her dark hair, as soft as silk when it had brushed against his hands. And then he noticed... In the light her hair reflected an iridescent green, not purely black as he had first thought. There were even a few strands of crimson buried within.

He brought his hand up to stroke her hair as if mesmerized. The strands were impossibly thin but her hair was dense, cascading around her shoulders like wisteria. The texture reminded him of the most fragile of his flower petals, or perhaps the thinnest parchment.

His hand moved to brush against her cheek and left him with a further mystery. While her skin appeared as any human's save the green hue, the texture beneath his fingertips was rough. The feel of her skin reminded him of...tree bark?

He let his gaze travel to her full, luscious lips, as dark as the darkest wine he had ever tried, and also with a glossy, iridescent shine. They looked like two pillows, dense with blood...waiting to be tasted. He licked his own lips. But then he felt an odd pang in his chest and he forced his gaze elsewhere.

Where his eyes went was down, past her shoulders to her ample bosom, to her slim waist, and beyond. The scars couldn't hide what nature had given her, in the most perfect example of a woman he had ever laid eyes on. He looked away quickly before desires other than hunger could rise within him.

He wrapped her second wound and then sat back in the chair, troubled by the way his pulse was racing. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen beautiful women before. In his three-thousand years, he had seen plenty. But he had never...truly looked at any. Women, like men, were only victims. Occasionally he played with them in whatever way pleased him, even using them to sate the disgusting human-like lust that sometimes bore its ugly face as he would feed. But truly, they were only food to him; his survival for another few days, and nothing more.

Now, he was entranced. This woman was a beauty that was surely sent from heaven, tormented on earth for reasons he had yet to know... His heart ached for her, for the pain she had so long endured. And why? Surely a creature such as she could do no harm. His fists clenched in rage as he silently vowed vengeance against any who had ever raised hand or blade against her. And as he stared, bewitched by her beauty, he realized...he wanted her.

His heart pounded as the thought pressed relentlessly against his mind. He wanted her. In the depths of his soul, he wanted her. And he wanted her all to himself. His and his alone, to gaze upon, to worship her perfection for as many years of life as she may have.

He loved her.

He rose from the chair and rummaged in an old trunk of things he had stolen in an age past. Finding what he was looking for, he rose to his feet and was suddenly assaulted with dizziness that caused him to stumble. He glanced at the woman and licked his lips again, and the action was immediately followed by a stabbing guilt.

He sighed and dropped the feminine garment he'd removed from the trunk. He was getting careless in his old age, as he realized it had been far too many days since his last meal. He would go out to feed...and then return to the woman.

A chime from his wall clock drew a gasp from his lips as he turned and saw the time. It was nearly five in the morning.

He had spent all the night staring at the beautiful woman, and he was suddenly aware of how dangerously weak he truly felt. There was no longer time to go out and feed. But his body demanded he be nourished that night.

A sickening realization hit him as he backed away into the corner farthest from the bed, and as the clock finished its chime a horror he had never before felt clenched around his heart.

He brought a hand up to cover his face as he began to weep.

---

Shego woke up to a dim light and an ache of weariness throughout her body. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes, and then she heard a sound like a human gasp.

Startled, she sat up and quickly assessed her surroundings. She was in a building, with stone walls and oil lamps. A window was carved into the wall opposite and revealed the violet light of pre-dawn on the horizon. She looked down at herself and saw she was sitting on...what she thought was called a bed. And she was wearing...clothes?

She heard breathing and her eyes found the source. The night's events suddenly came back to her.

It was the night gardener, standing in a darkened corner of the small room and staring at her. She recoiled in fear and pressed against the stone wall behind her, but...the man made no move to attack her. In fact, his eyes were hopelessly sad. And longing. She had never seen such emotions in a human before.

The man took a few heaving breaths, and then swallowed.

"Madam. Forgive my effrontery. I tended your wounds."

Shego looked down at her arm where the woodsmen's axes had glanced her as they cornered her in the river. The wounds were wrapped in linen bandages. Her gaze drifted to the fabric she had been clothed in. 'Dress' was the wrong word for the garment, but it was like one. It was a white gown of some type, loose and shapeless, the fabric somewhat translucent where it fell over her curves. It was long and sleeveless, the hem falling just above her ankles.

She took a nervous breath. She had never spoken to any creature but her own kind before.

"Thank you," she whispered cautiously. What were the man's motives? He didn't seem to have any intent to chop her down. She remembered that he tended flowers.

The man bowed his head and shook it as he took a step forward into the light.

"Don't...don't thank me," he said. His voice was hoarse and his tone bitter, and she realized he was crying.

He took a further step out of the shadows and she saw the revealing pale blue of the skin of his face and hands. She gasped in astonishment.

'A vampire!'

He lifted his head, and her eyes widened at the sight of the brown caking of old blood around his lips from his last meal, his dark hypnotic eyes, and the white fangs that glistened when his lips parted in a soft, shaky release of breath.

She had heard of vampires from the other dryads, but had never seen one until that moment. Tales of their shape-shifting terrors were legendary, but this one...looked desperately sad. She took in the rest of his appearance.

He was dressed as most men she had seen, except perhaps not as cleanly with the knees of his blue-gray trousers a bit grass-stained where he had knelt in his garden, and his white linen shirt looking to have seen far too many winters. His black hair was of a style she'd never seen and she supposed it must be very old as he wore it longer than other men, the ends just barely brushing his shoulders. His face didn't appear either young or old, but 'seasoned' as she studied him. And to her surprise the skin below his left eye bore a pale scar not unlike some of hers.

Suddenly, his gaze darkened. He turned and shuttered the window to the dawn and in a flash he had crossed the room and caught her around the waist. Her hands flew to his chest and she pushed against him with all her strength, but she was still weakened from her earlier flight of terror. And the vampire was stronger.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, please...forgive me," he said. The fight slowly left her as her eyes turned to his face in confusion. "You're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen! Whoever harmed you deserves a fate worse than any death I could give them."

She stopped pressing against his chest as she studied his anxious face and his tears.

"Such perfection as you deserves better than this... Better than what they did to you. Better than a life cut short. I don't want to, please believe me, I don't want to!"

Her brow furrowed. He was strange... She thought she understood what he was saying, but...did he not know what she was?

Her thoughts were interrupted as he surprised her suddenly by bringing his shaking lips to press against hers, the touch soft and brief. Her eyes widened. She had never been kissed before... She had spent so much of her life hiding from the horrible humans, and protecting her oak.

The vampire suddenly released her and she fell to sitting on the bed again. He followed her down and a moment later was sobbing into her chest. Shego gasped as the man clung to her shoulders and his tears stained the thin garment he had put her in.

Just as suddenly as his sobs began, they stilled as he brought his face up to stare into her eyes. His eyes were a deep blue, and every second she looked into them she felt she was falling into a new world. But then he was gone, standing and pacing the room.

"I could make you like me, but...I couldn't condemn you to this eternity of loneliness," he said.

She tried to straighten the garment, suddenly concerned with her appearance. She ran her fingers back through her hair and sat up straighter as she looked at him. He had paused his chaotic, emotional tirade as he watched her, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Aren't...aren't you afraid? Don't you understand that...I'm going to kill you?" he asked hoarsely.

She found a small smirk coming to her lips. She shook her head.

"You can't kill me."

A soft, awed gasp fell from his lips as he gazed it her in wonder. "Your voice... It's...so lovely..."

Shego felt a little self-conscious—something she couldn't ever recall feeling before. She watched as he blinked away the fascination in his eyes. He looked even more perplexed, perhaps at her words, and he paced a few steps in exasperation. After a minute he stopped and wrung his hands.

"It's...it's better that you're not afraid. Oh, I couldn't bear your screams!"

He advanced on her again and cried into her shoulder, one of his hands softly stroking her hair. She felt a warming in her chest and her smirk grew into a smile.

After her collapse outside his house she had been easy prey for any creature and their vile purposes. But this ancient entity who was clearly in need of a meal had waited... Had not woken her, but waited until she woke of her own accord, to apologize before he fulfilled his dark nature.

The warmth in her chest grew stronger.

His sobs lessened and he lifted his head, but didn't look at her face. Instead he lifted her hand and kissed her palm, right over the scar she'd obtained from a jackknife when she threw her hand out to defend a sapling from a reckless woodsman years ago.

The vampire...the night gardener, kissed her palm again, and then kissed the scar on her shoulder she'd obtained the very first time she'd run as little more than a sapling herself.

"Precious...perfect creature of the light," he murmured through tears. "Why did they harm you?" Her breath caught then as he knelt on the ground and kissed her thigh through the thin garment she wore, right over one of her ugliest scars.

He brought his face higher and kissed over the scar on her stomach that she'd obtained the first time she'd nearly lost her life, when she'd been forced to shift to her oaken form as woodsmen cut down the trees in her grove for lumber. They had decided she would make a nice piece of furniture and had sawed into her. The agony and terror of that moment was seared into her memory as she had stood still as long as possible, until she could take the pain no more and revealed herself and fled.

Her memory shifted again as the vampire kissed the swell of her breast and the scar left by the idle axe-swing of a child. The warmth in her chest grew into a heat like fire. And fire was fear. But then the man tenderly kissed her lips again, and the warmth faded into a pleasant calming through her every limb, like the touch of the rays of the sun on her leaves.

His lips left hers and she tried to look into his eyes. But at the brief contact he lowered his head in shame.

"It's not fair," he said bitterly. "You deserve so much more. I'm...so sorry. I'm so, so sorry! Please please forgive me!"

Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed.

"Goodbye...loveliest of all beings..." the vampire breathed. His lips found her neck and she felt the pierce of his fangs. But it wasn't anything like the horror of an axe or the ripping of a saw. It reminded her of the claws of a young bird, clinging to her branch for safety before its first flight.

The sharp touch intensified for a moment, and then the man drew back, his tear-stained face rife with confusion.

Shego shook her head and smiled. "I told you. You can't kill me. I'm not human."

The man blinked. "Oh, your voice... W-what are you?"

"I'm a dryad," she said.

The man's eyes grew distant and then he gasped softly.

"The oak leaves..."

She wasn't sure what he meant, but she started to rise from the bed. He moved away to give her space, but his face suddenly became desperate and anguished.

"Don't go!" he cried.

Her face saddened, and her brow furrowed. "Do you have any water?"

He blinked, and then poured her a glass from a jug on a sideboard. He handed it to her and she studied it for a long moment before pouring it gratefully over her arms and feet, though it wasn't nearly enough.

"I've never been in a house before," she said.

His brow was twisted in confusion as he looked between her face and the small puddle on the earthen floor. "O-oh..." His face grew thoughtful, but remained concerned. "You can...go outside."

As she stepped to the door he pressed himself into the corner, far out of sight of the exit. She peered through the door and then looked back to him.

"It's all right. There's no sunlight out here yet. That's...what you're afraid of, isn't it?"

He swallowed and nodded, nervously stepping out of the corner. She smiled softly and stepped through the door.

She made a slow turn and looked over his beautiful garden of night flowers and wondered about this vampire who had saved her. When she looked back to the stone house with its climbing moonflower vines and sod roof he was standing far away from the door and peering out nervously.

"What's this called?" she asked, picking up the skirt of the garment she wore. She spun once and watched the flow of the translucent material through the air, flinging her arms out to her sides while her dark, silken hair flowed around her.

His breath caught as he stared at her. "Oh, the way you move..." he said softly, and then he cleared his throat. "It's called a...chemise. A woman's undergarment."

She studied the fabric for a moment and then began pulling it off over her head.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice suddenly panicked. She tossed the garment a few feet away from her.

"I don't want to ruin it," she said, glancing at his face that had colored purple for some reason. She stepped over to one of his lily ponds and slid her feet thirstily into the cool waters. And then with a deep, satisfying sigh she shifted into her oaken form.

The waters were soothing to her roots, and she cast her invisible eyes back toward the house. The man was closer to the doorway now and peering at her with wide eyes.

"M-madam? I...I'm sorry, may I ask your name?"

"My name is Shego," she said, a few drying leaves falling from her branches as she spoke. She knew she had heard the woodsmen call his name during the night, but she couldn't recall. "What's your name?"

"Drakken," he replied.

'Drakken,' she recalled. The woodsmen had known him and been terrified.

"How long have you been here?" she asked.

"You mean...in this house?"

"Sure. How old are you?" she continued, changing the question.

She watched him furrow his brow. "I'm three thousand, two hundred and forty-nine years old. And I've lived in this house for over twenty-one hundred years. ...H-how old are you?"

"We're one hundred and twenty-seven," she said, a few more leaves falling.

"'We'?" he asked, taking a cautious step over his threshold.

"Me and my oak," she explained. The waters were reviving, and she was starting to feel more alert. A little bit of sunlight would be a wondrous relief...

Drakken shook his head. "I'm...sorry, I...don't understand."

"The oak I was born of. It's my home. It's part of me," she said. She wondered if a vampire could even understand.

"O-oh..." he said.

Her pleasant mood sobered as she continued to explain. "If those men kill my oak...I'll die. But I'll never let them find it, even it means only my death! I must keep it safe. That's why I keep running away. But...I miss my home so much," she said longingly.

She heard him gasp suddenly, and then he disappeared inside the house again. She followed where his gaze had been, and she saw the golden rays of sunlight hitting distant treetops below the crest of the hill.

After a moment of thought she shifted back into her human form, the waters having given her some refreshment. She left the nourishing pond and picked up the chemise she had dropped and followed him back into the house. He was standing in the far corner again, slightly hunched and looking very worried as he fidgeted.

"Thank you," she said again. He jumped and his face darkened to purple as he glanced at her, and then he looked away.

She tossed the chemise onto his bed and looked at him in confusion. He had seemed devastated with the idea of her death before... Shouldn't he be happy that she would live after all?

"What's wrong?" she queried.

"I'm just...very hungry," he said quietly. "And...they'll be back."

Shego felt her pulse race in alarm. "What do you mean?"

Drakken swallowed and straightened slightly as he finally looked at her. "Whenever there's a mob... Every fifty years or so, they find me... I leave and go to one of the caves, or the abandoned churches. I'll terrorize their villages until they either...just stop coming out of fear, or they agree to leave me be."

Shego's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why can't you do that now?"

Drakken shook his head. "Because the sun is up. Even if it wasn't, I'm...too weak to travel. When they come...they'll come in the daylight. And they'll kill me."

Shego felt her heart sinking. She didn't want this man who cared so much for the beauty of nature and who had protected her at his own cost to die. She thought furiously for a solution.

She could put her roots down in front of his door, so that when the woodsmen came... She grimaced and shook her head. That wouldn't work; they would just chop her down.

"Would you...put the chemise back on?" he asked, his voice interrupting her pondering.

She crossed over to the bed and picked up the fabric. "Why?" she asked.

"Um...j-just... I would appreciate it if you would."

She struggled for a moment to find how to slip the item over her head the right way.

"Can you help me?" she asked. "I've never worn clothes before."

His lips parted in a silent gasp, and then he shook his head. "You just...put it over your head, and put your arms through the arm-holes."

Shego fumbled with the chemise until she had it figured out and stuck her head and arms through the right holes. The translucent fabric fell over her curves again, and she wondered how many other garments existed that she'd not seen.

Shego brushed her hair back with her fingers and continued brushing it back. She didn't have any other ideas for how to protect the vampire she'd met who seemed to care so deeply for her. And during the day he was vulnerable even in his home, with no defense whatsoever against the sunlight, and no escape.

A new idea struck her.

"What if...when the woodsmen come, I lead them in here one at a time, and you kill them then? You'd get a meal with each one."

Drakken blinked at her. "You wouldn't mind being party to their deaths?"

Shego's eyes darkened. "They chop down our trees. Even the saplings. Just to burn their fires, or build houses, or make their heinous parchment paper."

She looked around the small house suddenly for anything out of place. There was the sideboard and the chair, as well as the frame of the bed and a trunk at the bed's foot. The door and window shutters were also made of wood, and there was some odd small item attached to the wall. But other than that the place was made of stone, and there was no fireplace. Drakken had very little wood in his home, compared to the acres the humans sometimes slaughtered. And she was relieved.

She also realized that the tiny house wasn't really much of a home... It was a place he slept during the day, protecting his life, while his real life happened outside at night, either finding a meal or tending his garden.

"Why do they hunt you?" Drakken asked.

Shego brought her focus back to him.

"They think...creatures like me are evil. Devil's spawn. But our only desire is to care for our trees!" she pleaded with passion, stepping nearer to him.

His eyes grew sad.

"I'll kill them for you," he said. "If...if I survive until tomorrow."

She suddenly felt a worry and fear in her heart different than any she'd ever felt before. It was a different feeling than she felt for the trees. And it had something to do with the warmth she'd felt earlier, when he was apologizing for his intent to murder her. That warmth was returning as she listened to him vow to help her kind, and in a twisting confusion it also made the fear stronger.

"Can I do anything?" she asked.

He bowed his head and shook it sadly. "Not unless...you can stop the sun from rising."

The sick feeling in her heart grew even as the warmth swirled through her. She certainly didn't have that kind of power. And she dearly loved the sun...

"I'll...I'll go back," she said.

His eyes snapped up to hers. "What?"

"I'll show myself to them," she explained as she pulled the chemise off again and dropped it back onto his bed. "I'll let them chase me. I'll lead them away from here."

Drakken's arms were suddenly gripping her shoulders. "No! No Shego, you can't! I couldn't bear it if...if you were hurt."

She grinned and gently pushed his hands away. "I've been hurt before," she said, gesturing to her scarred body.

He swallowed slowly as he looked her up and down, the purple color returning to his cheeks.

"You saved me," she said, stepping nearer to him. "Let me save you."

His eyes were pools of worry, but after a moment he gave a crisp nod. The warmth burned in her chest like fire again, but it didn't scare her quite as much this time. She didn't fully understand it...except she had an idea now what to do with it. She leaned up on her toes and lightly pressed her lips to his, as he had done to her before.

She heard his gasp and his sharp intake of breath through his nose for the brief moment the kiss lasted. When she stepped away from him, his eyes had regained the longing that she had seen in them before, when he thought he would be forced to kill her.

"Will you come back?" he asked desperately.

"After I've led them away," she said with a grin.

Drakken took an anxious breath. "Th-thank you...Shego," he said.

She smiled mischievously at him before disappearing through his door, closing it behind her and sending him back to the darkness he needed. Then she took her own anxious breath as she walked down his primrose-lined path.

She was still very, very tired. But Drakken had saved her life. She would gladly return the favor.

And...she wanted to see him again.

---

Drakken struggled to sleep that day, and spent much of it pacing through the warm darkness of his house, worrying. It was horrible for his weakened state that he didn't rest, but he couldn't help himself for the fears that plagued him about the beautiful dryad he had fallen in love with.

What if Shego wasn't able to find the same mob? What if they didn't take the bait, and found the prospect of killing a vampire much more appealing than killing a dryad? Or worse, what if they did take the bait, and...she wasn't able to escape them?

As the daylight waned, it seemed she had been successful; no one had come calling, and he was safe to live another day of his three-thousand years. But it did nothing to relax his nerves, only putting him more on edge. Night couldn't come soon enough for Drakken, and as soon as the sun was gone from the sky he flung his door open and began watching for her.

An hour passed, and then another. He forgot all about tending his flowers as he paced anxiously, wringing his hands and waiting as he battled potential fainting spells due to his lack of sustenance.

Finally, he steeled his nerves and stepped outside, gathering his remaining strength for a shape-shift. He couldn't leave her to fate any longer.

He would need to choose the most inoffensive of creatures, but something that could travel fast on limited energy—an owl, he decided, for its stealth. It would tire him... But during his search for Shego, he could find a meal.

He gathered his strength and changed form, taking off in a leap as his feathered wings spread. And he flew low over the hills and beneath the scattered tree tops as he started toward the nearby town that was the most likely origin of the common enemy he and Shego shared.

As he tiredly flew beneath the starlit skies his sharp eyes searched the landscape, and his thoughts drifted again to the dryad's beauty. She surpassed any flower he had ever tended in his long and lonely years, even his delicate queen of the night with its flower that lasted only for one bloom. His sweet flowers had been his only companions for millennia, but now... A hope had risen within him of which he had never even dreamed.

If only she would consent to be his... He already felt he might die without her.

He felt his wings tiring far too soon, but he was nearing the edge of the remains of the forest that had concealed his home so faithfully for so long, and the valley with the town below. He forced himself to alertness as his sharp, avian eyes searched all across the sparse scenery.

He wasn't even sure what he was looking for. Now that it was night, would she be in her human form? Could she travel in her oaken form? Would he even recognize her if she had taken on the disguise?

His worrying thoughts were halted in agonizing force when suddenly, at the crest of the hill at the edge of the tree-line, he saw her—a familiar green form, collapsed on the ground; and standing above her holding an axe and torch, a woodsman.

Drakken's eyes took in the fresh wounds that had been laid into her flesh, jagged and deep. She was un-moving again, no more than a crumpled heap, and the thought that she might be dead caused a searing pain to erupt within his breast.

A rage darker than any he'd ever felt began to burn within him. His owl eyes glimpsed a mob on the periphery, carrying torches and weapons as they left the town and ascended the hill toward the forest. And then his acute avian hearing picked up the voice of the lone woodsman who would threaten his beloved.

The man was pacing, his haggard face furious as he stared down at her. "I don't care what they say, and I can't wait for them to get back. You're not so bad now, that you're chopped down to size. I...I won't wait for them to get back," the man said, and Drakken watched as an evil that could have been straight out of hell entered the man's eyes. "They won't let me have you. Well, I'll have you, you forest-witch! And then...then you'll be sorry you toyed with us."

Drakken watched the man toss his torch and axe aside. He turned Shego over to lay on her back, vulnerable and exposed. And then the man reached for his belt buckle.

Drakken folded his wings into a dive and his rage emerged from his beak in a piercing screech that caused the man to look up from his vile endeavor. His face contorted in fear as Drakken shifted before his eyes back into his familiar, vampiric form and landed skillfully on his human legs. The avian screech changed with his vocal cords into the shrillest, most terror-inducing shriek he had ever cried as he landed in front of the frantic man who didn't even have a chance to cry out before Drakken's fangs pierced his throat.

The man struggled, but Drakken had no qualms about beating him into submission even after the calm-inducing venom filled the man's veins and his writhing ceased. Drakken feasted with a dark pleasure he hadn't felt in years, driven by the jealous, protective love in his heart. No creature—man, beast, or fey—would ever defile the perfect beauty that was Shego as long as he had breath.

He lost himself in the sweet taste of the blood, the nourishment filling him, reviving him, and intoxicating him. It was only the distant voices of men and the approaching light of torches that startled him back into the present, and after one final lip-smacking slurp he turned distraught eyes to Shego.

She was un-moving, her wounds still fresh and bleeding out her thick, brown blood. With renewed strength, Drakken shifted into one of his most terrifying forms which had been inherited through his ancient bloodline—a magnificent dragon, with dark blue-gray scales like iron that no weapon formed by man could pierce. He delicately lifted Shego in his claws, and then as an afterthought, picked up the dead man and his axe with his other foot. He could finish his meal later; and the axe...he had a strange feeling he might need another weapon come the morning.

The terrified screams of the approaching mob might have thrilled him as his wings thundered during his take-off, but he was too worried for Shego to take any pleasure in their fear. In his haste to depart, one of his victim's legs slammed into the ground. Drakken grimaced as he watched the limb rip off at the knee and fall back to the ground. There was still so much blood he could have consumed in the half-leg. But, he had more pressing matters to attend to as he rose high in the sky.

The fear-stricken cries of the mob reached his ears again, and with a rising fury he turned and circled the town. It had been long since he had attacked, the routine of their sacrifices to him having become comfortable. It was time he reminded them of who he was.

He swooped low and let loose a roar that echoed far over the hills, and then the burning rage within him burst from his mouth in a plume of fire. He was careful to tuck Shego up against his scales before he set the town ablaze, knowing that even one spark could be dangerous to her true form. But with his other foot, he dragged his dead victim against the man-made cobbles of the street, further mutilating the body and delivering unquestionable evidence of his power and cruelty.

Leaving them with that reminder of his timeless presence, he finally turned and began his flight back over the scant forest, the flap of his powerful wings creating a sound like thunder through the valley.

His rage began calming as he looked at the now-unrecognizable human who had threatened his beloved. Vengeance against at least this one tormentor had been served. And then he looked at the still form of Shego in his claws and worry quickly overwhelmed his fury. He increased the speed of his flight.

He didn't know where else to go, but home. He had never bothered with the dryads before, preferring his reclusive life and his flowers. How did one save a wounded dryad? Would it be anything like the non-sentient flowers he had cared for, for so many centuries?

She still wore the linen bandages he'd tended her with the night before, he noticed, as he gazed on her fresh wounds. The wounds were numerous and deep, some overlapping the already-existing scars that couldn't begin to mar her perfect beauty. As her blood seeped down over his claws, thick and sticky, he realized it wasn't blood at all, but some kind of sap. She was more tree than human, he understood, despite her appearance, and he felt more confident in tending to her as such.

In his great and terrible form, the return to his home took mere minutes. He was careful that his footing would be sure before he shifted back to his most familiar shape, and as his human arms captured Shego in a protective embrace the human he had slain along with the axe fell down to the earth in the clearing beyond his house in an ungraceful, forgotten heap.

Drakken ran with all his strength, cradling Shego to him as he sprinted beneath his trellis and along his path of evening primrose to his lily pond. His chest heaved for lack of breath as he stepped several paces into the waters, not minding about his clothing as he knelt down and gently lay Shego into the shallow pool, her head and shoulders resting atop his knees so her human lungs could draw breath. A small cut was across her chin, and he licked his thumb and absently tried to wipe the blood away.

Water was what she had wanted before. Perhaps water could save her now. He removed the linen bandages from her arm and wet them, using them to wipe the smears of excess blood—sap—from around her deep wounds, being careful not to touch them. Trees healed on their own, from what he had seen, if they weren't too far gone.

As the minutes passed he became aware of the familiar, soothing fragrance of his garden. But it did nothing for him as he stared at the un-moving face of the beauty who had so entranced him, and had risked her life for his with no other cause than her own kindness.

He shakily set his fingers beneath her chin to feel for a pulse, wondering if a tree would even have a human pulse. She'd had human breath, the night before... But now she was utterly still.

Tears filled his eyes. He bent over her and pressed his cheek to hers as he began to sob, mourning the perfection he had found and lost in a mere a breath of his long, lonely life. How could he possibly go on? His three millennia of life seemed utterly meaningless now as lifted his head and gazed on her beautiful face, her dark eyelashes still standing out like coal on her pale green cheeks, and her plump lips like the darkest wine.

He placed a chaste kiss on her lips and then rested his cheek on hers again, embracing her as he cried. He vowed then not to move again unless she lived, for his life was nothing without her. If his dryad was lost, he would stay by her side until the sun rose and burned him to ash, ending his pitiful, lonely existence.

His cries gradually diminished into sniffles. And then he let his thoughts fade into nothing as he readied himself for the death that would come many hours later, at dawn. He lifted his head and cast his gaze over her beautiful form in the pond. He wanted the last thing he saw in his life be her.

And then—there was a slight rippling in the waters under the starlight. His lips parted in a gasp. Her eyelashes fluttered, and slowly lifted.

"Drakken?" she asked weakly. He stared in disbelief, a soft cry leaving his lips. Her green eyes were vibrant as she looked up at him. "It's all right now," she continued faintly.

"Oh...Shego!" he gasped, and then pressed his lips to hers. His heart soared as she returned the kiss, her touch soft and gentle as a breeze.

He shifted to sit more fully in the waters and drew her up into his lap, cradling her close. Her slender fingers loosely gripped the front of his shirt as he rocked her gently, too overcome for words.

"I led them away..." she said tiredly. "Far away from you, and my oak."

"Oh Shego..." he cried into her hair. "You're hurt... I shouldn't have let you go. My life isn't worth it!"

"Of course you are..." she said kindly. Her hand rose to caress his chin once before weakly falling down to her lap.

He gazed upon her face in awe and amazement.

"In one hundred years...I have never seen a human give even a passing glance to my kind, except in malice," she said. "But you... You have cared for me... Risked your life for me."

Drakken looked around at where they were, seated in the water under the his arbor of angel's trumpets.

"Is this helping you?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes." He realized her alluring voice was already stronger.

He carefully stood up, holding her close to him, and then with his hands holding her elbows for balance he helped her to find her feet. Her form shifted before his eyes into an oak, her roots displacing his water lilies as all semblance of the beautiful woman she was became hidden beneath the guise of a tree.

He stepped back and watched her branches settle, a few dry and ripped leaves falling down to the pond's surface. And then he stepped forward and threw his arms around her trunk, embracing her tightly.

"Please live..." he pleaded softly through his tears. "I couldn't bear your loss. They won't come for you again, I promise. Not after what I've done to them."

"What did you do?" she asked through a sigh that sounded of relief.

"I...set their town on fire. As a dragon," he explained, releasing her and slowly stepping away, his damp cheek brushing against her rough bark. He saw the many gouges that went deep into her sapwood, and his eyes darkened again. "And I feasted on one of them."

He suddenly remembered the half-finished meal that he'd dropped in the clearing.

"Will you be all right here," he began, "if I finish my meal?"

"Yes," she answered, her silvery voice ringing from somewhere above in her leaves.

He nodded shakily, and then ran out to the clearing. If he wanted to gain any more nourishment from his victim, he would need to hurry. Old, dead blood was of no use to him. He needed it warm and fresh. And his strength was still diminished from lack of food, and the great effort he had made in rescuing Shego.

He located the mutilated body and hurriedly resumed his feast. It wasn't as sweet as it had been, but the human's blood was still health to his bones. He cast his eyes over to the dead man's axe that had fallen nearby, and inspiration struck... He would set it up alongside the corpse of the man, at the edge of the clearing as a warning. Any trespasser on his privacy was unwelcome, but the woodsmen would be the most unwelcome of all.

He felt secure in his resolution, and after sucking every last drop from his victim he licked the blood from his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It had been too many minutes... He hurried back to the house, and to Shego.

Relief swept him as he saw her still standing in the pond, her leaves seeming greener and her branches higher and sturdier.

"Are you all right?" he asked quickly as he reached her side, wiping his mouth once more for propriety's sake. Or would she like the look of her dead captor's blood on his lips?

"Yes," she said. He was surprised as she slowly shifted back to her human form. The new gashes in her flesh still oozed sap, but much of it seemed to be hardening over the wounds.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, taking a worried step toward her.

She nodded, her eyes sad. And yet she was still favoring him with her beautiful, gentle smile. Oh, she was perfect!

"I'll nullify my agreement with the towns," he said. "I won't accept their sacrifices. From now on...I feast on woodsmen, and woodsmen alone."

Her eyes were bright and verdant as she stared at him, her smile growing. She slowly stepped out of the pond with more strength than he thought she would have had, and then...she gave him a coy glance before she spun delightedly, dancing to a rhythm that only she could hear. The starlight reflected off her dark hair with its iridescent green and hidden red strands. A brief laugh of joy left her lips as she brought her feet to a stop next to his door, and she knelt to smell the blooms of his night orchid.

She glanced at him and her smile grew. "Your garden is singing," she said. "Do you hear it?"

The desire he had felt the night before rose in his chest, from when he'd first looked on the perfect beauty that had been senselessly tortured for an age. Everything within him wanted her, and his desire burst forth in an impassioned plea.

"Stay with me!" he begged, taking a step toward her. He couldn't even find it within himself to be embarrassed. He was desperate for her. To have that beautiful creature to gaze upon each night... "You can live here, in my garden. I would tend you faithfully!"

Her smile grew, and she rose to face him. "I tend myself," she said. Her gaze grew sympathetic. "And...I must tend my oak."

She stepped slowly toward him, and he averted his eyes from her womanly form. He knew his heart would break without her. But his resolve to avenge her was sure.

"I'll still feast on the woodsmen," he affirmed with a nod.

"Drakken..." she said, and his heart leapt at the sound of his name on her lips. He looked up, and even in his despair at the loss he knew he must endure, he still found joy in her smile. She spoke again. "I can tend my oak in the day."

His eyes widened. A soft gasp fell from his lips.

"And I can come to you in the night," she continued, her smile becoming mischievous. She reached her hands towards him, and he eagerly took them in his. She spun around again, this time bringing him ungracefully with her in her dance to his garden's song.

His heart soared... She would come back. Perhaps each night! Finally, when he talked there would be someone to answer, and not just the silence of his flowers. He would be happy for all of eternity—

He released her hands suddenly as a dread thought occurred to him.

"Shego..." he began. She stopped her dance and faced him with her happy smile. Oh, he loved her! "How...how long do your kind live?"

Her smile began to fade. "If we are not murdered... Most of us have a lifespan around two hundred years."

'Two hundred...' his mind echoed, as he remembered their conversation the day before. Her life was already more than half over.

"Some of us live longer... The oldest is nearly six-hundred. And I even heard legend of one oak that lived to be a thousand," she encouraged gently as she approached him.

He smiled in acknowledgement of her kindness, but he still knew that exceptions weren't the rule. He might have the bliss of her presence for the next hundred years of his life. But then she would be gone. And he would live forever.

"The day you die..." he said soberly, "I shall step into the sun."

She rushed forward and brought her rough hands to his cheeks, her bright eyes growing suddenly sad. He had never seen her eyes like that before.

"You can't!" she gasped desperately and shook her head. "The world deserves a kind being like you."

Boldly, he slipped his fingers beneath her jaw and slowly moved them back into her silken hair. He shook his head in awe of her.

"In my youth, I traveled the whole of the Earth...searching for anyone to be companion to a creature like me. I refused to limit my quest as I encountered being after being, for over a thousand years." His voice fell to just above a whisper. "But not even the other immortals...could soothe the ache in my soul."

He turned and cast his gaze over his precious garden that he had tended for so many centuries, blooming faithfully for him under the starlight. "I only ever found the flowers. But you," he turned back to her, "are the most perfect creature... After knowing your beauty, your kindness, your spirit..." He shook his head again in awe, and then his gaze fell in sadness. He let his hands drop to his sides. "I couldn't go on for all of eternity with only your memory. It would burn me as surely as the sun."

Shego took three steps away. He dared to look up at her, and the compassion in her eyes sent an ache through his chest. What torment he had bound himself to, in finally finding the creature who would complete him only to learn her life was little more than a vapor.

A light came to her eyes suddenly, and slowly the mischievous grin returned to her face and he couldn't help feeling curious despite the sadness that threatened him. She bit her lip and spun away once, and then hopped back to him. He was amazed by her strength, with the wounds that still oozed sap from her flesh.

"Would you like it..." she asked, her confidence briefly hidden under a very feminine shyness, "if I let my acorns fall here? Around your home?"

He blinked and straightened up. "Acorns?"

She nodded and her smile grew. "Yes. If you fertilize me, then my acorns will grow... And then someday, when I'm gone, you can have my daughters. And then my daughters' daughters, and their daughters... They can be with you every night, forever, so you won't have to be alone."

Her eyes had grown wild with excitement, and she retook his hands as she fairly danced on her toes in front of him.

"Fertilize...?" he asked, thinking of the rich soil he made sure to always plant his flowers in.

"Yes," she said, spinning away from him suddenly and hiding behind one of the arbor's pillars. He started as he heard her gasp in pain. When she peeked out at him playfully from behind the pillar, she was holding one of the deep wounds on her waist.

He blinked at her as she grinned, seeming to be expecting something. But he didn't know what. It didn't seem to perturb her as a moment later she lithely leaped out from behind the pillar, almost floating back to him across the path. She took his hands and swung them playfully. The shy feminine look came over her face again.

"We're always fertilized by human males, but...your kind must reproduce? Don't they?"

Drakken's head swam and he suddenly felt very hot under his collar. He focused his gaze on the trellis at the end of the path and cleared his throat. A moment passed, and he found himself holding his breath as he bravely looked down at her smiling face again.

"Your daughters?" he asked shakily, awestruck as he began to fully comprehend what she was suggesting.

"Yes. And you...you could help scatter my acorns far across your clearing! And my daughters' acorns! For each generation!" she said, growing more excited with each word and bouncing on her toes. Her eyes shone with the brightest green he had ever seen. And then suddenly her voice fell into a soft awe. "My oak's spirit...can cover the whole of the Earth, with your help... We...we could live forever..."

Her dancing ceased as tears of hope suddenly filled her eyes. Her small green hands held his blue ones tightly as she gazed up at him with her pure, joyful smile. He hadn't thought his perfect creature could be any more beautiful, but in that moment, with that smile meant only for him, she was. Red tears of happiness pooled in his eyes.

"I love you," he said, the words falling softly from his lips as he gazed at her.

"...Love me?" she asked. She suddenly appeared as awestruck as he felt.

He nodded as a flush came to his cheeks. He'd known it since he had first tended her, and it had grown in his heart every moment since.

"Yes... Love is...what you feel for your oak," he explained, just in case her kind didn't have the concept.

There was wonderment in her eyes as she gazed at him. "You feel that...for me?"

"Yes, Shego," he said, smiling kindly.

"I..." she began slowly, her gaze falling to where she held his hands up between them. The wonder in her eyes was growing. "I...love you, too. I would never let harm come to you."

"Nor I you," he said, agreeing without question. He understood that protection was deeply rooted in her understanding of love. And his for her was no different, as he knew he would defend her to his dying breath.

Her hands left his and uncertainly moved to rest on his shoulders. And then she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. He wanted to pull her to him, but he didn't dare touch her with so many open wounds on her body. But the gentleness of her lips was more than he could have ever hoped for, and he kissed her back with all the love in his heart.

When her lips left his and she settled down on her feet again, her fingers lightly pulling at the fabric of his shirt at the shoulders, the shy look ghosted over her face again.

"I hope...I can grow a hundred daughters for you," she said.

He watched her as she slowly stepped back, and then with the elegance of a blooming flower she was suddenly seated on the ground at his feet with her knees drawn up to her chest. She continued to smile as she slowly leaned back on her elbows, but her wince of pain did not escape his notice. She slid her feet forward soundlessly over the ground, her toes pointed, and then moved her knees far apart as she lay back comfortably in the cool grass that blanketed the ground of his evening garden.

She looked up at him calmly, and expectantly.

Two thoughts entered his mind simultaneously; the first, a wondering if it was even possible for a creature like him, an un-dead horror of the night, to mix with the perfect beauty that was the dryad to create viable offspring; and his second thought, a stomach-turning disgust at the idea of a terrible being such as himself defiling her perfection in the way she was asking of him, even if the purpose was pure.

"You're still hurt," was what softly left his lips as he couldn't help but gaze down at her offering.

She lifted one of her arms from the grass to look at the wounds there, but he was far more concerned with the deeper ones over her waist, legs, and back.

"How long will it take for you to heal?" he continued.

"I'll feel like myself again in a few days' time," she answered, "but the wounds will always hurt..." she said, her fingers sliding over the long, jagged scar left by a saw on her stomach and then resting her hand there.

He slowly knelt at her side, and then offered her a hand to sit up. She took it in confusion, and when she was sitting upright before him he gestured over the garden.

"Is there a place here, you would like for your roots? When you come in the evenings?"

She seemed to consider, gazing across the symmetry he had worked hard to attain in his garden, and then smiling she pointed to the far side of the lily pond that she had dipped her roots in before.

"There."

"May I till the soil for you?" he asked, smiling at the idea of her beauty adding to his garden each night. Though he knew with her presence, he would neglect his flowers as he already had that evening.

"That would be lovely," she said, looking back at him with a tender smile that strangely sent a flood of desire rushing through his cold, dead veins.

She must have seen it in him as she leaned back on her elbows again with a mischievous smile, but then paused as her face became concerned. He took her hand again in dismay, not wanting any worries or fears to ever cloud her perfect visage.

"I'm sorry..." she began, looking melancholy, "I should have asked... Do you want my daughters?"

A pain gripped his chest when he realized his actions could have conveyed rejection. The pain was followed immediately by the ache of the deep love he had for her. The offering of her children to keep him company for all eternity, and greater still, the offering for them to be their children, hers and his, was a gift that transcended every earthly definition of love. He desperately wanted it, with everything within him. And he would honor that love for the rest of time.

He softly squeezed her hand and then lifted her forearm to his lips, kissing one of her older scars. "Yes," he answered. "And...when you are gone..." he said, his heart thudding in agony at the thought, "I will tend your daughters...and your granddaughters, and their daughters...and as many as ever take root. And I will see that the spirit of your oak lives forever."

The love that filled her eyes took his breath away, and he, the one with the power to hypnotize all beings suddenly found himself entranced as she rose to her knees and slipped her arms around him in a gentle embrace. Her soft, wine-dark lips met his in a kiss that sent desire racing hot through his veins, and he kissed her back tenderly, afraid of what the force of his lust might do to her. Her fingers slid into his hair as she continued to kiss him with longing, her taste sultry and exotic like the scent of a gardenia, the caress of her dewy lips petal-soft. For the first time he let his hands roam freely over her womanly form, his fingertips tracing every scar and skipping carefully over the fresh wounds as he exulted in her soft curves, the roughness of her bark-like skin not deterring him for a moment.

He could have easily lost himself in her perfection and beauty, but the weakness with which she held him pressed against his mind. As deeply as his soul wanted her, he couldn't take any risk of further harming her.

A whimper escaped her lips as he pulled his own away, and he caressed her cheek and looked adoringly into her green eyes.

"You're still weak," he explained softly.

"I'm sturdy," she pouted, crossing her arms.

"I know," he said with a slight laugh, looking over her many scars. He leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss over the deep axe-scar on her breast. "But you are injured," he said when he pulled back. He could feel it in her trembling frame as he held her. "Rest, my love... Let me till your soil. Then later, when you have your strength back..."

He slowly, carefully released her and rose to his feet. She remained seated in the grass and looked up at him warmly. He wondered again if her kind and his could produce offspring at all. But she had said dryads were usually fertilized by humans... And his kind sometimes created offspring with humans as well. And he was of an ancient, pure bloodline. It seemed more and more possible as he thought about it. And oh, how he would joy if it were true!

He put on his gardener's gloves, discarded by his front door the night before, and picked up his spade. He crossed to the opposite side of the pond that she had indicated and began digging the soil to make it tender and ready to accept her roots.

He looked back at her and found she had lay down on her side along the shallow bank of the pond. Her cheek rested on one of her arms that was stretched out above her head, and with her other hand she drew a pink water lily to her and caressed its bloom. Her feet were dipped just beneath the water's surface, one of them moving back and forth and causing dark ripples to occur, revealed only by the starshine.

She gazed at him adoringly as he worked, and he smiled back at her. A peace he had never known filled him then as he imagined the barren hills someday being covered in a vast forest of oak. Even though he may only have her for a century, he knew the company of just one of her daughters that came after would be the greatest of joys. And to have hundreds of young, tender oaks to tend... Beneath whose shade he could plant more orchids...

He had the fleeting thought that instead of feasting on woodsmen, he should thank them for bringing her to his door. But the thought vanished as his eyes fell on her scars and wounds again. No, all woodsmen would die, their blood sustaining him and thus Shego's daughters as they would give him the nightly strength to tend the young oaks—an ironic and delicious twist of fate.

Drakken licked his lips in anticipation of the vengeance he would wage for eternity against the kind that dared harm the perfect beauty of the dryad, and he grinned wickedly as he continued to turn the soil with his spade.

A soft laugh from near the pond arrested his attention, and he turned his eyes to where Shego was smiling her mischievous smile. He leaned on his spade and gestured down to the loose ground at his feet.

"Is this all right, to start? Should I till it each night before you return?"

Shego rose, minding her wounds, and stepped over into the freshly-turned earth. He watched as she shifted gracefully into her oaken form, some of her roots pressing deep into the earth while others still dipped into the edge of the pond.

"It's perfect," she said.

Joy rippled through him, and he embraced her trunk and kissed her rough bark. So enraptured was he that he almost didn't notice when she slowly shifted back to her human form, his arms falling comfortably around her. Her arms encircled him and she looked lovingly up into his face, and elation filled him as he returned her gaze. He was finally, perfectly...impossibly happy.

---

Epilogue

In fertile valleys beneath densely forested hills lay the ruins of many towns, all burned to ash. Signs were posted on the ancient roads, warning travelers to beware and to turn back. But in the valley beneath the highest hill, one small town remained. It was the dread of all the Earth, for in that town lived the people of the Cult of Drakken.

The people of the cult roamed far throughout the world, capturing woodsmen without explanation and with no provocation. All who were captured were taken back to the dread town and never seen again.

The few who had been brave enough to visit the cult and lucky enough to escape came back with tales of the shape-shifting vampire of the oaks, who detested all woodsmen and demanded weekly sacrifices. It was the sacrifices of the cult that stayed the entity's wrath, and kept more towns from burning. This was the ritual that had gone on for nearly two millennia, making enemies of the people of the cult and all other men on the Earth.

The sacrifices were always carried by two elect members of the cult over the hills through their immense, dense forests of oak to the edge of a clearing on the shallow slope of the highest hill. At dusk the elect would bind the sacrifice of a live woodsman to the trunk of a manzanita tree in the clearing, and then they would hide behind a straight row of massive ash trees to be sure their sacrifice was received. If it wasn't, then one of the two elect would be given up in the woodsman's place.

They would watch the timeless ritual, listening to the last screams of the woodsmen before they were devoured by the vampire that was the cult's namesake, terrified and at the same time put at peace, knowing their weekly task had been completed. They saw their role as one of honor, saving far more people of the world than were being sacrificed. And sometimes the very bravest would remain, to watch the strange vampire who tended the orchids and the oaks, and who lived in a place of beauty that contrasted his dark demands.

For in the clearing where the sacrifices were made stood an ancient stone house with a sod roof, its walls decorated with climbing vines of moonflower. Natural arbors of angel's trumpet overhung two lily ponds in an expertly-cultivated symmetrical garden of night flowers in front of the house—symmetrical, but for one stark feature.

At the far side of one lily pond rose a single tree, taller than the house and standing out on the hill despite the dense forest that blanketed its every slope. But this tree stood out for another reason besides the marring of the symmetry of the garden. It bore scars innumerable from axes and saws that must have been taken to it for nearly a hundred years. And still in even greater contrast, the beautiful garden of flowers was alive and vibrant; the lone oak was dead.

The brave members of the cult would watch in awe and confusion as after the vampire feasted at dusk, he would go far into the forest to tend the youngest oaks, often shape-shifting into an owl to speed his travels. Then he would return to his home and tend the flower garden with a care and gentleness that defied the fury with which he always devoured the woodsmen.

And then as his final act, he would spend the last hour of each night seated at the base of the dead oak next to the lily pond until the danger of the dawn when sunlight would illuminate the treetops of the forested hill.

This was the strangest of the vampire's acts, for he never merely sat at the base of the lone oak. He embraced it, and cried his tears of blood into its dead heartwood. And then at the last possible moment, when the danger of the sun grew too great, he would kiss the oak's trunk once and then vanish within his stone house to rest for the day.

The cult members would leave in bewilderment, but never-minding about whatever motivated the vampire. They would continue to sacrifice, and live. And he would continue his nightly ritual of feeding, tending the flowers, and embracing the dead oak, for all eternity.