"What do you mean I can't go back?"

Not for the first time since they had bothered to stand from the dirt, Eric restrains himself from rolling his blue eyes. After everything she had been through, after everything that had transpired in the hours that darkness claimed the world; that had been her only incessant question. His fingers never slowed in their mission to retie the strings of her corset; although the act itself was foreign to him. He had never helped a woman dress; certainly not when he had been the one to undress her. Seeing as they were usually passed out from blood loss, or dead, he had never seen the need to. But this, dressing Pamela; this he enjoyed. He relished the feel of the velvet smoothing over her skin; his tight pulls on her corset wrapping her back up, for him to take off later. It was intimate, on a level he had never before experienced. Hushing her with a low growl, he ties the final bow perfectly, turning her around with a touch of his fingers until she faced him.

"Just what I said, Pamela. You cannot go back. That is not your home anymore. Your home is with me."

An endearing smile graced his lips, one he knew, from many previous experiences, that women couldn't resist. He held out his hand, expecting her to finally give in and follow him back to where he had been staying. What he did not expect was for her to pick up her skirts and turn away, tossing back a "No, thank you," over her shoulder. Stunned, he could only blink at her retreating back. No thank you. At least her manners were intact after rendering a thousand year old Viking speechless. Gathering his senses, he sped to block her.

"What did you say to me?" His voice was incredulous.

"I said, 'no, thank you.'"

She once again tried to step around him, clearly focused on returning to her home. Only his growl of warning brought her eyes back up to his.

"Nobody says no to me."

He knew how pathetic it sounded; something one of the drunk humans would say down at the pubs in the city. His brow arched in a challenge. And she returned his expression, adding in a careless shrug. His fangs snapped down as his anger rocketed through him; her own slid down at the same time, though she seemed to realize how much smaller they were, and promptly covered her mouth with her hands, glaring at him over the top of them.

"That still doesn't answer my question, sir. Why can't I go home?"

He answered her as bluntly as possible; not sparing her emotions.

"Because, Pamela, you're dead."

Her hysterical giggles pierced through his un-beating heart. When she saw that her amusement wasn't exactly returned, she all but stomped her foot.

"Am not. Look at me! I'm alive! I'm walking, I'm talking…I'm breathing…"

Her words faltered on her sweet lips as his hands stole to her waist, turning her around to face the grave she had climbed out of only hours before. He felt her go weak as her eyes landed on her own name on the gravestone, and he banded his arm around her waist, pulling her back to his chest. His lips moved by her ear, explaining in soft words that sounded on the verge of apologetic.

"That is your grave, Pamela. The grave your family buried you in. The grave that I raised you out of. For all intents and purposes, you are dead. Your heart does not beat. Your lungs do not need the air. You are no longer human."

He watched from over her shoulder as her hands flitted to her chest, feeling the nothingness that once held life. He could tell she was holding her breath, testing his words before she would accept them as truth. The thought made him smile, though he quickly hid it by burying his lips in her soft hair. Slowly, as she regained her footing, he loosened his arm, and allowed her to turn to face him. Her hands pressed against his chest, confirming that his heart did not beat. Her eyes stayed trained on his chest, watching for the rise and fall of the breath that did not come.

"They would not accept you. They do not know, cannot understand; and they would call you for a monster. But you, my Pamela, you are so much more. Much more than a mere human. You are no monster. You are a force of nature."

Her face finally turns up to meet his; she hesitates, unsure of her own intentions before her eyes flutter closed, and her lips search for his. He willingly meets them with his own; her anchor in death. He can feel the sorrow seep through their now shared blood; but with it, also comes triumph. He can only associate it with the elation of escape.

"I can't go back."

He shakes his head, slowly from side to side as he watches her accept that firm fact. His forehead presses against hers.

"Please, Pamela. Come with me."

He can see the red tears rim her eyes, and he brushes his thumbs through the trail down her cheeks, smearing her porcelain skin. Her blue eyes widen as she sees the crimson marks, and he can see she is doing her best to ignore them.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I will leave you here. And you will never see me again."

And though the words feel like silver across his bare chest, he already knows that she will follow him. That she would follow him anywhere. And that for all his words, he would never leave her. Her fingers fly up to her cheeks, hoping for a distraction from his intense glare. The blood stains her fingertips as she holds them up to study them in the moonlight.

"This is disgusting."

He never could handle a woman's tears; especially not this woman.

"Then I suggest you stop."

He slowly takes a step back, away from her; clearly giving her two options. To stay with him, or to return to the home she just escaped from. He knew her decision the moment she turned away from him to look at the house she could see all too clearly now. It was a look of goodbye. She kept her eyes on the house as he made quick work of the still open grave, filling it with dirt, burying her coffin once again. When he had completed his task, gathering up a strewn flower from a well wisher, along with the rose that he brought, he held his hand out to her still turned back. As if it were steps in a well rehearsed dance, she turned and placed her hand in his at the same moment.

"Who are you?"

He smiled softly as he pulled her to him, placing the rose he plucked from below her window into her curls. His thumbs brushed away the stray drops of blood that had ceased to fall from her eyes.

"Eric."

Ever the gentleman, he offered her the other flowers that had littered her grave. A slow smirk that he instantly loved flitted across her lips. She flung the flowers over her shoulder, and they landed with blunt finality on her grave. Without another word, she took his hand, following him out into the night.