A continuation, as promised. I do hope you enjoy it. Final part will be up next week.


The Count's hand was left unnoticed in front of her as she stared at him wide-eyed. It had been obvious that had been on his mind for a while, but to propose it to her like this? Like a friend suggesting the showing of a new stitch or pattern, or a lad a walk in the town?

When she made no move the Count withdrew his hand, grinning.

"I do apologise if my being so forward has offended your sensibilities, but I myself have never found it to be much fun with an unwilling partner. It is far more pleasant the other way, would you not agree?"

She shrugged, trying to retain some humility. "Perhaps. But what if I did not care to learn?" The vampire shrugged.

"Then we would move straight on to the purpose I originally intended you for. The choice remains yours."

"Truly?" she muttered sarcastically, though more to herself than him. And he grabbed her shoulders, dragged her to her feet and forced her back against the tree trunk. Her eyes widened, and she inhaled sharply as he pressed himself close against her; his body was hard muscle and she could feel a stiffness against her belly. He was making her heart beat wildly, but he was cold too, and she could feel no pulse sound in his breast. A shudder went down her spine. He lowered his head so his lips were close against her ear.

"Well, what do you say? Die now almost as innocent as when you came into this world, or experience something of living before leaving it?"

"Do what you will!" she hissed. He chuckled, his laugh only heightening her fury. One finger brushed across her nipple.

"You ought to be more careful what you wish for, dear Adelina, you might just find it fulfilled." Her thoughts fogged as he stroked persistently, drifting away and did not return until his hands moved, brushing over her collar-bones to settle about her neck. She paled; with one quick squeeze he could have snapped it like a twig, but then they were at her hair, unpinning the heavy plait she wore coiled about her head. She allowed the lads to remove her bright head-cloth, but never more than that. Yet the Count had spread it over her right shoulder; scattering the pins, and deftly unwound the dark coils, then brushed it back so it hung to her waist.

"There now," he whispered, "exquisite." Some boys had muttered soft, meaningless nothings into her ears while they loved, generally indecipherable among gasps and moans, but she had never been called so before.

"Yes, indeed..." he mused. "And now mine." He leaned over and inhaled against her neck, and knots tightened in her belly.

"You'll kill me?" she raised dark, frightened eyes to meet his.

"Oh yes." He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "But not for a while yet." He took one of her hands in his, leading her forward a step, as smoothly as though they were dancing. "Here," he said, placing it against the ties at his neck, "remove my cloak." The ties slipped through easily and with a hush of fabric the cloak was pooled at his feet. She glanced down at the pile as though she could scarcely believe what she had done – yet there it was.

"Good," he hissed, and then he was drawing her to him again. His lips trailed an icy path across her sternum which made her shiver and him smirk against her skin. She'd admit there was pleasure now, there was little point in denying it and of course the Count would be able to tell. Something still made her try to contain herself as much as she could – fall back into the old traits she adopted with the lads. Her eyes fixed on some faraway point, her mind on her next conquest and her expression steadfast and stony.

The Count would not allow it. When she began her tricks he pressed her hard against the tree-trunk, her frame trapped and forced to feel every inch of his body tight to her, her mind snapped back from disregard with every lick and pull at her throat and breasts until her skin was reddened with the marks of his teeth and whimpers edged between her lips.

"Better," he breathed, "And now that I have your attention –,"

Her heavy skirt fell with a brief tug. She stared; he must have unknotted the tapes without her noticing – and none had managed to do that before. She would not let him see he had rattled her though.

"The best you could manage?" She shrugged.

She could see from the moment the words passed her lips that her insolence had tried his patience too far, yet she did not see the hand which slapped her till her right cheek burned and her face snapped to the side.

"Any more of that, girl, and I will dispense with this and finish you right now. I have better uses for your boldness than insolence." He grasped a thick hank of hair and forced her to face him, "is that understood?"

"Understood," she muttered. She felt a child again, standing ashamed when some contrary remark had made her father deliver a sharp backhand. When he released her she wandered whether her cheek burned more in pain or chagrin.

"Good." He slipped his jacket from his shoulders.

"Well, share and share alike," he said when he saw her enquiring look. Somehow that relieved her; that he seemed to hold no lasting cares about her words. Now she stared at the layers of clothing his jacket had covered; his shirt was a tight one and defined his chest well; she recalled the feel of it against her earlier and the thought slipped into her head that she hoped he would allow her to remove it herself.

This time when he took her in his arms his hands were bolder – straight to her hips and running all over her back, cupping and squeezing as they went and leaving hot trails on her flesh that she had never felt there before. She caught her breath when he grasped her buttocks and half-lifted her against him, becoming suddenly aware that she could feel every inch of him through the thin cotton of her petticoat that – oh God – was likely half-transparent in the moonlight. He kept her so for who could tell how long, caught between himself and the tree – knees spread and held off-balance, breathing suddenly raggedly.

An echo broke the silence; the screaming howl of a vixen that made both of them start. His tensed muscles eased as he released her slowly.

"Do you feel something now?" he murmured, raising her chin so she had to look at him, "You never found it in those boys' arms did you?"

He mocked her again! Well, if he wanted her boldness then he would damn well have it. Work-coursed fingers reached up to his shirt buttons and tugged at them, slipping them free as fast as she could. She pushed his shirt back from his shoulders when it was loose; a warrior's body, stronger and more defined than any she had seen before.

There was a low rumble in his chest where their bodies touched. The Count had cocked an amused eyebrow.

"My my, Miss Baboescu, you do learn fast."

She knew she had coloured, her plump cheeks likely swelled and hot. Half an hour ago perhaps she would have hung her head in shame, but now she realised the challenge in his eyes and accepted it. It was time for him to have a taste of his own medicine.

She caught the edges of the shirt and slipped it from his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground with a soft hush, and reached up to touch him with inquisitive fingers. He was all ungiving muscle. There was no gasp as she caressed his nipples as she had brought forth before from Doru or one of the others, but his belly tightened when she leaned forward to explore him with her mouth. Pride swelled in her chest as she looked up and saw his eyes were very bright; he was not invulnerable then. Yet for all her best efforts those twitches, and, once, she thought, a hiss of air through gritted teeth were all she managed to elicit from him, and she could feel her frustration rising as time went on, wandering how she could be revenged on him for what he had managed to do to her. She pressed herself as close as she could, her bosom, ample as it had always been, like the rest of her figure, tight against him in a way that she knew pleased most men.

"A little far in the lesson, my girl, are you sure you can cope with this level?" Casually drawled of course, but a perhaps a little strained. Good. Her hands wandered lower on his chest, pausing above his belt. Should she risk this? But that comment had been infuriating.

She moved as suddenly as she could, cupping him tightly. They both gasped – his low in the throat and almost a moan. A triumphant smirk spread across her face, yet she was given no time to relish her victory. Cold, sinewy fingers caught her neck tightly, forcing her away from him and back against the tree. The trunk tore at her back - she looked up sharply, startled and confused, pride draining when she saw his face and realised what she'd done. His lips were pulled back, his teeth, indeed gritted but lengthened so that they stretched his jaw, and yes, his eyes were bright but red, far too red. No sardonic amusement there now, replaced by a single and far simpler emotion. Bloodlust.

She whimpered when he caught her wrists and held them down to her sides; his fingers harsh as shackles. God, she had heard that for vampires lust and bloodlust were as one and she had dismissed that as rumour too. He had been right, she was a little fool. She tugged at his hands desperately.

"You promised you wouldn't till - "and her cry was cut off when he sank fangs into her neck. Sharp pain; sharper even than when she'd sliced her hand on the carving knife and had ruined half the linen in the house trying to stop it bleeding, coursing from her neck and down her spine. She cried out – she couldn't help it, but he ignored her – she doubted he had even heard – his hands still cruelly tight, one holding a handful of hair to keep her still. He had said her hair was exquisite. She could hear him sucking and felt sick; dreadfully sick. The pain coursing through her was colder now – didn't they say you grew cold before death? Her eyes were growing hazy and dark.


Please R&R. Pretty please, with Johnny Depp on top?