All characters belong to JKR

Part III

Hermione had no choice as to whether or not she would stay or leave. She wasn't a visitor, because she wasn't invited to be here. She wasn't really a prisoner, even if she wasn't here by choice. In addition, she still had her wand, and she saw no bars on the windows of the beautiful bedchamber where Cain had led her to earlier. Escape was possible.

Still, there must be wards on the house, and protection spells, keeping people from entering, so they might keep her from exiting as well. She opened up the door and saw no guard outside. That was good as well. She could leave if she really set her mind to it. She had gotten out of worst scrapes than this; therefore, she wasn't worried – yet.

A knock on the door startled her slightly for she was standing directly in front of it. She jumped and called out, "Yes?"

"Miss Granger?" Cain opened the door a mere hairsbreadth and asked, "May I enter?"

"Do you need permission?" she asked in return, stepping away from the door. Sanguini had mentioned that it was another fable that vampires had to be permitted 'entrance' into a residence; however, perhaps he was wrong. Still, this was this man's coven, so surely he could enter any room at will.

He laughed and said, "Generally I ask before I enter a woman's bedroom." He opened the door wider and smiled at her. "Black wanted to know if you needed anything before you retired for the night. There are clothes in the closet and drawers that will probably fit you and the bathroom is well stocked."

"How long will I be here?" she asked, moving her wand from one hand to the other, nervously.

"I truly don't know," he declared, "and you won't be able to Disapparate. I let you keep your wand, but just remember, we're all wizards here, too. We have wands at the ready, incase you feel the need to hex one of us. I don't underestimate your abilities at all, being who you are, but you shouldn't underestimate ours either. We're faster and have keener senses than average wizards."

She nodded slightly, but then thought of what he had just said. "You know who I am? What do you mean by that?"

He laughed again and said, "We are the undead, not dead. We know you helped Harry Potter defeat Voldemort during the second war."

She didn't count on that, of course. "Well," he continued, "If there's nothing else, I'll leave you. Tomorrow you may have free reign to explore most of the house, if you'd like. Just stay out of the rooms on the second floor. The rooms up here are the private bedchambers, and the rooms on the first floor are the public rooms."

"And the rooms on the second floor?" she asked.

"Are to be left alone," he finished her thought. He walked further into the room. She took a step backwards. "Don't be afraid. I believe he'll let you go, eventually. He's just curious, because you mentioned his brother, and because you found out about him. He never thought anyone would ever know that he became a vampire. Tell me, did Sanguini tell you?"

"Oh no," she offered. "I had my own theories, and I went to him with my speculations. He confirmed them, yes, but he didn't betray any trust."

Cain laughed loudly and said, "There's no trust between Black and Sanguini, only hate and disdain."

"Why is that?" she asked.

"Perhaps he'll tell you someday," Cain answered, walking toward the door.

"Who? Sanguini or Regulus?"

"First, only call him Black. He left his other name behind when he became one of us. And I meant that Black would tell you someday. I doubt Sanguini would tell you anything."

"Sanguini's been very accommodating," she began, "and very helpful to me. He told me many things about vampires, and he told me some things about Regulus."

The formerly smiling vampire turned taciturn and said, "He had no right to tell you a thing. My advice would be to stay clear of Sanguini when you see him again, and don't believe anything he has to tell you. He's not to be trusted. He's a self-serving bastard, and those types of people make the worst sort of vampires."

Hermione folded her arms in front of her and she responded, "He's my friend and I would appreciate if you wouldn't talk about him like that. If you don't want me to ask Black questions, I won't. I'll ask you. Can you tell me anything useful about Black?"

"He's complicated, he's extremely private, he's a tortured soul, but most of all, he's my friend, and he saved my life a long time ago. Anything else you want to know you'll have to find out on your own." He left quickly, closing the door behind him.

Hermione sat on the bed and groaned. What had she gotten herself into this time?

Regulus stood staring out his bedroom window, contemplating the woman in the room across the hall. Hermione Granger, friend of his long-lost brother's godson, Harry Potter. She helped to defeat the Dark Lord. His forehead went against the cold glass. What was he to do with her?

Of course, he had heard of her. He had not idea, however, that this woman was she.

There was something almost otherworldly about this young woman. She was innocent, untainted, but strong and resigned. The aroma of her blood was almost intoxicating. It had been many years since an aroma had called to him as strongly as hers did. He wondered what it would feel like coursing through his body. Would she scream if he took her vein? Would she swoon in his arms, or would she find it erotic? He would have preferred her blood to Cain's blood tonight, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and he was in direr need earlier, and took his friend's blood so that he could be stronger. He needed strength right now. He had to deal with this woman, this Hermione Granger, and with the traitor Sanguini.

He thought of the strange, but lovely woman and tried to pinpoint what he felt for her, yet feelings and emotions were estranged from him for so long that he wondered just what it was that was twirling around his brain. Was it confusion? Was it anxiety? Was it bewilderment? Ennui? The only feelings he was acquainted with were depravity, disgust, and the feeling of being in a fog, a mind numbing stupor, for the last twenty years. He wasn't sure he wanted to FEEL anything else.

Something had him in its clutches and he didn't like it one iota. He didn't look forward to it, although he blamed himself for inviting it into his life. He alone confronted the woman tonight. He could have left her be. He could have let those other vampires kill her. He could have wiped her memory clean, or even let her leave as she was about to do. Instead, he was….curious, yes, that was the right emotion. He was curious about this beautiful, young woman and he wanted to know more about her, yet he didn't want her to know anything else about him. Sighing, he thought how very ironic life was.

Somehow, Hermione slept soundly. The next morning she showered and changed into some of the clothing she found in the wardrobe. There were only long dresses and dress robes, no jeans, trainers, or t-shirts, jumpers, sweatshirts, or skirts. She picked a plum coloured long sleeve dress, that had a tight fitting bodice, tight waist, and long flowing skirts that went to the floor. She found a pair of black beaded slippers and placed them on her feet. Feeling as if she was from another era, she glided down the long hallway, pausing for a moment outside HIS door. She knew he was in there. She sensed it.

After descending the two staircases, one small and one grand, she ended up on the main floor, in a wide-open foyer. There was an ornate chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, stained glass in the windows by the door, and a shining marble tiled floor. She gaped, wide-eyed, shocked at the luxury of the inside compared with the doom and dilapidated exterior of the outside.

The blond vampire, Abel, from the night before, descended the staircase after her and watched her as she stood in the middle of the entryway, staring at the opulent elegance. She noticed him, blushed, and said, "The house is beautiful."

His gaze traveled up and down her body and he drawled, "Yes, there are many beautiful things in this house. You, for example, look breathtaking this morning."

She looked down at the long gown she had donned and after swallowing hard, she replied with a small, "Thank you."

"I suppose you would like breakfast? I know your type needs to eat." He walked the rest of the way down the stairs with grace and agility. She stood her ground until he was standing beside her.

She answered, "I am feeling a bit hungry."

"That is a feeling I am well acquainted with, darling," he said with a smile. He leaned closer to her. She leaned away. This vampire made her feel uneasy. He took her hand and tucked it inside the crook of his arm and started to lead her down a hallway, when suddenly, she stopped walking, causing him to stop.

She stopped because an odd sensation, like a prickling feeling, starting at her neck and traveling down her spine to her toes, came upon her slowly. An innate awareness of Regulus Black washed over her and it prompted her to gaze upward toward the staircase. She saw only his shadow at first, as he had not yet reached the top step. Then he appeared. The blond vampire noticed him as well and swore under his breath.

Dressed all in black, from his head to his toes…black trousers, long black jacket, black silk shirt, black tie, black, black, BLACK. If Abel walked down the stairs in an elegant grace, Black walked down the stairs in a whispered poise. It was as if one moment he was at the top of the steps and the next he was standing beside them.

He said nothing. He merely offered his arm to her. Abel stepped away and she removed her arm from one man's sleeve and placed it on another. The silence between them caused her nerves to tingle. Without a word, he ushered her into a large dining room, but as soon as they entered he grabbed her arm in a vise-like grip, pushed her against the wall, pressed his body against hers, all before she could think to protest.

She thought to scream, but would it do any good? These people were loyal only to him, he apparently had an agenda today, and her eating wasn't on it. One of his hands snaked around her wrist and his other hand went to the back of her neck, grabbing her skull, fingers entwined in hair. His light blue eyes were lit afire and his shocking black hair hung partly in his face.

"Tell me why you're really here. What is your purpose!" he began.

"I thought I might have breakfast first, so if you would let me go, I'll try to explain. Over breakfast," she stammered.

He placed his nose near her cheek. "Would you like to be my breakfast?" He inhaled. Her scent was akin to nectar from the gods. She would be his undoing, he knew it the moment he saw her in the alleyway, and it was confirmed the second he inhaled her aroma. She began to quiver in his arms. Good. He repulsed her. She hated him. That was proper. That would serve a purpose. He remarked, "Poor little precious mouse, shaking with fear in the lion's den."

She was shaking, but it wasn't with fear. It was with a want and desire that she had never felt once in her twenty years of living on this planet. She was tempted to tell him as much, but she was embarrassed. "Let me go. Please."

"I don't respond to polite pleas, darling, precious mouse," he played, his mouth close to her ear, causing a rush of warmth from her stomach to between her thighs. "Am I hurting you? Repulsing you? Scaring you?" He wanted her to say no, but he needed her to say yes. He felt out of control. He felt hungry. Hungry for her.

"I'm not a mouse, and no matter what, I believe you're still a gentleman, and you're not scaring me, nor hurting me. I'll answer all your questions, but only if you answer mine." She tilted her head upwards and pushed his chest away from hers with both hands. He barely moved, though he did turn his head to stare into her eyes.

A manic laugh bubbled from his chest, but Hermione heard the sarcasm. "Gentleman? I was never a gentleman. I left home at 16 to become a Death Eater. At twenty, I betrayed the Dark Lord because I recognized him as the mad man that he truly was. I staged my own death, and I left to live my life quietly, where no one would know me." His grip loosened, but the hand that had her wrist traveled to her shoulder. She moved her hands from his chest to grip his arms.

"At twenty-one my new secret life was taken from me when I was turned into a vampire. Perpetually twenty-one, I've been forced to live in the shadows ever since. I dare not reveal myself, for fear of prison for my past sins, or fear of being rebuffed by the magical world that look down on vampires. Gentleman? I don't know the meaning of the word. I have no morals. No scruples or social grace. I have no manners. I have no feelings. I don't care if you live or die."

By the end of his speech, he was breathing hard and shallow. His hard frame pressed firmer against her soft body. His mouth was once again against her ear, his lips grazing the skin there with each word whispered. His arms wrapped neatly around her shaking body, only this time his hold wasn't hard or cruel, it was soft and comforting.

He concluded, "I wasn't able to help my brother. He died, not knowing that I loved him, forgave him, and that I looked up to him. I could have helped young Potter, and all of you, when you were fighting the Dark Lord, but I remained hidden. Don't make me into a saint, precious. I'm not. I'm not anything. I'm not even human any longer. I feel nothing for anyone. The only emotion I still harbor is anger and wrath. I have those in spades, my precious mouse, and I will use them to my advantage. Shall I show you?"

His mouth opened and his tongue swiped at the pulse point on the long column of her neck. Her legs felt like rubber. Her mind was a mass of swirling emotions, and she couldn't comprehend what was happening, or how she might escape, or even if she wanted to escape.

Finally, she managed to say, "That's not true. I know it's not. A person without feelings or morals or a sense of right or wrong wouldn't have been able to resist being a Death Eater. He wouldn't have fought against the Dark Lord."

His fangs grazed over her skin lightly. He wanted her. He wanted to bite her. He wanted her blood, her life force, her essence. He wanted an untainted soul to lift him from his tainted world. Who was this creature, and why was she here? Was she here to save him? He needed saving. He needed it more than her blood. Did she have the patience to save him? Patience was the virtue, wrath was the sin. She was the savior, and he needed saving.

He pulled back. It was difficult, but he did. He looked down at her face. She wasn't resisting, and not because she had a death wish, but because she truly believed he wouldn't hurt her. He sensed a wave of serenity and sincerity about her. He craved that more than he craved her blood. How odd.

Without blinking he said, "I want to know more of you, and you want to know more of me. I'll give you three days. You may ask me and mine any questions you want for three days, and we will answer you honestly, but you must also answer any question I ask of you. At the end of the three days, you will leave and never return. You will keep the information we give you completely to yourself, and you'll never tell anyone we're here. Do we have a deal?"

Hermione's heart skipped wildly in her chest. She wanted to ask him questions, and he was giving her carte blanche to do so, but at a price. She knew she should accept his terms, but still, her moral principles wouldn't allow it.

"Mr. Black, I don't want to keep my information to myself. I want to help the plight of the vampires. Sanguini made me see how hard it is for all of you. Please, don't make me promise that I won't share the information you give me. If you don't want me to tell anyone of you specifically, or of the location of this coven, I won't, but I can't keep the information to myself. It's not something I would be capable of doing." She had to be honest and truthful to the man.

His earlier assumption was right. There was something different about this girl. For one thing, she saved his life last night. For another, she was making demands of him. Lastly, he was going to give her anything that she asked.

"Fine, but for a price," he agreed, moving away from her, his arms dangling lifelessly at his sides.

She felt bereft when his body moved from hers. She shivered again, and then agreed, "Of course, as you said, you'll answer my questions, and I'll answer yours. I'll do you anything that you want, as long as you let me help you."

White teeth, fangs and all, suddenly appears on his handsome face as he smiled. How beautiful he appeared. Then he laughed.

This clean, untarnished woman didn't know that she had just struck a bargain with a man of sin and depravity. He suddenly imagined her in his bed, her brown curls hanging over her like a curtain, brushing against his chest, while he was inside her, and she on top of him. The image was so strong that he almost staggered. He laughed once more and said, "Oh dear, you are a naïve one. No, precious, I want more than questions answered. Much, much more. And you've just agreed to give it to me."