Screw it. I'll just post this now instead of waiting until Friday like I had originally planned. Here's the rest of the masquerade chapter. You're welcome! - As always, please excuse the errors you may find within. And, of course, reviews would be most appreciated.

REMINDER: This story is rated M for violence and gore (and now for sexual situations/dialogue - nothing too scandalous, I promise).

Chapter 9: The Masque of Death

Nicolæ's neck throbbed as he awoke groggily. He felt weak, drained even, and when he went to hold his head with his hand, he soon discovered that he could not move. Consciousness was quickly returning to him as his neck continued to heal. He couldn't recall much. He remembered following the tempting Dorina down a dark hall. She wanted him. He could still see the lust in her eyes when she had grabbed his hand and led him away from the party. He was still upset over Zsófia's betrayal, but when his best friend's sister threw herself at him, how could he resist? He had wanted her for an age and just when he thought he was over her, when he had prepared himself to destroy this family and obtain clemency from the Order, she was suddenly at his mercy. It had been too good to be true. He could still feel her kisses on his lips, her hand boldly between his legs, could hear each heady breath that escaped her lips, and just before he could open the door behind her to have his way with her before the deed had to be done, someone had come up from behind and snapped his neck.

It had all happened so quickly, and now he was left disorientated, and shirtless for that matter, strapped to a table in a dark room. His vampire sight didn't make it any easier to see. From what he could tell, he was underground – underneath Volkov perhaps? He could hear the orchestra and the guests above him, though he had to strain himself to hear it.

"What the devil?" he exclaimed, struggling against his restraints before hissing in pain as he quickly became aware of numerous sharp points digging into his flesh. "Who the – somebody get me out of here!"

"No one can hear you," a familiar feminine voice said in the shadows. "The room is soundproof and we're a good fifty feet or so underground."

He knew that voice, and that recognition sent a chill down his spine.

"No…" he whispered in horror, struggling harder against the restraints, even though it was incredibly painful to do so. He could feel the sharp spikes digging deeper into his flesh with each tug. "No – no please."

A match struck the wall, the flame held to the wick of a single candle, lighting up the face of his captor.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Nicolæ, I wasn't expecting you to stay here in Budapest when I had initially arrived. Did you really think you'd be safer here with Agnar?"

"Agnar won't stand for this!" Nicolæ shouted as Afina moved toward him. She was like a black widow, elegant and terrifying – and he was the prey caught in her web.

"He will stand for it when he learns that you were a traitor."

"Lies!"

"Says the man who left incriminating evidence around for someone else to find," she tsked, revealing the letters from the Order that were all addressed to him. "Basic rule of survival, Nicolæ – the best way to keep a secret is to have no physical evidence that leads back to you." She tucked the letters back into a hidden pocket in her skirt and she sat down on the table beside him, hovering the candle over his face so she could get a better look at him. "You shouldn't have killed me, Nicolæ. You should have obeyed Count Dracula when you had the chance."

"I'm sorry!"

"Yes, I know," she said thoughtfully. She angled the candle and watched with fascination as the melted wax poured onto his chest, cooling on impact and returning to solid form. Nicolæ hissed as the heat burned his skin.

"Please," he pleaded. "I'll do anything. I'll tell you anything you want to know – about the Order, about Lord Craven. Just don't kill me."

"Why would I care about Lord Craven?"

"Dracula is your master, is he not?"

"No man is my master."

"But you are with him. The Valerious family did not contact the Order about the threat of Count Dracula all those years ago. It was Craven!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Afina interjected, sliding off the table and moving over a smaller one that had a white sheet draped over it.

"No, it's not! You don't know their history," Nicolæ insisted, watching in horror as Afina pulled the sheet off the smaller table, revealing an assortment of silver surgical tools and other torture devices, some of them soaking in what appeared to be holy water.

"Then explain it to me," she replied indifferently, putting on a silver clawed thumb ring that looked terribly sharp. She positioned the smaller table next to the one Nicolæ was confined to and then she took her seat beside him again. She removed a knife from a small beaker of holy water and allowed the blessed liquid to drip onto his skin. Nicolæ cringed in agony. The water felt like acid, but he would not give her the satisfaction of crying out, though he desperately wanted to. He could feel his flesh bubble and burn with each drop that came into contact with his skin. "Please continue," she urged him.

"Craven and Dracula have never gotten along, not since the Count took Marishka as his bride."

"Why would Craven care?"

"Because he was obsessed with her," Nicolæ explained, desperately trying to trying to remain composed as Afina gently ran the tip of the blade up and down his chest. The holy water scorched his skin, leaving lines of burns as she idly traced unknown designs over his abdomen, moving lower and lower still. The liquid began to evaporate off the blade and soon he could feel the cool steel teasing his flesh. Afina watched as his wounds healed and as the pain ebbed away, Nicolæ began to relax somewhat. "Craven had been courting Marishka for at least a year, masquerading as a wealthy nobleman in an effort to win over her family. But before he could obtain approval from her father, the Count snatched her up and made her his own, and to make matters worse, he had not only the blessing of her entire bloodline, but even Marishka herself approved of the match. Craven begged Vigdís, the head of that bloodline, to denounce the bond so he could have Marishka for himself, but Vigdís refused him."

"So Craven swore to loathe him for all eternity? Who cares?" Afina replied tracing the tip of the dagger down his arm and to his wrist where she applied pressure and the blade broke the skin. He began to bleed, his blood thick and dark – almost like a dark, melted, crimson colored chocolate. The blood soon poured off the table and Afina positioned a glass at his wrist to gather the liquid. Each time the cut healed, she pressed down with the knife again, constantly reopening the wound as Nicolæ continued.

"You don't understand. Craven has a small following of powerful vampires that wish to see Dracula destroyed."

"But he can't be killed – not permanently, anyway," she explained, lifting the blade to her lips and drawing her tongue along its length in a way that was almost suggestive. Nicolæ watched her with apprehension and fascination as she experienced her first taste of vampire blood, her eyes closed. When she opened them, her irises were glowing a hypnotic electrified blue, as though the taste had aroused her. "Haven't they figured it out by now?" she asked, her voice low. "Every time he is destroyed, he comes back stronger. Does no one even know what a hydra is anymore?"

"There is a way," Nicolæ insisted. "The same way the Order killed your father."

His words struck an unpleasant chord in Afina, and with a swift movement, she slammed the blade into his wrist, tip first, staking his hand to the table.

"That was a fluke, a serendipitous accident that they still can't manage to repeat," she explained, standing beside the table now.

"An accident they've been studying for two decades now to see if they can replicate it. They're close. Very close…" His voice wavered for a moment, distracted as she unlaced is trousers. Confused and mildly aroused, he was about to ask her what she had planned for him when he noticed the candle in her hand and before he could protest, she poured the hot wax between his legs, openly relishing in the sound of his pain.

"You can't kill Dracula," she sighed, placing the candle down on the smaller table. "He's been killed multiple times now, and he still manages to come back. How did he put it? Ah yes – heaven won't take him and hell doesn't want him." She picked up a sharp looking device that looked like it was meant for chopping off fingers, and it sent a wave of unrestrained dread through Nicolæ. "But thank you for the information on Craven. I'm certain Vlad will welcome the excuse to drag him out into the sun. As for you…" she said, perching her face over his, the silver claw on her finger creating a long scratch along the side of his face, "… nothing you say can save you. You destroyed my life, you killed my husband, and you threatened a good family – a family that I view as friends. That's three ways you've crossed me, Nicolæ. Do you know what happens to people that cross me?"

She caressed the scratch on his cheek almost sweetly, running the bloody fingertip over his lips so he could taste his own blood before she leaned forward, kissing him. Her kiss was passionate – a vampire's kiss. Her sharp fangs bit his lower lip, making it bleed, and she fed on the blood in his mouth. Soon, he was kissing her back, aroused and terrified at the same time. Nicolæ felt a pressure build at the base of his spine and the cooled wax began to break off his skin as the blood rushed to his groin, making him hard.

She must have sensed this, because he could feel her smiling wickedly against his lips and it suddenly dawned on him what she was about to do.

"This is probably going to hurt you a lot more than it'll hurt me," she said, her eyes now black as pitch, and before he could utter a single plea for mercy, he felt the cold silver encircle him and then – utter agony.

Nicolæ cried out in pain, but nothing compared to the scream that came when she poured holy water on the wound, preventing him from healing – or growing back, for that matter. She allowed him to become accustomed to the pain for a few brief moments, turning on the gramophone in the corner of the room, Verdi's Stride la Vampa soon flooding the dark, along with the male vampire's screams as she went to work.

Afina blocked the noise of his agony as the taste of his blood continued to caress her palate. She took the glass that had since overflowed with that decadent crimson liquid and she devoured it in a single breath, scarlet streaming down the corners of her lips, creating little rivers along the length of her neck. The effect was almost immediate. The blood seemed to sharpen her senses, and yet it made her feel incredibly light, weightless even, as if her feet weren't even touching the ground. There was an intense pleasure building in her womb and she could feel the electricity making its way through every nerve and vein. Soon, all she could hear was the music in her head, the soprano's voice ringing in her ears like some kind of dark angel.

Taking a sharp blade in her hand, she watched with a strange fascination as it sliced open the vampire's flesh and more of that dark crimson erupted from the chasm. The smell was overwhelming, like a perfume with too much musk, rich and decadent. She could feel that she-wolf inside of her awaken at the scent and soon it was clawing violently at its cage, as if pleading to be let free. With each cut she made, that wolf grew more violent, more persistent.

Soon to be lost to the bloodlust and the unreal pleasure that just the sight of the blood created in her, Afina whispered a weak prayer for God's forgiveness before she surrendered to the darkness completely, tearing open Nicolæ's chest with her bare hands and relishing in the sound of his ribs snapping.

...

Dorina and Andrei stood guard over the door that led down to the dungeons beneath the house, making sure Afina would remain uninterrupted. She had been down there with Nicolæ for well over a half-hour now and still hadn't emerged.

"How do you think it's going?" Dorina asked her brother.

"Not a clue. But I hope it's painful."

"I still can't believe Nicolæ would betray us like that. After everything our family has done for him."

"I'm just glad Afina uncovered the truth when she did."

"As am I. Have you told father yet?"

"No. I'm not even sure how to."

"I think I can resolve that for you," they heard Afina say on the other side of the door. Dorina opened it and covered her mouth in horror at the scene that lay on the other side. Nicolæ's hands were tied together with rope that appeared to have been soaked in holy water – and it was having no effect on Afina, who was holding the bonds. His body, which was resting on a thick canvas to keep the blood from staining the floor, had been sliced to ribbons, with long deep gashes where major arteries had been – as if she had been draining him of his blood, or even removing the system of capillaries herself – and in the center of his chest was a gaping hole that was being held open by some kind of silver clamp, his ribs broken and protruding from the wound as if she had snapped each one by hand, leaving his heart completely exposed.

Afina herself was covered in his blood, her arms totally drenched, and with what appeared to be blood splatter on her neck, face, and chest. She was downing what was left of his blood in a glass and when she was done, she tossed it behind her, unfazed by sound of it shattering. She looked slightly delirious and heady, as she had been deeply aroused by the carnage she had created and had received some kind of intense sexual gratification out of it. Remnants of that arousal still lingered in her eyes and it made her look positively feral. She took a deep breath before letting it out slowly, as if trying to regain a sense of the control she had lost moments ago.

"Come, let's go show your father what's left of this traitor," and she began to drag Nicolæ's body down the hall. Dorina and Andrei followed after her in silent awe.

Their entrance into the ballroom was nothing short of dramatic.

Andrei and Dorina opened the double doors at the top of the stairs for Afina and the entire room went silent as she practically strutted into the room with Nicolæ in tow. Their whispers meant nothing to her as she dragged his body through the crowd, stopping in the center of the dance floor. She scanned the crowd with her still black and bloodlust filled eyes, finding the Count standing beside Agnar, both watching her with looks of astonishment. Her eyes met his and lingered for several long moments. She almost felt naked and exposed in front of him, as if he were perfectly aware of the pleasure she was feeling and it made her self-conscious.

"What is the meaning of this?" Agnar shouted angrily, making his way over to the center of the ballroom. Andrei and Dorina quickly stood between their father and Afina.

"He is a traitor, father," Andrei began.

"That is absolute nonsense!" the older vampire raged. He turned toward Dracula and pointed furiously at him. "Count, I told you I would not stand for this in my house!"

The Count calmly made his way over to them.

"Father, Nicolæ betrayed us. He was working for the Order," Dorina began, but her father, furious and humiliated, snapped back, ordering her to be silent.

"I think you've ignored the truth for long enough, Agnar," Dracula said smoothly. "It's high time you listen, old friend." His gaze caught Afina's again and it took everything in him not to stare too long.

She looked like some kind of war goddess, covered in Nicolæ's blood, her eyes now glowing blue. Never breaking away from his gaze, she lifted her free hand and began to suck the blood off her fingers, two at a time, a positively wicked gleam in her eyes.

She was teasing him.

He cleared his throat and then began to speak, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"This man is just a taste of what our species has become – weak, treacherous, and self-absorbed. There was a time, not long ago, when we were on the brink of becoming a force to be reckoned with. And what happens? I vanish for a couple of years and you begin to corrode. All I hear are whispers of secret organizations, pacts between traitors, in-fighting, intrigues. The vampire race has become decadent and weak. The wolves have more pride in their race than you!"

The insult infuriated many, and the room soon filled with clashing shouts of protest and agreement. Afina removed the incriminatory letters from the hidden pocket in her gown and held them up in the air.

"Here is your proof!" she shouted. "A correspondence between the Holy Order in Rome and this man here!" and she pulled the rope, lifting Nicolæ into an upright position. "In a vain effort to receive clemency from the church, he was willing to murder you and your entire family under your own roof," she explained, looking directly at Agnar and his wife, Miruna, who was standing beside him now. "And that's not all… he has also confessed to having knowledge of a handful of vampires, some in this very room, that have a truce between themselves and the Order. They are the ones responsible for the desecration of Count Dracula's bloodline!"

The Count turned to face Afina, his eyes full of disbelief at this new revelation.

"What?"

"They were the ones that contacted the Order, not the Valerious. They are the reason Van Helsing came to Transylvania. They are the reason why tens of thousands of vampires – your friends, your family, lovers, companions, servants, allies, brothers, sisters, all dead because they felt threatened by this man here," she shouted, pointing to Dracula. "Because this man had the audacity to unite a species, because he had the gall, the ambition to make the vampire race the most terrifying force this wretched earth has ever seen!"

She threw the letters down at the feet of Agnar dramatically.

"And what are you now?" she asked the silent crowd. "Without him, you are nothing but damned bones and damned souls. You have lulled yourselves into a false sense of security. You are not more powerful than the Holy Order. I have witnessed their power firsthand. They are a machine – they never stop, they never sleep, their resources cover the earth, their spies are everywhere. Their spies are among us right now!"

"I will not stand by and watch a bunch of pompous curs destroy what is left of our people," Dracula swore. "Too long have they threatened our very existence." There were muttered agreements throughout the room. "Too long have we been forced to hide in the shadows." More voices joined in. "Too long have we been slave to the dark, always living in fear of the sun, the stake, and the wolf. No more," he hissed darkly. "Who are we to be afraid? Who are we to be a slave to the past? Who are we to be anonymous? The very word vampire should be spoken in reverent tones or terrified whispers. We will not deny our greatness any longer. We will not be free to exist until the Order has been disbanded. And if that means breaking down the doors of the Vatican, so be it. They want a war; we'll give them a war!"

His declaration was met with a thunderous cheer of approval and the Count soaked it in.

"Now then, what do we do with traitors?" he shouted, grabbing Nicolæ by the hair and lifting him into the air for the mob of vampires to see.

"Kill him!"

"Throw him into the sun!"

"Give him to the wolves!"

"Stake him!"

"Kill him!"

The Count turned to Agnar who was holding the incriminatory letters in his hand, perusing through their contents in an effort to verify all that had been spoken. He could not argue with the evidence before him, nor could he defy his vehement guests.

He looked into Nicolæ's eyes, at first with disappointment, and then with a hardened expression.

"This is your house, Agnar. And as your guest, I will continue to respect your wishes," Dracula insisted.

Agnar looked long and hard at Nicolæ, and the longer he looked, the more infuriated he became.

"Give me his heart," he commanded.

Afina stepped forward and reached into the gaping hole she had created in Nicolæ's chest, tearing the heart from inside of him, the sounds of the ripped veins and arteries sending a chill down several spines. She handed the organ to Agnar who held it before Nicolæ so he could see it.

"I invited you into my home. I made you a part of my family. Everything I had was yours for the taking… and this is how you repay me? Did you honestly think that murdering my family, after all we've done for you, would wipe your slate clean? No church can give you that. Killing will not save your tainted soul, Nicolæ."

"Forgive me?" Nicolæ muttered breathlessly.

"Never," Agnar hissed and he squeezed the heart in front of his face until it erupted in his hand and Nicolæ dissolved into a pile of blood and ash. When the deed was done, he turned to the Count and fell to one knee, bowing deeply. His family immediately followed suit.

"You have my full allegiance. I swear it." He removed a small blade hidden in his cloak and he cut his palm, allowing the blood to drip onto the floor at Dracula's feet. The sign of devotion brought ever other knee in the room to the floor in submission; even Afina knelt before the Count, Dorina and Andrei on either side of her. Dracula turned to see her there and he immediately reached down, placing his finger beneath her blood-soaked chin and raising her face up so he could look into her eyes.

You need never kneel before me, my dear, she heard his voice say in her head. She rose to her feet and stood at his side, looking out over the sea of vampires that were kneeling in submission. The scene before her, along with Nicolæ's blood which she could still taste in her mouth, made her feel powerful in a way she had never felt before.

With Dracula by her side, she felt invincible. Nothing could touch her. Nothing could touch either of them.

So this is what it feels like to be a god, she thought to herself, beginning to understand for the first time Dracula's obsession with power.

The masquerade continued after the scene ended, although the atmosphere in the room had changed dramatically. The air felt lighter and everyone was abuzz with the Count's dramatic return into power. Every vampire of influence came to congratulate him on his seize of authority and his declaration of war against the Holy Order, each individually swearing their fealty to him. Afina searched the crowd for Lucas Craven, hoping she'd have the chance to confront him, but he had vanished and neither Elizabeth, nor Zsófia had any idea where he had disappeared to.

Although mildly disappointed, Afina didn't let it bother her. She was still high on the carnage and the taste of Nicolæ's blood. Vampire blood was very different from human blood. It had a decadence to it – like melted chocolate – and it had proven to be a powerful aphrodisiac, which would explain why the sharing of one's blood between two vampires was considered the highest form of affection and intimacy. She spent about twenty minutes or so with Andrei and Dorina, taking in the change of scene before them and relishing in their little victory, but after a while, Afina excused herself, desperate for solitude and the opportunity to not only clean up, but calm down.

She retreated to her bedroom, forbidding herself from consuming anymore of Nicolæ's blood on her person. Her libido was starting to drive her mad and she took long, deep breaths in an effort to calm herself, opening all of the windows in her room to let the cold night air ease her back into reality. She drew herself a bath and carefully removed her dress. It took a great deal of self-control, but she managed to refrain from sucking the blood out of the fabric. Perhaps going nearly five days without feeding hadn't been so wise after all, she thought to herself as she slid into the tub.

It took a cold bath and several long minutes of deep, calming breaths, but soon enough, she was herself again. She dressed into a knee-length satin nightgown after she was clean, and she sat beside the fire, the music from the masquerade playing downstairs floating in the air like a distant sigh. With her feet propped up on the tea table between the two chairs, she leaned back into the luxurious cushion and lost herself to the music below. If she listened hard enough, she could hear the guests chatting – their words an indistinct whisper in her head, along with the sounds of some hidden away in dark rooms, lost to passion. The collection of sounds with the music sounded like a decadent opera in her head, and she allowed herself to get lost in it as visions of swirling dancers in gold and black, green, red, purple, and blue spun in her head.

The realization of what she had done was slowly beginning to sink into her consciousness and try as she might, she couldn't push it back down. She could see the blood in her mind's eye, could hear Nicolæ's screams faintly in her head, even as the music from the distant ballroom lingered in the air. The look of terror in his eyes, the carnage she had created left an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach. Then there was the Count – the look of pride and lust in his eyes left a faint burning sensation on her skin that was both delicious and terrifying.

And the way she had behaved, how she had looked at him – Afina suddenly felt embarrassed, ashamed even of how she had felt just moments ago. She silently reprimanded herself for losing control like that, for succumbing to the she-wolf, an action that had given her a great deal more pleasure than it should have. She felt dark and although part of her loved the sensation, there was still a part of her that feared it. The warring thoughts and conflicting feelings inside her was beginning to hurt her head and she was so overcome by it, she never heard the door to her bedroom open. But she soon felt the familiar presence and she opened her eyes to find the Count standing just a few feet away from her.

His expression was unreadable, but the way he looked at her only made her feel more impervious. She was perfectly aware of how indecent she looked right now, and a part of her didn't care. You should care, her obnoxiously pious conscience nagged.

"Lord Craven is missing," Dracula finally said, not sure of what it was exactly that he had planned on saying to her. All he knew was the vision of her covered in Nicolæ's blood and licking her fingers refused to leave his brain. If they didn't talk about something, he would strongly consider breaching their agreement.

"Yes, I know," she finally said, breaking away from his gaze. "He went missing shortly after I brought Nicolæ in. Normally, I wouldn't care, except our recently departed traitor mentioned Craven's name when he told me about the coup."

"I had a feeling," he said, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. She pulled her knees in close to her body as she looked over at him. Tonight had been quite the victory, for both of them, but the knowledge that his own kind had been indirectly responsible for his death and the destruction of his line was difficult news to swallow. He was perfectly aware that he was disliked in some circles, but he never could have dreamed of the extent. "What else did Nicolæ say?"

"He said that the Order was trying to recreate whatever it was that killed my father so they could use it on you and the few other vampires that are immune to the traditional methods of destruction."

"Did he say anything about how close they were to accomplishing this task?"

"No, but this secret band that has sworn fealty to the Order is going to be a problem."

He rolled his eyes.

"Truly."

Afina made her way over to him.

"So what's our next move?" she asked.

He looked over at her and sighed.

"I don't know. I don't want to think about that now," he insisted. "If I've learned anything in my four-hundred and some-odd years, it's to relish in the victories, and I intend to do just that. At least until tomorrow."

"I'm sure Zsófia will be happy to oblige," Afina teased, trying to appear disinterested. "Or Dorina, or quite literally any woman downstairs."

"And what about you, Afina?" he asked, suddenly quite serious.

"What about me, Count?" she replied, trying to hide her hesitation with a smirk.

"How do you plan to relish in our victory?"

"Our victory? Vlad, the victory this evening is yours. All I did was torture a man."

"You seemed to enjoy that immensely."

"I did," she confessed. "I felt liberated, avenging not only myself, but Henric, and Agnar's family."

"Is that all you felt?" he pried. Her blush was his answer. "That entrance you made was perfection."

"It was, wasn't it?" she said with a smile.

"You were perfection."

"Your flattery won't work on me, Vlad," she laughed awkwardly in an effort to dispel the growing tension, leaning against the bedpost with her arms crossed over her chest, but he wasn't laughing with her.

"I wasn't trying to flatter you. You aren't just any woman to me, Afina."

She wasn't quite sure how to respond to his sense of earnestness. That secret part of her wanted to believe him, but experience had made her wary.

"You agreed to treat me as an equal, not view me as one," she reminded him.

"You are my equal," he said. "And if tonight has proven anything, you are superior."

"Stop it," she insisted, suddenly self-conscious and uncomfortable. It was so strange – she had been secretly craving his attention, but now that she was getting it, something about it rubbed her the wrong way.

"I won't stop. Afina, I don't think you realize what an impact you had on everyone tonight. I could not have achieved that kind of reaction without your help. I entered that masquerade feeling like some kind of pariah, but you…" He stood and took a step toward her, only for her to take two steps back, "…you've changed everything," he continued. "That display of savagery, the unadulterated power that radiated from you when you entered that ballroom with not only a traitor in tow, but the host's children coming to your defense. And the things you said, every movement you made, every inflection, every look – you have exceeded all of my expectations. You are… you are… " His voice trailed off, as if no word in his entire vocabulary could do what he was feeling justice.

She had heard him compliment and flatter many women in the time she had known him, but never with this kind of sincerity. There had been moments when he'd compliment her and she knew he was telling the truth, but this felt different. This had an urgency, a need behind it. He seemed on the brink of losing himself, as if he had been struggling for the last year to keep his word to her, and now it had become nearly impossible.

Afina suddenly felt very exposed, realizing that her manner of dress, or lack thereof, probably wasn't helping his resolve. She longed to cover herself from his ravishing gaze, but it felt so good to be looked at like that, to feel his gaze burning her skin.

She knew exactly what he was thinking, and she knew that if given the chance, he'd convince her to lose herself in him, just as she had lost herself this evening in Nicolæ's blood. She wanted it – heaven knew she did. But in her experience, sex always complicated things and she wasn't ready to complicate her relationship with him. If she succumbed, she would no longer be his equal. After a while, she'd be just like any other woman to him – his slave, helpless to resist. The option was unacceptable. She had worked too hard to get where she was now and she wasn't about to give it up so the sexual tension between them could be released.

"No," she said firmly.

Her answer to his unasked question took him by surprise. He could see it in her – she wanted it as much as he did! Did she doubt his intentions, the level of his sincerity?

"No?"

"No," she confirmed, with more resolution.

"Afina…" he began, but she cut him off, holding her ground.

"No, Vlad. I will not."

He knew he should let it go, respect her wishes, but he had grown so tired of waiting over the last few days. A year's worth of sexual tension between them, coupled with tonight was too much for a man used to getting what he wanted. He could relish in the chase like any good hunter, but this was one prize he was growing impatient for. So he continued.

"Afina, that is the most ridiculous thing I think I've ever heard."

"My answer is still no."

"Woman!"

"No, Vlad."

"What? Do you want me to beg?"

"I don't want anything from you."

"You and I both know that's not true."

He took another step toward her and she took two more back.

"You swore to me that if I said no, you would respect my wishes."

"And I am," he said, taking another step toward her, holding his hands up in defense. "I haven't even touched you." The look he gave her was positively wolfish and she felt something bloom deep in her womb – a heat, as if her treacherous body was already preparing for him while her mind was left to fight alone. She knew exactly what he was doing. She had seen him do it a hundred times over to other women. If the Count was the best at anything, it was the art of seduction. She had seen him break the strongest of women with a single look, word, or touch. He was going to try to break her now, and she wasn't sure if she was strong enough to resist him.

"Vlad, I'm serious, stop it."

"I'm not doing anything," he said with an almost cheeky grin.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want to eat me," she said, running out of floor with her back to the wall.

"What a delightful thought," he purred as his eyes devoured her. He removed his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair before closing in on the remaining space between them. "I'd love to bury my face between your…" she stopped him before he could finish, putting her hand over his mouth.

"That is quite enough," she insisted. He sighed, resting his arms on the wall on either side of her as her hand fell from his lips and rested on his chest.

"We can't even talk about it?" he asked. "I'm sure I can stir your imagination."

"Vlad…"

"I could tell you what I want to do to you… with as many details as you'd like."

"I don't think I need help figuring out what you want to do."

"But it could be fun."

"I said no."

"I bet I can make you come without even touching you," he husked, their bodies barely touching, a mere inch between the two of them.

Her body ached and she could feel her resolve beginning to slip.

"Stop it," she pleaded half-heartedly.

"Make me."

"This is sexual harassment."

"You like it. I can smell it on you."

She blushed, cursing her treacherous body.

"My answer is still no."

He emitted a low, deep growl and her knees went weak.

"No, Vladislaus. No, no… no…" Her voice had turned into a heady moan. The space between them was becoming too much, and even though he hadn't touched her, it almost felt like he had. She could feel him in her head, making her feel things, like phantom hands and mouths all over her body in the most erogenous areas.

"I want to taste you," he whispered, and she felt the breath of his words on her neck.

"I…"

"Just kiss me, Afina. That's it. No sex, no blood, no lengthy speeches. Just…" His lips hovered tantalizingly over hers. This was torture!

She could still remember the one and only time they had kissed – one of her last nights as a human. She remembered how wonderful it was, how intense it had been. She licked her lips subconsciously and he noticed, his fingers delicately brushing over her faintly open mouth as he rested his head against hers, staring longingly at her. She saw him lick his lips as well as he dipped the tip of a single finger into her mouth and he felt her tongue brush up against the tip receptively.

She wanted this.

But he wanted it more, and for very different reasons. There was no real affection in his eyes anymore, not that she could see anyway. He was all lust, every inch of him oozing sex, as if he were some kind of incubus and she had become his unsuspecting prey. How this had escalated so quickly, she thought to herself, struggling to regain what little self-restraint she had left.

She was lucky he was still respecting her wishes in making this her decision. Those were the rules. But that didn't mean his persistence hadn't crossed a line.

"Kiss me," he breathed. "Afina…"

The way he groaned her name nearly undid her.

"I – I can't."

"On the contrary, you've kissed me before. I remember it well." He bit his lower lip just slightly in an almost hungry manner, as if she were some kind of object, a piece of flesh, and he longed sate his hunger. "Don't say no to me…" he said in his native tongue, his voice a dark purr that was both sexual and threatening. Afina was grateful that he had spoken to her in such a manner – it made it easier to steel herself. But a part of her – a secret part of her – was also disappointed in him. Either way, she couldn't succumb to him – as much as she wanted to.

"I won't, Vlad. Not now… and not like this," she answered, sounding much more firm and resolute.

Her words puzzled him and he moved his head back a bit so he could get a better look at her face. That small secret part of her mourned the distance his action created, but she held her ground well, her eyes never betraying her true feelings, feelings she wasn't even ready to admit to herself.

"What do you mean?" he asked her.

"I'm not a piece of meat, Vlad. I'm not some shiny toy for you to play with whenever you want, and I'm not a machine, either. Despite my disturbing lack of a heartbeat, I am still a person, and I will not sink any further than I already have."

"Sink further?" he repeated, taking a step away from her now. "Is that how you view me – as beneath you?"

"That is not what I said."

"No, I think it is. I thought we moved past this self-righteous sense of morality, Afina. You're immortal and you're damned. You have no use for it. You owe Him no allegiance."

"That is not what I'm saying, and you know it!" She was taken aback by how loud her voice suddenly was. She didn't mean to shout. But she was so frustrated – sexually and otherwise – it had just come out that way. She struggled to calm herself as she proceeded to explain.

"You told me that I was something more, Vlad. You told me that. You said that I deserved a man who worshiped the ground I walked on, that I deserved a man who would treat me with courtesy, with respect, and not as some piece of flesh to be conquered; an equal – someone who viewed me as a partner, a companion in life, allowing me to flourish independently, as well as along with him. That I should belong to no man unless I gave myself to him openly and freely and without restraint. You were the one that said that to me."

"Every woman wants to hear that, Afina," he shot, suddenly angry. "You were hurt and betrayed and I was trying to boost your confidence. Is that what you really want? To be worshiped like some sort of goddess? To be loved and adored? To be viewed as the most perfect specimen of femininity, to be put on a pedestal? Do you want me to fall to my knees before you and offer you my heart? I am a man, Afina, not some boy that wants to make love to you with words." His voice was full of mocking.

She sighed in frustration, raking her fingers through her hair and tugging lightly at the roots.

"Vlad, I don't want to be worshiped. But I do want to be respected and… and as unrealistic and clichéd as it sounds, yes, I do want to be loved, as a person and as a woman. That's why I can't kiss you. I can't give myself to you – because you still view me as just another conquest. That kind of intimacy between us wouldn't mean a thing to you in the way that it would to me. If you repeat something over and over again, it loses meaning. Our lives are the same way, Vlad, even more so because we are cursed to live forever. If you watch the sun set too often, it just becomes six in the evening. If you make the same mistakes over and over again, you'll stop calling it a mistake. If you just wake up, and wake up, every evening like it's some kind of routine, you'll forget why it's worth getting up in the first place. If you ravish and seduce whatever woman you can get your hands on, and you do that over and over and over again, you lose the beauty, the intimacy of making love, of truly connecting with the other person. After a while, it just becomes a mindless habit, passionless motions that mean nothing. The pleasure is hollow. Nothing is forever, Vladislaus. Not with you. It's just monotony, going through the motions, because you've done nothing else for the last four centuries. It means nothing to you. No one means anything to you. I mean nothing to you."

"That is quite the speech," he replied, the venom in his voice masking the foreign pain her words left in his chest.

"It's not a speech. It's the truth."

"Is that really what you think?" he asked in hushed tones, his expression unreadable. She couldn't be certain if he was hurt or angry or indifferent, and it bothered her immensely.

"Yes, it is. There are moments when I truly believe that you see me for who I am and not what I am, but I'm sincerely beginning to wonder if all of that was some kind of act – a façade to keep me satisfied until you have no need of me anymore. As much as this flesh may desire you, Count Dracula, I understand my worth and I deserve far greater than you. I will not be another name on your list that needs checking off. I won't be your next fix. I cannot give myself to you. I will not. I don't… I do not want to give myself to you. I don't want to be your lover, Vladislaus."

That last part about being his lover was a lie. A huge, blatant, unadulterated lie.

Although she'd never consciously or openly admit it to herself, that secret part of her knew it was false from the second it left her lips. Meanwhile Dracula was at war with himself. His pride and his libido insisted on seduction. He knew a part of her wanted him, and he knew he could have her even if it meant taking her by force. She'd succumb. They all did. But there was something in him that kept him from persisting – whether it was the shock of her bold words or the strange respect he had acquired for her in the last year, he couldn't be certain. He had tested her boundaries far enough for one evening and knew it would not be prudent to push her further. He couldn't risk losing her, not over something as trivial as a kiss. So, suppressing his basest of instincts, he backed off, taking a few more steps back and reaching for the jacket he had draped over the back of a chair.

He said nothing as made his way across the room, only offering her a gentle "good night" before shutting the door, taking his wounded pride with him. When he was gone, Afina stood there with her back against the wall for some time, listening as he stood out in the hall for several long seconds before heading back downstairs to the party.

When he was gone, the only thing she could manage to do was slide down to the floor, and she sat there for some time after, thinking of how things could have been different if she had just relented and kissed him. She prayed that her blatant rejection of him would not put too much of a rift between them, but her gut told her it was a fool's hope and she kicked herself internally. She didn't move from that spot until the morning sun had begun to rise, and she only did so to close the drapes so she could reside in complete darkness. She lied on top of her bed for hours afterwards, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the Count just a couple of rooms down the hall as he ravished what sounded like Elizabeth Nouveau and Zsófia at the same time.

She felt both disgusted and slightly jealous and try as she might to block the sounds of their deviant revels, she could not escape them. This was his punishment for her, undoubtedly.

She hoped she had made the right decision. She knew deep down that she had. But a growing part of her still regretted it, making sleep impossible.

Musical Influences:
[1] Darkness Deep Within, by Paul Haslinger, "Underworld" score
[2] Stride la Vampa from Verdi's Il Trovatore, sung by Vicorica Cortez, featured in the "Stoker" OST
[3] The End Of An Era – Opening, by Paul Haslinger, "Underworld" score
[4] Black of Hair, by Ramin Djawadi, "Game of Thrones" season 1 OST
[5] Sempre libera, performed by Anna Netrebko & Rolando Villazón, "Violetta - Arias And Duets From Verdi's La Traviata"
[6] Armand's Seduction, by Elliot Goldenthal, "Interview With A Vampire" OST
[7] Never One For Love, Christopher Young, "Priest" OST