A/N: Thanks for the feedback, everyone. This first scene has scenes of a graphic nature. Hard R. Just a warning. Feel free to skip down to the division line if you'd rather not read that. I apologize for the shortness of this chappie.

Chapter 26

"I'm sorry, Draco."

"No. You're not," he said. And he meant it. "Not really. If you were, you'd find a way to stop."

Hermione sat down on the bed, her eyes still on him and still crimson, wanting. "And if you really wanted me to, you'd find a way to make me." She cocked a brow at his open, empty mouth. "You know it's true. But you don't know why."

His voice was too low to be heard by human ears. "Stop reading me like that."

"After I killed Sanguini," she said. She stop midway through the thought, as if in memory, and glared at him. "I could have killed you then, you know. If we hadn't been interrupted."

"I know. Tried to explain that to Potter. He still thinks you're a saint with fangs, so you've got nothing to worry about it."

"The point is, you would have let me. You would have let yourself die," she insisted, as if he'd already argued the point. "That's dangerous, Draco. Too dangerous. That isn't you. Not at all."

"What makes you so certain?" Draco crossed his arms over his bare chest, his face flushed. "You don't know what I'd really do, if I weren't bound to you. You don't honestly know me at all. Don't pretend that you do."

She leaned back, putting her weight on her arms. "So, the real Draco Malfoy is suicidal?"

Draco didn't answer, his gray glare as hard as her skin. He stepped forward, leaning down over her, pushing his knee between her legs so that he could pivot himself down onto the bed. His face hovered over hers a moment, an angry sneer on his lips.

"Suicidal?" he hissed. "I'm being hunted by all sides. Seems like this is the only way to keep alive, as unconventional as it is. I'm simply trying to stay alive."

He pressed his narrow lips against her throat, pushing a gust of hot breath onto her skin. Her hand shot up, grabbing him by the chin and pushing his face up to meet hers. Hermione grimaced, as if she were in pain, and bore her fangs in a quick, primitive show.

"Who am I?" she asked, her voice husky.

Draco couldn't help the smile straining against his cheeks. "My master," he breathed, "my mistress."

"Keep that in mind," she said, and reached down, pulling his zipper free.

A quick shake of her shoulders loosened the straps of her dress. He could feel the need, the call of her mind to his as she pushed images into his mind. Instructions. Draco's hands slid the sleeves down the rest of the way, freeing her porcelain skin from its cloth confounds. Her breasts pressed against his chest, making him tremble and she groaned, angry with his hesitation. She pressed her thoughts against him, forcing his obedience.

Draco let his pants fall before putting his weight onto the bed and lifting her legs around his hips. The heels of her shoes scraped against the sides of his legs, the last bit of urging he needed.

He closed his eyes, trying to block her. Why are you making me do this?

Razor nails strung red pearls across his ribs.

Do you always want to be the one thrown against the floor?

He swam in her, his breathing heavy, as if he were surfacing every time his head jerked skyward. His sweat was a cold one, mixing with her frigid temperature. But, somehow, her coldness seemed to make his heat that much more explosive, his body a torch that was slowly melting its way through a block of ice. He sighed, exhausted, but did not surrender to his body's wants, persistent in his sudden focus, to follow the map she'd planted in his mind.

When the end was near, he quickened and flattened his body against hers, arching his neck back. He was surprised when he felt her hands push him up, instead, to a standing position. She was sitting up, her lips pressed against his chest, her teeth finding the tender skin beneath his nipple and latching on. He cried out at the sudden shot of pain but relaxed as the motions of their love making came to an end. His fingers tangled in the curls of her hair, but did not pull her away.

"Mistress," he muttered, a drunkard.

Her hands slid down his lower back, pulling him closer to her life-stealing kiss. Her teeth released him. "This is why it can't be them. They're my friends, Draco."

He winced, the wound stinging in the open air.

The voice that met him was not hers: I know, Dragon.

The room was far too humid, and sweat beads collected like tiny pests against his skin. They felt alive when they rolled down and made the scrapes on his sides itch. He slipped his shirt on to stop the sensation, and buttoned it, before returning to the bed. Hermione lay with her back against the headrest, her eyes on the oil lamp still casting its yellow glow, her dress no longer in disarray.

"You should sleep," she said, unmoving, but her voice sounded choked.

"Planned on it," he replied, lying down beside her.

He turned to face the other wall, sliding an arm beneath the pillow under his ear.

Hermione chewed her bottom lip and shifted her gaze to his still back. His breathing told her that he was no where near sleep.

"They know," she said.

Draco tensed, sucking in a shallow breath. I know. . . "You mean Potter and Weasley?"

"Who else would I mean?" He didn't answer. She played with the hem of her skirt. "You'd think there would be a ward on their wall but there's not. They were talking about me, earlier. They didn't say it exactly, but they both know why we're still in here together. Alone."

Hermione took his silence as a reply. She sighed, siding closer to him. A hesitating, cautious hand reached out to touch his shoulder. He rolled onto his back, staring at her face, upside down from his position.

"Draco," she began. Her frown was heartbreaking, a crease in the stone she seemed to be carved from. "Draco, you said you were doing this just to stay alive. But you were lying, weren't you?" She shook her head, clicking her tongue when she seemed at a loss for words. "You're letting me treat you this way," she finally said, "to keep me. . .to save me from having to kill another. To keep me sane."

Draco blinked tiredly. "Are you trying to pick a fight?"

"If not that, then why?"

He didn't want to answer.

She blinked, as if in surprise. "You mean, you actually can't admit to wanting to help me? No matter how many times you do so?" She huffed, a bitter smile on her face. "Draco, I saw into your mind. It might have only been a glimpse, but you've thought of it several times. . .Of seeing me in Darien's house."

Draco's hand caught hers cupping it an instant before he lifted hers away, depositing it on the mattress. "I'm tired," he said, as if in a plea. He swallowed, releasing an anxious breath. "Hermione, I'm tired. I can't think about this, any of this. Don't make me think of the why right now. I can't do it."

"You're different now."

"We've discussed this already, I believe."

"Physically. Your heartbeat, it's slower than it used to be." Hermione shook her head. "This shouldn't be the way it happens. I shouldn't have to hurt you to see you." Vermilion welled in her eyes. "Draco, I'm afraid. I'm afraid that you're going to. . ."

Her grief seemed to disappear in an instance, replaced with wide eyes and a shocked, open mouth. "No," she hissed, suddenly angry. She rolled off the bed, standing, alert, and staring at the door leading to the hall. "Get up, Draco! Hurry!"

Draco scrambled to his feet. "What's going on?"

"We're out of time."

"Darien. . .?"

Hermione shook her head and lazily pushed him towards the back exit, cocking her head to listen through the floor. "Someone--no, vampires. More than one. They just broke through the downstairs entrance. They've killed a man." She ran for the hall door, stopping to stare back at the room. "Wait here. I'll get Harry and Ron--we'll go back the way we came."

She disappeared. One second passed before the door behind Draco flew off its hinges, knocking him to the floor. He sucked in a breath, refilling his lungs, and dug his fingers into the rug beneath him, clawing for a hold. But a hand was wrapped around his leg, pulling him through the exit and out from under the shattered door.

He was released and took the moment of freedom to roll onto his back. An arm shot out, fingers catching him by the throat before his eyes could adjust to the night. It lifted him, holding him high. He sputtered, trying to form the name as he came to recognize the woman choking the life from him.

Annalisa's expression was not one of a victor's, but it should have been. Draco knew there was no way he would escape her, not unless she wanted him to.

He closed his eyes. Hermione, run!

Draco. . .

The fingers gripping his throat loosened but drew him closer.

"I," Annalisa said, her voice clipped, "have someone who wants dearly to see you again."

End Notes: So, yes, I did just draw everyone together and pull them back apart again. I'm mean like that. Hee.

I don't know if any of you checked out my manips, but if you did, here's another Red Passion manip called "Draco: I'm Your Slave" (teehee). http:// . com/art/Draco-I-m-Your-Slave-148150607 (remove spaces)