Disclaimer: I own nothing. Incredibly thankful beyond words for the world that Toby Whithouse has created and for the character of Hal that Damien Molony has brought to life. All mistakes are my own.

Thanks again to Saemay.

This story is growing a bit longer than I'd originally anticipated and I'm having loads of fun with it. Thank you to everyone who's left reviews or has otherwise told me they like it. It gives me warm fuzzies.

Chapter 3: Charm and Wit

129 . . . 130 . . . 131 . . .

The nightmares are back.

132 . . . 133 . . . 134 . . .

Well truly they never leave him; he can never really get away from the type of things he's done. The memories cling to him like a second skin during the day, tight, like an itch he just can't quite scratch. Then at night they let themselves have free reign. But for months now they had seemed more... manageable.

135 . . . 136 . . . 137 . . .

Now. He pauses with arms extended shakily. Now he sees her in place of some of his victims. She just looks at him with the same unreadable eyes. It wakes him with a cold sweat, his stomach turning.

138 . . . 139 . . . 140 . . .

It was such a stupid thing, it really had been such a small cut. And he'd been clean for years now. But he hadn't dared trust himself.

141 . . . 142 . . . 143 . . .

He has applied himself to his routines with renewed passion in hopes of staving off the agitation, but his compulsive idiosyncrasies have returned. For three weeks he'd expected a polite letter from her father telling him to stay away from his daughter, had welcomed it. But none had come.

144 . . . 145 . . . 146 . . .

Hushed voices in the hall outside his room interrupt his counting. He pauses waiting for them to recede but realizes they are not moving. No matter, the servants know not to interrupt him.

147 . . . 148 . .

The voices have become louder, insistent. He can hear his butler's protests and a female voice. Wincing in annoyance at the continued distraction, Hal lithely jumps up, curt words at the ready, and yanks the door open.

It's her.

Sylvie stares, as the door opens, right into hazel eyes mirroring her surprise. Then she becomes aware of his topless state, heat rushing to her cheeks. Is that a blush she sees?

Hal awkwardly lunges back inside for his linen undershirt, stuttering "Sylvie, what, what are you doing here?" He puts the shirt on quicker than he thought even his vampire reflexes allowed.

With a raised eyebrow and formal tone she says "Forgive my intrusion Mr. Yorke, but I have urgent matters to discuss with you downstairs. I'll give you time to compose yourself." And with that she walks away.

Hal winces at her tone. As he prepares, he tells himself he's not concerned, what is there to be concerned over, she's just a human. It has been amusing for a while, but better to break off any ties now than to continue down a path that could only end in pain.

Not concerned at all.

He taps his fingers in a rhythm, channeling his focus, as he descends the stairs.

She's sitting at the desk in his library. So different than his last memory of her - dark riding dress soiled and sodden, hair a tangled wet mess, mud and that vacant look that's been haunting him marring her face. Now her exquisite face is serene as she looks out the window, her hair up in a chignon revealing the long lines of her graceful neck, a simple cornflower blue dress accentuating her loveliness.

"Miss Arundel,"

Sylvie turns to see Hal entering the room, once again prim, proper and awkward. She has to suppress a laugh at his bow. It's good to see her Hal again.

"Allow me to apologize for my lack of gentlemanly decorum the last time we were together. You must understand my reasons. Any contact with human blood could bring out my monstrous side. I just cannot risk it."

"Oh Hal, you don't have to be so posh with me. I was only teasing you upstairs. I wanted to see you squirm a bit. Incidentally, I told my family you are a delicate duckling, that you faint at the sight of blood and we just have to be careful around you. I thought it better than to tell them you might go on a killing rampage if someone pricks a finger." In a more serious manner, Sylvie continues, "Hal, I do understand. That is why I chose to come. I admit I was fit to be tied for a while, but part of the anger was directed at myself. I know what you are and how blood affects you. It was stupid of me to react the way I did, but I am only human. Once we buried my grandmother and I healed, I realized more than anything that... I missed you."

Hal sighs with relief. He's surprised at how much she has become part of his routines.

Laughing, Sylvie says, "Don't look at me like that. I missed you. There I said it again. Not to worry, you don't have to say you missed me back. You would think I was coming at you with a stake or something."

Hal smoothes his face, not realizing he'd given her any look, before replying diplomatically, "Well, I am not sure where this leaves us."

"It leaves us right back where we were three weeks ago. I will continue to provide you distractions with my "inventive" logic, which I know is your way of saying my looney ideas, while you continue to provide me amusement with your indignant reactions. No time like the present. What do you say we go wade in the river, I'm sure there are some water plants you don't have in your field journal already. Or perhaps climb some trees? I've been restricted indoors all this time as my ankle healed and it was dreadful. I want to go experience the outdoors. Did you know name means 'of the woods'? My parents have always said they chose my name well."

With an exasperated sigh, Hal answers, "Would you like some tea? Then perhaps we can take a walk down to the river, but absolutely no wading will be involved."

"Oh Hal, very well, but if we pass any good climbing trees they are fair game!"

"He should stay clear of all diluted drinks and cordials really." - Pearl S4 E2

Hal looks around the room anxiously. He shouldn't have come here today, but Sylvie sent him a note requesting his presence, saying she had something important to tell him in person.

He's feeling thirsty.

The bloodlust has been spiking increasingly since the day Sylvie had fallen off her horse, the following weeks before her visit to pardon him taxing on his concentration. In addition, he had received some disturbing news from London, the preoccupation eating away at his resolve. And here he is surrounded by people, the thudding of a dozen hearts all competing with each other for his attention. They meld together in a discordant symphony which is all too pleasing to his ears. His mouth waters in anticipation. He licks his lips reflexively.

In a desperate attempt to quench his thirst, or at the very least distract it, he moves to the refreshments table and begins quaffing. First the tea. It should be comforting, satisfying, but instead feels flat, bland. Then the punch. He pauses, letting out a small snicker. Surely Sylvie hasn't had time to doctor up this batch. But the liquid is vile nonetheless. Finally he moves to what he presumes is a liquor cabinet. Perhaps the fire from something strong can dull the gnawing in his belly. His eyes scan the bottles and then scan again. Unbelievably not a single whiskey or scotch in sight. What sort of hostess is Lady Francis? All she has are - what are these things? He takes a bottle, looking at the label. 'Elderflower Cordial'. He looks dubiously at the other bottles, each saying they are a cordial of one type or another. Those contain alcohol, do they not? Finding nothing else to drink, he gives it a try.

Sylvie enters in a proper bad mood, her mother having made her late. She's anxious to find Hal, to tell him about her "decision". She scans the room, expecting to see him by one of the exits, as usual, away from all the people. But instead she's surprised to see him surrounded. By a group of women. This is so un-Hal like. She's gotten used to odd behaviour around Hal, but it usually involves him avoiding people. She sees him lean close to one with golden hair, and practically runs over in her haste. She tells herself she's concerned about their safety, nothing more. Donning a polite smile she ignores the women and addresses Hal. "Mr. Yorke, why this is uncharacteristic of you. To what occasion do these ladies warrant the pleasure of your company?"

He turns to her, his eyes glassy, a dazed look on his face. "Ah Miss Sylvie, how lovely for you to join us. I was just telling Miss Eleanor here that she reminds me of a conquest a few years back in Madrid. I wooed her with a thousand tulips." The women around him giggle maddeningly.

The word conquest does nothing good for her mood. "Really Hal, how very... resourceful... of you. I'm sure it couldn't have been too easy to acquire those that far south." As she maneuvers through the women to his side, she says in a lower voice for his ears only, "And how long did she get to enjoy those flowers before Mr. I'm-hungry-now came along?" Raising her voice and turning to them she continues, "Ladies I'm sure Casanova here would love to regale you with many a tale of his past escapades, but I fear that I must steal him away. His presence is requested in the library." She pulls on the cuff of his tailcoat to get him moving. Surprisingly he lets her lead him away, not a single snide remark or askance look.

"Tarts," she says under her breath, "Hussies, the lot of them." She's rewarded by an actual laugh from Hal.

"Sylvie you have quite a colorful vocabulary for a lady of your stature."

She looks at him closely as she leads him down to the library at the end of the hall. He looks almost sick, his eyes slightly unfocused, a dewy sheen on his brown, a slight trembling.

"You're looking a bit ansty Hal, is everything alright?" If it weren't for the fact that she knows their hostess fanatically eschews all manner of alcoholic beverages, she would say he was soused.

She leads him into the library, closes the door, and rounds on him. "Hal! Are you somehow drunk? You're not close to snapping are you? Why did you stay with all those people in there? We should get you home safe."

But Hal isn't really listening to her words because he's captivated by her lips. He can hear her heart, its rhythm elevating with each passing second. He's mesmerized by that sound, by the pulse he sees at her neck, by the cut of her gown showing off her creamy skin. He's helpless to the warm rush of sensations that begin flooding him, urging him to get close to her.

Sylvie frowns at his unresponsiveness, then gasps as he moves towards her, backing her up to the wall next to the doors. All thoughts of the scolding she'd been planning fly out the window as he pins her to the wall with his proximity. He's staring down at her with a dreamy intensity.

"I like your mouth."

Her eyes involuntarily travel to his full lips.

"I like your neck too."

She knows she should be concerned with that statement, but her stomach is doing all manner of fluttering and her heart is thundering in her chest, her heartbeat audible in her ears.

Then ever so lightly he begins caressing her arms with his cool, slim fingers. Sylvie, hopelessly enthralled that he's even touching her, doesn't question his actions. Little shocks start to course from her arms to the pit of her belly. His hands grasp her arms and rub a trail up to her shoulders. Then one hand moves up, starts stroking her neck as he continues to capture her with the irresistible intensity in his eyes. She's feeling dizzy now, barely breathing, and she struggles to think. There was something to be concerned about in his motion – Oh yes, he's a vampire. They get all bitey around necks – but she can't seem to move. All her senses are flooded with the smell of him, the feel of him.

He begins to lean forward, whether to kiss her or bite her she doesn't know, can't bring herself to care. However as his lips are a breath away from hers, the door bangs open.

His head snaps to the side, irritated at the interruption, allowing Sylvie a second to recover her senses. Well, as much as she can considering his hands are still at her neck and shoulder.

But his demeanor stiffens at once. "Werewolf!" He growls out huskily.

Just like that the spell is broken. Sylvie turns her head to the door as well. She sees there a couple, the man half a head taller than Hal, the woman even more petite than herself. The man has scars along his temple, his earlobe missing.

"Lord Harry, I thought I recognized you out there." The man says angrily, with a slight Spanish accent.

"What do you want?" Hal responds, icily. " Never mind, I don't know who you are, and I don't care, but if you value your life you will leave now."

"What do I want? Vengeance. Don't you recognize me, Lord Harry?" He spits out the title as a profanity, "You vampires are so egotistical, so narcissistic, never noticing anyone but yourselves. It's a good thing you have no reflections, you'd never leave the front of a mirror."

Hal hisses and drops the hand from her neck, turning toward the werewolf. The right hand on her shoulder tightens painfully.

"My name is Federico. 12 years ago your lot captured me in Spain along with three other werewolves. For almost a year you kept us chained, imprisoned, forcing us to fight each other, fight humans, even some of your own kind. You degraded us, brought us out like pets, throwing us scraps, coming to kick us down, forcing us to watch while you played your sadistic games. I was the last one of my brethren left by the time you left. The next hijo de puta was not as vigilant as you were, and I was able to escape. I have been searching for you for a long time. You seemed to have a trick for disappearing."

Sylvie listens to all this with great interest, and a bit of trepidation. Here is someone who knew Hal in his darker past. Was she ready to hear what he is – no was - capable of?

And then she notices the wooden cross in the man's hand, large, thick, the bottom chiseled into a stake. Hal doesn't move, doesn't say anything more, but he is trembling like a leaf, his breath shaky with anger or fear - what exactly she can't tell. But she senses the tension gathering in him and knows she needs to diffuse the situation. Whatever Hal was, he was no longer, and she doesn't want to see him become that again.

Sylvie begins. "Sir, I think it best if you leave immediately. I am horrified to hear of what befell you, but I assure you, this man is not the one to blame. He is not the same one you knew then and –"

Federico turns to look at her, sniffing in her direction. "Has this one used his charms on you? Don't you know what he is, what he's capable of? Had I not arrived you'd be dead by now Señorita. Step away, run, I will deal with him."

Sylvie looks up at Hal. His body is taught, the shaking now like a plucked string, humming with a dangerous melody, his jaw is clenched, his concentration acute. He seems poised on the brink of something.

Softy she says "Hal." He doesn't look at her. Stronger. "Hal! Look at me Hal!" Still no response. Closing her eyes in resolve, she opens them again, whispering. "Lord Harry."

His head swivels to look at her. Thankfully she finds his eyes clear, her Hal is still there, though his lips are parted, the tips of his fangs unmistakable. Braving whatever might happen she places a hand on his arm. "Hal, step back please. You need to let me go." He's clearly still dazed, but some of the tension in him eases as he lets her shove his arm down, allowing her to extricate herself from his grasp. She stands between the vampire and the werewolf.

Again she tries to reason. "Federico. I do know what he is - my friend. He is haunted, cursed. He is a man who has to fight against himself, against his inner nature and he does so with every fiber of his being. He kills himself resisting, being good, fighting to be human. I don't know exactly what a werewolf is, but I can see that you too are haunted and cursed. You are also a man fighting against a force that threatens to overwhelm you."

He interrupts, "I am nothing like that beast! Don't be fooled by his pretty face and manners. He is un diablo and he needs to go back to the hell that spawned him!"

Sylvie looks to the woman. "Is she a werewolf as well?" The woman, trembling, barely shakes her head in denial. "She is a human, just as I am. You were forced to fight, you were forced to kill, and you did so. You look like a very dangerous man to me. How do I know she is not in danger?"

At that he pulls himself up. "I would never hurt Gemma. I only become the wolf one night a month, and I do it safely away from her, away from everyone. I cage myself."

Federico pauses before continuing, "But the vampires, they flaunt themselves, they think the world is an oyster, theirs for the picking. He was their leader. He was the worst. They made us fight in their "dog" fights, but their cruelty was not limited to us, nor to humans. Do you know what he did to his own kind? He and the other one, Jacob, liked to toy with the lesser ones, the ones they thought stupid, or those they sought to make examples of. They made a sport of, calling it "werewolf roulette". They drained humans daily, filling decanters with their blood and glutting freely, so there was never a shortage of blood. Then they took blood from us. It burns them so they made the lesser ones do it. It kills them to drink it. They set up cups with blood, some human, some werewolf. Then they took wagers and forced the undesirable ones to choose, each in turns. I can still remember the smell as the losers turned to ash."

Sylvie pales at the story, not trusting herself to look back at Hal, who she can feel just inches behind her, his breath shaky on her neck.

"Hal is not this man anymore. He's truly changed. He... I don't know how to explain it, but drinking blood triggers something in him, and I think that other man takes over, suppresses the good in him. I glimpsed that man once, and I can assure you, he is no longer here. This man is good. He is not to blame for the things that happened in the past. Please." She glances to Gemma. "If you love her, if you've found happiness, peace in her, if you fight what you are for her, then know that he fights the same battles. Give him the same chance you now have to find some happiness, some peace. I cannot expect that you will forget what you endured, I cannot expect that you can forgive Lord Harry for what he did to you, to others. But I ask you to give Hal a chance. I would not wish you taken away from her. Don't take him away from me. I promise you I will help him stay clean, I will help him fight."

She jumps slightly as she feels Hal's hand on her back, but doesn't dare look back.

Gemma goes up to Federico and whispers in his ear. Sylvie sees the man is reluctant, but he backs down. "I will leave now. I cannot stand the sight of this pedazo de mierda any longer. But I will not be very far. I will be watching." And with that they leave.

After making sure they are not coming back, Sylvie finally turns to Hal. Hal puts his hands on her arms again, and she sees his fangs are still out. "Well Don Juan, it's a good thing you are a lover and not a fighter. I'd hate to see how that would have turned out. We need to get you out of here before he changes his mind. And can you please put those away before you hurt yourself?"

"I think I'm going to hurt you."

"You don't want to do something you'll regret in the morning, Hal. The Hal remorse bucket overfloweth. And I swear I'll bloody come haunt you if I die before you and I... " She trails off as he starts rubbing his hands on her arms again. She gets an idea. "Hal, if you put your fangs away, I'll let you kiss me." She gives him a coquettish smile.

His fangs retract. She's not sure if it is a good idea to let him kiss her in his current state, she can still see the tension in him, but - "oh fuck it."

She threads her hands into his hair and pulls him down for a kiss. She means for it to be a quick light kiss but - his lips are as soft as she'd imagined - the light press sends heat immediately through her. He tilts his head, parting his lips in invitation and she follows suit as their lips mould themselves together repeatedly. The temptation to sink against him, to pull him close is strong, but when she feels his hands come up to cup her neck she puts her hands on his chest forces him back before he can hurt her.

She pants, trying to catch her breath as she sees his breath is shaky again, his lips still parted a wild look on his face.

"Very well Romeo." she says breathlessly. "Come with me. Let us get you out of here."

Pulling on his coat she gets him to follow her silently through the back of the house out the servant's entrance. She finds his coachman, and all but shoves Hal into the coach. Catching his eyes she says goodbye. "Call on me when you are feeling more yourself."

She stands guard as the coach disappears.

I have to credit someone for the werewolf roulette idea. I think it was katynewt that mentioned it on Skype, but not 100% sure. Many thanks.

So we all wonder what happens when Hal drinks Kia-Ora right? It's a squash, or cordial, which is a syrupy concentrate that is mixed with water, carbonated or not. While modern Kia-Ora is fruity flavored, these non-alcoholic cordials were popular as early as 1800's and were traditionally made from ginger, elderflower, or chokeberries with lemon or orange mixed in. The version Hal drinks here is pretty concentrated. Based on speculation, I'm going with the theory that it makes Hal drunk, uninhibited, and *ahem* aroused. Somewhat like when he's blood drunk on his date with Alex. But without the blood withdrawals. Sylvie might just have to get her hands on more cordial later. ;D

In case someone doesn't know, Casanova was a real person (1725-1798) while Don Juan is a fictional character. If you don't know what they are famous for, look it up.