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.

Many many delays as shit got Real in RL. :( No promises, as I generally jinx myself, but the next two chapters are well underway and I'm crossing fingers for much quicker updates here on out.

Thank you Saemay and TJ4EV for your input and for putting up with my little crisis/tantrum last week. You helped break my block and get me excited about writing again. TJ in particular, your comments have push some moments into higher intensity and I've really enjoyed writing the naughty vampire. ;)

And thank you Spondoolix for your words of wisdom. I'll consider the tattoo...

I crave reviews like a vampire craves blood, so if you are so inclined it would make me super duper happy to hear some feedback. xx

Ch. 12 Monsters

Sylvie runs. She runs from the room, from the house, past their carriage and the surprised coachman, and keeps running down the path. She isn't certain why she runs. Part of her wants to go back, to confront the two men, to assure herself they hadn't resumed their murderous intent. She just cannot bring herself to stop and turn around. Coward.

She is well aware that the two men tolerate each other for her sake, or perhaps more accurately, they each tolerate the presence of the other in her life for her sake. But she thought things were changing. She thought a camaraderie had struck up. She did after all carry around blood from one to help keep her safe from the other. The two men had collaborated on that plan together. But she should have known better...

Sylvie was instantly suspicious of the motivations for the meeting when she was ushered out of the parlour without so much as a by-your-leave. Her quiet, sweet friend struck up a nervous prattle as Sylvie saw Federico's grim face close the door behind her.

As they exited towards the back gardens Sylvie interrupted her, "Gemma is everything well? Do you know why your husband invited mine here this day?"

Gemma's smile wavered at her question.

Sylvie grabbed her friend's hand to stop her walking away, "Please just tell me. You know I can go back inside and find out for myself. I will."

Her friend seemed worried about that possibility. In a halting voice she said, "Federico wants Hal... to help him and the werewolves... bring down the vampires."

That statement stunned Sylvie. "What do you mean bring them down? Federico knows it isn't safe for Hal to return to them."

"No, not in that manner," Gemma assured her as she started walking again. "He wants Hal to give him the information he knows about their operations, in order to rescue two young werewolves, children really, who were captured by the vampires. Hal was the leader of the group that captured my husband when he was young. Federico has told me what they did to him, what they did to the other werewolves and what they did to humans. They keep doing those things, terrible things. They have women and children." She shuddered. "Your husband has knowledge that can help stop them... Do you think Hal will help?"

Without hesitation Sylvie said, "Of course he will. He has changed, he is a different man now. He is incapable of hurting any creature, not even a spider. I would know, I've had to deal with enough of them for him."

Suddenly there was a crashing sound further down the gardens. The women picked up their skirts and ran towards the sound. Sylvie saw the ground littered with glass and the base of an iron lamp. With trepidation she turned around and ran back inside the house. She heard banging on the walls, arguing and shouts as she neared the parlour.

She opened the door in time to see the two men falling to the floor, each holding a weapon at the other. They tumbled on the Persian carpet, Hal hissing and Federico snarling. She saw the hatred on Federico's face, the flash of fangs and black eyes on Hal's. She yelled their names but they were too intent upon killing each other to take notice. Heart hammering, she scanned around the chaos in the room for something to throw at them to get their attention and her eyes settled on a small console table. Without hesitation she picked it up by two legs, took quick steps to where the men struggled, raised the table as far up as she could and swung it down into the brawl. Wood splintered and shattered, sending uncomfortable vibrations up her arms.

The change was instantaneous: from murderous supernatural beings to two men looking up at her like boys caught fighting in the schoolyard. Breathing hard and trembling she regarded each of them in turn, unable to keep the hurt from her gaze and voice, "I know you," she met Hal's eyes, "are a vampire, and you," she met Federico's, "are a werewolf. But beneath it all, you are still men! Men I believed were more civilized than this!"

She didn't trust herself to say more. She threw down the remains of the table, turned and stalked out of the room without a backward glance, avoiding Gemma's gaze. She had to get out before the tears began.

Her run had slowed to a brisk walk and her tears had turned into anger by the time she hears Hal approaching, running. He catches up, urging in a raised voice, "Sylvie, stop!" She ignores him. "He came at me, I was simply defending myself." She keeps walking. "God's teeth, Sylvie stop!"

She rounds on him, yelling in frustration, "You were not simply defending yourself, I saw you. Even if he instigated the fight, you have a couple centuries on him. I'd expect better behaviour from you!"

Hal pulls up short, his breathing even, no indication that he'd just run after her. She notes the telltale signs of the fight - a spattering of small burns across his face. And there is something about his demeanor, something dark and dangerous roused by the brawl prowling in his eyes, before he quenches it. Sylvie's instincts tell her to proceed with caution, but she ignores them, too hurt to control her anger and disappointment. In him. In herself. She meets his glare - questioning, accusing.

"What did you tell him Hal? When he asked you to help? What did you say?"

He breathes in deep and his eyes soften; they beg for her understanding. "Sylvie, please listen-"

"Hal, how could you? Federico is my friend. Our friend. He has helped us keep you safe."

Hal's anger flares, "Sylvie, he is no friend. All this time he managed to convince you, convince me, that he was being altruistic. But he was scheming, he had other intentions!"

"Which intentions?"

Hal attempts to calm himself. "He befriended us not because he wanted to help but because he wanted my knowledge. He wanted to use me. He's as bad as..." Hal trails off.

Sylvie narrows her eyes, "He's as bad as you are," she finishes for him.

Hal eyes the ground, refusing to acknowledge that truth.

"Would you like to hear what I think?"

He looks back up at her, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I live for it."

"I think you two are full of yourselves, of the power your curses have given you. You both can't see past that power to see that you are just people."

"He is not human Sylvie."

"But those vampires, the ones you once called friends, they are holding humans are they not? They are hurting and killing innocent men, women, even children. Can you deny this?"

Hal is silent, his jaw clenching.

"Why would you not help him? Help them? You have told me time and time again you don't want to be the monster you once were. You wish to be human. Hal, being human isn't just about not eating us. It is about caring, loving, sacrificing. You are doing a bloody poor job of it!"

"Sylvie I can't. You do not understand-"

She interrupts him with an exasperated sound, "That is always your claim, your excuse. Very well, perhaps I don't understand. But in that house there is a man who does understand, who battles just as you do. I believed you two could be friends."

"Friendship is luxury I cannot afford," Hal says in a clipped manner.

"You and I are friends, are we not?" Sylvie counters.

"That is an entirely different matter."

"Why Hal? Because I am human? Because I am a potential snack to you?"

Hal's eyes widen, "I would never-"

"Or is it because I am a woman? Because I'm fucking you?"

"Sylvie!"

"I thought you had changed Hal. How can you be so callous? You dismiss werewolves so easily because of a curse they didn't choose. They have no more control over their "conditions", to use your phrase, than you do! Am I your friend because I can give you something you need, nothing more? I thought... I thought that I was making a difference." The tears that had dried well up again as she puts her hurt into words.

Hal's voice softens, "And you are. However -"

Sylvie shakes her head, wiping at the tears, holding on to her anger, "I thought I was seeing Hal the man, not the vampire. I thought that man was good and kind. I thought you were capable of love and compassion. But you don't give a damn about anyone but yourself do you?"

Hal's voice turns cold, all pleading and softness gone, "You meddle with forces you could never begin to understand. I will not waste my breath going around in circles with you on this. You expect me to put aside centuries of animosity, and that is simply something I cannot do."

Hal turns sharply on his heel and stalks off. Sylvie is left alone with her tears.

Hal glances up at the clock chiming the hour on the mantle in his library. With a sigh he makes the final folds on the intricate flower he'd been working on, an intended gift for when Sylvie returns. His heart feels tight as he places the flower on the shelf behind him and puts away his supplies in their box.

He rubs his face with his hands wearily and is grateful to feel the burns from the werewolf blood finally healed. They had itched terribly for several days.

He opens the right-hand drawer in his desk and carefully takes out his writing implements, arranging them methodically on the table top. His hand hovers over his recent acquisition, the pen with the metal nib, a marvelous invention. Yet he foregoes it in favour of picking up a quill. There is something comforting about using quills. It is familiar. It is routine. He takes out his small trimming dagger and examines two worn quills. With practiced ease he lengthens the split on each, lengthens the back opening of the tube, re-shapes the tines, and re-cuts the tip to just the precise angle. He brushes the curled shavings off the desk into the ready wastebasket, takes out a sheet of his thick paper, dips a quill in the inkwell and does a test pass. He smiles satisfactory at the resulting quality, yet frowns at his unconsciously chosen word. 'Sylvie'

Focus and control. This is the state of mind he needs, the state of mind that should come with ease while she is absent. No interruptions. No noise. Paradoxically, the calm he strives for is difficult to achieve.

Another sigh as he pulls from the shelf behind him his well-thumbed copy of "Philosophie Morale des Stoïques". Today he needs to lose himself in the discipline of copying words about discipline. He needs to align his unruly thoughts.

The fortnight after his fight with that damn meddling wolf had been spent in relative isolation. When they had arrived home Sylvie had gone up to her room, not their room, and had closed herself off the remainder of that day. She had closed herself off the majority of all the following days. This had suited Hal perfectly. He hadn't trusted his control and had thrown himself into his routines. He attempted cool civility the few times they could not avoid each other, but inevitably she would liberally ply him with her opinions and turn the conversation to topics he was unwilling to visit.

Regardless of his feelings for her, the conviction she has in him, and the strength those convictions lend him, there are just things her young human mind cannot possibly comprehend. Too much had passed between his species and the werewolves, the enmity was ingrained. But more importantly, he has to keep himself separate. Even if his involvement would lighten some of his guilt and remorse, which of course it wouldn't - saving a life or two does not negate the thousands he's taken- that wolf knows him, knows what he is capable of. He just cannot afford to dwell on the memories that involving himself in those matters would evoke. His eyes flicker involuntarily upwards, towards the attic and he misses a stroke on the word he'd been copying. He sighs. Why did he keep it? It serves to remind him, a shadow looming, almost literally, over him now. But he can't bear to part with it. It is a reminder he needs.

He shakes the thoughts that threaten him and concentrates on his calligraphy. The book opens easily to a particular page. He stares at the words, willing them to sear themselves into his heart as they are seared into his brain.

Permit nothing to cleave to you that is not your own; nothing to grow to you that may give you agony when it is torn away.

He's tried. He's fought it; fought her. These past weeks he's been convinced she would finally see him for what he truly is. That she would leave him. He almost welcomes it, fighting the heartache. And she had left, the week prior. It was a precaution, a necessity, their monthly separations. But he has no way of knowing if she will return. At times it disturbs him the dependence that he has developed on her presence. At other times it is the most natural thing in the world...

He moves on to another page.

What doesn't transmit light creates its own darkness.

He clings to the light that she has brought into his life, but it cannot come from him. It comes from her. He feels the darkness encroaching again.

Sylvie smiles slightly as she exits the ribbon shop and walks towards her parents' carriage. She had finally acquiesced to their entreaties that she go to town for a spell, to stop her maudlin drifting about the house, and admittedly she finally feels some of her heartache lifting with the normalcy of her outing.

The hurt had been too much at first. Was she wrong about him? Was she wasting herself on an impossible dream? She hadn't been able to shake those thoughts, the weight of them pressing down on her, suffocating her. She'd barely been able to face him and it had been an uncharacteristic relief to leave their home. She'd extended their separation longer than necessary.

But as the days pass she can't deny that part of her misses him, terribly. He's obsessive, selfish, sarcastic true... but even in his worst times he's never seemed like a monster to her. He's become so important to her, filling the hole left from when her brother died. She is torn between choosing what she knows to be morally correct, and choosing what her heart wishes. She unconsciously plays with her wedding band as she considers, still unable to truly commit to the ramifications of choosing either option. It is tempting to let the morose thoughts slip away, if only for another day...

She's thrown out of her thoughts as she hears someone behind call out, "Lady Yorke?"

She turns around politely, wondering who it could be. Her eyes go wide with recognition...

Forty... Forty-one... Forty-two... Forty-three...

Hal's press-ups are interrupted by a knock on the door. He frowns at it, the servants know he isn't to be disturbed. But surprisingly he isn't as reluctant as he might have once been. The silence has become unnerving. He tries to convince himself it is not because he misses her interruptions...

He stands up, picking up his shirt and sliding it over his head as he walks over to the door. He opens it, frowning at James. Then he stiffens. There is the hint of a scent that sends him almost reeling as he barely hears, over the suddenly loud heartbeat, his butler apologetically explain that a gentleman had arrived at the house with a note, saying it was imperative that Lord Harry be given it immediately.

With a shaky hand Hal takes the proffered paper and hurriedly closes the door without so much as a thank you. He leans against the door, willing himself to not open it and go after the man as he hears the butler's footsteps retreating, his heartbeat growing fainter. He wills his desperate hunger to calm down. Only when he hears silence does he trust himself enough to open the envelope with trepidation. There is only one word on the paper.

LONDON

Written in blood.

Sylvie turns silently to her coachman but sees a second man holding him, a knife pointed at his side. Swallowing the sudden fear constricting her throat she turns back to the man behind her. Tall and thin, with curly ash brown hair and deep-set brown eyes, he seems even paler than she remembers. "Please will you let him go?"

Charles, the errand boy, the vampire, smiles slowly at her. "But that wouldn't be much fun would it?" He drawls as he looks at her up and down appreciatively, his smile becoming cruel. "I can't wait to have some fun with you..."

Hal jumps off his horse before it's completely stopped in front of the werewolf's house. He runs up and bangs on the door until a servant opens.

The balding older man that opens the door stares incredulously and says "Lord Yorke?"

"I need to see your master. NOW."

The butler bravely tries to close the door. "Milord, I am sorry but I have orders -"

Hal hisses at him. "I need to speak with him." He stops the door and pushes at it, opening it with a bang and going past the startled human. He walks at a quick clip through the foyer, down the hall, following the scents in the air upstairs to a bedroom. Without bothering to knock he opens the door and there he finds the wolf and his human wife, sitting in the antechamber. The other supernatural jumps up from his chair to guard the woman as he pulls out a stake from his jacket. He growls out, "I told you if I ever saw you again I would kill you!"

As the wolf moves towards him, Hal holds his hands in front of him pleading. "I need your help. They've taken Sylvie."

The werewolf blinks, coming to an abrupt halt. "Que? Who?"

Letting all his animosity and distrust fall, Hal continues to hold up one hand as he reaches into his pocket with the other and takes the folded paper out. Approaching cautiously, as if nearing a rabid dog, Hal offers him the note. The Spaniard narrows his eyes at Hal, but takes it, quickly glancing down.

Hal says, "It's her blood. Undeniably."

The wolf looks up suspiciously, "How do you know?"

"I've never..." He begins defensively but then neutralizes his tone, "Embroidery. She has pricked her finger numerous times. It has been... a challenge."

With tears forming in his eyes, Hal swallows his pride and says, "Federico. Please. Help me get her back. I will tell you everything..."

Sylvie walks calmly as she's pushed down a dim underground corridor lit at regular intervals with torches. She looks back at the vampire. He licks his lips at her and she quickly turns her head forward before she can betray her emotions with her face. She's sure her show of bravery isn't fooling him - her racing heart is a giveaway.

They pass several closed doors that have small slots in them. Underlining the scent of the burning pitch from the torches is a sickly metallic scent mixed with something musky, animal-like. Whimpering and crying can be heard behind some of the doors. Just as she passes one there is a scream from the other side cut off abruptly with a gurgle sound. She stops but the vampire behind her prods her forward. The corridor ends in a room with a large cage in the centre, another corridor extending beyond it. A few torches light the room, though the corners remain shrouded in gloom. The dimness makes it difficult for Sylvie to see properly, but the uniformity of the brickwork walls is broken by dark stains. As she takes in her surroundings she realizes what this place must be used for, realizes the stains are splatters of dried blood and gore.

"You may stop here." The vampire orders.

She turns around and sees him go back down the corridor to open the door from whence she'd heard the scream. He says something she can't hear, then nods his head and returns to the cage room, going to stand in one of the corners. She waits with her hands clenching her skirts, the minutes ticking agonizingly slow, until a man - no a vampire - she recognizes exits the room and comes down the corridor. Jacob.

As he approaches she sees he is dressed impeccably in emerald green velvet waistcoat, cream ruffled shirt and knee-length buckskin breeches with stockings. A bit outdated, a bit of a dandy. His sandy blonde straight hair is long, brushing his collar, and his grey-blue eyes are surprisingly friendly. His pursed lips are turned up in a smile. He's of similar build and stature to Hal and appears young, younger than her kidnapper, perhaps Hal's age. Admittedly she has no way of knowing his true age. She would consider him handsome if not for the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. He's dabbing at it with a lacy white handkerchief.

"Ahh, you must be the lovely Lady Yorke." His voice is slightly gravelly, though not deep. He takes her hand in a sweeping gesture and brings it up, pressing his lips to it. "It is a true pleasure to make your acquaintance. Forgive Charles his uncouth manners, he is not accustomed to such esteemed company. Charles," he turns to the other vampire, scowling, "you were instructed to escort the lady through the front entrance." He gives her his full attention as he bows, "My name is Jacob Stanton. I am enchanted to make your acquaintance." He flashes her a winsome smile.

Her blood runs cold and her stomach clenches. He continues with some pleasantries and apologies as he steers her up the opposite corridor to an innocuous office, presumably the front of whatever business they purportedly run. But the words wash over her as her heartbeat becomes increasingly loud to her own ears. He is not her first vampire, and in theory she understands their nature. Her kidnapper had been less than pleasant, but while she was frightened, she had been able to pretend he was just an unscrupulous man. The one that had arrived unexpectedly the previous month, Regus, had been so absurd he hardly seemed a threat.

During their first meeting, it hadn't occurred to her to be afraid of Hal, despite the tension. Through all the manifestations she'd endured, all the times she'd put her life in his hands while being confronted in intimate proximity by the monster inside him as he battled the hunger; through the pain of losing her beloved companion at his hands, the shock of seeing him covered in blood, of washing him and covering up his relapse; through caring for him while he was strapped in a chair for his protection, for the protection of humanity, while he cycled through moments of madness - she'd held the belief that he didn't want to hurt her.

It's the smile. Not the traces of blood staining his teeth, captured in the crevices. Even that she'd seen before. The smile, so pleasant, so deadly.

"You have perhaps heard of me from your husband?" He says the word husband with an amused tone. She forces herself to concentrate on her situation.

Never one for small pleasantries, she quickly removes her hand from his grasp and says bluntly, "No, he does not like to talk about his past."

Jacob raises an eyebrow at her. "Oh, good old Harry, he is one for secrets isn't he? But surely... you know what he is? Know what we are?"

She is unsure which answer is to her advantage but finally decides upon the truth. She nods.

"And did you know before you married him?"

Sylvie considers denying it but nods again.

He looks thoughtful. "Interesting..."

He goes over to a cabinet, removes a decanter - it is filled with an amber liquid thankfully - and pours some in a glass. He immediately drinks most of the contents in one shot, pausing afterwards to contemplate the glass. Putting it down he turns back and gestures, "Please my lady, do sit down. I would like you to be comfortable. I shall send for refreshments."

She remains standing stubbornly and demands, "I would rather know why I have been brought here."

"He always does prefer the spirited ones," he mumbles to himself with a half smile as he approaches her. "I confess I am surprised at this turn of events. Harry has never been one for commitment."

"His name is Hal."

Jacob chuckles indulgently at her, "Hal, Harry, he has even gone by Henry at times. Sometimes I wonder which one came first... It matters not what name he goes by in these times, he is still the same bastard deep down."

"No, Hal is not the same man you knew. He... he has changed." She tries to put all the conviction she'd once had into her statement.

"Has he now?" Jacob suddenly reaches over to cup her chin in his hand, tilting her face up so that she can't look away. He says very quietly, "You are a pretty little thing. But there have been other pretty girls in his life. Some of them have thought the same. He likes to toy with his food. I am more practical." He lets go of her and she steps away from him.

"Practical? Is that what you call this place? How many people do you have here? What are you doing to them?"

He sighs regretfully at her. "I had hoped to make this a pleasant experience, but I see Charles has already soured it. No mind, as I said, I prefer to be more practical. Would you like to have a tour? You can see firsthand the legacy of your dear husband."

He flashes her that smile again. Gone is the blood. That makes it no less chilling.

She says bravely, "Hal is nothing like you."

"No, you are correct. He is much worse." He proffers up his arm and when she doesn't take it immediately he grabs her hand, though not roughly, and threads it through the crook of his elbow. "Come, I will show you my modus operandi. I learned from the best..."

It hadn't taken long for the werewolf to leap into action, and within half hour messages had been dispatched and they had been underway on the long trip to London. They'd barely left the house before Federico had demanded answers.

Having revealed as much of the vampires' operations as he thought necessary, Hal had fallen silent awaiting the man's response. He sits with his hands on his lap, his fingers nervously tapping out a staccato rhythm. Afternoon had become evening, the overcast sky falling to darkness while he waited and Hal's patience was nearing its considerable limit.

At the very least the vampires had had Sylvie for twenty four hours, if not more. He stares out the carriage window watching the countryside swaying slightly by, attempting to keep his imagination from running rampant. There were many horrors one could unleash in a day.

As if reading his thoughts Federico finally breaks the silence, "Will they hurt her?"

A pained look flashes through Hal's eyes, as if his soul is being ripped out from him. If he had a soul. "They learned from me," he says simply.

Federico nods sadly in understanding. Then he asks, "Did you ever wonder how I escaped in Madrid?"

"To be honest I've never given you much thought." The retort is out before Hal can stop it. He huffs apologetically, "Sorry. I just mean... I try not to think of that time of my life."

Federico tuts in disbelief. The vampire might be wishing to be a man, but like all the vampires he'd met, he was arrogant through and through. What Sylvie possibly saw in him... "You vampires are so focused on just yourselves, so prejudiced. You don't pay attention. You are centuries old, but not centuries wise, comprende?"

Hal remains impassive, bringing the conversation back on topic, "How?"

"Can you not guess? It is something you never would think of because none of you would be brave enough to do something like it yourselves. That was my advantage..." He holds out his hands and Hal has no choice but to look at them.

Federico's voice becomes distant, recounting his past, "I broke my bones." Hal lifts his head sharply, questioningly. Federico holds his gaze. "Every month my body breaks apart, rearranges itself so that I become a monster. The pain is... the first time it happened I thought I would die just from the pain alone. But the curse is cruel. It does not let me die. Instead it heals me so that I can go through it over and over again." He looks back down at his hands, calloused but strong, "What is the pain of a few broken fingers in comparison? Nada. When the full moon was imminent I broke my bones and removed the shackles. The vampires left guarding me had no idea. When they came to check on me I killed them. I went through the building and killed all the vampires I could find and let out all the prisoners." Federico's black eyes pierce Hal's hazel ones. "I searched for you. I wanted to kill you more than all the others combined. But you had gone, left weeks before. I wish I had not waited so long."

They stare at each other an immeasurable moment, tension building, before Hal looks away, ashamed.

After Jacob's grotesque "tour" he opens an empty cell. "This alas will have to be your new home while we wait for our dear Harry to arrive for you."

She peers into the pitch black room, catching sight of the manacles set into the far wall through the door, dimly reflecting the light from a torch set in the hall behind her. She edges away from him, snaking her hand into a hidden pocket. She does not want to be locked in the room so she searches for a way to extricate herself. As she looks down the hall to see if there are any other vampires she can't help but ask, "How can you be certain he will come? If you say he hasn't changed, perhaps he will not care enough to come for me." It hurts to say it out loud.

"Oh he may not be swayed by sentiment, but he will come," Jacob assures her. "He can't resist a direct challenge. Which reminds me, I need something from you, a little sample..." He steps towards her, a knife suddenly in hand.

Sylvie had been anticipating a move and as he reaches her she brings the hidden vial up towards his mouth. Unfortunately she doesn't catch him unawares - he looks down as he reaches for her hand and notices her movement. He turns his head and the vial bursts open along the side of his face. His cheek and ear immediately begin sizzling and he pulls back with a roar. She turns to sprint away but he catches her easily by the waist and shoves her against the wall, looking incensed, all pleasantness gone.

"Oh, you really shouldn't have done that!" He spits out before his eyes turn flat black and he hisses at her, sharp fangs bared. Before she can react he rips the high collar of her dress and bites into her neck. She screams and struggles but he has her pinned tight and she can feel the warm blood flowing down to her bodice as he starts sucking. It hurts and she is repulsed and she tries in vain to kick at his legs to get him off. She feels him laugh against her neck as he keeps sucking for a few more seconds before pulling away. That smile again. Blood trickles down the side of his mouth, reminding her of earlier. This time he wipes at it with his finger then sucks it off, taunting her. "Delicious."

Then he pulls a small inkwell from his waistcoat pocket and puts it to her neck, collecting some of her blood. "I need but a small amount for my purpose. Here," he pulls out a crisp white handkerchief and thrusts it at her. She immediately puts it to her neck. "Do not fret, I made certain I didn't pierce the major vein. As I said, all I need is a sample. I was prepared to simply make a small cut on your finger, but your foolish actions inspired this most gratifying alternative. You are lucky I've fed and you need to serve a purpose... Applying pressure will stop the bleeding shortly." With one hand he easily steers her into the room and shuts the door behind her.

She stares into the darkness as the shock of what has just happened takes a few minutes to abate, in time with the easing of the blood flow. Finally she slides down the wall next to the door and begins crying, not for herself but for what she's seen, the cruelty and lack of compassion in these creatures. Monsters. And Hal was one of them.

"How long can you resist?" Finally the uncomfortable silence ends.

"Excuse me?"

Federico continues, "Whatever this Jacob does - if he tries to persuade you to drink blood, to kill someone; if he tries to coerce you by threatening Sylvie, if he does hurt her - how long can you resist?"

Hal panics. "I do not know." He lets that statement hang between them.

Both men become lost in their thoughts again until finally Hal asks, "Why are you doing this for me?"

Federico raises his eyebrows, "Do not delude yourself, vampiro. I do this for her, not you. I do not wish to see her hurt." He leans forward, his eyes boring into Hal's and says calmly, "You understand, if she does not come out alive, you will not come out alive either. Sí?"

Hal acknowledges with a perfunctory nod, a sad smile playing at his lips. "You will be doing the world a favour. And me."

Sylvie is awakened from a fitful slumber by the door opening. She'd slumped onto the ground in front of the door as she'd fallen asleep, and now looks up to see the bright torchlight streaming in, blocked by two shapes. Disoriented, she doesn't have time to react before two vampires come in and grab her. One of them, Charles, she recognizes by his silhouette of curly hair, takes out a knife and starts cutting at her skirt. She struggles but she's no match for them. They drag her over to the wall with the manacles and easily close each one around her wrists.

She continues struggling but they just laugh at her. And then then their eyes turn black and they grin, razor sharp fangs protruding.

Sylvie screams...