Sincere apologies for me taking so long to come back to it. Life circumstances and just sheer hesitation left this chapter prepared a long time ago, but waiting for me as I worked out the rest. I have been prompted many times over the last - I'm embarrassed to even admit it - 2 years by many people to post, and it warmed my heart to still have people showing interest. After a tweet yesterday by my friend and fellow Being Human fanfic writer RosemaryW (If you've never read any of her stories, particularly her book- long "Paint it Black" with Bad Hal, you need to run and devour it), it finally clicked.

Thanks to Saemay for having beta'd this. Going back to your comments has calmed my misgivings.

As always, immense thanks to Toby Whithouse for bringing this world into my life. I own nothing.

Inspirational music is Ultraviolence by Lana Del Rey. It's not all sunshine and rainbows from here on out...

Ch 24: Her Body

The ringing sound of the trunk's lid slamming down punctuates Sylvie's fervent words. Hal stands quietly impassive, regarding her as he waits for the echo of wood and metal to fade. Then he puts the keepsake box down on top of the trunk and takes something from his waistcoat pocket. His hand tightens into a fist by his side, his expression reluctant yet resigned. Then he extends his fist, fingers unfolding. "Her name was Esperanza," he says.

One of his trophies, bright rose and gauzy, lies in his palm. Sylvie balks at taking it. "I don't need to know. Not the specifics."

"You need to hear this. From me."

Something about his look, a hardness in his eyes, forestalls her protests. Hal's hand tips and Sylvie opens hers to take his offering, the tiny square fluttering weightlessly onto her fingers.

"She was Jacob's girl. His human lover. She'd been captured by the vampires in order to lure her brother to them, but Jacob immediately became besotted with her. He treated her as a pampered guest rather than a prisoner, and she soon returned the sentiment. He can be rather charming..." Hal trails off, perhaps gauging her reaction. Sylvie's memory conjours up Jacob. Young, with sandy hair and engaging blue-grey eyes. Impeccable manners. A winsome smile. A predator's smile.

"Jacob had already proven too soft in his leadership in Madrid and reports suggested he was on the verge of exposing us all. The girl was part of it. Mr. Snow needed someone to take the situation in hand. He sent me."

Never had she heard a single word infused with so much horror and finality.

Tears gather in Hal's eyes, softening the former hardness. "It wasn't enough to teach Jacob a lesson. I had to break him. He had to be the instrument of his own undoing. I had her imprisoned in the cell right next to her brother and-" Hal stops, squeezing his eyes shut, tears escaping down his cheeks. Then he whispers in a shaky voice dripping with remourse, "The things we did to her..."

Sylvie gasps a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. She paces away, her hands clasped tight around the tiny piece of fabric, now grown heavy with the weight of his telling. A tangible connection to the horror story she has no trouble envisioning. Her skin crawls with the echo of Jacob's lips on her body, his fangs piercing her skin. She knows her ordeal had paled in comparison to what Esperanza must have suffered. Jacob had tried to poison her mind against Hal with tales of his cruelty. He hadn't spared her the details.

"She's the reason Jacob hates me; the reason Federico hates me." Hal says behind her.

She shudders and works to dispel the ghosts of her past, directing her thoughts back to his ghosts. Sylvie turns to confront him. "I don't understand. Why has he never mentioned this, mentioned her? Time and time again he has implored me to leave, warned me of the horrors you are capable of. This would have served as the most powerful cautionary tale."

"I've wondered the same thing, all these years. I've waited for him to tell you. But I think, this is his great shame. She was captured because of him, and for all the power of his curse, she met her end while he sat powerless next door. Shame can be all-consuming, twisting into self-hate."

"But... Why are you telling me? Why now?"

Properly contrite Hal answers, "You were right, I see that now. There should be no secrets between us. And I... I can't undo my part in her death. I can only hope that you still see, I'm not that man anymore."

"You should have told me sooner!" She accuses, trying to forestall tears.

The bite of sarcasm breaks through his contrition. "You knew there was history between us. I did not think the particulars mattered."

Shaking her head, Sylvie looks down at her hands morosely, "How can I have been kept in the dark all this time about something so significant between the two men I care for?"

"Perhaps his fondness for you kept him silent." Hal offers. When she looks up questioning, Hal wipes the remnants of his tears from his cheek and comes close to her, his voice gentling. "I believe that in you, he found something of what he had lost. Whatever partnership you believed between he and I, it was never more than a thin veneer of civility. He would gladly see me dead - proper dead. But he also knows your heart. He's never wanted to cause you suffering."

"But you think he is willing to do so now?"

"Now," Hal shrugs slightly, "what he sees as betrayal has changed the game. He's held onto the hope of getting his revenge on Jacob with my help, and he's finally realised that dream will never be attained." Hal grabs her hand, taking the piece of fabric. "This is his ace up his sleeve. He doesn't know that you've already heard so much worse. He hopes to finally turn you against me, to get his revenge. With your blessing."

Hal falls quiet, staring at her with a hint of a plea. He had bared his soul to her, metaphorically; shown her the darkness and vulnerability he'd kept locked in the attic. She'd fought for so long to be let into his secrets, and now he looks to her for understanding. Yet, with this new revelation, Sylvie finds herself unable to give him immediate assurance. She needs time, which she can ill afford with the tensions in the house. If not time, then at least to comfort the man who had become like an older brother to her, before returning to her murderous lover. "I have to go to him," she finally says.

Hal hangs his head but agrees. "Yes. You should go."

Sylvie hesitates another moment, feeling a tug at his sad eyes. She would embrace him, but her feet refuse to move, her arms remain leaden at her sides. The silence hangs pregnant between them. Finally, she turns to flee the attic.

She finds them all gathered in the parlour. Ruth and Beth with embroidery by the fire, William standing between their chairs. Gemma sitting stiffly on the settee she had left just a short while ago - had it really been less than an hour? Surprisingly, the surgeon is slouched in the plush chair next to the piano-forte, no doubt halfway soused. He kept a "medicinal" flask to drive away chill. At the two doorways - the double one off the foyer, the other leading to the hall and back rooms - Federico and Mark stand sentry; the older werewolf with a thunderous expression, the younger fidgety and sullen. Having stepped off the stairs she surveys this scene through the double doors, but not trusting herself, she passes the younger werewolf at his post, walks down the hall and motions for Federico to follower her.

She makes it just inside the library, closing the door behind them, before dissolving into his chest, tears quickly wetting the fabric of his waistcoat. His arms encircle her as he demands gruffly, "¿Qué pasó?"

"Hal has told me of your sister." She looks up in time to see his frown turn to shock. She buries her head as she hugs him tightly, trying to convey all the depth of her sympathy in that one gesture. She too had been held captive by vampires. She too had been used as bait. Yet she had survived, because of him. "I know you may feel that you failed her," her voice hitches, "but you didn't fail me. I only wish you had told me, all those years ago."

"Why did he-" Federico begins, his tone confused, then trails at a loss. Some moments of silence pass before his chest heaves, a ragged sob escaping into her hair. Under her cheek, Sylvie feels the deep breaths he takes to control himself. Finally he says, "I could not help my sister, mi Esperanza. She was taken in by their charms and lies, until it was too late. But you still have a life." His arms tighten and she feels him kiss the top of her head before he continues, "I always held out the hope that you would see, that you would turn away from the deception. From the day I carried you in my arms out of that cell - bitten, bloody, and broken - I have prayed to La Virgen that you would see sense. That you would come to me." His chest expands with a big sigh. "At last, Señorita. I can take care of him. We can keep you safe."

She becomes aware of his arms slipping down her back, of the press of his body against hers. She cranes her neck to see a satisfied smile has cleared the thunder from his eyes. It suddenly feels wrong to be in his arms, and she tries to step away as she says, "I believe you have mistaken-"

But he cuts her off, his words growing more excited, "Mark has been pushing me for years, and when you were ill, I had begun feeling desperate enough to consider his suggestion. He has developed an attachment to you, did you know? You have a way of engendering that effect..." He trails off, his expression tender and oddly possessive.

A feeling of apprehension springs in her belly, tightening her throat. She tries again to gently untangle herself from him, asking, "What suggestion?"

"But there is no need now that you have opened your eyes, mi cariño." His fingers wipe the tears on her cheek, hand lingering to cup her face, his thumb absentmindedly caressing her lip. Unfathomably, she suddenly has the impression that he wants to kiss her.

She demands more forcefully, "What suggestion?"

Distractedly, Federico answers, "He wants to turn you into a werewolf."

With a gasp, Sylvie jerks away, finally forcing Federico's hands off her. She takes a few steps back, eyes wide. "You both need stay away from me. And Hal."

For one moment he stares at her in confusion, then his quick anger flares, "But now you know the true horrors Hal is capable of. And yet still you defend him?"

"My tears are for your loss, for what your sister endured. But I already knew of Hal's past. More than even you do."

His eyes narrow suspiciously. "This is why he told you. So that he could twist the words. What did say? That he wasn't even involved?"

"No." Sylvie admits reluctantly. "He forced Jacob to do what they did."

Federico lunges at her, a fevered light in his eyes as he grabs her arms. "And still you choose him?" he asks incredulously. "I sat chained to the same wall as she. I could hear through the stones her screams. Their laughter. The pleasure they took from her. " His trembling hands clamp down hard.

An old fear bubbles up. Despite what she had suffered at the hands of Jacob, despite the strain of the neverending night locked in a cell with hunger-stricken Hal, it had been the bodies bashing against the door, the skin-crawling scrabbling and howls of the werewolves that had terrorized her nightmares after her captivity in London. It was irrational - insane had been Hal's word for her - but it had been easier for her to reconcile the calculated cruelty of the vampires than the feral mindlessness of the werewolves. In the grip of an angry werewolf, with another standing sentry in the room next door, she is very much aware of the danger that her friends - so close to transformation - could be right now.

She masks her fear to appeal to him as calmly as she can. "Federico, let go."

But the thunder has returned. "Should I tell you about Esperanza? She was una belleza, a true beauty. If not for our poverty, she would have had many suitors. The money she made as a washwoman hardly paid for the hovel we called home and I was forced to steal and beg so we would have food at night, so she could remain pure instead of debasing herself on the streets. Our life was hard, but I worshiped my older sister and we were happy."

"I'd kept my curse hidden for almost a year. Then the vampires took her and left me a message. I had to choose - her or me. I was young and naive; I didn't know Jacob had no intention of releasing her. I should have known the vampires were not trustworthy."

"He showered her with riches and attention, then when he felt secure in her loyalty he took her down to the dog fights. I'd been captive through two moons by then, resigned for this to be my lot for the rest of what would surely be a short life. The shock of seeing her with the vampires; I'd never felt such rage! I succeeded in tearing away from the ones trying to put me in the fighting cage, tore through the crowd of them to get to her, but the curse took over. The next day she came to me, her face and words full of disgust. She said I belonged chained up, that I was a filthy, unholy beast. Even when she learned what Jacob was, she chose him over me. She was as stupid as you are!" There is a flash of pain across his face, coinciding with pain on her arms as his fingers dig in.

Hal had been right. She could see it as Federico spoke, the self-hate that had motivated him to keep silent. His shame. But Hal had also been wrong. There lies something deeper, far stronger in him. The sting of rejection.

"Please, you're hurting me!" Sylvie struggles against him but in his anger he growls and begins to shake her.

A cacophony of discordant notes crash from down the hall, breaking into their tension, and Federico finally stops. They stare at each other one second before he tears open the door and runs down the hall, leaving Sylvie to lift her skirts high to sprint behind him.

The scene in the parlour is all surprised stillness. Except for Hal, seated at the edge of the bench, hitting the keys of the piano-forte in wild abandonment. As Federico rushes past him to his wife, Hal slams his palms down in a final crescendo of sound. The air vibrates with the ghost of discord as Sylvie enters the room and confronts her confounding husband. "Hal, what the devil are you doing?"

He stands unsteadily, knocking over the bench to more noise. After steadying himself and exaggeratedly straightening his waistcoat, he half-shouts, "Getting your attention." He gives her a languorous smile, his eyes glassy and heavy-lidded. "And now that you two have deigned to grace us with your presence, we can have a proper soiree!" Hal offers his outstretched hand. Sylvie, trying to make heads or tails of his odd behaviour, makes no move. Hal's face falls a moment, but the silly grin returns as he skirts around her to the settee, smoothly scooping up Gemma right from under Federico's hovering and gliding them away in a waltz.

Indignant roars precede mirrored lunges by the two werewolves. "Take your hands off my wife!" Federico yells, reaching to seize Hal's arm.

Hal looks over his shoulder unperturbed as he steers their dancing steps beyond reach of the attackers, causing Federico and Mark to collide and grapple for balance. Hal sneers at the older wolf, "So, it is acceptable for you to paw at mine for the last fifteen years, but I am not allowed even a small dance with yours? Come now, that is hardly an equitable arrangement." He glides them to the other side of the room, bumping into an end table and narrowly missing being singed by a lamp.

As the werewolves regain their footing, Sylvie tries to forestall the storm. "Hal, far be it for me to spoil your unusually... tactile mood, but I think it would be prudent to release Gemma back to her husband. Besides, you didn't have the decency to ask her on the matter. Gemma, I fully give you permission to slap him for his rudeness."

"You're just jealous," Hal counters as he tries to twirl his partner and instead trips over the footstool holding Ruth's feet. But he catches himself and continues their circuit back.

"Have you gone daft? Must I come over there and slap you myself?"

At her side, Federico growls out a demand. "If you do not let go of my wife I will-"

"You'll do what, hmm? Will you do something to Sylvie? Or will you and the mongrel attack me? I'd like to see you try." Hal comes to a stop within a few feet of their group but keeps a firm grip on her breathless friend.

"Gentlemen," Sylvie rolls her eyes at them, "as entertaining as this perpetual cockfight is-"

"But no, you're right." Hal interrupts her. "Why would I want such a weedy, frigid, beast-lover?" Hal tosses Gemma into Federico. Then he crosses the space, bending Sylvie into a sweeping embrace, his mouth capturing hers mid-gasp.

Elderberries. His mouth tastes of elderberries.

No mere peck - his tongue coaxes her to kiss him back, as his hands sliding down to grab her rear playfully, eliciting a giggle and forcing her to grasp him tight to keep her balance. There is no mistaking his intent. Claim of ownership.

When he finally lets her up, Sylvie stares wide-eyed at the two werewolves. Both have a look of bloody murder in their eyes, with Gemma grabbing onto Federico's arm and William positioned to block Mark.

Hal, flashing a satisfied smile, thumbs his lower lip. "Perhaps what we need is a drink. To loosen inhibitions." He crosses the room to where the surgeon, no doubt regretting having joined the household that evening, huddles protectively into his chair. In one smooth move, Hal snatches the flask from the ruddy man, shakes it triumphantly at them, then brings it to his lips, draining it in loud gulps. "Ahh," he exhales appreciatively, "What say you, good doctor. Up for a bit more excitement in this tomb of a place? It's been a while since I've had a good orgy."

"Fuck," Sylvie blurts out, amidst shocked exclamations behind her.

"Is that an offer?" Hal asks, grinning wickedly.

Federico shakes off Gemma and crosses the room, shoving Hal all the way back to the nearest wall. Giggling even as his head thunks against the hard sandstone, Hal taunts, "You lot are so pruddish these days." Federico's hand flashes up with a stake pointed at Hal's heart.

"No!" Sylvie screams, running to clamp herself on Federico's tensed arm.

"Look at him. He has finally snapped, as I knew he would."

"He hasn't reverted, he's simply sloshed."

Federico sniffs. "Brandy. Hardly enough in that flask to make him drunk and you don't even keep cooking wine on hand. Or have you deceived me in this too?"

"No, not alcohol. He's drunk on cordial. I don't know why, but it has a similar effect on him." Sylvie turns to Hal, cocking her head questioningly. "How did you find it?"

Pursing his lips delightedly, Hal answers, "'Where you will never go poking around.' Not exactly difficult to guess. You may have washed your hands and slathered on that salve you always use, but you still smell of horse."

"Bugger." Sylvie makes a face at him.

Federico's arm tugs against her hold, bringing her back to the danger at hand. "No importa. I've let this go on long enough."

The encounter has quickly devolved from comical to dangerous, once again. She tries to salvage the situation. "Old hurts have re-surfaced, but has that erased completely fifteen years of friendship?"

"I never claimed friendship with him."

Hal croons, "I told you sooo."

Federico growls at him.

Sylvie pulls at his arm harder. "If not for him, what of me?"

That was the wrong thing to say. Several emotions flicker across his dark face before he answers, "This was always going to conclude in his death. It's what's best for you."

Sylvie tries a different approach. "Do you believe he will stand meekly as you try to drive that stake into his heart? Do you believe I will? The only conclusion I see is a bloodbath. Are you willing to take that risk? Think of your wife. Think of Beth and her child. Her mother and lover. Even the doctor. If this becomes a fight, can you guarantee innocent people will not come to harm? None of them are involved in the melodrama this has become."

"There are two of us." He counters, but some of the tension in his arm slackens.

Hal, his expression amused, takes this opportunity to throw a taunt, "An old man gone soft and a pup who's never been in a real fight. I've fought in countless battles. This will be child's play."

From behind her comes a bristling protest, "I can take him. Federico, what are you waiting for? Past time we stop coddling the fucking vampire."

Mark and his friend had been attacked by a werewolf as a boys, then captured by the vampires soon after. Federico's appeal to Hal for help in rescuing them had led to the fight that had cause the rift between Sylvie and Hal, which in turn had led to her capture by Jacob's henchman. Based on her own treatment at the hands of the vampires, she could only imagine what the poor boys had suffered. Foolish to think they didn't harbour animosity towards vampires, but in all the ensuing time they had taken turns playing groom during these yearly visits, neither had shown signs of ill will towards Hal. However, in light of the revelations this evening, she felt she hardly knew these volatile creatures she'd called friends. She expected secrets from Hal. Not the wolves.

Sylvie scans the room. Her servants had been with them for so long, there really is no denying they haven't worked it out already. The surgeon had apparently fled the room, no doubt upstairs medicating himself into a stupor. There is no longer a point to secrets.

"Very well. Let's entertain your preferred outcome. Do you think I will magically realise the error of my ways and be grateful for my deliverance?" Her voice raises with her ire. "What then? Marry Mark or one of the other wolves? Has that always been the plan?" Remembering his arms around her, that moment when his tender gestures had made her uneasy, she takes a gamble. "Or am I to become your mistress now?"

Federico's face turns a lurid shade of red as Hal scoffs and behind her Gemma exclaims 'what?'". So, it had not merely been her oversight. Federico had hid well any deeper feelings for her under their familial relationship. "Were you even going to consult your wife of... how many years is it?"

Gemma's small voice answers, "Twenty-three years." Federico's head hangs down, eyes closing, his breath coming impossibly fast.

Sylvie presses, "You couldn't save your sister, so you are hell bent on saving me. At all costs. If I don't acquiesce, you will take me against my will. You will hold me hostage. You will even curse me to become a werewolf, because that is what you think is 'best for me'. How does that make you any better than the vampires?"

Gasps fill the room. Hal guffaws drunkenly, then mock-whispers, "Filthy beasts."

Sylvie shifts her hold on his arm, trying to convey understanding instead of hostility. She gentles her voice. "I am not Esperanza. Hal did not turn me against you; I was never yours. Don't throw away our friendship. Don't throw away your marriage. You've found happiness with someone that has accepted you unconditionally, despite your curse. Think of all the others depending on you. Let go of the thought for revenge once and for all and live the good life you've built together."

She bites her lip, breath held as the werewolf grapples with his emotions. Long seconds pass, the tension permeates the room, smothering. Slowly, Federico's head swivels around, taking in his audience. In a room full of people staring at him with ranging looks of horror and disgust, his eyes at last settle on his wife. His inner chaos meets... compassion. A tenderness clears the darkness in his eyes. Her words have cut through the raw drive of his wolf. Sylvie sighs with relief as he loosens his grip on Hal. She pries the stake from his hand as Hal slides away.

Federico stares at her like a lost puppy; a shattered man. His anger, his revenge, had been the drive of most of his life.

He goes to his wife. "I'm sorry, mi cariño. I wasn't thinking. Can you ever forgive me?"

Gemma and Sylvie exchange a glance of understanding, before her friend threads her arm into his. "Best we go to our room now, it's been a long day and tomorrow is the full moon." They would work through this. They have no choice.

Mark makes a disgusted sound, but Federico shuts him down before he does anything stupid. "In my quest for revenge I have been eager, but Hal is not an immediate danger. We are better than the vampires. We will keep our wits and wait. If he becomes a threat, then we take action." No, not shattered. Resigned. He gets a protest, but as leader of the pack he stands his ground until the younger werewolf obeys. They watch him stalk out, listening for the door of his room in the servants quarters beyond the kitchen to bang shut behind him.

A squeak near the fireplace makes them all look. Hal had snuck over to Ruth, leaning over her and whispering into her ear. The matronly woman's eyes grow wide and she smacks him exclaiming, "Well I never!"

Apparently the precariousness of the situation had done nothing to douse what was clearly an amorous inclination on Hal's part.

Sylvie quickly intercedes before tempers rise again. "Hal, love, I do believe it is time to take this merrymaking to a more private venue." She tugs on his arm, and he follows her like a willing puppy. Passing Federico she gives him a final assurance. "See, he's harmless. I will take care of him. And if there are any problems, I have this." She waves the stake.

Federico stares at her with a mixture of disbelief and defeat. But He makes no move to stop their departure.

Sylvie wakes suddenly in the dark with the feeling of dread. Difficult to say if a sound had woken her or it is simply that her senses are so tuned to him, but when she turns to look she finds Hal's side of the bed empty.

He'd been playful - hands roaming - as she'd led them up the stairs and into their room last night. The aggravation of the entire evening had begun melting under his touch, but once she'd shoved him onto the bed he'd passed out. With a sigh, though of relief or consternation she hadn't been sure, she had stripped off his jacket, waistcoat, boots, and trousers, and had tucked them both in after such a long, exhausting day. Her mind had raced, trying to make sense of it all, but soon sleep had taken her.

"Nine." A voice, muffled but unmistakable, breaks the silence. Without hesitation she jumps out of bed, running out of their room barefoot and robeless. A few steps into the antechamber she stops, squinting, making out Hal's silhouette standing in the doorway that leads to the hall, his back to her.

"I said count!" Hal spits out an order.

By the thin moonlight entering the window behind her, she notes a second figure, held in place against the frame by Hal's hand wrapped around his neck.

The surgeon's strangled voice answers, "But, my lord, I've only come to find a spare chamberpot."

"Lies. Eight."

Sylvie calls out, "Hal, what are you doing?"

The other man looks over Hal's shoulders, drunken eyes searching. "Lady Sylvie? Please, I do not understand. Lord Yorke has accosted me with accusation of being a spy."

"Do not try to deny it," Hal says, leaning forward, obscuring the doctor from her view. "But your presence gives me the perfect opportunity to send a message. Besides, I am oh so hungry." Hal hisses at the cowering man. "Seven."

He's sleepwalking again.

Sylvie skirts around the desk between them, approaching him with a soothing tone. "Hal, let go. He is not your enemy."

Hal's head turns slowly towards her and as the light illuminates his face she can see what the surgeon, in Hal's shadow, probably can't make out. Hal's eyes scorch blacker than the darkness of the room.

Shit. "Hal, don't do this. You aren't well. Let me take you back to bed."

"Have you any idea who I am, peasant? I am Lord Henry Yorke. I shall punish you for your impudence once I'm through with this one." He turns back. "Six."

She would have to play along with his somnolent hallucination.

"Lord Yorke. Forgive me. I merely suggest you might enjoy my company. Surely this matter will keep."

"I already have concubines waiting. Five."

That's a new one, she thinks to herself.

She tries to cajole,

"Four."

beg,

"Three."

threaten,

"Two."

but he is too deeply immersed in the dream sequence that had been triggered upon encountering the other man.

Dealing with Hal while he is sleepwalking can be dangerous, but she has no choice except direct intervention. She reaches between the two men to grabs him through his pants, caressing, while she takes his free hand and puts it on her breast. "M'lord," she purrs into his ear. "This is what you want. You won't keep me waiting will you?" This gets his attention. He might be a vampire but underneath it all he is still a man.

Hal lets go of the surgeon's throat to turn into her seduction. "Go. And lock your door." Sylvie continues to distract Hal with her hands until she hears the click of the door across the hall. "Come m'lord. The bedchamber lies through here."

His victim forgotten, Hal silently allows her to lead him to safety. Back inside, she keeps hold of his hand as she closes the door behind them then inspects him. In the stronger light of the banked fire she can see that his eyes have gone back to hazel, but retain an unnervingly vacant look. "Here we are," she says automatically as she pulls him to the side of the bed, thinking to guide him to lay down where he can settle and fall back into proper sleep. But he moves unexpectedly.

Hal grabs a fistful of her hair, pulling to expose her neck. His fangs drop. A trill of worry flutters in her belly but she continues the charade. "Now, Lord Henry," she chastises, "no need to rush. Let us play a bit first shall we?"

"Shut up, bitch," he spits out, then slaps her hard enough to send her sailing backwards onto the bed. Before she can recover, he is on her - eyes dead black - hissing as he tries to reach her neck. Sylvie shoves at him with all her strength. "Hal, wake up! You need to wake up."

"I am awake," he grins. She redoubles her effort to keep him from snapping at her neck, pummeling him with her fists and kicking at his legs. Her struggle is met with a laugh. She lands a knee in his crotch. He hisses again. "You are a feisty wench. I will enjoy taming you first."

He lifts off, only to grab her ankles, pulling her roughly to the edge of the bed. Startled she tries to see through the mass of her hair tangled about her face as he lowers his drawers one-handed. The tips of his fangs poke over his upturned lip as he smiles drunkenly down at her. She is unable to tell if he's still in a dream state, or if he's woken and overcome by the bloodlust. She tries to reach through to him. "Hal, I need you to listen to me. This is no dream. I'm Sylvie, your wife. You don't want to hurt me."

She tries to squirm off the bed, only to be met by his iron-hard grip on her neck, his face coming within an inch of hers. He murmurs seductively, "Oh but I do want to hurt you." He squeezes.

"Please Hal, don't-" she begins, but he squeezes harder. She pries at his hand at her throat. As her air cuts off, full panic sets in. In all the times she'd faced him - caught in that transitory state between dream and wakefulness - he'd never tried to strangle her.

She remembers the stake. When he'd passed out that night, she had casually tossed it onto the nightstand and proceeded to get him undressed. She'd been too tired to pick it up and put it somewhere safe. Craning her neck against his restraint, she scans her eyes sideways, and the pale tip of wood comes into focus right where it had rolled against a pile of books. She strains for it, knocking over the pile, but she finally feels the comforting shaft of the age-burnished wood in her hand. She swings the stake over his heart, pressing the tip hard against his chest while staring at the unfathomable emptiness of his eyes. Not the dead black of the monster, but the clear eyes of her beloved. She hesitates.

And suddenly air rushes back to her lungs in big coughfuls as Hal lets go of her neck. "Now what have we here?" he drawls. Sylvie, her body concentrating on breathing, is unable to prevent Hal from prying the stake from her hand. Then he tuts at her, throwing the stake across the room. He grabs the hem of her nightdress, pulling hard enough to rip, resuming his intent. She fights against him, but already weakened, her struggles are ineffectual. She opens her mouth to scream.

But then she closes it.

Screaming will only bring the werewolves.

Screaming will lead to the fight she's so desperately been preventing.

Screaming will lead to bloodshed.

Screaming is not an option.

And so she stops struggling.

It isn't as if she hasn't submitted her body to him before, to bring him back from the brink. It isn't as if she hadn't been prepared to do that very thing right now. Whenever he's had need of her, she's wanted him.

But this time, something is different. This time, when he enters her, something breaks.

It isn't physical pain. It isn't even very long before he collapses on her, with the dead weight of sleep, no longer a threat.

It is the absence of emotion on his face, the vacancy in his eyes, that causes the splinter in her heart. No passion borne of hunger, no tenderness borne out of desperation. Mindlessness hadn't eased into recognition. He's not really here, she realises. Whether it be the cordial and brandy he had drunk, his strong somnambulism, or the combined effect - although Hal is physically present, his mind is still locked inside a dream or memory or hallucination.

Her Hal deliberately hurt her, and hadn't even realised it.