Author's note: Slight trigger warning for unwanted touching (which is as much as I can say without giving out spoilers).

Chapter 11:

Laila stretched and looked over at the mantle in her room. Tired of sitting in the windowless, musty library, she had taken a few books up to her room and opened the drapes wide, allowing the warm afternoon sun to spill through and illuminate the chilly room. The clock sitting atop the polished stone showed 3:48, and the sun would start setting soon. Laila put a book mark in the copy of 'Salem's Lot by Stephen King she was reading, and leaned her head back against her pillows. She had gone from sitting on top of her neatly made bed, to huddled warmly under her many covers over the course of the afternoon, the chill of the room being too much for her. She sighed, trying to will herself to get out of bed and start getting ready for dinner, but her bed was just so warm and comfortable. The heaviness of the comforter over her body and the warmth from being under it calmed and soothed her to the point where it made her mind fuzzy and made her so tired. She closed her eyes, wanting just five more minutes to herself before having to go back to the cold reality of the Count and his castle...

Laila awoke with a small start, unsure of what had woke her. The room was dark and she felt incredibly groggy. The clock chimed 7:00 daintily behind her and she realized she had slept later than she meant to. Something felt off about the room, though. Laila reached over to the lamp on her bedside table and turned it on. She almost let out a small yelp of surprise when she saw the Count standing over her, looking down with… was that lust or hunger in his eyes?

"Good evening, Laila," the Count greeted gruffly. He inhaled deeply, unconsciously baring his large fangs. "You seem to be bleeding."

Laila looked up at him, puzzled. How could she be bleeding? She hadn't cut herself on anything. She moved and sat up, and then she felt it: there was a small, warm pool of thick liquid between her legs. Laila closed her eyes, grave understanding coming over her. How could she have forgotten so easily about her period?

She heard the rustle of fabric and felt a small weight on the edge of the mattress. Laila opened her eyes and saw the Count leaning down on the mattress with one hand, the other gripping the edge of the covers very tightly. He slowly began to pull the covers back and Laila caught his wrist, silently willing him to stop. She looked up at his face, and he only briefly glanced at her before taking his free hand and removing hers from his wrist, then continuing to inch the covers down slowly.

Laila went to tell him to stop, but he looked up, and his gaze locked with hers. She couldn't bring herself to speak as she felt the warmth of her blankets leave her legs, the Count's eyes locked on hers the entire time. He sat down on the bed next to her, his hand still gently grasping her wrist. She watched, completely immobilized by an unknown force, as he raised her wrist to his mouth. Something in the back of her mind registered how bad her situation was, but she felt completely powerless under the vampire's gaze to do anything at all. The entire experience felt like she was in a dream.

The Count kissed the scars on Laila's wrists from his previous feeds tenderly before bringing his other hand to her face, gently tracing the back of his fingers along her cheek. He began to lean in towards her, and her mind began to struggle more. She didn't want this to be happening. Not now and not like this. His cool touch felt nice against her flushing skin, though, and something was telling her that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to give in. The rational part of her could tell her desire to surrender herself to the Count was him somehow getting in her head and manipulating her, but she couldn't piece together how.

His forehead came to rest gently against hers, and his eyes seemed to have an unnatural glow to them now. His hand left her cheek and slowly trailed down, his nails and fingers gently gliding over and exploring the entirety of her neck and collar bone. His nose brushed against hers, his head tilted to the side, and his lips grazed hers as his hand slid down, grazing her breast and coming to stop and rest gently on her waist. The Count seemed to hesitate a moment before gently peppering kisses around her lips. He began to move down her chin, his hand coming around to her stomach. He grew more aggressive, his grip on her wrist tightening, his mouth moving down from her chin to the top of her neck with his fangs scraping her skin, and his hand moving lower, its destination the source of the bleeding.

"Stop," Laila gasped out. The fog her mind had been in lifted a little now that they weren't staring at each other and she could feel her will returning to her. The Count didn't stop, though, and began lightly biting at her neck, almost as if feeling for the perfect spot. His hand began to toy with the button on her jeans. She weakly grabbed his wrist again with her free hand, trying to halt his progress, and she repeated again, louder, "Stop!"

With something between a snarl and a growl, the Count bit into her neck, causing Laila to cry out and tense up in pain. They seemed to be frozen in place for a moment, Laila in pain and scared to move as the Count drank deeply from her. Then the door burst open, there was a splash of water, and Laila felt the Count leap back from her, and primal hiss escaping his lips. Clutching her neck to try and stop the bleeding, Laila looked around and saw Daniel advancing silently towards the Count, a cross in one hand and a small, white bottle in the other. Laila didn't even think before she got up on the other side of the bed and ran to her adjoining bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She went to lock it, but her vision blurred and her knees buckled under her. As she slid down the door, she could hear the Count yelling what she could only guess were obscenities in the other room, her door slamming shut, and then silence. The last thing she could here before everything went black was the sound of light, hurried footsteps approaching her bathroom door.