AN: This story is significantly more difficult for me to write than most, because it is set in the late 1700's, and as I'm sure you know, people thought and acted much differently back then. Please be patient when it comes to this story. I'm trying. :)

Also, I wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed or contacted me about this story (that means you, Tess :D), it always helps to have a little push in the right direction (and the occasionally implied, 'Update, woman! Update, damn you!'). I always try to finish what I start, so I will do my best to finish this story. Please let me know what you think! I don't know if I'm taking this in the right direction, so I need feedback!

Also, if you were wondering, the picture I have of the creature in my head is Peter Steele with scars. See the story thumbnail.

HELENA

"Wake up, Lena," he commanded. His tone was soft; it pulled her gently from the realm of sleep and back into the real world. She sat up, gathering her blankets around her in a fluffy nest, all without opening her eyes. Doing everything with her eyes closed had become second nature to her when he was around.

"Have you brought me something?" She asked playfully. He was always nearby when she slept, but it was rare for him to deliberately awaken her. When he did, it was usually for a specific purpose.

"I think I have spoiled you enough already," he mused, but there was no bite to his tone. Lena grinned.

"You spoil me simply by being here," she said with a small shrug. He was quiet for a few moments. She heard the rustle of fabric as he moved closer to her.

Something touched her hand. She inhaled sharply, spreading her fingers reflexively to grasp whatever he had laid before her.

A flower stem, cool and smooth beneath her touch. Lena opened her eyes, careful to keep her gaze down on her lap, where the outline of the flower – or rather, the delicate clumps of smaller flowers – was just barely visible in the near-total darkness. She lifted them to her nose and inhaled.

"Lavender," she murmured. She could still imagine the way he smelled, though he wasn't close enough at the moment. Faint lavender and fragrant smoke, like cedar. So very male.

"It grows wild in my woods."

Lena grinned at his possessiveness, but she did not dispute it. He could have the forests – he could have the world, as far as she was concerned – so long as she could have him at night.

"Thank you," she said, closing her eyes so she could lift her head to face him. She could almost feel his smile, and wished for perhaps the millionth time that she could see that smile on his lips. She felt the familiar twist of agony in her heart as she imagined spending the rest of her life without ever seeing his face.

"Lena," he began, and then he hesitated. She waited. He sighed. "Forgive me?"

"You did nothing wrong," she assured him.

His reply was instant and sharp. "Don't be cruel, Helena," he snapped.

"I'm not being cruel," she replied, taken aback by his accusation. "I don't blame you for leaving."

He was quiet for a very long time after that.

THE CREATURE

Was this another hallucination conjured up by his cruel, hateful mind? Did she actually not blame him for how he had acted the previous night?

In all the years of his life, no human on this Earth had ever sought to cast anything other than blame and hate upon him. When he had found Lena, he had been more than half mad, savage and bloodthirsty. Only the one thing he had never expected to find had managed to save him: acceptance, simple and pure. And now that he had found it, he would rather die than lose it.

He would rather die than lose her.

She sat there, tense and still, with a frown curling her beautiful lips, while his thoughts raged and crashed in his head like a violent tempest. She didn't say anything because she knew him well enough now to know that he was struggling with something he was not ready to explain.

"Why?" He demanded. It was all he could say, though many other words ached to pour from his lips. Fear held him back. Fear always held him back.

Lena blushed. He could see the gentle flush in her skin even in the near darkness, and the sight calmed him, amused him.

"I kissed you," she said softly. "Not the other way around." His pulse quickened at her words, because her words brought forth images from the night before. Her fingertips trailing like water over his skin, a balm that soothed his despair and swept all thoughts out of his mind instantly, so that when her lips touched his, all he felt for those earth-shattering moments was pure unfiltered bliss. And then right after that, instinct kicked in. In all his life, any happiness he'd ever experienced had been followed immediately by misery. So he ran. He ran so that he would not have to deal with the pain that always followed joy. He ran so that he would not lose his mind when she finally, inevitably rejected him.

And he ran so that he would not kiss her back.

"I am the one who should be begging your forgiveness," she whispered. Then she closed her eyes and bowed her head. "You were right about me."

The sadness in her voice made his chest tighten, as if his heart was a mirrored reflection of hers, and he felt whatever pain she felt, and whatever joy.

He moved closer, so he could rest his palms on the edge of her bed, and gently pulled back the gauzy curtains that shielded him from her piercing gaze.

She kept her eyes closed, though she surely heard him moving. The muscles in her shoulders tensed slightly, as they always did when he came near.

"Lena, I have been wrong about you from the very beginning." From the first time he saw her, when he assumed she would be vain and spoiled, to the first time he had felt her touch, when he was sure she would reject him for his deformities. She was, he realized with a slight shock, the very definition of humanity that he had first imagined, back when he was innocent of any crimes.

Ah, if only he had met her first! How different would he be now? Would he be gentle and kind? Would all the bitterness and anger still dwell within him?

"Does that mean I am forgiven?" she asked cautiously.

"Am I?"

"Absolutely," she said immediately.

He felt a smile tug at his lips, and he did not fight it. "Then so are you."

And for the first time all night, he was gifted with a true smile. It made his heart pound in his head, that smile. Those lips.

"You should go to sleep," he said quickly, looking away so that his thoughts would not stray too sinful.

"I'm not tired," she replied. He grinned. How many times now had she said that exact phrase to him? He had lost count. "Have you ever been to England?" She added.

He tilted his head down at her. He had been almost everywhere on this godforsaken continent, and the one below it as well. But that was back when he was running from Victor. Well, no, that wasn't accurate; it was back when he was leading Victor on a wild goose chase that would consume and eventually destroy the man who had created him.

"Yes," he stated. She raised her eyebrows in mild shock.

"Did you like it?"

His amusement faded slightly. "I suppose I did," he admitted. England's weather was, if not cheerful, at least much more forgiving than the harsh climate of the Arctic.

"We're going there soon. My family and I," she noted. He kept silent, waiting. "We go every year. My mother insists."

"Your mother is English," he interjected. "Why would she not wish to visit her native country?"

Lena sighed. "That's not the point. We always go to London for the Season. It will be months before we return to France."

He smiled, amusement flickering alive within him once more as he realized what she was asking.

"Months? How on Earth will you survive for so long without me?"

Lena grinned, a mixture of laughter and scolding in her voice as she said, "Don't tease me, my friend. Will you come with me to England or no?"

He was grateful of the darkness that hid him from her eyes, for he was sure he was grinning like a fool. But he quickly tamed his expression and his temper; he would follow her to the ends of the Earth if he had to, but if he was discovered with her in London, the hub of English culture, one of the largest cities on Earth, it would ruin her reputation, if not her life. Could he risk it? She had lived most of her life with her night terrors, surely she could handle a few months with them now.

"I will have to think about it, Lena," he said in a soft voice. Instantly, all amusement faded from her face. He felt his heart fall with her expression. "There are many more people in London."

"I see," she murmured. Her eyes slid open, and he took a step back. "A greater chance of being discovered."

"I did not say no," he said defensively. A smile flickered on her lips, swept away by sadness and growing exhaustion. She looked down at the lavender in her hand.

"We are leaving in three days," she said softly.

"Then I have three days to decide," he replied. Three days to convince himself that it would be in her best interest for him to stay here, far away from London and far away from Lena. She had become a constant temptation, made worse by the knowledge that she would not try to stop him.

"I will do my best to convince you," she whispered. He tried to ignore the smile curling her lips. Heat flushed his body, and immediately recalled the memory of her fingertips sliding over his skin, through his hair, over his scars. The touch of her lips to his.

He closed his eyes.

Three days was not long enough to overcome temptation.