(no subject)
TITLE: After the Storm
RATING: 18-ish. Naughty vampires are back.
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series. In order: Til The Moon Is Abed (Slash/Het), Unwritten Words, What Remains, The Gentler Sex, Visitation the chapter immediately preceding this chapter.
PAIRINGS: Herbert/Spike, Spike/von Krolock etc
WORDS: 9002
NOTES: Yep. Another one. bwinter is an evil instigator :P
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The rain was drumming incessantly against the tall windows, the sky black. Around the hills, the thunder rolled and flashes of lightning darted from the heavens, striking erratically at the uneven spill of the land.
Standing close to one of the glass doors that opened onto one of the multitude of balconies, Dawn was staring out, watching the snarling roil of light and darkness in the midnight clouds. Her hands pressed to the cool glass, she seemed dazzled by the closeness of the storm.
She had seen storms before, but nothing like this. Every flash of lightning seemed to be moving closer, so clear that she could see every dancing finger of light skewering off and spreading in rippling tendrils.
“It is beautiful, is it not?”
Startled by the voice, Dawn tore her eyes from the wildness of nature, looking around behind her. The room was empty and dark, save for the fire burning low in the grate. Her brows drew together.
“You have to teach me how to do that,” she muttered self-consciously.
The chuckle washed over her like a warm wave. “As you wish,” the whisper wrapped around her senses. “Turn around.”
Without question, she did so. Beyond the rain-dashed glass, his hair whipping around his face in the wind, von Krolock was gazing at her. His cloak was snapping and flapping against his legs, but he didn’t seem to notice. As she stared out at him, one side of his mouth slowly curled up.
Between them, the doors burst open, the wind rushing in, icy cold.
Gasping at the sudden chill, Dawn instinctively drew back a step, blinking against the rain now spattering against her skin.
“Come.” Though little more than a whisper, barely audible over the roar, von Krolock’s voice reached beyond simple hearing. It snared around her senses, irresistible, alluring, rich with power and invitation.
Even if she had wanted to refuse, Dawn knew it was unlikely that she could.
Good thing she didn’t want to, really.
Yeah, she knew she should and yeah, he was a vampire, but it wasn’t like she was doing a Buffy. She knew what he was like, at least a little. She had never not known he was a vampire. She had never forgotten it. Never intended to.
But he was so nice and polite and totally not trying to get in her pants right away, which was a bit of a novelty.
And hey! If he tried to go all bitey on her, she knew how to stop him.
Stepping over the threshold, she shivered violently, hit by a cold gust of wind. The strength of it shocked her, making her falter, her footing uncertain on slick stone and buffeted by swirling blasts of air.
Without warning, he was beside her, stabilising her, his hands catching her arms with such gentleness, holding her up. Strangely, close to him, it seemed like the wind lessened, that the rain wasn’t so cold, the air nowhere near as icy.
Drawing her towards the edge of the balcony, von Krolock didn’t look down at her, nor make any acknowledgement of her presence, and when he lowered his hands from her arms, she gasped again at the chill that assailed her.
A sweep of his cloak brought him abruptly behind her before she could protest, his hands braced on the balustrade, on either side of her hips, his body close to hers, yet not quite, never quite, touching.
Yet, again, the cold seemed to dim and though she could see it falling around her, the rain didn’t seem to touch her.
“Look,” he whispered close to her ear. She could feel the light tickle of his hair, tossed against her cheek by what little breeze did assail them, her body trembling as that single syllable caressed her as softly as that wicked strand of hair.
Before them, the bolts of lightning danced and sparked across the grounds, closer and closer, lured to the powerful sorcerer behind her, as willing as she had been. She shied back with a sound of awe when a shimmering blaze of light struck and wove over the towering gates, dazzled.
“Magnificent.” Von Krolock sounded as if he were purring with satisfaction.
Twin streaks of light struck the courtyard not a hundred metres away. Watching the tendrils crawl across the ground, she felt her heart racing. Pressing back towards the vampire behind her, she knew that if one of those bolts struck her, she would be dead instantly.
Abruptly, his voice whispered in her other ear. “Are you afraid, liebling?”
“Wouldn’t you be?” She tried to force some strength back into her breathless voice.
Before her, his hands slid inwards, until she was framed in the circle of his arms. “You are safer than any other is at this moment.” His lips were so close to her that she could feel the chill. “Are you still afraid?”
Trembling and not from anything like fear, Dawn reached out and covered his hands with her own. “Should I be?” she asked in a whisper.
He laughed softly, wickedly. “Perhaps.”
Slowly, inexorably, his arms drew against her, holding her close. Her eyes falling shut, her breathing was rapid, her fingers pressing against the back of his palms. What came first, she could not be sure, but she felt the brush of his lips against the flesh of her throat and simultaneously heard the hissed curse.
As gentle as he had seemed, he was no longer.
Like a cord being cut between them, his physical and emotional hold on her was severed in an instant. Staggering, falling against the balustrade, Dawn whirled around, pressing back against the stone, rain and wind lashing her without mercy now.
Von Krolock was staring at her like a wild creature, his eyes flaming, his lips burnt and bloodied. She could see the feral whiteness of his fangs, could almost hear the low growl resonating through him.
Without even seeming to move, he was towering over her, his hand in her hair, pulling her head back. Biting down a sound of pain, Dawn squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the impulse to fight against him, to struggle.
She felt his scorching scrutiny, could hear, could feel the rage that was usually so contained beneath that gentle surface.
Abruptly, he was gone.
Dawn sagged against the balustrade without his grip to force her upright. Her scalp was throbbing painfully where he had caught her by her hair, and the rain was rapidly soaking through her clothes.
Shaking, though not purely from the rush of terrified outrage, she didn’t know how long she just stood there, battered by the elements, gradually sinking down the wall to sit, as the heavens showed no mercy and the thunder rolled.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Picking up a card, Spike sat back and raised his brows.
“You are being daring tonight, cheri,” Herbert observed, leaning across the table to place a card down. His smile was far from innocent by the candlelight. “Can it be you are playing for dignity?”
“Bit chilly for getting naked,” Spike replied, pulling a face and arranging his cards meticulously. “Especially in this room. Bet it has some draughts.”
Herbert laughed musically. “Oh, you have no idea.”
Spike gave him a look. “I think I do, actually,” he said, nodding towards the chaise on the far side of the room. “As I recall, you nicked my trousers and legged it. Got nippy enough on a sunny day.”
Looking across the drawing room, the golden-haired vampire’s gaze was wistful. “Ah, those were the good old days...”
“That was last week, you pillock!” Spike laughed.
“Which still makes them old by today’s reckoning,” Herbert said sagely. When Spike put a card down, Herbert examined his and picked up another. “So, where is your little mortal?”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Watching the weather upstairs, if you believe it,” he said, though there was no mistaking the affection in his tone. “You’d think the Bit had never seen rain, the way she was staring out the window.”
Glancing at one of the tall windows, Herbert chuckled. “I think father might have been showing off a little,” he admitted.
Idly rearranging his cards, Spike frowned. “S’he still after her, then?”
“You know my father, William,” Herbert murmured, lifting his eyes from his cards to the younger vampire. “He adores complex women, especially those of the dark-haired persuasion.”
“And you don’t get much odder than the Bit,” Spike muttered grudgingly. “If the Slayer had a clue...”
“Well, she certainly doesn’t,” Herbert said. “And if she did, she can hardly control her sister’s life, can she? She seemed ineffectual enough at controlling her own.”
Spike’s expression tensed at the thought of his former-lover, and he stared at the cards in his hands without really seeing them. “She’s all right,” he muttered. “Been through a lot, that girl.”
“You’ll forgive me if I do not sympathise,” Herbert said coolly. “She seemed to think she had every right to direct the lives of those around her.” Grey eyes, sharp and penetrating as a blade, looked at him. “Yours was once under her control, was it not?”
Spike stared blindly at his cards. “Things happen,” he mumbled. “Sometimes you have to take help where you can get it.” He forced himself to glare at Herbert. “What makes you think I give a rat’s arse about that, anyway?”
“I am not completely stupid, William,” Herbert laid his cards down on the table. “I saw a change in you the moment she arrived. Even when Angelus was present, I did not see you as uncertain as you were in her presence.”
Staring at Herbert, feeling that peculiar tenseness wrapping around his chest, stifling and suffocating, he made himself shrug, feigning nonchalance. “She’s a Slayer,” he mumbled. “Get a bit jumpy around them out of habit.”
“Oh, William,” Herbert sighed. “You always were a terrible liar.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Spike’s voice was quiet, wretchedly weak, and he tried to stifle the tremble in it. Bloody Herbert and his bloody stupid bloody instincts. Last thing he needed was for them to know about his fling with the Slayer. “She’s not here anymore, is she? Doesn’t bother me.”
He has started to rise when Herbert moved, but not quickly enough. Herbert pressed to his back suddenly, a firm arm around his waist. “Why do you keep lying, cheri?” the whisper was soft against his ear. “To me? To yourself?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Spike squirmed away from him and strode away from the table. “Just leave it.”
Watching him, Herbert gazed at him in silence, then slowly nodded. “For now, cheri,” he agreed slowly. His eyes flicked sideways and Spike turned to see what he was looking at, relief and shock vying for place at the sight of Dawn.
Soaked to the skin and shivering, she was padding past the door, her hair hanging in sodden strings around her face, her arms wrapped around her torso.
“Bit!” Rushing towards her, he felt her stagger when he caught her by the arms, looking her up and down. “What happened? Didn’t I tell you to stay inside when the weather’s like that?”
“F-forgot,” she mumbled through chattering teeth.
Frowning, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “C’mon, love, we’ll get you to your room and warmed up, eh?” She nodded gratefully, leaning against him. “Game over, Herbie.”
The golden-haired vampire slowly nodded.
However, as they started walking down the hall, he heard the voice drift from behind him, full of threat, promise and certainty; “For now, cheri.”
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
It had been misfortune on William’s part that he had been seen.
Snared in the doorway of Dawn’s bedroom, the young vampire had been dragged mercilessly towards his own chambers. Cast upon the bed, he had been forced - face-down - by the Master of the house.
His fangs bared, von Krolock watched his sharp nails sinking through William’s shirt into the smooth flesh between William’s shoulders. The blossoms of scarlet on the pale cloth would have been beautiful, almost artful, but he could find no part of him that cared.
Bending over the boy, his voice was little more than a growl. “Be silent.”
His face smothered in the covers, William’s desperate thrashing ceased, though he trembled as fiercely as the girl had. His black-nailed hands clutched at the bedding in helpless fists.
No.
This was not enough.
This was not right.
With a snarl, von Krolock wrenched back. He made a gesture with his blood-tipped fingers, tossing William onto his back on the bed, the sheer terror in the youngster’s eyes doing little to cool his wrath.
Throwing aside his cloak, his hair still damp from the rain, he knelt over the younger vampire, one hand catching William by the throat and pinning him down. Staring down, he could feel the anger building in him, stoked by frustration and physical pain.
“Didn’t know!” William half-whimpered, half-cried.
His eyes boring into William’s, von Krolock knew it was the truth. William would not dare lie to him again. He had ensured that. But neither did he particularly care at this moment.
Savagely forcing William’s head to one side, nails digging viciously into William’s pale cheek, he bit into the boy’s throat, hard, uncaring of fresh pain bursting through his blistered lips.
William cried out shrilly, his hands leaping to half-push, half-pull von Krolock towards him, his desire tied so intrinsically with pain and domination that von Krolock could taste it to his very essence.
His own hands snaring the boy’s wrists, he forced them down onto the bedding on either side of William’s head, lifting his mouth from the fresh wound on William’s throat, scarlet staining the sheet beneath them.
Panting rapidly, William was staring up at him, shivering so violently that von Krolock felt it to his core.
Not enough!
It was like a scream in his mind, a desperate, ravening hunger, a shrieking cry to claim what was his, to possess, to make sure this insolent youngster knew that he was possessed, possessed as the girl would be.
His mouth claimed William’s with a bloody brutality that made the boy yelp into his throat. He swallowed the cries as greedily as he had drunk in William’s essence, freeing one of William’s hands to pull the youngster’s body hard against him.
William squirmed, but whether it was in denial or acquiescence, he neither knew nor cared enough to take heed.
Loosing William’s other hand, he lifted his wrist to his mouth, ripping the flesh open and pressing it to William’s lips and with a choked whine, the youngster clutched at his arm like a babe to a bottle.
It lasted but a moment and von Krolock tore his arm away and rose from the bed.
“Strip,” he snarled, low and dangerous, his own hands making light work of his shirt.
Sitting up gingerly, struggling to comply, hands shaking feverishly, William peeled off his clothing. He half-rose to place it neatly as was always asked of him, but von Krolock caught his wrist.
“Leave it.” Blue eyes stared at him warily. “Now.”
One trembling hand opened and the clothes landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.
“Good.” More growl than speech, von Krolock’s voice was a rumble. His smile bared his teeth as he forced the younger vampire back onto the bed, one hand flat against William’s smooth chest, his mouth claiming the boy’s once more.
He was distantly amused by the way William’s hands were clenching into tight, white-knuckled fists against the bedding on either side of William’s head, too afraid to touch, yet desperately wanting to.
Sliding his hands against William’s thighs, forcing them apart, von Krolock moved between the youngster’s legs and leaned close over the boy, kissing the blood staining his collarbone and throat with mock-tenderness even as he dragged William’s body hard against his.
His mouth journeyed down, over the shivering muscles, over the heaving ribs that were rising and falling so rapidly it was a wonder the boy could still make such poignantly delightful vocalisations. His nails bit into flesh as William’s hips twitched and jerked with such tensed wantoness that he chuckled.
Sinking to his knees by the side of the bed, he all but purred in satisfaction as he rubbed his cheek against William’s smooth, taut inner thigh. The boy was quivering with such silent need that von Krolock could not help but revel in the sheer beauty of one utterly bent to his will.
With slow deliberation, he placed kissed from William’s knee to his hip, tracing an erratic pattern, making the boy gasp and squirm so deliciously. The gasps were growing more and more shallow, delightful to the ear, but not enough.
A feigned kiss turned bloody as fangs cut into the soft skin. Von Krolock felt the boy buck in shock, tearing his flesh, the indrawn breath giving way to a cry so shrill and pained that von Krolock near groaned to hear it.
Sliding up the boy’s body, he braced his hands on either side of William’s, his own chest rising and falling evenly as he gazed down at the pretty little wretch. His lashes fluttering, William moaned beautifully as von Krolock slowly brought his hips into taunting contact.
With a mental touch that made William gasp, von Krolock smiled deliberately as those delightful blue eyes sprang open and stared wildly at him. With the subtlest of jerks of his head, he felt William shift against him, hips lifting, obedient to even the unspoken command.
His kiss was gentler as he pressed against William’s body, luring and teasing the boy into responding and, only now, did those hands uncurl, reaching out and sinking into his hair, making it slip over his shoulders, a silvery curtain about them.
It was so gentle, so tender, almost as if they were truly equals in this union and that made the cry of pain all the sweeter against his lips when his body claimed William’s wholly.
With one hand, he forced William’s head back against the blood-stained sheets and plunged his fangs into the pale throat once more, claiming, marking, tasting, filling, needing, wanting, possessing.
Whether it was choice or instinct, William wrapped his legs around von Krolock’s hips, his hands fisting into the heavy cascade of silver hair. Faint, desperate sounds were escaping from his throat, his body meeting every raw stroke of von Krolock’s against him.
No fighting.
No resistance.
Utter acceptance.
Von Krolock withdrew his fangs, licking the blood from his lips and growling a soft approval at the harsh press of William’s fingers against the flesh of his shoulders.
On the edge of his senses, something touched him, something that otherwise would have drawn his attention fully, something that was - at this moment - an intrusion that could be ignored.
Tossing his head back, blood streaming over his chin, his hair cascading down his spine, he shuddered pleasantly.
His hands braced on either side of William’s head, his panting growls were the only sound laid over the breathless whimpers of the younger vampire, fingers sinking into the bedding as he moved his hips in a leisurely motion.
Face averted, William arched his back with a breath of a whimper, fingers clutching at von Krolock with wanton desperation. Then something more than desperation took him, his body stiffening and a glance showed wide, startled eyes and what colour he had fading from his face.
Tilting his head to follow the younger vampire’s gaze, his hair slipping against his cheeks, clinging to his lashes and lips, von Krolock felt his upper lip curl at the sight of the mortal woman standing there.
Wide, shocked eyes stared at him, and he lifted his chin, shaking back his hair and baring his fangs at her.
A flick of one hand made her stagger back into the hall, too startled to resist, the door slamming closed on her.
With that same hand, he turned William’s face back to his, slowly smiling down at the younger vampire, then claimed his mouth once more, forcing all thoughts of the mortal from both of them.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Barely two hours had passed since the bedraggled Dawn had been ushered from the drawing room by William.
Less than half of that had passed again when, wandering towards the library, he saw her rushing along the hall, scarlet in the face, with a heart rate that - had he been peckish - would have been tantalising.
Humming to himself, he had chuckled, recognising the sign of mortification, though not without traces of arousal.
Still, it had been none of his business if his father had chosen to play with a sick human girl. Of course, that had been the case until the scent of William had wrapped around him, even in the library, a level above William’s chambers.
Mid-page, he placed his finger against the text to mark his place, his brow rumpling.
Lifting his head, he sniffed.
Fresh blood. Sex too, if he was any judge.
Turning on the chair, he physically jumped at the sight of his father standing less than two paces from him. Not merely caught off-guard, he was shocked by the blood smearing his father’s face, his hair in disarray, his shirt undone and eyes flashing and feral.
“Father?” He started to rise, but was pushed back down, the black eyes fixed on his face with such intensity that it nigh left him breathless.
Oh, it had been a long time since his father had lost control, the darker side of his nature usually held so tightly in check that it was seldom apparent. It seemed that, unsurprisingly, it had been roused by passion once more.
Without conscious thought, Herbert lifted his hand and drew the collar of his shirt aside, tilting his head in wordless invitation.
His father’s hand cradled his jaw with surprising tenderness, considering his present state, but the bite was far from gentle, and Herbert bit on his lower lip to stifle a faint gasp, pressing his eyes shut.
When he drew away, von Krolock laid his brow on Herbert’s shoulder, sinking on his knees in front of his son and, unquestioningly, Herbert leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his father.
For several minutes there was silence, during which Herbert tenderly smoothed his father’s tangled hair, his cheek pressing to his father’s crown. “I love you, father,” he murmured, nuzzling his father’s hair. “Even if you stained my favourite suit.”
Judging upon the faint, tired chuckle, his father’s possessive ire had been cooled and Herbert loosed his arms, sitting back, though one of his father’s hands clasped at his, squeezing his fingers.
“Thank you, Herbert,” he said softly, lifting his eyes to his son.
Tilting his head, Herbert smiled, wrapping both his hands around his father’s. “You know there’s no need for that,” he said warmly, grey eyes soft with affection. “I expect a certain young lady is responsible for this?”
Von Krolock exhaled a weary sigh, sinking back on his heels. “In part,” he said, his voice quiet and grave. “And my own petty jealousy. I fear William will be unable to entertain you for some days.”
Despite himself, Herbert covered his mouth with his hand, hiding a grin. “Poor William,” he tried to say seriously. “Dare I ask...?”
Lifting his free hand to touch the mark at Herbert’s throat, von Krolock curled his fingers against his palm. “I know he would never touch her as I would,” he murmured absently. “Yet he touched her...”
Staring at his father, Herbert’s eyes went wide. “Her neck!” he exclaimed, shaking his head as if he could not believe he had forgotten. “I meant to warn you not to touch her neck!”
Dark eyes fastened on his face. “You knew?”
“I made the mistake of pretending to bite her when first we met,” Herbert replied quickly. “I had completely forgotten! She said she had it done a year or so ago, after one too many unwanted people chose her as an appetiser.”
Von Krolock tilted his head back, his hair slipping over his shoulders, his eyes closed, and he sighed. “She is a clever one, that girl,” he murmured, the remnants of his anger seeming to dissipate.
“More than many gave her credit for,” Herbert agreed, leaning forward to arrange his father’s hair more neatly about his shoulders.
“Pity.”
“Hmm?” Adjusting his father’s shirt and smoothing the shoulders, Herbert looked up at grave black eyes that seemed somehow sadder than usual.
“I fear I may have driven her away.”
“You are talking nonsense,” Herbert said briskly, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbing at his father’s chin. “The girl has survived a dozen apocalypses and a Hellmouth, not to mention having a Slayer as a sister and William as a friend. I doubt you have managed to chase her off.” He tucked his kerchief away. “If you reacted badly to her tattoo...”
“Herbert, she saw me with William.”
Grey eyes went round. “Oh!” Averting his eyes and making sure the handkerchief was utterly invisible in his pocket, Herbert cleared his throat. “I... I suppose that might take some explaining.”
“Yes,” Despite his gravity, his father smiled faintly. “I thought it might.”
“How much...?” Though a greater part of him preferred to be oblivious to his father’s activities, if it was going to lead to situations such as this, Herbert thought it better to know.
“I do not truly know,” von Krolock replied quietly, unfolding from the floor and straightening up. “Enough. More than enough.” He gazed beyond the walls. “More than any of us expected her to see.”
“Well, that goes without saying!” Herbert exclaimed, then wished he had managed to stifle himself. “I saw the little darling fleeing down the hall and wondered what had sent her rushing off.”
Von Krolock’s gaze swept back to his son. “You saw her?”
“Fleeing,” Herbert reiterated with a nod. “I have never seen anyone quite so pink without the aid of a large bucket of rouge.”
Approaching one of the empty seats, von Krolock sat down slowly. “Oh.”
Picking at a loose thread he had just noticed - after deliberately picking it loose - Herbert’s eyes remained down. “If it is any small comfort,” he said after a moment. “She wasn’t just embarrassed.”
He could feel his father’s eyes on him, but didn’t look up.
“Is that so?” It was asked so casually it was almost as if meant nothing.
“Mm.”
There was a long silence punctuated only by the quiet rattle of rain against the glass.
“I suppose I ought to refresh myself,” his father said suddenly, thoughtfully, rising smoothly from the chair. “It is hardly respectable to distress a guest, then show face with no more decorum than a pauper.”
As his father started to walk away, Herbert looked up. “Would you like me to talk with her?” he asked softly and saw the subtle grateful inclination of his father’s head before von Krolock stepped out of the room.
Well, Herbert mused, at least that left something to do, with William no longer available.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Wrapped in her blanket, Dawn shuffled her way down the hall. Her head was aching, and it was taking all her concentration to stay upright. Presently on the way back from the kitchen, where she had been rooting around for a hot drink, she suspected staying in bed would probably have been the best bet.
However, after a night alone in her room with nothing but the memory of what she had seen dancing across her consciousness, something more than four walls had seemed appealing.
In spite of herself, she had also crept in to check on Spike.
Just Spike.
Totally just Spike.
He had barely seemed to notice she was there. Either asleep or unconscious, or somewhere in between the two, he was curled up in the middle of the bed, but he definitely didn’t look like he was in any pain.
She had seen the bites ringing his throat, savage and deep, but they were no longer bleeding. In fact, there had been no trace of the blood she had seen spattered everywhere when she had seen him hours earlier.
Even weirder was the fact he had been tucked up like a child, with the blankets neatly arranged over him.
With way too much to think about and way too much time to do it in, especially with a head that felt like it was feeling up with wet cotton wool balls, she had continued onto the kitchen, finding some kind of herbal tea.
Every sound echoed back at her in the huge kitchen, from the rustle of her blanket to the clink of her spoon against the side of the mug, no matter how quiet she tried to be.
It was creepy how empty the house felt now.
Not that it had ever felt full before, but now, it seemed... emptier.
It was like something was missing, something she hadn’t even realised was there until suddenly, without warning, it was gone. She could only assume what it was, guess wildly and speculate, but if his ire the day before had been anything to go on...
For the first time since her arrival, she felt utterly alone.
Her cup cradled in her left hand, her right held her blanket snugly around her as she nudged her bedroom door open with her foot. Making a mental note to ask about proper heating, she was relieved to see that her pitiable attempt at a fire was still smouldering in the grate. That was something.
Pushing the door closed behind her, she was halfway across the room, on her way to the chair by the fire, when she saw the flicker of motion on the periphery of her vision and stopped dead.
Thumbing through a book, Herbert didn’t look up at her. He was sitting on her bed, against the broad headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed.
“Good morning, darling,” he said after several minutes of silence broken only by the sound of Dawn’s breathing and the rustle of pages. His eyes flicked up to her and he frowned suddenly.
Abruptly, he was on his feet and in front of her and, yet again, she wondered just how fast vampires could move if they put their mind to it. Could probably take gold medals in every sport.
“M’okay,” she muttered, continuing on her way to the chair, only for him to grab her arms and gently steer her around in a circle. Mentally, she protested, but somehow, the rest of her body refused to comply.
All at once, she was aware that her tea had been stolen and her feet were somehow a couple of feet off the ground, not to mention how close Herbert’s face suddenly was to hers.
“Pumme down,” she protested.
“At once,” Herbert’s voice was brisk and he deposited her gently back into her bed, tucking the sheets then blankets over her body. Settling her against the pillows, he retrieved her tea from the table and placed it in her hands, before stalking across the room to stoke the fire.
Rubbing her face, Dawn squinted at him. “What are you doing in here anyway?” she inquired, vaguely remembering that she should be yelling at him.
“Officially, I’m here to kill you,” Herbert replied over his shoulder, once the fire flared up. He turned and approached the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. “But I suspect you will be sour.”
“Ass,” Dawn mumbled, sipping her tea.
“Yes, I have one of those as well,” he replied conversationally, tilting his head to study her thoughtfully. “I expect this is because you decided it would be a good idea to go wandering outside in the rain.”
Despite the feverish flush in her cheeks, she somehow managed to go an even deeper shade of red. “Wasn’t exactly my idea,” she muttered over the cup, coils of steam tracing across her face.
Herbert nodded, as if realizing something, pressing his fingertips to his lips. “Have you felt like this before?” he inquired.
“Yeah,” Dawn shifted against the pillows. “It’s just a cold. No big deal.”
Clicking his tongue, Herbert reached out and laid a palm against her brow. Dawn gasped at the chill against her flesh that was so much warmer than usual. “As I recall, bed rest and bleeding were the best cures… leeches too…”
“Uh…” Dawn blinked at him. “I think I prefer my mom’s chicken soup and too much TV way better.”
The vampire grinned at her. “You’re soft,” he said fondly. “Nothing says good health and well-being like being bled.”
“You wish,” Dawn retorted, then sipped some more of the scalding tea.
“I didn’t mean I would do it!” Herbert protested virtuously.
“Then who would?” She rolled her eyes. “Your dad? Last time I saw him, he was way bitey.”
“Ah…” Herbert climbed over her legs to sit on the wider expanse of the bed, crossing his legs in front of him and resting his hands on his knees. “I was curious as to how much you saw last night.”
Blue eyes darted up to him. “You knew?” she squeaked.
Shrugging his shoulders elegantly, Herbert smiled. “I’m a vampire,” he said. “I can smell these things.”
“Skipping by the part where that’s totally gross,” Dawn sat up a little, staring at him, her face flushed and eyes fever-bright. “You don’t care that your dad was screwing your boyfriend?”
One of Herbert’s eyebrows arched. “What makes you think I have made such a claim of William?” he inquired.
“Um… you kinda jump on him all the time?”
“That hardly means he is my ‘boyfriend’,” he observed dryly. “It merely means that he and I desire one another, and since he belongs to us anyway, I see no reason that we should not have a little fun.”
“Belongs?” Dawn cocked her head, forcing herself to concentrate past the fluff that felt like it was coating her brain. “Isn’t that kinda the same thing as being involved with someone?”
“If that is the case, then William is ‘involved’ with both my father and I,” Herbert replied, lacing his fingers together in front of him. Apparently, she looked confused enough to draw a smile to his lips. “Dawn, darling, you must remember that we do not see things as mortals or humans see them. Our rules are less finite, less rigid.”
Her brows drawn together, her head throbbing, she stared at him. “So Spike’s what? Your sex-moppet?”
Returning her stare for a moment, Herbert started to laugh. “Oh, he will be mortified if I tell him I wish to call him that,” he said, shaking his head. “No, no… I doubt he is anyone’s moppet any longer. When I say he is ours, I mean that he belongs to us. If anything happens to him, it will affect us, it will rouse us, and if he is hurt, it will bring down our vengeance upon the heads of his aggressors.”
“Kinda… like you’re a family thing?”
“I suppose it is as good an analogy as any,” Herbert agreed amiably. “Originally, his family by blood were the ones he belonged to, both by choice and lineage, but with the deaths of Angelus and Darla, without anyone left to turn to, he came to us and we claimed him, father and I.”
“And you both get to screw him?” She was gaping again, she knew it.
“You think that is all you saw?” Herbert looked both offended and surprised. “My darling child, you saw what few, if any mortals have ever seen. My father was marking that which he claimed as his, in every way. He rarely feels the need to do so, only when he has something new he wishes to add to those around him.” Lifting one hand, he drew down the collar of his dark shirt, revealing a bite as vicious as the one that had marked Spike’s throat. “Even me.”
Dawn stared at him. “But you’re his son!”
“You seem to miss the most important factor in that sentence,” Herbert observed, lowering his hand. “I’m his. If he feels the balance shift, if he feels change is coming, whatever it may be, he will assure himself of what is set and will never change.” He half-closed his eyes in thought. “Once you are claimed, marked and chosen, he will ever count you as his. It is a bond that lasts through eternity, no matter how far you go or what you do.” Those smoky grey eyes opened again. “Do you understand forever, little one?”
Feeling a little overwhelmed by the rush of information, Dawn nodded weakly. “And he gets bitey to remind you that you’re his?”
“It is a rare thing, darling,” Herbert reached out to gently tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “But yes, this was one of those occasions.” He leaned forward and murmured softly. “And you caused it.”
The quietness of his voice, the intimacy of his words, the way he practically purred it made goosebumps rise along Dawn’s arms, a shiver running down her spine. “But I didn’t do anything...”
Shaking his head and tutting, as if she had said something deeply stupid, Herbert reached out to place his cool palm to her brow again. “Darling, he saw William tend you, saw him touching you and you him...”
“I did not!” Dawn made a face. “Ew! Spike is like my brother!”
“Even in a platonic sense, my little darling,” Herbert said firmly. “Something not yet his touching something that was...” He gazed at her and she stared back, unable to believe it was something as simple as that. “You doubt what I say?”
Dawn nodded, looking down at her half-finished tea. “Kinda, yeah...” she mumbled, turning the cup around. “You said I caused it, but why would me and Spike being touchy be a big deal?” Blue eyes lifted to him uncertainly. “Last time I saw your dad before last night, he was growly at me. Figured he was mad at me.”
“And why was he growly, as you so charmingly put it?” Herbert asked, brows rising, clearly knowing the answer.
Dawn started to reply that she didn’t know, then remembered, one hand rising to touch her bare throat, her eyes going wide. “I... I figured he was just mad because he got burnt...”
“And because he could not touch what he wished to?” Herbert suggested softly.
The warm rush of pleasure and wonder that spread through her made her tremble so much that tea slopped over her fingers. Hastily placing the cup to one side, she stared nervously at Herbert. “I... he... he wants to?”
“Darling, did you ever have the slightest doubt?”
Biting her lip, Dawn lowered her eyes and shrugged uncertainly.
Lifting her chin gently with two fingers, Herbert tilted his head to peek at her with a small smile on his lips. “My father has a peculiar... weakness for beautiful, strong women, though he rarely indulges,” he said softly.
“But he never did anything!” she burst out.
Herbert stared at her, then grinned. Reaching out, he ruffled her hair. “You silly little goose,” he said fondly. “He invited you to stay at his home, personally no less.” He smoothed her mussed hair, slipping closer to sit beside her, gazing down at her. “And did his kiss to your throat mean nothing?”
Heat rising in her cheeks, Dawn twisted her fingers together. “Thought it might just be a vampire... thing.” she mumbled. “He’s been so nice and good-mannery. I thought he was just being polite.”
Leaning against her arm, tilting his head until his golden hair mingled with hers on her shoulder, Herbert lowered his voice to wickedly murmur, “Well, perhaps you should just be polite back.”
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
It had been a long time since an invalid had been a welcome guest in the manor, the novelty of which delighted Herbert a great deal. He was amused by the girl’s stubborn refusal to admit she was ill, which had lead to repeated encounters in the hall.
She had found herself flung over his shoulder and carried back to bed more times than either of them dared count. Eventually, he had threatened to tie her down and when threats alone failed, he had done so.
Of course, then she had kicked him in the head and used words that no charming lady would ever think to use, so he had gagged her and tied her ankles down as well.
Admittedly, she had proven very resilient, beating back the chill with minimal effort, purely to ruin Herbert’s mirth at leaving her bound in her bed, forcing chicken soup on her when she least expected it.
It had granted him a new and diverse vocabulary as well, the Americanisms crude but terribly entertaining.
It also distracted him from the fact that his father had vanished somewhere within the manor or the grounds. He had no doubt his father was brooding, idling over some way to ease his way back into the young woman’s affection.
That thought alone made him grin.
If only dear father knew how resolute and strong the girl was.
Even so, though they had not seen anything of the Graf for days, the house gradually seemed to become more welcoming as if, by degrees, he was slowly weaving his charms around it again, something that did not go unnoticed by the occupants.
Days had slipped by slowly and by and by, Dawn was released from her bed, a limb at a time, mainly to give Herbert enough time to race for the door. That only gave her the chance to prove how good her aim was with a heavy pillow.
Still, he had been unsurprised when she had graciously accepted his offer to let her bathe herself, after three days of refusing point blank to let him strip her and toss her in a tub of cold water, on the recommendation of some Victorian surgeon.
It would, he had protested, break the fever.
Of course, she did not know what was best for her, so he had tried to pitch her into the tub of ice-cold water, fully-dressed, and she had shrieked like a scalded cat, climbing up his body with an agility that astounded him.
Hanging from him like some long-legged and infuriated limpet, her arms locked around his neck, her legs around his waist, she glared at him. Saying something very rude, she had threatened to molest him.
It had been agreed then that he would not attempt to bathe her at all, ever.
So, fleeing her room, he left her to her bath.
The afternoon, however, had found him lazing in the lounge like a contented cat, a half-dressed William sprawled over him, the pleasant warmth of the fire leaving them drowsy and sated. William’s hastily kicked-off trousers smouldered at the heart of the flames.
After his encounter with Herbert’s father, William had slept for nearly three full days and nights, so when he had dashed into the lounge and tackled Herbert onto the couch, the elder vampire had not felt the least bit inclined to complain.
Idly stroking William’s tangled curls, his other hand tucked behind his head, he didn’t bother to open his eyes when he heard the door swing open, nor look to see who was striding towards the couch.
William, on the other hand, shot to his feet as if attached to a rocket.
“Niblet!”
“Hey, Spike,” Apparently, she was standing directly behind the couch. “Thought you were never gonna wake up.” She leaned over the back of the couch and poked Herbert’s belly. “Herbert, you faking sleep again?”
One grey eye cracked open, he surveyed the young woman standing over him, apparently ignoring William’s attempt to shield his modesty with a cushion. Her hair washed and braided, she looked much fresher than she had when he left her.
“Mm?”
“Where would your dad be?”
Stretching his arms over his head, uncaring of the way his shirt crept up over his hips, Herbert yawned luxuriously. It turned into a brief frown when William hastily dropped a pillow on him too.
“You were showing!” William protested in a mumble.
“Oh, please, like I haven’t seen naked boy-parts before,” Dawn rolled her eyes expressively, though Herbert could see the remnants of a blush trying to fight its way across her cheeks. Spluttering, William mumbled something incoherent that was ignored by both of them.
“Why are you looking, little one?” Herbert asked, raising himself on his elbows.
Dawn gave him an innocent smile. “I wanna kick him for leaving me sitting in the rain,” she said.
Herbert raised an eyebrow, then inclined his head. “I think the library would be the most likely of places,” he replied, then leaned off the couch, his voice muffled as he added, “And I have something for you that may help...”
“Steel-toed boots?”
“Alas, I did not think of those...” Sitting upright, Herbert held out a narrow, flat box to her. “Enjoy, cherie.”
Leaning down, Dawn kissed him sweetly on the cheek. With a light-fingered hand, she claimed the box and strode off, as if to battle all the demons of hell in the final apocalypse.
Herbert watched her go with an amused grin.
“And what,” William’s baffled voice brought him back to the present, “the bloody hell just happened?”
Grabbing William by the front of his gaping shirt and yanking him back down to sprawl over his body, Herbert settled comfortably, shifting until he was quite satisfied with his position.
“While you were taking your nap, cheri, your little morsel was quite ill.” William made a worried sound, starting to rise, but was promptly pulled back down, one of Herbert’s hands catching his hair. “You will notice I said was, William.” He beamed as if quite proud of himself. “I should have been a doctor.”
Blue eyes gaped dumbly at him. “You looked after her?”
“Of course!” Herbert said happily. “Gave her chicken soup and bed rest.” He closed his eyes with a pleased yawn. “I don’t think she enjoyed the chains quite as much as the ropes...”
Above him, it sounded like William had just had a fit. “... chains...?”
Opening one eye lazily, Herbert shrugged his shoulders. “How else can one be sure their patient will remain in bed?”
Gaping at him, William made a faint, incoherent sound. “Knew she shouldn’t have stayed,” he mumbled. “Girl’s gonna be messed up even more...”
“Oh, don’t worry, darling,” Herbert chuckled, combing his fingers lazily through William’s wavy hair. “I’m sure that you have guaranteed that already.” He smiled slowly, wickedly. “As I hear, she had a ring-side seat.”
Against his torso, William went rigid. “What are you on about?”
“My poor, sweet, silly darling,” Herbert opened his eyes reluctantly. “I’m trying to sleep here.”
“Herbie!”
“If you want to know whether or not your oh-so-innocent little piece of meat saw you being soundly buggered six ways from Sunday by my father, then yes,” He yawned widely, fangs glinting. “She saw, she heard, and she found it remiss of you to leave your door unlocked.”
“Oh God...” William groaned, dropping his head onto Herbert’s sternum. “Stake me now, Herbie.”
Patting William’s head soothingly, Herbert squirmed a bit, shifting the younger vampire’s weight against him. “Don’t worry, cheri,” he said around another yawn. “I made sure she knew precisely what was going on.”
“You what?”
“I thought it fitting that she did not think my father was some kind of perverted fiend,” Herbert replied cheerfully. “I felt it would damage my own reputation if she thought father was worse.”
“Slayer’s gonna bloody kill me...”
“Oh, no,” Herbert laughed. “I suspect there will be torture when she finds out just what little sister is up to.”
William lifted his head to stare down at Herbert warily. “What is the Niblet up to?”
Arranging a pillow behind his head and closing his eyes, Herbert smiled serenely at the ceiling. “She’s kicking father in the shin,” he replied and felt William relax against him. Then, with a wicked smirk, he added, “Metaphorically.”
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
As the doors had opened, a long sliver of light had spread across the polished floor of the library. The room seemed deserted, not a chair out of place, evening twilight casting soft hues on the shelves.
Yet the Graf was present, watching silently, unseen, as his youngest guest stepped across the threshold, closing the door silently behind her.
She wandered between the shelves for a time, and though she appeared to be looking for a book, the way she glanced towards the shadows, the way she moved, the way she listened all suggested it was not simply a book she sought.
After several moments, however, she withdrew a heavy volume from one of the shelves that contained his books on sorcery and magic, and he saw the smile that crossed her lips, some memory teasing her if he was to make an assumption.
Moving towards the table, she folded one leg beneath her and sat, opening the book in front of her and gazing down at the pages.
How long he lingered and watched her, he could not say. Drinking her in, unaware of how parched he had been until her presence washed over him again, he found himself closer than he realised, so close he could feel the warmth of her skin.
She shivered, as if somehow aware of him, dragging her fingertip down the edge of the page. Slowly, she tilted her head, as if searching for something on the edge of her hearing. Her hair was gloriously loose, heavy waves spilled down her back, begging to be caressed and touched.
Invisible hands reached for her, then curled once more into fists, drawing back before they could brush her shoulders.
Another shiver shook her. He could see the gooseflesh rising on her arms, where they emerged from one of Herbert’s housecoats. Recalling that Herbert had murmured something about her being ill, he frowned, making a gesture.
A fire leapt up in the grate, making her whip around, and the smile that lit up her face was dazzling.
“Knew you were there,” she said, looking around. “Missed you lurking around.”
“Is that so?” His murmur rippled around her, directionless, dancing on the air.
Still smiling, she nodded, turning back to the book. “If you’d been around,” she said conversationally to the thin air around her. “I bet Herbert would never have tied me to my bed.”
Briefly, Von Krolock wondered how it was possible that a woman could become any more endearing. Already so hardy and resolute, her utter lack of fear in the presence of some of the oldest surviving vampires in Europe was captivating.
“Herbert does have his ways,” he murmured, merging out of nothing behind her chair so silently that he doubted she had even realised he was so close. “An interesting choice of book.”
There was absolutely no trace of innocence in the girl’s face. “I like magic,” she said without preamble. “Buffy used to try and hide the books from me, but when you live with two witches, there are only so many books you can hide in a locked trunk.”
“And how long did that trunk remain locked?” he murmured silkily, leaning over her shoulder. He felt her start at the sight of his hand laid on the table beside her arm, heard her pulse accelerate.
“Uh... not very long...” she whispered.
Her eyes were no longer on the book, of that he was certain. So, Herbert had been correct? It seemed it was becoming habit.
Tilting his hand, he traced his fingertips against the back of her pretty little hand, so warm that he was sure she would scorch him. He heard her draw a quick breath and her heart seemed to leap, fresh blood beating through her veins rapidly. Under his hand, her hand turned over and she slid her fingers between his.
“Got something for you,” she murmured, tilting her head and shaking her hair aside.
Lifting his other hand to drag the last trailing locks away, a smile curled his lips at the sight of a collar of jet-black silk bound around her lovely throat.
“Exquisite,” he murmured, brushing his fingers against it, revelling in the tremor that ran through the girl. Lowering his head, he placed a kiss against the sensual cloth, feeling the near-buzz of her heartbeat through it and her skin.
Her head rolling back on her shoulders, she uttered a faint, almost desperate gasp, her hand tightening against his.
Drawing his lips from her, he gazed down at her upturned face, brushing his knuckles to her cheek. There was no question of her allure, but she had none of the naivety of some of his earlier lovers. She knew what he was, what he could do, yet here she was, before him, willing and trusting.
Her eyes slowly opened, gazing up at him, the fire in her gaze searing. “If you don’t kiss me now,” she murmured. “I will totally kick your ass.”
“Then I fear I must kiss you,” he replied equally softly, startled by how much truth those words carried. Slipping his hand into her hair, he felt more than heard her sigh as he brushed his lips against hers.
Yet, now given leave, gentleness seemed to have escaped her.
She rose into the kiss, her hand pulling free of his to reach for him. Sinking her fingers into his hair, her body pressed to his, so eager, so fierce, so mortally scorching that it was his turn to gasp against her lips.
When they broke apart moments later, staring at one another, he was startled to realise that he was panting as fiercely as she was. The hunger roaring through him was matched by primal gleam in her eyes.
Doubt and hesitation pushed aside, he pulled her to him and swept his cloak around them both.
In a heartbeat, the library was empty.
RATING: 18-ish. Naughty vampires are back.
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series. In order: Til The Moon Is Abed (Slash/Het), Unwritten Words, What Remains, The Gentler Sex, Visitation the chapter immediately preceding this chapter.
PAIRINGS: Herbert/Spike, Spike/von Krolock etc
WORDS: 9002
NOTES: Yep. Another one. bwinter is an evil instigator :P
__________________________________
The rain was drumming incessantly against the tall windows, the sky black. Around the hills, the thunder rolled and flashes of lightning darted from the heavens, striking erratically at the uneven spill of the land.
Standing close to one of the glass doors that opened onto one of the multitude of balconies, Dawn was staring out, watching the snarling roil of light and darkness in the midnight clouds. Her hands pressed to the cool glass, she seemed dazzled by the closeness of the storm.
She had seen storms before, but nothing like this. Every flash of lightning seemed to be moving closer, so clear that she could see every dancing finger of light skewering off and spreading in rippling tendrils.
“It is beautiful, is it not?”
Startled by the voice, Dawn tore her eyes from the wildness of nature, looking around behind her. The room was empty and dark, save for the fire burning low in the grate. Her brows drew together.
“You have to teach me how to do that,” she muttered self-consciously.
The chuckle washed over her like a warm wave. “As you wish,” the whisper wrapped around her senses. “Turn around.”
Without question, she did so. Beyond the rain-dashed glass, his hair whipping around his face in the wind, von Krolock was gazing at her. His cloak was snapping and flapping against his legs, but he didn’t seem to notice. As she stared out at him, one side of his mouth slowly curled up.
Between them, the doors burst open, the wind rushing in, icy cold.
Gasping at the sudden chill, Dawn instinctively drew back a step, blinking against the rain now spattering against her skin.
“Come.” Though little more than a whisper, barely audible over the roar, von Krolock’s voice reached beyond simple hearing. It snared around her senses, irresistible, alluring, rich with power and invitation.
Even if she had wanted to refuse, Dawn knew it was unlikely that she could.
Good thing she didn’t want to, really.
Yeah, she knew she should and yeah, he was a vampire, but it wasn’t like she was doing a Buffy. She knew what he was like, at least a little. She had never not known he was a vampire. She had never forgotten it. Never intended to.
But he was so nice and polite and totally not trying to get in her pants right away, which was a bit of a novelty.
And hey! If he tried to go all bitey on her, she knew how to stop him.
Stepping over the threshold, she shivered violently, hit by a cold gust of wind. The strength of it shocked her, making her falter, her footing uncertain on slick stone and buffeted by swirling blasts of air.
Without warning, he was beside her, stabilising her, his hands catching her arms with such gentleness, holding her up. Strangely, close to him, it seemed like the wind lessened, that the rain wasn’t so cold, the air nowhere near as icy.
Drawing her towards the edge of the balcony, von Krolock didn’t look down at her, nor make any acknowledgement of her presence, and when he lowered his hands from her arms, she gasped again at the chill that assailed her.
A sweep of his cloak brought him abruptly behind her before she could protest, his hands braced on the balustrade, on either side of her hips, his body close to hers, yet not quite, never quite, touching.
Yet, again, the cold seemed to dim and though she could see it falling around her, the rain didn’t seem to touch her.
“Look,” he whispered close to her ear. She could feel the light tickle of his hair, tossed against her cheek by what little breeze did assail them, her body trembling as that single syllable caressed her as softly as that wicked strand of hair.
Before them, the bolts of lightning danced and sparked across the grounds, closer and closer, lured to the powerful sorcerer behind her, as willing as she had been. She shied back with a sound of awe when a shimmering blaze of light struck and wove over the towering gates, dazzled.
“Magnificent.” Von Krolock sounded as if he were purring with satisfaction.
Twin streaks of light struck the courtyard not a hundred metres away. Watching the tendrils crawl across the ground, she felt her heart racing. Pressing back towards the vampire behind her, she knew that if one of those bolts struck her, she would be dead instantly.
Abruptly, his voice whispered in her other ear. “Are you afraid, liebling?”
“Wouldn’t you be?” She tried to force some strength back into her breathless voice.
Before her, his hands slid inwards, until she was framed in the circle of his arms. “You are safer than any other is at this moment.” His lips were so close to her that she could feel the chill. “Are you still afraid?”
Trembling and not from anything like fear, Dawn reached out and covered his hands with her own. “Should I be?” she asked in a whisper.
He laughed softly, wickedly. “Perhaps.”
Slowly, inexorably, his arms drew against her, holding her close. Her eyes falling shut, her breathing was rapid, her fingers pressing against the back of his palms. What came first, she could not be sure, but she felt the brush of his lips against the flesh of her throat and simultaneously heard the hissed curse.
As gentle as he had seemed, he was no longer.
Like a cord being cut between them, his physical and emotional hold on her was severed in an instant. Staggering, falling against the balustrade, Dawn whirled around, pressing back against the stone, rain and wind lashing her without mercy now.
Von Krolock was staring at her like a wild creature, his eyes flaming, his lips burnt and bloodied. She could see the feral whiteness of his fangs, could almost hear the low growl resonating through him.
Without even seeming to move, he was towering over her, his hand in her hair, pulling her head back. Biting down a sound of pain, Dawn squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the impulse to fight against him, to struggle.
She felt his scorching scrutiny, could hear, could feel the rage that was usually so contained beneath that gentle surface.
Abruptly, he was gone.
Dawn sagged against the balustrade without his grip to force her upright. Her scalp was throbbing painfully where he had caught her by her hair, and the rain was rapidly soaking through her clothes.
Shaking, though not purely from the rush of terrified outrage, she didn’t know how long she just stood there, battered by the elements, gradually sinking down the wall to sit, as the heavens showed no mercy and the thunder rolled.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Picking up a card, Spike sat back and raised his brows.
“You are being daring tonight, cheri,” Herbert observed, leaning across the table to place a card down. His smile was far from innocent by the candlelight. “Can it be you are playing for dignity?”
“Bit chilly for getting naked,” Spike replied, pulling a face and arranging his cards meticulously. “Especially in this room. Bet it has some draughts.”
Herbert laughed musically. “Oh, you have no idea.”
Spike gave him a look. “I think I do, actually,” he said, nodding towards the chaise on the far side of the room. “As I recall, you nicked my trousers and legged it. Got nippy enough on a sunny day.”
Looking across the drawing room, the golden-haired vampire’s gaze was wistful. “Ah, those were the good old days...”
“That was last week, you pillock!” Spike laughed.
“Which still makes them old by today’s reckoning,” Herbert said sagely. When Spike put a card down, Herbert examined his and picked up another. “So, where is your little mortal?”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Watching the weather upstairs, if you believe it,” he said, though there was no mistaking the affection in his tone. “You’d think the Bit had never seen rain, the way she was staring out the window.”
Glancing at one of the tall windows, Herbert chuckled. “I think father might have been showing off a little,” he admitted.
Idly rearranging his cards, Spike frowned. “S’he still after her, then?”
“You know my father, William,” Herbert murmured, lifting his eyes from his cards to the younger vampire. “He adores complex women, especially those of the dark-haired persuasion.”
“And you don’t get much odder than the Bit,” Spike muttered grudgingly. “If the Slayer had a clue...”
“Well, she certainly doesn’t,” Herbert said. “And if she did, she can hardly control her sister’s life, can she? She seemed ineffectual enough at controlling her own.”
Spike’s expression tensed at the thought of his former-lover, and he stared at the cards in his hands without really seeing them. “She’s all right,” he muttered. “Been through a lot, that girl.”
“You’ll forgive me if I do not sympathise,” Herbert said coolly. “She seemed to think she had every right to direct the lives of those around her.” Grey eyes, sharp and penetrating as a blade, looked at him. “Yours was once under her control, was it not?”
Spike stared blindly at his cards. “Things happen,” he mumbled. “Sometimes you have to take help where you can get it.” He forced himself to glare at Herbert. “What makes you think I give a rat’s arse about that, anyway?”
“I am not completely stupid, William,” Herbert laid his cards down on the table. “I saw a change in you the moment she arrived. Even when Angelus was present, I did not see you as uncertain as you were in her presence.”
Staring at Herbert, feeling that peculiar tenseness wrapping around his chest, stifling and suffocating, he made himself shrug, feigning nonchalance. “She’s a Slayer,” he mumbled. “Get a bit jumpy around them out of habit.”
“Oh, William,” Herbert sighed. “You always were a terrible liar.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Spike’s voice was quiet, wretchedly weak, and he tried to stifle the tremble in it. Bloody Herbert and his bloody stupid bloody instincts. Last thing he needed was for them to know about his fling with the Slayer. “She’s not here anymore, is she? Doesn’t bother me.”
He has started to rise when Herbert moved, but not quickly enough. Herbert pressed to his back suddenly, a firm arm around his waist. “Why do you keep lying, cheri?” the whisper was soft against his ear. “To me? To yourself?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Spike squirmed away from him and strode away from the table. “Just leave it.”
Watching him, Herbert gazed at him in silence, then slowly nodded. “For now, cheri,” he agreed slowly. His eyes flicked sideways and Spike turned to see what he was looking at, relief and shock vying for place at the sight of Dawn.
Soaked to the skin and shivering, she was padding past the door, her hair hanging in sodden strings around her face, her arms wrapped around her torso.
“Bit!” Rushing towards her, he felt her stagger when he caught her by the arms, looking her up and down. “What happened? Didn’t I tell you to stay inside when the weather’s like that?”
“F-forgot,” she mumbled through chattering teeth.
Frowning, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “C’mon, love, we’ll get you to your room and warmed up, eh?” She nodded gratefully, leaning against him. “Game over, Herbie.”
The golden-haired vampire slowly nodded.
However, as they started walking down the hall, he heard the voice drift from behind him, full of threat, promise and certainty; “For now, cheri.”
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
It had been misfortune on William’s part that he had been seen.
Snared in the doorway of Dawn’s bedroom, the young vampire had been dragged mercilessly towards his own chambers. Cast upon the bed, he had been forced - face-down - by the Master of the house.
His fangs bared, von Krolock watched his sharp nails sinking through William’s shirt into the smooth flesh between William’s shoulders. The blossoms of scarlet on the pale cloth would have been beautiful, almost artful, but he could find no part of him that cared.
Bending over the boy, his voice was little more than a growl. “Be silent.”
His face smothered in the covers, William’s desperate thrashing ceased, though he trembled as fiercely as the girl had. His black-nailed hands clutched at the bedding in helpless fists.
No.
This was not enough.
This was not right.
With a snarl, von Krolock wrenched back. He made a gesture with his blood-tipped fingers, tossing William onto his back on the bed, the sheer terror in the youngster’s eyes doing little to cool his wrath.
Throwing aside his cloak, his hair still damp from the rain, he knelt over the younger vampire, one hand catching William by the throat and pinning him down. Staring down, he could feel the anger building in him, stoked by frustration and physical pain.
“Didn’t know!” William half-whimpered, half-cried.
His eyes boring into William’s, von Krolock knew it was the truth. William would not dare lie to him again. He had ensured that. But neither did he particularly care at this moment.
Savagely forcing William’s head to one side, nails digging viciously into William’s pale cheek, he bit into the boy’s throat, hard, uncaring of fresh pain bursting through his blistered lips.
William cried out shrilly, his hands leaping to half-push, half-pull von Krolock towards him, his desire tied so intrinsically with pain and domination that von Krolock could taste it to his very essence.
His own hands snaring the boy’s wrists, he forced them down onto the bedding on either side of William’s head, lifting his mouth from the fresh wound on William’s throat, scarlet staining the sheet beneath them.
Panting rapidly, William was staring up at him, shivering so violently that von Krolock felt it to his core.
Not enough!
It was like a scream in his mind, a desperate, ravening hunger, a shrieking cry to claim what was his, to possess, to make sure this insolent youngster knew that he was possessed, possessed as the girl would be.
His mouth claimed William’s with a bloody brutality that made the boy yelp into his throat. He swallowed the cries as greedily as he had drunk in William’s essence, freeing one of William’s hands to pull the youngster’s body hard against him.
William squirmed, but whether it was in denial or acquiescence, he neither knew nor cared enough to take heed.
Loosing William’s other hand, he lifted his wrist to his mouth, ripping the flesh open and pressing it to William’s lips and with a choked whine, the youngster clutched at his arm like a babe to a bottle.
It lasted but a moment and von Krolock tore his arm away and rose from the bed.
“Strip,” he snarled, low and dangerous, his own hands making light work of his shirt.
Sitting up gingerly, struggling to comply, hands shaking feverishly, William peeled off his clothing. He half-rose to place it neatly as was always asked of him, but von Krolock caught his wrist.
“Leave it.” Blue eyes stared at him warily. “Now.”
One trembling hand opened and the clothes landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.
“Good.” More growl than speech, von Krolock’s voice was a rumble. His smile bared his teeth as he forced the younger vampire back onto the bed, one hand flat against William’s smooth chest, his mouth claiming the boy’s once more.
He was distantly amused by the way William’s hands were clenching into tight, white-knuckled fists against the bedding on either side of William’s head, too afraid to touch, yet desperately wanting to.
Sliding his hands against William’s thighs, forcing them apart, von Krolock moved between the youngster’s legs and leaned close over the boy, kissing the blood staining his collarbone and throat with mock-tenderness even as he dragged William’s body hard against his.
His mouth journeyed down, over the shivering muscles, over the heaving ribs that were rising and falling so rapidly it was a wonder the boy could still make such poignantly delightful vocalisations. His nails bit into flesh as William’s hips twitched and jerked with such tensed wantoness that he chuckled.
Sinking to his knees by the side of the bed, he all but purred in satisfaction as he rubbed his cheek against William’s smooth, taut inner thigh. The boy was quivering with such silent need that von Krolock could not help but revel in the sheer beauty of one utterly bent to his will.
With slow deliberation, he placed kissed from William’s knee to his hip, tracing an erratic pattern, making the boy gasp and squirm so deliciously. The gasps were growing more and more shallow, delightful to the ear, but not enough.
A feigned kiss turned bloody as fangs cut into the soft skin. Von Krolock felt the boy buck in shock, tearing his flesh, the indrawn breath giving way to a cry so shrill and pained that von Krolock near groaned to hear it.
Sliding up the boy’s body, he braced his hands on either side of William’s, his own chest rising and falling evenly as he gazed down at the pretty little wretch. His lashes fluttering, William moaned beautifully as von Krolock slowly brought his hips into taunting contact.
With a mental touch that made William gasp, von Krolock smiled deliberately as those delightful blue eyes sprang open and stared wildly at him. With the subtlest of jerks of his head, he felt William shift against him, hips lifting, obedient to even the unspoken command.
His kiss was gentler as he pressed against William’s body, luring and teasing the boy into responding and, only now, did those hands uncurl, reaching out and sinking into his hair, making it slip over his shoulders, a silvery curtain about them.
It was so gentle, so tender, almost as if they were truly equals in this union and that made the cry of pain all the sweeter against his lips when his body claimed William’s wholly.
With one hand, he forced William’s head back against the blood-stained sheets and plunged his fangs into the pale throat once more, claiming, marking, tasting, filling, needing, wanting, possessing.
Whether it was choice or instinct, William wrapped his legs around von Krolock’s hips, his hands fisting into the heavy cascade of silver hair. Faint, desperate sounds were escaping from his throat, his body meeting every raw stroke of von Krolock’s against him.
No fighting.
No resistance.
Utter acceptance.
Von Krolock withdrew his fangs, licking the blood from his lips and growling a soft approval at the harsh press of William’s fingers against the flesh of his shoulders.
On the edge of his senses, something touched him, something that otherwise would have drawn his attention fully, something that was - at this moment - an intrusion that could be ignored.
Tossing his head back, blood streaming over his chin, his hair cascading down his spine, he shuddered pleasantly.
His hands braced on either side of William’s head, his panting growls were the only sound laid over the breathless whimpers of the younger vampire, fingers sinking into the bedding as he moved his hips in a leisurely motion.
Face averted, William arched his back with a breath of a whimper, fingers clutching at von Krolock with wanton desperation. Then something more than desperation took him, his body stiffening and a glance showed wide, startled eyes and what colour he had fading from his face.
Tilting his head to follow the younger vampire’s gaze, his hair slipping against his cheeks, clinging to his lashes and lips, von Krolock felt his upper lip curl at the sight of the mortal woman standing there.
Wide, shocked eyes stared at him, and he lifted his chin, shaking back his hair and baring his fangs at her.
A flick of one hand made her stagger back into the hall, too startled to resist, the door slamming closed on her.
With that same hand, he turned William’s face back to his, slowly smiling down at the younger vampire, then claimed his mouth once more, forcing all thoughts of the mortal from both of them.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Barely two hours had passed since the bedraggled Dawn had been ushered from the drawing room by William.
Less than half of that had passed again when, wandering towards the library, he saw her rushing along the hall, scarlet in the face, with a heart rate that - had he been peckish - would have been tantalising.
Humming to himself, he had chuckled, recognising the sign of mortification, though not without traces of arousal.
Still, it had been none of his business if his father had chosen to play with a sick human girl. Of course, that had been the case until the scent of William had wrapped around him, even in the library, a level above William’s chambers.
Mid-page, he placed his finger against the text to mark his place, his brow rumpling.
Lifting his head, he sniffed.
Fresh blood. Sex too, if he was any judge.
Turning on the chair, he physically jumped at the sight of his father standing less than two paces from him. Not merely caught off-guard, he was shocked by the blood smearing his father’s face, his hair in disarray, his shirt undone and eyes flashing and feral.
“Father?” He started to rise, but was pushed back down, the black eyes fixed on his face with such intensity that it nigh left him breathless.
Oh, it had been a long time since his father had lost control, the darker side of his nature usually held so tightly in check that it was seldom apparent. It seemed that, unsurprisingly, it had been roused by passion once more.
Without conscious thought, Herbert lifted his hand and drew the collar of his shirt aside, tilting his head in wordless invitation.
His father’s hand cradled his jaw with surprising tenderness, considering his present state, but the bite was far from gentle, and Herbert bit on his lower lip to stifle a faint gasp, pressing his eyes shut.
When he drew away, von Krolock laid his brow on Herbert’s shoulder, sinking on his knees in front of his son and, unquestioningly, Herbert leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his father.
For several minutes there was silence, during which Herbert tenderly smoothed his father’s tangled hair, his cheek pressing to his father’s crown. “I love you, father,” he murmured, nuzzling his father’s hair. “Even if you stained my favourite suit.”
Judging upon the faint, tired chuckle, his father’s possessive ire had been cooled and Herbert loosed his arms, sitting back, though one of his father’s hands clasped at his, squeezing his fingers.
“Thank you, Herbert,” he said softly, lifting his eyes to his son.
Tilting his head, Herbert smiled, wrapping both his hands around his father’s. “You know there’s no need for that,” he said warmly, grey eyes soft with affection. “I expect a certain young lady is responsible for this?”
Von Krolock exhaled a weary sigh, sinking back on his heels. “In part,” he said, his voice quiet and grave. “And my own petty jealousy. I fear William will be unable to entertain you for some days.”
Despite himself, Herbert covered his mouth with his hand, hiding a grin. “Poor William,” he tried to say seriously. “Dare I ask...?”
Lifting his free hand to touch the mark at Herbert’s throat, von Krolock curled his fingers against his palm. “I know he would never touch her as I would,” he murmured absently. “Yet he touched her...”
Staring at his father, Herbert’s eyes went wide. “Her neck!” he exclaimed, shaking his head as if he could not believe he had forgotten. “I meant to warn you not to touch her neck!”
Dark eyes fastened on his face. “You knew?”
“I made the mistake of pretending to bite her when first we met,” Herbert replied quickly. “I had completely forgotten! She said she had it done a year or so ago, after one too many unwanted people chose her as an appetiser.”
Von Krolock tilted his head back, his hair slipping over his shoulders, his eyes closed, and he sighed. “She is a clever one, that girl,” he murmured, the remnants of his anger seeming to dissipate.
“More than many gave her credit for,” Herbert agreed, leaning forward to arrange his father’s hair more neatly about his shoulders.
“Pity.”
“Hmm?” Adjusting his father’s shirt and smoothing the shoulders, Herbert looked up at grave black eyes that seemed somehow sadder than usual.
“I fear I may have driven her away.”
“You are talking nonsense,” Herbert said briskly, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbing at his father’s chin. “The girl has survived a dozen apocalypses and a Hellmouth, not to mention having a Slayer as a sister and William as a friend. I doubt you have managed to chase her off.” He tucked his kerchief away. “If you reacted badly to her tattoo...”
“Herbert, she saw me with William.”
Grey eyes went round. “Oh!” Averting his eyes and making sure the handkerchief was utterly invisible in his pocket, Herbert cleared his throat. “I... I suppose that might take some explaining.”
“Yes,” Despite his gravity, his father smiled faintly. “I thought it might.”
“How much...?” Though a greater part of him preferred to be oblivious to his father’s activities, if it was going to lead to situations such as this, Herbert thought it better to know.
“I do not truly know,” von Krolock replied quietly, unfolding from the floor and straightening up. “Enough. More than enough.” He gazed beyond the walls. “More than any of us expected her to see.”
“Well, that goes without saying!” Herbert exclaimed, then wished he had managed to stifle himself. “I saw the little darling fleeing down the hall and wondered what had sent her rushing off.”
Von Krolock’s gaze swept back to his son. “You saw her?”
“Fleeing,” Herbert reiterated with a nod. “I have never seen anyone quite so pink without the aid of a large bucket of rouge.”
Approaching one of the empty seats, von Krolock sat down slowly. “Oh.”
Picking at a loose thread he had just noticed - after deliberately picking it loose - Herbert’s eyes remained down. “If it is any small comfort,” he said after a moment. “She wasn’t just embarrassed.”
He could feel his father’s eyes on him, but didn’t look up.
“Is that so?” It was asked so casually it was almost as if meant nothing.
“Mm.”
There was a long silence punctuated only by the quiet rattle of rain against the glass.
“I suppose I ought to refresh myself,” his father said suddenly, thoughtfully, rising smoothly from the chair. “It is hardly respectable to distress a guest, then show face with no more decorum than a pauper.”
As his father started to walk away, Herbert looked up. “Would you like me to talk with her?” he asked softly and saw the subtle grateful inclination of his father’s head before von Krolock stepped out of the room.
Well, Herbert mused, at least that left something to do, with William no longer available.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Wrapped in her blanket, Dawn shuffled her way down the hall. Her head was aching, and it was taking all her concentration to stay upright. Presently on the way back from the kitchen, where she had been rooting around for a hot drink, she suspected staying in bed would probably have been the best bet.
However, after a night alone in her room with nothing but the memory of what she had seen dancing across her consciousness, something more than four walls had seemed appealing.
In spite of herself, she had also crept in to check on Spike.
Just Spike.
Totally just Spike.
He had barely seemed to notice she was there. Either asleep or unconscious, or somewhere in between the two, he was curled up in the middle of the bed, but he definitely didn’t look like he was in any pain.
She had seen the bites ringing his throat, savage and deep, but they were no longer bleeding. In fact, there had been no trace of the blood she had seen spattered everywhere when she had seen him hours earlier.
Even weirder was the fact he had been tucked up like a child, with the blankets neatly arranged over him.
With way too much to think about and way too much time to do it in, especially with a head that felt like it was feeling up with wet cotton wool balls, she had continued onto the kitchen, finding some kind of herbal tea.
Every sound echoed back at her in the huge kitchen, from the rustle of her blanket to the clink of her spoon against the side of the mug, no matter how quiet she tried to be.
It was creepy how empty the house felt now.
Not that it had ever felt full before, but now, it seemed... emptier.
It was like something was missing, something she hadn’t even realised was there until suddenly, without warning, it was gone. She could only assume what it was, guess wildly and speculate, but if his ire the day before had been anything to go on...
For the first time since her arrival, she felt utterly alone.
Her cup cradled in her left hand, her right held her blanket snugly around her as she nudged her bedroom door open with her foot. Making a mental note to ask about proper heating, she was relieved to see that her pitiable attempt at a fire was still smouldering in the grate. That was something.
Pushing the door closed behind her, she was halfway across the room, on her way to the chair by the fire, when she saw the flicker of motion on the periphery of her vision and stopped dead.
Thumbing through a book, Herbert didn’t look up at her. He was sitting on her bed, against the broad headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed.
“Good morning, darling,” he said after several minutes of silence broken only by the sound of Dawn’s breathing and the rustle of pages. His eyes flicked up to her and he frowned suddenly.
Abruptly, he was on his feet and in front of her and, yet again, she wondered just how fast vampires could move if they put their mind to it. Could probably take gold medals in every sport.
“M’okay,” she muttered, continuing on her way to the chair, only for him to grab her arms and gently steer her around in a circle. Mentally, she protested, but somehow, the rest of her body refused to comply.
All at once, she was aware that her tea had been stolen and her feet were somehow a couple of feet off the ground, not to mention how close Herbert’s face suddenly was to hers.
“Pumme down,” she protested.
“At once,” Herbert’s voice was brisk and he deposited her gently back into her bed, tucking the sheets then blankets over her body. Settling her against the pillows, he retrieved her tea from the table and placed it in her hands, before stalking across the room to stoke the fire.
Rubbing her face, Dawn squinted at him. “What are you doing in here anyway?” she inquired, vaguely remembering that she should be yelling at him.
“Officially, I’m here to kill you,” Herbert replied over his shoulder, once the fire flared up. He turned and approached the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. “But I suspect you will be sour.”
“Ass,” Dawn mumbled, sipping her tea.
“Yes, I have one of those as well,” he replied conversationally, tilting his head to study her thoughtfully. “I expect this is because you decided it would be a good idea to go wandering outside in the rain.”
Despite the feverish flush in her cheeks, she somehow managed to go an even deeper shade of red. “Wasn’t exactly my idea,” she muttered over the cup, coils of steam tracing across her face.
Herbert nodded, as if realizing something, pressing his fingertips to his lips. “Have you felt like this before?” he inquired.
“Yeah,” Dawn shifted against the pillows. “It’s just a cold. No big deal.”
Clicking his tongue, Herbert reached out and laid a palm against her brow. Dawn gasped at the chill against her flesh that was so much warmer than usual. “As I recall, bed rest and bleeding were the best cures… leeches too…”
“Uh…” Dawn blinked at him. “I think I prefer my mom’s chicken soup and too much TV way better.”
The vampire grinned at her. “You’re soft,” he said fondly. “Nothing says good health and well-being like being bled.”
“You wish,” Dawn retorted, then sipped some more of the scalding tea.
“I didn’t mean I would do it!” Herbert protested virtuously.
“Then who would?” She rolled her eyes. “Your dad? Last time I saw him, he was way bitey.”
“Ah…” Herbert climbed over her legs to sit on the wider expanse of the bed, crossing his legs in front of him and resting his hands on his knees. “I was curious as to how much you saw last night.”
Blue eyes darted up to him. “You knew?” she squeaked.
Shrugging his shoulders elegantly, Herbert smiled. “I’m a vampire,” he said. “I can smell these things.”
“Skipping by the part where that’s totally gross,” Dawn sat up a little, staring at him, her face flushed and eyes fever-bright. “You don’t care that your dad was screwing your boyfriend?”
One of Herbert’s eyebrows arched. “What makes you think I have made such a claim of William?” he inquired.
“Um… you kinda jump on him all the time?”
“That hardly means he is my ‘boyfriend’,” he observed dryly. “It merely means that he and I desire one another, and since he belongs to us anyway, I see no reason that we should not have a little fun.”
“Belongs?” Dawn cocked her head, forcing herself to concentrate past the fluff that felt like it was coating her brain. “Isn’t that kinda the same thing as being involved with someone?”
“If that is the case, then William is ‘involved’ with both my father and I,” Herbert replied, lacing his fingers together in front of him. Apparently, she looked confused enough to draw a smile to his lips. “Dawn, darling, you must remember that we do not see things as mortals or humans see them. Our rules are less finite, less rigid.”
Her brows drawn together, her head throbbing, she stared at him. “So Spike’s what? Your sex-moppet?”
Returning her stare for a moment, Herbert started to laugh. “Oh, he will be mortified if I tell him I wish to call him that,” he said, shaking his head. “No, no… I doubt he is anyone’s moppet any longer. When I say he is ours, I mean that he belongs to us. If anything happens to him, it will affect us, it will rouse us, and if he is hurt, it will bring down our vengeance upon the heads of his aggressors.”
“Kinda… like you’re a family thing?”
“I suppose it is as good an analogy as any,” Herbert agreed amiably. “Originally, his family by blood were the ones he belonged to, both by choice and lineage, but with the deaths of Angelus and Darla, without anyone left to turn to, he came to us and we claimed him, father and I.”
“And you both get to screw him?” She was gaping again, she knew it.
“You think that is all you saw?” Herbert looked both offended and surprised. “My darling child, you saw what few, if any mortals have ever seen. My father was marking that which he claimed as his, in every way. He rarely feels the need to do so, only when he has something new he wishes to add to those around him.” Lifting one hand, he drew down the collar of his dark shirt, revealing a bite as vicious as the one that had marked Spike’s throat. “Even me.”
Dawn stared at him. “But you’re his son!”
“You seem to miss the most important factor in that sentence,” Herbert observed, lowering his hand. “I’m his. If he feels the balance shift, if he feels change is coming, whatever it may be, he will assure himself of what is set and will never change.” He half-closed his eyes in thought. “Once you are claimed, marked and chosen, he will ever count you as his. It is a bond that lasts through eternity, no matter how far you go or what you do.” Those smoky grey eyes opened again. “Do you understand forever, little one?”
Feeling a little overwhelmed by the rush of information, Dawn nodded weakly. “And he gets bitey to remind you that you’re his?”
“It is a rare thing, darling,” Herbert reached out to gently tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “But yes, this was one of those occasions.” He leaned forward and murmured softly. “And you caused it.”
The quietness of his voice, the intimacy of his words, the way he practically purred it made goosebumps rise along Dawn’s arms, a shiver running down her spine. “But I didn’t do anything...”
Shaking his head and tutting, as if she had said something deeply stupid, Herbert reached out to place his cool palm to her brow again. “Darling, he saw William tend you, saw him touching you and you him...”
“I did not!” Dawn made a face. “Ew! Spike is like my brother!”
“Even in a platonic sense, my little darling,” Herbert said firmly. “Something not yet his touching something that was...” He gazed at her and she stared back, unable to believe it was something as simple as that. “You doubt what I say?”
Dawn nodded, looking down at her half-finished tea. “Kinda, yeah...” she mumbled, turning the cup around. “You said I caused it, but why would me and Spike being touchy be a big deal?” Blue eyes lifted to him uncertainly. “Last time I saw your dad before last night, he was growly at me. Figured he was mad at me.”
“And why was he growly, as you so charmingly put it?” Herbert asked, brows rising, clearly knowing the answer.
Dawn started to reply that she didn’t know, then remembered, one hand rising to touch her bare throat, her eyes going wide. “I... I figured he was just mad because he got burnt...”
“And because he could not touch what he wished to?” Herbert suggested softly.
The warm rush of pleasure and wonder that spread through her made her tremble so much that tea slopped over her fingers. Hastily placing the cup to one side, she stared nervously at Herbert. “I... he... he wants to?”
“Darling, did you ever have the slightest doubt?”
Biting her lip, Dawn lowered her eyes and shrugged uncertainly.
Lifting her chin gently with two fingers, Herbert tilted his head to peek at her with a small smile on his lips. “My father has a peculiar... weakness for beautiful, strong women, though he rarely indulges,” he said softly.
“But he never did anything!” she burst out.
Herbert stared at her, then grinned. Reaching out, he ruffled her hair. “You silly little goose,” he said fondly. “He invited you to stay at his home, personally no less.” He smoothed her mussed hair, slipping closer to sit beside her, gazing down at her. “And did his kiss to your throat mean nothing?”
Heat rising in her cheeks, Dawn twisted her fingers together. “Thought it might just be a vampire... thing.” she mumbled. “He’s been so nice and good-mannery. I thought he was just being polite.”
Leaning against her arm, tilting his head until his golden hair mingled with hers on her shoulder, Herbert lowered his voice to wickedly murmur, “Well, perhaps you should just be polite back.”
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
It had been a long time since an invalid had been a welcome guest in the manor, the novelty of which delighted Herbert a great deal. He was amused by the girl’s stubborn refusal to admit she was ill, which had lead to repeated encounters in the hall.
She had found herself flung over his shoulder and carried back to bed more times than either of them dared count. Eventually, he had threatened to tie her down and when threats alone failed, he had done so.
Of course, then she had kicked him in the head and used words that no charming lady would ever think to use, so he had gagged her and tied her ankles down as well.
Admittedly, she had proven very resilient, beating back the chill with minimal effort, purely to ruin Herbert’s mirth at leaving her bound in her bed, forcing chicken soup on her when she least expected it.
It had granted him a new and diverse vocabulary as well, the Americanisms crude but terribly entertaining.
It also distracted him from the fact that his father had vanished somewhere within the manor or the grounds. He had no doubt his father was brooding, idling over some way to ease his way back into the young woman’s affection.
That thought alone made him grin.
If only dear father knew how resolute and strong the girl was.
Even so, though they had not seen anything of the Graf for days, the house gradually seemed to become more welcoming as if, by degrees, he was slowly weaving his charms around it again, something that did not go unnoticed by the occupants.
Days had slipped by slowly and by and by, Dawn was released from her bed, a limb at a time, mainly to give Herbert enough time to race for the door. That only gave her the chance to prove how good her aim was with a heavy pillow.
Still, he had been unsurprised when she had graciously accepted his offer to let her bathe herself, after three days of refusing point blank to let him strip her and toss her in a tub of cold water, on the recommendation of some Victorian surgeon.
It would, he had protested, break the fever.
Of course, she did not know what was best for her, so he had tried to pitch her into the tub of ice-cold water, fully-dressed, and she had shrieked like a scalded cat, climbing up his body with an agility that astounded him.
Hanging from him like some long-legged and infuriated limpet, her arms locked around his neck, her legs around his waist, she glared at him. Saying something very rude, she had threatened to molest him.
It had been agreed then that he would not attempt to bathe her at all, ever.
So, fleeing her room, he left her to her bath.
The afternoon, however, had found him lazing in the lounge like a contented cat, a half-dressed William sprawled over him, the pleasant warmth of the fire leaving them drowsy and sated. William’s hastily kicked-off trousers smouldered at the heart of the flames.
After his encounter with Herbert’s father, William had slept for nearly three full days and nights, so when he had dashed into the lounge and tackled Herbert onto the couch, the elder vampire had not felt the least bit inclined to complain.
Idly stroking William’s tangled curls, his other hand tucked behind his head, he didn’t bother to open his eyes when he heard the door swing open, nor look to see who was striding towards the couch.
William, on the other hand, shot to his feet as if attached to a rocket.
“Niblet!”
“Hey, Spike,” Apparently, she was standing directly behind the couch. “Thought you were never gonna wake up.” She leaned over the back of the couch and poked Herbert’s belly. “Herbert, you faking sleep again?”
One grey eye cracked open, he surveyed the young woman standing over him, apparently ignoring William’s attempt to shield his modesty with a cushion. Her hair washed and braided, she looked much fresher than she had when he left her.
“Mm?”
“Where would your dad be?”
Stretching his arms over his head, uncaring of the way his shirt crept up over his hips, Herbert yawned luxuriously. It turned into a brief frown when William hastily dropped a pillow on him too.
“You were showing!” William protested in a mumble.
“Oh, please, like I haven’t seen naked boy-parts before,” Dawn rolled her eyes expressively, though Herbert could see the remnants of a blush trying to fight its way across her cheeks. Spluttering, William mumbled something incoherent that was ignored by both of them.
“Why are you looking, little one?” Herbert asked, raising himself on his elbows.
Dawn gave him an innocent smile. “I wanna kick him for leaving me sitting in the rain,” she said.
Herbert raised an eyebrow, then inclined his head. “I think the library would be the most likely of places,” he replied, then leaned off the couch, his voice muffled as he added, “And I have something for you that may help...”
“Steel-toed boots?”
“Alas, I did not think of those...” Sitting upright, Herbert held out a narrow, flat box to her. “Enjoy, cherie.”
Leaning down, Dawn kissed him sweetly on the cheek. With a light-fingered hand, she claimed the box and strode off, as if to battle all the demons of hell in the final apocalypse.
Herbert watched her go with an amused grin.
“And what,” William’s baffled voice brought him back to the present, “the bloody hell just happened?”
Grabbing William by the front of his gaping shirt and yanking him back down to sprawl over his body, Herbert settled comfortably, shifting until he was quite satisfied with his position.
“While you were taking your nap, cheri, your little morsel was quite ill.” William made a worried sound, starting to rise, but was promptly pulled back down, one of Herbert’s hands catching his hair. “You will notice I said was, William.” He beamed as if quite proud of himself. “I should have been a doctor.”
Blue eyes gaped dumbly at him. “You looked after her?”
“Of course!” Herbert said happily. “Gave her chicken soup and bed rest.” He closed his eyes with a pleased yawn. “I don’t think she enjoyed the chains quite as much as the ropes...”
Above him, it sounded like William had just had a fit. “... chains...?”
Opening one eye lazily, Herbert shrugged his shoulders. “How else can one be sure their patient will remain in bed?”
Gaping at him, William made a faint, incoherent sound. “Knew she shouldn’t have stayed,” he mumbled. “Girl’s gonna be messed up even more...”
“Oh, don’t worry, darling,” Herbert chuckled, combing his fingers lazily through William’s wavy hair. “I’m sure that you have guaranteed that already.” He smiled slowly, wickedly. “As I hear, she had a ring-side seat.”
Against his torso, William went rigid. “What are you on about?”
“My poor, sweet, silly darling,” Herbert opened his eyes reluctantly. “I’m trying to sleep here.”
“Herbie!”
“If you want to know whether or not your oh-so-innocent little piece of meat saw you being soundly buggered six ways from Sunday by my father, then yes,” He yawned widely, fangs glinting. “She saw, she heard, and she found it remiss of you to leave your door unlocked.”
“Oh God...” William groaned, dropping his head onto Herbert’s sternum. “Stake me now, Herbie.”
Patting William’s head soothingly, Herbert squirmed a bit, shifting the younger vampire’s weight against him. “Don’t worry, cheri,” he said around another yawn. “I made sure she knew precisely what was going on.”
“You what?”
“I thought it fitting that she did not think my father was some kind of perverted fiend,” Herbert replied cheerfully. “I felt it would damage my own reputation if she thought father was worse.”
“Slayer’s gonna bloody kill me...”
“Oh, no,” Herbert laughed. “I suspect there will be torture when she finds out just what little sister is up to.”
William lifted his head to stare down at Herbert warily. “What is the Niblet up to?”
Arranging a pillow behind his head and closing his eyes, Herbert smiled serenely at the ceiling. “She’s kicking father in the shin,” he replied and felt William relax against him. Then, with a wicked smirk, he added, “Metaphorically.”
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
As the doors had opened, a long sliver of light had spread across the polished floor of the library. The room seemed deserted, not a chair out of place, evening twilight casting soft hues on the shelves.
Yet the Graf was present, watching silently, unseen, as his youngest guest stepped across the threshold, closing the door silently behind her.
She wandered between the shelves for a time, and though she appeared to be looking for a book, the way she glanced towards the shadows, the way she moved, the way she listened all suggested it was not simply a book she sought.
After several moments, however, she withdrew a heavy volume from one of the shelves that contained his books on sorcery and magic, and he saw the smile that crossed her lips, some memory teasing her if he was to make an assumption.
Moving towards the table, she folded one leg beneath her and sat, opening the book in front of her and gazing down at the pages.
How long he lingered and watched her, he could not say. Drinking her in, unaware of how parched he had been until her presence washed over him again, he found himself closer than he realised, so close he could feel the warmth of her skin.
She shivered, as if somehow aware of him, dragging her fingertip down the edge of the page. Slowly, she tilted her head, as if searching for something on the edge of her hearing. Her hair was gloriously loose, heavy waves spilled down her back, begging to be caressed and touched.
Invisible hands reached for her, then curled once more into fists, drawing back before they could brush her shoulders.
Another shiver shook her. He could see the gooseflesh rising on her arms, where they emerged from one of Herbert’s housecoats. Recalling that Herbert had murmured something about her being ill, he frowned, making a gesture.
A fire leapt up in the grate, making her whip around, and the smile that lit up her face was dazzling.
“Knew you were there,” she said, looking around. “Missed you lurking around.”
“Is that so?” His murmur rippled around her, directionless, dancing on the air.
Still smiling, she nodded, turning back to the book. “If you’d been around,” she said conversationally to the thin air around her. “I bet Herbert would never have tied me to my bed.”
Briefly, Von Krolock wondered how it was possible that a woman could become any more endearing. Already so hardy and resolute, her utter lack of fear in the presence of some of the oldest surviving vampires in Europe was captivating.
“Herbert does have his ways,” he murmured, merging out of nothing behind her chair so silently that he doubted she had even realised he was so close. “An interesting choice of book.”
There was absolutely no trace of innocence in the girl’s face. “I like magic,” she said without preamble. “Buffy used to try and hide the books from me, but when you live with two witches, there are only so many books you can hide in a locked trunk.”
“And how long did that trunk remain locked?” he murmured silkily, leaning over her shoulder. He felt her start at the sight of his hand laid on the table beside her arm, heard her pulse accelerate.
“Uh... not very long...” she whispered.
Her eyes were no longer on the book, of that he was certain. So, Herbert had been correct? It seemed it was becoming habit.
Tilting his hand, he traced his fingertips against the back of her pretty little hand, so warm that he was sure she would scorch him. He heard her draw a quick breath and her heart seemed to leap, fresh blood beating through her veins rapidly. Under his hand, her hand turned over and she slid her fingers between his.
“Got something for you,” she murmured, tilting her head and shaking her hair aside.
Lifting his other hand to drag the last trailing locks away, a smile curled his lips at the sight of a collar of jet-black silk bound around her lovely throat.
“Exquisite,” he murmured, brushing his fingers against it, revelling in the tremor that ran through the girl. Lowering his head, he placed a kiss against the sensual cloth, feeling the near-buzz of her heartbeat through it and her skin.
Her head rolling back on her shoulders, she uttered a faint, almost desperate gasp, her hand tightening against his.
Drawing his lips from her, he gazed down at her upturned face, brushing his knuckles to her cheek. There was no question of her allure, but she had none of the naivety of some of his earlier lovers. She knew what he was, what he could do, yet here she was, before him, willing and trusting.
Her eyes slowly opened, gazing up at him, the fire in her gaze searing. “If you don’t kiss me now,” she murmured. “I will totally kick your ass.”
“Then I fear I must kiss you,” he replied equally softly, startled by how much truth those words carried. Slipping his hand into her hair, he felt more than heard her sigh as he brushed his lips against hers.
Yet, now given leave, gentleness seemed to have escaped her.
She rose into the kiss, her hand pulling free of his to reach for him. Sinking her fingers into his hair, her body pressed to his, so eager, so fierce, so mortally scorching that it was his turn to gasp against her lips.
When they broke apart moments later, staring at one another, he was startled to realise that he was panting as fiercely as she was. The hunger roaring through him was matched by primal gleam in her eyes.
Doubt and hesitation pushed aside, he pulled her to him and swept his cloak around them both.
In a heartbeat, the library was empty.