Genre: Dark... fluff? Not a very fluffy Nini, though.
TW: Blood, mention of d*ath.
Just so you know, I'm the same vampire sl*t I used to be, no need to worry. I haven't changed one bit.
All that happened up to this point was a haphazard combination of events.
This conclusion comes to you naturally upon realizing that no matter what you’ve done and what you’ve decided, eventually, you would reach this exact place, this exact state. It was simply meant to be.
Eventually, no matter the path of life you’ve chosen, you would end up here – with your face pressed against the cold glass laced with raindrops, flinching with every thunder that tears through the atmosphere. It is an early evening, but the skies are the darkest tone of gray, and if any sound comes even from within the room you are in, you won’t register it, for the rain hitting against the tall windows of the old-fashioned apartment drowns out everything.
The cold hand that held your head up to this point now moves down. Jongin's fingers hook around the collar of your button-up shirt, then brush your collarbone, landing at the little buttons in the front and undoing just a few off the very top. That suffices. He harshly pulls the shirt down, off your shoulders. Your whole body shakes with the motion, but before you can move, the hand is on top of your head again, deliberately pushing it into the glass to remind you to stay still. Your breath comes out shaky.
“Careful, this shirt…”
The pressure grows, nails digging into your scalp in a wordless warning. You whimper.
“Hm? What did you say, baby?”
Did you say anything? Your thoughts refuse to gather again, and so you leave that matter be.
Cool breath tickles your shoulder, earning a shiver from you. There is a small chuckle at the way you squirm when it travels higher, almost to your hairline. Your fingers clench against the glass, while his hold on your hair tightens, making sure you won’t even think to flee. It is not, however, dreadful – it is instead comforting, urging you to give up your free will, to let him take control.
Yet, all of these sensations become nothing the second he bites into your neck. Sharp fangs pierce through your flesh in one, swift motion, and the sweet spot blossoms with agony.
You cry out for just a second before the pain deepens, and your mind goes blank, lips parting in a silent scream. His thigh slips between your legs and his body presses into yours to keep you from collapsing. The hold on your head loosens as his focus shifts to biting even deeper, even harder. Blood leaves your body in a sickening, yet relieving sensation, as if along with the priced liquid, away went all worries and your sense of self, dissipating into nothingness.
The moment his lips part from your skin, the pain remains, blood trickling down your back and staining the fabric you previously worried about. There is no relief, but no worry either, you’re still in your trance, still in your sweet torment.
“Wonder what would happen if I drained you whole.”
Is an answer expected of you? He pulls you off the glass for just a second and flips you around, going for the top of your chest instead. The pain that follows is but an echo of the one that already numbed you, earning merely a whimper. Just a few small gulps before his hand touches the wound, playfully smudging the blood all over your chest and neck.
“You taste so good, baby. Makes me want to end you.”
Your shirt is pulled further off your shoulders and fangs sink into the soft skin of your underarm. This area is more tender, and you let out a pained groan. He smirks, satisfied with this more enthusiastic response.
“But I’m afraid you’d enjoy it too much.”
His lips press into yours briefly, letting you taste your own, metallic flavor. With all of his body so terribly cold, his mouth is now warm, as if he stole the warmth away from you. Didn’t he? You start to tremble, your eyes wandering hazily, your mind blank.
“Oh, dear…”
The pain is no more, and neither is the trance. Now is tiredness, your body growing limp, peace of mind following the urge to let yourself dissolve.
“Have I taken too much? Baby, I just couldn’t help myself.”
His arms collect you, preventing you from collapsing completely. His cool body smells with comfort and safety. How deliciously he drained you, how well he brought you so close to your demise, keeping you right on its edge, yet mercifully keeping you from falling over.
You rest in his lap as he sits down on a sofa, letting your body cool off, allowing you to finally breathe without the fear of having that breath stolen away. His hands hold you gently, steadily massaging your tensed up muscle, calming down the shivers still tearing at you every once in a while.
And when your body finally accepts that this is over, that it is time to rest and recover now, and that you don’t need to worry any longer, it is one last sentence you hear before falling asleep:
"Grab her!" Kai seethes, as he watches you run for your life through the field. Your efforts although brave, are futile. There's no where for you to run, you're in the middle of nowhere, there was no where for you to hide. Not that you could out run him or his men anyways.
He sat in his chair in the living room, hungry, his legs crossed, finger tapping on his thigh as he waited for his men to drag you back inside.
He liked this. He liked that you played hard to get, he liked that you liked to be handled roughly, and god would you get it tonight for this stunt.
He smirks as Taemin carries you inside, tossing out on the couch, your body sweaty, despite only wearing a tank top and underwear.
"Smart to try and run at night." Kai smiles. "But you forget baby, we don't sleep."
You sit up on the couch, your face straight as Kai's eyes linger on you, eyeing you up and down. "Leave us." He says to Taemin, never looking away from you, only licking his lips.
"You've been naughty." He breathes, standing up, kneeling in front of you in a second.
"Punish me then." You whisper.
"Don't you worry baby, I will." He says, picking you up and pinning you against the wall in an instant. "I will take what's mine." He says, using one hand to unbuckle his belt. "And you're going to love it."
"I'll love it." You repeat, staring into his eyes.
"You'll only ever want my cock. You'll beg for my cock." He grunts, moving your panties to the side before pushing his erect cock inside you.
"Yes." You moan. "Only yours."
"Say my name." He groans, thrusting himself into you.
"Kai." You cry, your fingernails digging into his skin through his shirt.
"That's right baby." He huffs, leaning his head forward to sink his teeth into your neck.
Mist rose from the ground in tattered ribbons. The wind plucked and tugged at your cloak, making you shiver, as you purposefully strode through the old graveyard. You hadn’t eaten in days, and your body was having a difficult time regulating your temperature. Despite the cloak, despite the relatively warm autumnal weather, you were chilled to the bone, and you pulled the garment closer around yourself in a vain attempt to preserve what little body heat you had left.
You were on your way downtown to find something to eat, hoping that tonight would find you something more suitable than yet another night of catching rats, as you didn’t know how much longer you could hold out before it was too late.
The moon shone pale and perfect; an elegant pearl in the sky gracing the scene with her soft light, making the tilted, and tumbled grey headstones look almost ethereal. If you could just make it through the graveyard, the other side would find you at the outskirts of the city, and surely, there would be food found tonight. You refused to think of the alternative. Something would turn up, you were confident. Even if you had to make it happen.
A spooked passerby started as you emerged from the open wrought-iron gate, eyes momentarily widened in fear. You smiled, easing his agitation with your warm expression, and continued on your way.
Walking the wending cobblestone streets, you looked for someone who might be able to feed you. Scrabbling claws of hunger scraped at your belly, and your throat burned. A wave of dizziness overtook you and, stretching out a hand, you leaned against the rough, fog-slicked brick of a nearby building. After allowing a moment to let the feeling crest and ebb, you shook your head to clear it, setting your jaw and forcing yourself to keep walking. You couldn’t afford to lose consciousness. It was all over, if you did.
Suddenly, providence shone upon you. A tall, stolidly-built man sauntered in your direction.
“Bonne nuit, chère ,” he said, his voice warm as silk. “You lost, p’tit?”
Shaking your head, you looked down at the ground. “Non, monsieur. I’m just looking for something to eat.”
“Ah, you hungry, chérie? I can help you with that, me.” He wrapped his hand around your arm, his palm burning your through your cloak and sleeve, as he guided you away from the sidewalk. “You jus’ come on down here with ol’ Henri Baptiste, he show you where you can find something nice and hot to fill your belly, eh?”
A tentative feeling of relief washed over you as you allowed him to lead you away. Henri would take care of you. Henri would feed you. You followed him down street after street, as he led you further into the heart of the old city.
Suddenly, he wheeled you into an adjacent alley, slamming your back against the cold brick of an abandoned building. “Before this Henri give you somethin’ to eat, you gon’ give me something in return, oui?”
You kept your head down, staring at his feet in their fine leather shoes. Shoes at odds with his build, and accent. Idly, you wondered, and without thinking, you said it out loud. “Where did you get those shoes? They’re so fine.”
“Never you mind how Henri find what he wants, you just concentrate on working for your dinner.” He lifted his hands to unclasp your cloak, letting it fall to the ground. “Oh… chère…” he groaned, greedy eyes roving over the fine skin above the bodice of your maroon silk gown. He lifted the back of his hand to your chest, gently tracing your collarbones with his fingertips, as his eyes burned holes through the layers of gown, chemise, and corset.
You looked up at him, eyes wide, pleading. “Please, monsieur. Don’t.”
His hands moved down to clasp your shoulders in a punishing grip. “Well, what do we have here? Cette p’tite mudlark is a bona fide mam’selle! What’s wrong, chère? Run away from your parents, ‘cause you don’t wanna marry some spent old man? Lucky for you Henri come along. I can take care of you in ways you ain’t never imagined, eh?”
“Monsieur,” you started again, as he lifted his hands to start removing the pins from the chignon on top of your head, curls falling around your shoulders as more and more pins clattered to the ground. “I’m asking you to stop.”
He chuckled to himself, his voice as rough as his hands. “When Henri’s done with you, you won’t ever want him to stop. You gon’ be beggin’ sweet as sugarcane, ma p’tit.” His hands reached toward the hem of your gown, and he clasped the silk in his hands, slowly gathering it upward.
Your voice was desperate, now. “Monsieur Baptiste, as a gentleman–”
“Gentleman? Now whatever gave you that idea, amoureuse?” Henri leaned forward to bring his mouth to your neck. “Just one taste, eh? One taste, and you’ll sing…”
You shuddered, and then your body relaxed. A soft sigh breezed past your lips as you brought your hands to his shoulders.
“That’s it, chère! I knew you wanted what this Henri’s got!”
“Thank you,” you said sincerely, as you closed your eyes, and nuzzled just under his jaw. He groaned as you opened your mouth.
You were so hungry.
“Well, well well, what have we here?” a new voice said, from just beside you. Your stomach clenched in dread.
Henri swiftly lifted his head toward the intruder, aggression colouring his coarse features.
A handsome gentleman leaned against the wall beside you both, arms crossed, facing you with an amused expression. His jet black hair, parted on the side, flopped over his forehead, though it was close-cropped above his ears. His dark, hooded eyes looked almost black in the light from the gas lamps, and his full, pouting mouth was drawn up on one side, in a cutting smirk.
He was wearing evening dress, his snowy shirtfront, and waistcoat gleaming in contrast to the black of his cutaway jacket, and slim-fitting trousers.
Henri’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step back. “She mean somethin’ to you, m’sieur?”
“Not at all!” the man said, reaching up to run a loosening finger under his high, starched collar. “But I think you’ll find, that you’re about to be very, very grateful to me.”
Henri turned to you, and stumbled back, as all the blood drained from his face.
You knew what he saw. Sharp, too-white teeth gleaming in the gaslight, pupils narrowed to slits, but glowing, as if lit with an inner fire. A bass growl rumbled in your chest, as you swiftly reached toward him, but his scream was faster than your clawed hands, and as it rang through the alley, you flinched at the volume.
Eyes narrowed, you let him escape, watched him fall over his own feet as he desperately tried to run away, sobbing, and snotting like a sniveling child, a trail of liquid following him. Closing your eyes in frustration, you muttered, “Not again!”
***
You walked away swiftly, while swirling your cape back over your shoulders, and reclasping it at your throat.
The handsome man pushed off of the wall, his long legs making it easy to catch up, and fall into step with you. “Oh, dear. Did I ruin another meal?”
“Monsieur Kim. Leave me,” you said listlessly.
“I can’t do that,” he said comfortably. “Thanks to you.”
Stopping abruptly, you turned to face him. “I told you that I was sorry! You have no idea how much!”
He loomed above you, a smile on his mouth, but not in his eyes. “You’re sorry? Sorry…” he mused. “I’m sorry, too. Sorry that your sorry is not adequate. Sorry that I’m apparently stuck with you until the world ends. Sorry over the loss of all the things that I’ll never be able to do!” His voice was bitter.
“Imbecile!” you exploded. “You’re so short-sighted, that you can’t even see what you’re doing!” Your voice lowered, and you hissed, “Do you think that you can starve me to death? I assure you, that is not the case; I wish it were! Ma foi! How I wish that were so! This beast–”
A boyish scream rent the cool night air. Your head snapped toward the sound and, abandoning him, you ran toward where you had heard it. As you approached, you heard the sound of scuffling and, upon turning the corner, you saw a sight that froze the already chilled blood in your veins.
Three coarsely-dressed men stood over the prone figure of a Creole youth, blood staining the white silk of his waistcoat. Upon hearing the patter of your steps, the men turned, but relaxed when they spotted you. One of them started for you, and the boy reached out to grab him by the ankle, saying simply, “Non!”
Your vision was sharp, especially in the dark, and you saw that his face was beaten and bloody, lips swollen and cracked, blood matting his glossy black curls, and seeping into his large grey eyes. Livid bruises were already forming on his fine brown skin, but still, despite being almost broken, he held tight to the man’s ankle, trying with his last strength to keep the man from reaching you. “Mademoiselle! Run!” he called. He couldn’t have been older than 15.
Shaking off the boy’s hand, the man turned, and delivered a rough kick to the boy’s temple. The boy fell back against the cobblestones, dazed.
Monsieur Kim swore behind you.
“Let him go!” you demanded, voice crackling with authority.
The men slowly started to you, spreading out in an effort to cut of any routes of escape. The tallest, his hair a true dirty blond said, “Well, lookee what we got here, boys! One of them fine Cre-ole ladies we heard tell so much about. Ain’t she purty?”
“Purtiest thing I’ve seen all day, Bill,” a slightly shorter redhead said.
“Look at how she’s dressed,” the shortest man said, his hair so fair as to practically be white. “Betcha we could get a lot of money for that there dress. Cape looks mighty fine, too.”
A cough caught everyone’s attention. The boy had turned over, and was trying to crawl toward you. “Run!” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “Run!”
A pang shook your heart, as you witnessed the ruin of his face, contorted in fear for you.
“Restez-vous, cher,” you called to him.
Tears pooled in his eyes as he continued to drag his body toward you.
“You’re not from here, are you?” you inquired of the men.
“Naw, we ain’t no Ca-juns, if that’s what you mean,” the redhead said, eyeing the few pearl pins still securing the top of your chignon. “Hey, Dickie, how much you think those hair-pins will go for?”
“Don’ know,” the tall blonde said. “But those, ‘long with what we get off the boy will go far toward gettin’ us out West.”
“Messieurs, by your own admission, you are not from this city, so perhaps, the remission of your manners can be forgiven, but please note…here Creole do not cower! You are under the impression that you have cornered two people with whom you can do what you like, but I assure you that is not the case.”
Drawing yourself up to your full height, you looked down your nose at them, despite the fact that you were a good six inches shorter than the shortest one. “My father is a diplomat, and he would have no qualms throwing you in the dankest prison that he could find, should you continue. However,” here you softened your voice, “if you turn around and leave now, you can go your way unmolested.”
“Y’hear that, Johnny?” Bill drawled lazily. “If we leave now, we can leave un-mo-lested!”
“I heard, Bill. Problem is, cher-ree, we ain’t got no money. And you, and this boy here, both got enough on your backs to get us halfway to San Fran-cisco. Speaking of backs, you’d look real purty on yours.”
Your gorge rose as the men jeered. It always came down to that, didn’t it? Closing your eyes, as if in pain, you said, “I’m asking you, one last time, to kindly leave us alone, and–”
“We ain’t going nowhere…and neither are the two of you!” Dickie said, his voice smug. “Come on, get her, boys, and let’s get this show on the road. I’m hungry.” You heard the men slowly start for you, the boy whimper pitifully.
“I hate being interrupted,” you said mildly. “What’s your name, mon chevalier?”
“Etienne Arceneaux,” the boy whispered, despair colouring his voice.
“Monsieur Arceneaux,” you said softly. “Fermez vos yeux. Close your eyes, mon cher.”
A rough hand grabbed you by the hair, snapping your neck back. You smiled, then opened your eyes. “Thank you.”
***
Sighing, you stretched, allowing the last body to fall, boneless, to the ground. Feeding wasn’t so much a pleasure as relief, surcease from the biting cold, feral hunger, and maddening thirst that wracked your body whenever it had been too long. Turning, you saw Etienne on his knees, eyes still closed, murmuring something too softly for even you to hear.
As you walked closer, the words became clearer, and you smiled. “Je vous salue, Marie pleine de grâce; le Seigneur est avec vous. Vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes et Jésus, le fruit de vos entrailles, est béni….”
“Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu, priez pour nous pauvres pécheurs, maintenant et à l’heure de notre mort. Amen,” you finished with him.’’ “Ouvrez vos yeux, mon petit frère.”
He shook his head violently, still murmuring the Hail Mary.
You placed a hand on his cheek, thankful that it was now warm enough not to startle him. “I’ll not hurt you, Etienne. I wouldn’t hurt you, for the world.”
Slowly, he opened his eyes, and looked at you. You smiled reassuringly, and pulled out your rosary from your bodice, dangling the crucifix in front of his eyes. Etienne looked momentarily reassure, then, looking past, he saw the bodies of the three men, and his pupils enlarged until only a small sliver of stormy grey surrounded them. “Mademoiselle, how…what…?”
“Forget them. They have gone to their reward.” Putting his arm around your shoulders, you stood, lifting him easily. “Where do you live?” He looked at you warily. “Come now, mon frère. Did I not say the Hail Mary, as well? Don’t be afraid. I will take you home.”
Tentatively, he gave you his address and, with one arm around his waist, and the other firmly grasping his wrist over your shoulder, you slowly walked him home.
***
“You didn’t kill the boy.”
“Etienne. His name is Etienne.”
“You didn’t kill Etienne. Why not?”
“Why would I?”
Monsieur Kim was silent as he walked beside you. “He might tell what you are.”
“He won’t.”
“How do you know?”
Looking off into the light of the approaching dawn, you smiled. “I know.”
“You killed me.”
Sighing deeply, you pulled your hood over your head. “I’ve told you, that was not purposeful. I had no more control over my actions than a ravening wolf. If I could undo it–if there were some way to go back in time, and exchange my life for yours, I would.”
***
Six months prior.
You were reading in your room, when your lady’s maid, Cosette, came to tell you that your father had requested you in the parlour. His voice echoed through the hallway as you approached, and upon opening the parlour door, you saw him speaking to a small group of men, whose backs were turned toward you.
Upon hearing the soft tap of your footsteps, he looked up, his face brightening. “Ah, here she is now. Gentlemen, please allow me to introduce my daughter.”
The men turned, and your heart leapt into your throat. Three of them were your father’s age, but the fourth… The fourth was young, and almost blindingly handsome.
You could barely hear your father as he made introductions. “These men are diplomats from the Korean peninsula,” your he explained, mistaking your silence for puzzlement, “And this,” your father started, indicating the young man, “is Ambassador–”
The young man interrupted, holding up a hand, as he turned to your father, saying, “Sir? If I may?” Turning back to you, he said, “My name is Monsieur Kim Jongin,” and bowed low, the movement almost inhumanly graceful. As he stood, an impish light appeared his eyes, and he said, “Ah, forgive me. I believe that you introduce yourselves like this…” Taking a step forward, he took you by the hand, and bowed again, this time, placing a warm, chaste kiss on your fingertips, as he looked up at you, eyes twinkling. Lowering your hand, and stepping back, he smiled.
Turning to the men, your father said, “My daughter is something of a polyglot. She already speaks English, French, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, but has been casting about for a new language to learn.
“Is that so?” Monsieur Kim replied, his eyes never leaving yours. “Mademoiselle, it would be my pleasure to aid you in your endeavours, should you so wish.”
Finally finding your voice, you answered, “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of stealing you from your duties, monsieur!”
“Nonsense!” One of the other men said, stepping forward to clap Jongin on the shoulder. “They sent too many of us, as it is, and this one has been working tirelessly to strengthen our nations’ friendship for almost a decade!” He turned to Monsieur Kim. “You can take a bit of time to thank our host for his kindness, by teaching his daughter if, of course, that’s amenable to her father.”
Your father glanced between you, and smiled knowingly. “Certainly.”
***
The next several months were idyllic, as Monsieur Kim came to your house almost every day to teach you, delighting in the linguistic acumen of his new pupil. You mostly stayed in the parlour, with your Cosette quietly sewing in the corner, but occasionally, he would take you for a walk around the gardens, teaching you the words for everything you saw, as your old governess followed behind, keeping a watchful eye. One particularly exciting afternoon, he took you for a ride around the city in his new automobile, and you shrieked with delight, holding on to your hat, as the metal beast flew along at 40 breathtaking miles per hour.
***
Your father’s birthday approached, as did the yearly party that your mother threw in celebration. A knock on the door sounded, as Cosette did your hair in preparation for the event.
“Entrez-vous,” you called.
Your mother entered, smiling as she saw you. “You look lovely, ma petite. The peach silk really brings out the roses in your cheeks.”
“Oui, Maman, you were right,” you murmured, returning her warm smile.
She laid a hand on the maid’s arm, saying, “I’ll finish her hair, Cosette, chère .”
Catching your eye in the mirror, as Cosette left the room, your mother blew you a kiss, and began to artfully arrange and pin your curls. “So…”
“So…?”
“Monsieur Boudreaux is going to attend tonight.”
You groaned. “Maman! You promised!”
“What? I’m not asking you to entertain him, I’m merely informing you of his whereabouts for the evening.”
“Maman,” you started warningly.
“What is so wrong with the man? He’s handsome, powerful, his family is above reproach…”
“He’s old, Maman!”
“Thirty is hardly doddering, chère .”
You were silent for a moment. Then, “I just don’t trust him. The way he looks at me…” You shuddered. “He looks like he could eat me alive.”
Your mother looked at you sideways, her expression sly. “And…your reticence doesn’t have anything to do with a certain handsome young envoy?”
“Monsieur. Kim is…is…”
“Is…is…” your mother teased. “Yes?”
Your face flushed as you lowered your eyes to your dressing table, and fiddled with a silver backed comb. “Monsieur Kim, is…wonderful.”
“As I thought.” She tucked one last mother of pearl comb into your coiffure, and patted it, standing back to give it it a critical perusal. Nodding, she returned, resting her hands on your shoulders, and meeting your eyes in the mirror, with a knowing smile.
“Bon. I suppose an ambassador is as good a choice as any.”
***
Your eyes scanned the crowd as you slowly descended the curving staircase. Unfortunately, an unwelcome pair of eyes was scanning for you, and when you reached the bottom, Monsieur Boudreaux was waiting.
Your mother was right. He was handsome enough; lean, with broad shoulders, long legs, and fine, elegant hands. His face was lupine, with prominent cheekbones, and thick golden eyebrows and lashes framing impossibly black eyes. His hair was moonlight silver, and he wore the thick mass combed back from his forehead. Despite all of this, he still made your flesh crawl.
“Enchanté, chère ,” he murmured, bowing, his too-red mouth hovering over your gloved hand.
“Charmed, Monsieur,” you answered, your voice flat.
“Please allow me to congratulate you on behalf of your father, for another year of superlative work in our country’s service.”
“I’ll relay your sentiments.”
“Your father is a great man, and a truly gifted diplomat–”
“Yes, certainly, thank you; would you kindly excuse me, Monsieur Boudreaux? I fear I have a pressing matter to which I must attend,”
His expression cooled noticeably, but he bowed his head in agreement. “I hope to speak to you further tonight, chère fille.”
“Indeed,” you responded neutrally, inclining your head, and then turning and walking toward what had caught your eye.
Monsieur Kim smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling as he watched you approach. Sketching a slight bow at your arrival, he held out his arm for you to take, as he guided you away from the curiously horrid Monsieur Boudreaux.
Inclining his head toward yours, to keep the conversation private, he said, “For a diplomat’s daughter, you’re not very politic.”
Delicately shuddering, you shook your head. “I’ll have you know that I was weaned on Machiavelli, Tallyrand, and Franklin, but that man–” you closed your eyes in distaste, “that man makes my flesh crawl. He looks at me as if he wants to see into my very soul!”
“Well, don’t think of him,” Monsieur Kim murmured warmly, his intimate tone making you blush. “I’m here, now. Look only at me.”
***
He stayed by your side all night, though you were sure that you were scandalizing the entire company by only dancing with him. As he swirled you by greedy mamans, and jealous debutantes, you heard the whispers. “Do they have an understanding? Will there be an announcement? If she’s not careful, she’ll be ruined!”
Ignoring them all, you tightened your hand in his, dizzied by the press of skin held back only by your gloves. Eventually, however, the heat, and the press of bodies began to wear on you and Monsieur Kim, noticing your rising colour, asked if you’d like to take a cooling walk in the garden. You acquiesced.
Despite his suggestion, he pulled you to sit on the first stone bench you came across, squeezing your hands with his own. The bright moonlight gleamed on his ebony hair, on the single lock that had fallen from the shining darkness, to rest on his forehead.
Your hands itched to brush it off of his face, to cup his cheek with your hand, and brush it gently with your thumb. Closing your eyes, you tried to push away these indecent thoughts, but then Monsieur Kim was talking, redirecting your attention.
“Mademoiselle…”
“Oui, Monsieur Kim?”
“Please…call me Jongin.”
Your heart began to pound, the beat so intense, you wondered if he could hear it. Did he know what it would imply, to address him by his first name? You sighed. The likelihood was low. You willed your nerves to calm.
“You may continue to call me Mademoiselle,” you teased, smiling up at him, at his eyes sparkling in the moonlight.
He returned your smile, but his was knowing, his eyes full of an emotion that you couldn’t translate. Slipping off of the bench, he knelt on one knee in front of you, taking your hands in his. “Mademoiselle…I was hoping–if you would do me the honour–of following in your culture’s footsteps, and giving you the name Madame K–”
“Excusez-moi, s’il vous plaît, but Monsieur Lee has called for you, Monsieur Kim.”
You both turned to see a smooth-faced servant, his expression bland, as his eyes stayed steadily on the ground.
Jongin’s–your heart thrilled at the name!–Jongin’s jaw tightened in irritation, but when he spoke, his voice was pleasant. “Is it important?”
“There appears to have been an urgent missive from Korea. I believe he mentioned something about Japan?”
Jongin’s eyes narrowed. During his months of tutelage, he had been teaching you, not only the language of Korea, but also its history, and current political climate. You knew that tensions with Japan were rising, and you laid a hand on his arm.
“Monsieur Kim,” he turned to you, his eyes torn, “Jonginah…” His expression softened, hope lighting his face. “Go. I’ll be here when you return and, despite the fact that I will anticipate your full confession upon your return, I can already tell you that my answer will be in the affirmative.”
A wide smile put nearly all of his pearly teeth on display and, for a–moment–he was no longer the debonair ambassador, but a sweet boy, and your heart throbbed at the change. You always wanted to protect that smile.
He swiftly stood and bowed over your outstretched hand, saying, “I will make this as quick as possible.” Then, turning, he started to follow the servant back into the party.
You watched him go, a besotted smile on your face. Mind consumed by thoughts of Jongin, you weren’t able to react quickly enough to fight the hand that held a chemical soaked rag to your nose, until it was too late.
***
burning throat burning weak roll over, push too weak rest.
rushing noises, pounding noises, knocking noises, light too bright, so close, seeing is loud cold burning inside, cold outside
footsteps above
pain, red pain, black pain, clawing pain, curl in and clutch pain, still hurts, hurts so much–
“Jagiyah?”
comfort safety relief go closer
strength around, strength lifting warm fire inside again, pain worse, clutch at something strong, solid…
“Shhhh, gwenchana… Ara..ara…”.
comfort warmth safety nuzzle closer, wrap around closer want to be surrounded
Vampire Kai! A true Halloween classic. Ft. Vampire hunter Lloyd. ( Kai is fairly harmless, he just likes messing with Lloyd. pushing his luck tbh) @textsfromgravityfallsblog. -
A/N: This is chapter 4 of a finished fic, the links for which can be found on my mistresslist.
Monsieur Kim crouched next to you, as you wordlessly looked up at him, eyes filled with distressed censure.
“I had to,” he said simply. “Despite the past…I’d not consign you to this shadowed half-existence, if I had the power to avert it.”
Monsieur Boudreaux moved quickly, coming to stand between you, and your attacker.
Closing your eyes, you collapsed flat against the ground, too exhausted and pained to do more than concentrate on breathing. You brought a trembling hand once more to the stake but, seeing your movement out of the corner of his eye, Monsieur Boudreaux half turned his face to you, saying, “Leave it in, chère fille. If you take it out now, without feeding, you will bleed to death.”
With a conciliatory air, he turned back to the stranger, who had made no attempts to leave, saying, “I apologize for my ward’s impertinence, monsieur; you can assign her lack of manners to my charge.”
“She robbed me of my gustation, sir.”
“What were you eating?”
The stranger shrugged. “Just some girl.”
Monsieur Boudreaux nodded, and spread his hands apologetically. “Eh, bien, you see, she’s rather sensitive to that sort of thing.” He looked around, consideringly. “However…the night is young. I’m sure that you’ll quickly be able to find something to eat, if you leave now.”
The man smiled. “Just so. However, I’m not inclined to let this discourtesy stand. My grievance is with her, not you. Give her to me, and I’ll be on my way.”
Monsieur Boudreaux shook his head, a rueful smile ghosting about his mouth. “I’ve already named her my ward…therefore you are fully aware that I cannot do that.”
Smiling again, the stranger answered, “Perhaps, sir. But now my blood is up, and your little ward didn’t provide me with enough of a fight to cool my ire.”
Nodding again, Monsieur Boudreaux looked at the ground. With a powerful spring, he was suddenly upon the man, his large hand wrapped around the shorter man’s throat. Eyes wide, he asked, in an eerily calm voice, “Is this enough fight for you, monsieur” before digging his claws into the man’s neck, and ripping out part of his spine, through his throat.
The man’s blood pattered in an arc across the square, across your face, and you started in dreadful revulsion, but couldn’t draw in enough breath to scream. This was so much more brutal, so much more visceral than your way.
Monsieur Kim was still crouched next to you, his expression grim, as you both watched Monsieur Boudreaux calmly drag the stranger’s body, by his ruined neck, over to you. As he approached, you saw in mounting horror that the man was still alive, his head flopping grotesquely, his jaw working as if he were trying to speak.
You tried to drag yourself away, but your arms merely skittered across the cobblestones.
Monsieur Kim rose suddenly, putting his body between you, and the approaching Monsieur Boudreaux. “What is the meaning of this, sir?”
“Step aside, or I will walk right through you, miserable spectre,” Monsieur Boudreaux pronounced, his tone dismissive.
Monsieur Kim set his jaw. “Stop! Can you not see that you’re terrifying her?”
“This, fantôme, is the only way to save her!”
After taking a moment to search Monsieur Boudreaux’s eyes, Monsieur Kim stepped aside.
Monsieur Boudreaux crouched in front of you, wrapping his other hand around the stake, and abruptly pulling it out and throwing it away.
Your body jerked at its removal, and blood started to spurt from the wound in earnest, pouring down your shoulders to pool beneath you on the ground. Fiery pain roared through your breast, and your vision began to darken.
Monsieur Boudreaux took the man, and unceremoniously shoved his throat into your mouth. Convulsively, you swallowed, but then tried to turn your head. Monsieur Boudreaux stroked your hair, crooning, “Non, non, ma petite, this is what you need to become well. A human would be better, but this will have to do.”
You closed your mouth, refusing to drink, turning your head from the ruin of the man who had attacked you.
Tutting, Monsieur Boudreaux remonstrated, “Ma chère, I’ve no desire to force you, but I will.”
Looking up, you caught Monsieur Kim’s eye. He nodded once, grimly. You shook your head.
“Do it,” he said, his voice low.
You closed your eyes, and clenched your teeth, fighting against the almost overwhelming desire to grab the man by the hair, bury your face into his neck, and drink until he was no more than dry bones. Then you heard it.
Opening your eyes, your gaze met Monsieur Kim’s, and he was on his knees beside you, his expression stricken.
Closing your eyes from the gruesome sight before you, you turned, opened your mouth, and drank.
***
You opened your eyes to an unfamiliar room. Sitting up, you looked around to see Monsieur Kim sitting in a chair in the corner.
His attention snapped to you as soon as you sat up, and he stood and walked over, sitting beside you and reaching for your hands, before realization came over his face, and he subsided.
“Where am I?” you queried.
He grimaced. “You’re in Monsieur Boudreaux’s home. He carried you here, after…the incident.”
Eyes widening in shock, you threw back the covers, and stood, only to waver, and fall back to the bed. A familiar pain that you hadn’t felt in months clawed its way up your stomach, and seized your throat, and you groaned.
“Mademoiselle!” Monsieur Kim exclaimed. “Are you still unwell? Please, sit still for a moment, and compose yourself.”
“Monsieur Kim,” you panted, eyes glazed with pain as you looked up at him. “Do you hate me this much? Why didn’t you let this wretched existence end when there was a chance?”
His face paled, and his expression was nothing short of horrified. He shook his head, eyes never leaving yours, as his face became stern, almost angry. “Mademoiselle, you will not say anything like that ever again, do you hear? I forbid it!”
“Forbid?” You laughed mirthlessly. “I detest what I am! You detest what I am. You asked me not to leave you alone, but what else is keeping you here? It only makes sense that upon my demise, you will be set free!”
“I refuse to hear any more of this nonsense!”
You turned away. “Then leave.”
“I cannot do that.”
“Whyever not?”
“Because you’re still hurt.”
“I’ll be fine!” you growled bitterly. “That’s just it. No matter what happens, I’m always fine! So, go!”
“I’m not leaving.”
“I wish to be alone.”
“I care not.”
“Why won’t you leave me to be miserable in peace?!”
“Because I still love you!”
You stopped breathing, your eyes wide, as you stared at each other.
The door opened, and in strode Monsieur Boudreaux. “Finally, you’re awake!”
“Finally?!” you echoed, still dumbfounded over Monsieur Kim’s confession. Dazedly, you inquired, “How long have I been here?”
“A number of days,” Monsieur Kim answered.
Face blanching, you struggled once more to rise. “My parents! How can I ever explain? I–”
“Calm yourself, chérie,” Monsieur Boudreaux crooned. “I spoke to that lady’s maid of yours, and she has concocted a story about your being sick in your room, all this time, with the congestive fever. She has remained in your room, to ostensibly tend to you.”
“You spoke to Cosette?”
“I told him that she knows,” Monsieur Kim said.
“A jewel, that one,” Monsieur Boudreaux mused.
A sudden cramping in your gut doubled you over, and you cried out, clawing at the coverlet. It was growing difficult to think, much less speak.
Monsieur Boudreaux tsked. “This is why finding a human would have been better. Alas, we did not have the time. It has been a number of days since you have been able to eat, however, and if you don’t do it soon, your body will do it for you.”
Monsieur Kim looked up in alarm.
Laughing softly at his expression, Monsieur Boudreaux nodded. “That is the way of it. If we do not feed while we can, the mind shuts down, we become no better than beasts, and we eat the first thing we come across. However, no one should know that better than you, hein, mon ami?”
Monsieur Kim’s face reddened, and he growled, “You are altogether vile, Boudreaux!”
“Yet, I am here, and you are not,” Monsieur Boudreaux taunted. “At least…not in any way that truly matters.”
Panting, shaking, a fine sheen of sweat covering your skin, you tried to rise. “Be silent, monsieur!” you grated as you pushed yourself once more off of the bed.
“Do not overtax yourself,” he crooned. “I have something for you.”
A sigh of relief ghosted past your lips, and you sank back bonelessly to the bed.
He left the room, but was back in a moment, with something in his arms. When he drew closer, and you saw what it was, both you and Monsieur Kim leapt back, unadulterated horror on your faces. You pushed yourself into the furthest corner of the room, digging your claws into the plaster, in an effort to lock yourself in place. “Monsieur,” you started, your voice hollow and breathless. Unable to finish, for the combined abhorrence and pain that clogged your throat, you just wordlessly shook your head, in desperation.
“You are no gentleman!” Monsieur Kim thundered, placing his body in front of yours, so that you would not have to see what Boudreaux held in his arms. “You, sir, are a villain! Nothing more than a depraved fiend!”
You closed your eyes, trying to shut out the world. The hunger, the yelling, the horror, the tempting scent. For what Boudreaux held in his arms. What he gently placed on the bed–
–was your precious little Angeline.
The noxious odour of the same chemical that had been used on you, all those months ago, rose up, choking you with its panic-inducing scent.
“What have you done?” you whimpered, heart pounding against your ribs.
“I? I’ve merely brought you your much needed dinner. Now, be a good dear, and have something to eat.” Boudreaux replied.
“Non. Non. Non, non, non, non, non!” you shrieked, your voice escalating in panic. “Take her away! Take her back!”
“I understand that you have developed a penchant for the child, but the fact remains that if you do not eat soon, you will go, forgive the lack of a better term, quite rabid.”
“That child is her charge!” Monsieur Kim shouted, his strong voice the only thing currently anchoring you to your sanity. “How dare you suggest she commit such a revolting abomination!”
“This child is what is standing between her, and good health. She is unconscious; she will feel no pain.” Boudreaux’s voice was dismissive.
“Take her back!” you rasped, having even lost the energy to scream.
Boudreaux’s eyes narrowed. “I will not! You are so stubborn! Just like your arrière grand-mère!”
You shook your head at the non sequitur.
Monsieur Kim took over for you. “What the devil are you talking about, Boudreaux?”
“You knew…my…” you coughed, the sweet scent of Angeline’s blood flowing in her veins, making you swallow convulsively.
“Knew her?” he asked, his voice quiet. “I loved her!”
Your eyes shot to his.
His face was red, and his breathing was elevated. Running a finger under his collar, he turned, and raked his hands through his hair, making it stand on end.
The distraction of his distress gave you a precious modicum of control, and you rose with effort.
Monsieur Kim came to stand beside you, and though you couldn’t lean on him, you were grateful for the comfort of his mere presence. “Explain this!” you demanded.
Boudreaux was quiet for a moment. When he turned to you, his eyes were sad as he looked between you, and Monsieur Kim. “Oui, I knew her.”
“Did you own her?” Your voice was biting.
A sharp crack reverberated around the room, and your cheek stung. You hadn’t even seen him approach. Turning slowly, you met Boudreaux’s eyes, but his intense gaze didn’t falter under your own.
Monsieur Kim stepped between you, and shoved. Boudreaux’s body went flying across the room, and you gasped in surprise. “Jonginah!” He turned to you, his eyes dark, as he brought his hand to your reddened cheek. When he went to touch it, however, it passed through, and he looked infinitely sad.
Boudreaux lay in a crumpled heap in the corner, staring up at the ceiling, a tear slowly trailing down his cheek. Sighing, he shook his head. “Own her?” He laughed ruefully. “Geneviève was une femme de couleur librée, as you well know.”
You looked past Jongin to where Boudreaux was still lying. “I know she died early. Did you…?”
His smile was bitter. “After her husband, your arrière grand-père, died, I became her protecteur and, whatever you may think, we loved each other. I wanted to spirit her away from this accursed place–with its unholy, abominable laws–take her North. I wanted,” his jaw worked as he cried soundlessly. “I wanted to marry her! I loved her, ma foi, how I did love her! Mais, alas!” He shook his head. “One day, I was out riding, and my horse spooked and threw me. I fell, and hit my head, and by the time they were able to bring me home, I was already dying. Unbeknownst to me, my grandfather was…one of us. We just always thought that he was possessed of a particularly hale constitution. Of course, he couldn’t bear the thought of the death of his grandson, and so…” Boudreaux languidly waved a hand, then fell silent.
“And so?” Jongin prompted, turning his head slightly to Boudreaux, though his eyes never left your face.
Boudreaux sighed. “And so. He had never approved of plaçage, and so he left me to wake up…with Geneviève.”
You gasped, and Jongin turned back to you.
“You know, ma chère. You know what it’s like to awaken. You know nothing except hunger. You are nothing but hunger. And so…”
“You killed her,” you whispered.
“‘You said I killed you–haunt me then. The murdered do haunt their murderers. I believe–I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always–take any form–drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!’ ” Boudreaux finally turned to you, a mirthless smile grotesquely stretching his face, as tears ran down his cheeks. “Eh, bien, you know what that’s like, n’est-ce pas?”
Jongin’s eyes were tragic, as they ran over your face.
Overwhelmed, you shook your head. Rushing forward, you snatched up Angeline into your arms, and then ran down the stairs, and out of that accursed house.
***
Upon reaching your home, and climbing the stairs, you collapsed against your door. Cosette opened it, gasping upon seeing you with Angeline in your arms. “Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle! She whispered, shaking you.
You didn’t have the strength to respond.
Cosette dragged you both into the room, but before she could close the door, Jongin was there. She covered her mouth just in time to muffle her scream.
“Cosette! It is imperative that you listen to everything that I have to say!” he said.
She nodded, her eyes wide, as she tried not to panic.
Jongin explained everything, and by the time he was done, Cosette had fallen to her knees beside you, gently trying to wrest Angeline from your arms.
You growled, and she shrank back.
Then, swallowing, and summoning her courage, she crawled forward once more, crooning, “Mademoiselle, it is your own Cosette. Sweet mademoiselle, give Cosette le bébé, hein?” She stroked your shoulder, and slowly, slowly pulled Angeline from your arms. Lifting her, she left the room.
She returned shortly, walking around Jongin to crouch next to you.
“Why are you back so soon?” Jongin asked her. “I’ve already told you that she needs something to eat!”
“I understood, m’sieur,” she said distantly.
You could hear them talking, but the sound came from far away. You stared listlessly.
“Well then, go and fetch your mistress something before falls into an even worse state!”
“M’sieur… Leave, s’il vous plâit.”
“What?! Why would I–? Oh, no! No! Absolutely not! Do you even know what you’re suggesting?! She can’t control herself when she’s like this!”
Cosette stood, raising determined eyes up to his. “She is my mistress, and I am, and will ever be, her loyal Cosette.” She advanced upon him, and he retreated instinctively. With one last look up into his eyes, Cosette set her jaw, and closed the door.
***
You were walking through your house, but no one was home. Every door was open, and late afternoon sunlight shone through all the windows, making the house glow with a golden light. Wandering from room to room, you looked for someone, but you weren’t sure whom. Upon reaching your room, you found a young woman sitting in the rocking chair in the corner, slowly rocking, and crocheting. When you drew closer, you saw that what she was creating what appeared to be the blanket that you normally kept over your bed.
She looked up at you and, despite her countenance, you felt no surprise, only calm. She had your face. Her skin was darker, the rich colour of warm honey, and the curls that tumbled over her shoulders, and down her back were tighter, but other than that, she could have been you.
Tilting her head, she smiled. Mon bébé. Do you like your coverlet? She didn’t speak, but you knew her words, all the same.
You nodded.
Come have a seat by me, ma chère.
Sitting beside her on the floor, you rested your head upon her lap, your cheek against the familiar soft cotton of your blanket.
I’m glad that you can finally hear me, chère. I’ve been calling you pour un longtemps. She began to lovingly stroke your hair. I can’t stay long, mon coeur.
You nodded again, sadly. I know.
Understand, you mustn’t be too cross with Bastien. He wasn’t always as you know him. When we were young, he was…beautiful. So gentle…kind…unfailingly courteous, to everyone–slave and free. He never even raised his voice to his horse, much less a person. Her face was infinitely sad. He used to recite poetry. He would spend entire afternoons reading stories of love to me. However, years alone have twisted him, made him into something he was never meant to be. You’ll have to free him, mon ange.
Raising your head, you looked at her askance.
She reached out to gently caress your curls. Listen. Remember. A sire’s blood can heal the first victim of his ward.
Then, why didn’t he do that for you?
Her eyes were sad. He didn’t know. And even if he had, he wasn’t a murderer, much less of his own dear grand-père. Even if he had known, I never would have asked it of him.
Why do you tell me this?
Find your Jongin.
Jonginah is dead. I killed him. You were bitter.
Not dead, chère.
He sleeps.
If you want the latest updates, and links for easier reading, then follow me @vampwrrr.
A/N: This is part 3 of a finished fic, the links for which can be found on my mistresslist.
Despite the unutterable horror of what had happened that fateful night, your life continued, almost as it always had. Your father was powerful enough to quell any official hint of scandal from your having been missing those three days, saying that you had suddenly taken ill, and been quickly transported to the hospital. However, whenever your parents questioned you as to your whereabouts for those fateful three days, the horror of what occurred threatened to overwhelm your mind, and you had such attacks and palpitations that they soon learned to keep their questions to themselves, having to satisfy themselves in the knowledge that you were at least, physically, whole.
One night, however, your maman had slipped into your bed, wrapping her arms around you, and holding you close–like she used to do when you were a child, crying over a nightmare–quietly asking if anything, untoward, had happened, for which they needed to prepare. Though your answer was wrought from you with tears, you were at least grateful for the knowledge that nothing of that sort had been visited upon your person.
The scandal from Jongin’s disappearance, especially after his having been by your side all night, was far more difficult to handle. You had told your parents that you didn’t know where Jongin–Monsieur Kim–was, which was technically true, your having no idea what Monsieur Boudreaux had done with his body. They relayed that information to his peers, who instituted a city-wide search, with the full cooperation of the police.
During all of this, the wagging tongues of the gossip mill were set aflame, though you were shielded from most of it, due to your papa’s position in society. That didn’t stop the censorious looks from old broodmares, as you walked down the street, or the sniffs from your peers who had already been envious of the singular attention he had been paying to you, all along. While they–thankfully–didn’t seem to think that you had anything to do with his disappearance, you had, unfortunately been branded an inveterate flirt.
***
Upon arriving home, after seeing Etienne safely ensconced in the arms of his retainers, you slipped inside the servant’s entrance, and crept up the stairs to your bedchamber. Monsieur Kim was right on your heels, and you quickly closed the door in his face. There was a scoff, then he walked through the door, raising an eyebrow at you.
Sitting at your vanity, you met his eyes in the mirror, as you reached behind yourself to undo the hooks and eyes of your gown. “Sir?”
He averted his eyes, a slight blush suffusing the tops of his cheeks. After a moment of further thought, he turned around completely, standing stock-still until you walked by him in your nightdress. Climbing into bed, you turned on your side, facing away from him, and closing your eyes, desperate to achieve a few hours of sleep before you were awakened by Cosette.
“You saved that boy’s life tonight.”
You sighed heavily. “Is it not enough that you endeavour to starve me to death, must you now also add sleep deprivation to your list of tortures?”
He was silent for a moment, but when he spoke again, the sound was right behind your head. “I still don’t understand what happened.”
Huffing in frustration, you turned to see that Monsieur Kim was lying on his back beside you, his head on your other pillow. “Be glad that you’re dead, otherwise, my papa would kill you for being in his daughter’s bed, and my maman would kill you for putting your shoes on her antique coverlet. Ma grand-mere’s maman crocheted this, you know.”
He slanted you an almost playful look.
You blinked. It had to have been a trick of the light. Clearing your throat, you asked, “So, what about this night was so confusing to you?”
“I’ve watched you kill countless men. You’re merciless–” here you started in protest, but he gave you a quelling look, and you subsided, “and yet, allowed that boy to live. Not only that, but you tried to stop those men from hurting him. Why?”
“Apparently, monsieur, your powers of observation are in inverse proportion to your looks,” you said tartly. “If you had taken but a moment to mark the low nature of those whom I’ve been eating, then you would have realized that I only eat the murderous, and the rapine. I am a monster, yes–I’ve come to terms with that–but if I have to continue in this accursed way, then I should at least do what I can to help clean the city of its filth.”
Monsieur Kim turned to you, his visage serious. You tried not to think of how, had the circumstances been different, you both may have still lain just like this, but with soft words of love flowing between you, instead of the guarded expressions you now wore.
“Clean the city of its filth,” he mused. “Why do you not start with Boudreaux?”
You blinked, taken aback. It had never even occurred to you to try to seek vengeance on the man who had made you a monster. “I…haven’t thought…how could I? He’s like me–”
“Honour amoungst thieves?”
“I doubt I have the strength. Besides, he already told me that he’s impossible to kill.”
“And you believed him?”
You were silent. Then, slowly, “I’m still unsure of what I am… If I kill him, I kill hope for any answers to this cursed condition.”
“Surely, he can’t be the only one.”
“No, but how do you propose I find another? Shall I put an ad in the paper?”
“Is that why you hesitate? Or is there a secret affinity for him, hidden deep within your breast?”
Your eyes filled with tears. “You think me so base?”
Monsieur Kim seemed discomfited by your tears. “He…made you what you are. It would merely be natural–”
“Nothing about this entire affair is natural!” you ejaculated. Turning with a huff, you pulled the covers over your head.
He was blessedly silent.
***
The next day, you dragged yourself down to brunch, still achingly weary, from both the previous night’s exertions, and the lack of sleep.
Sitting at the table, you fortified yourself for another round of pretense. At first, you had called for your meals to be taken in your room, and it was easy enough to convince Cosette to eat them for you, blaming your lack of appetite on the loss of your paramour. However, as you began to lose weight (due to Monsieur Kim’s interference with your hunting), and grow progressively paler, your parents insisted on your joining them for meals, so that they could keep an eye on you.
Food that you had once found delectable now nauseated you, and though you could consume it, you couldn’t keep it down for long, leading to a miserable post-meal ritual that you dreaded. As you listlessly pushed about the food on your plate, the butler came with a card on a silver tray, for your father.
He took it and, glancing at you, nodded to the butler, saying, “Bring him in–tell him that we’re having brunch, and he’s welcome to join us.”
After a few moments, the cadence of a familiar tread reached your ears, and you froze in horror.
“Ah! Monsieur Boudreaux!” your mother trilled, standing up from the table, wrapping her arm around his, and guiding him to sit across from you. “What a wonderful surprise! How lovely to see you this morning. To what do we owe the occasion?”
“I was actually wondering if I may have the pleasure of speaking with your lovely daughter.”
For a fraction of a second, both of your parent’s faces dropped their genial veneer, before smoothing over once more, to polite anodyne. “Why, Monsieur Boudreaux,” your mother started, “I fear that our daughter hasn’t been feeling quite herself as of late. Perhaps if you returned another day–”
“Mais non, c’est bien, Maman,” you murmured. Standing abruptly, without looking at him, you said, “Monsieur Boudreaux, if you would be so kind as to accompany me into the parlour?”
You wheeled on him after closing the door, your fangs having already descended in preparation.
Monsieur Boudreaux held up his hand, and you froze, a guttural growl rumbling from your chest.
“I’m not here to antagonize you,” he said, his voice mild. “Besides, you should be more careful. What if one of the servants were to hear you?”
Subsiding, you looked away, ashamed at your lack of self-control.
“It’s my fault,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left you without guidance for so long. I’ve been remiss in my responsibility to you, and for that, I apologize sincerely.”
“Pretty words will gain you no favours, monsieur. I neither desire, nor require your assistance.”
“Do you not?” he asked mildly. “Tell me, mademoiselle, have you not found it odd that there has been no hue and cry in the papers about the deaths of so many of your…meals?”
You could feel the blood draining from your face.
Monsieur Boudreaux cocked his head as he saw your realization. “Ma cher enfante, did you really think that you could just leave bodies lying about the city, and no one would notice?”
Having no remonstration, you were silent, though you cursed yourself inwardly, for failing to clean up after your predations. “Monsieur. If you are trying to arouse a sense of gratitude in my breast–”
“What I want from you is not gratitude, mademoiselle!” Monsieur Boudreaux thundered, losing control for the first time. He began pacing the room like a caged tiger, raking a hand through his hair, causing it to stand at a rakish angle. “I have tried to give you time to come to terms with your new situation, I have given you space to become comfortable with what you are, but what do I find?” He gestured to you, his movements jerky with frustration. “In my absence you have, what? Chosen to starve yourself? Tried to expose yourself by leaving evidence that even the dreariest dullard could interpret?”
“I assure you, I have no intentions of starving myself! I found out quite early the impossibility of that, unless I want to lose myself and attack another innocent! I just…have had trouble finding enough to eat, is all.”
“We are in a city of hundreds of thousands, and you cannot find enough to eat?”
“I am not a fiend; I will not eat just anyone.”
“Even so, there remain tens of thousands of blackguards from which to choose.”
“Just so. However, I have run into certain complications–”
“Such as?”
You raised your chin, and looked down your nose at him, despite your inferior height. “They are none of your concern, monsieur.”
“None of my–” he cut himself off, and turned to the window, positively trembling in an obvious effort to control his temper. After a moment, he turned back to you, now looking far more composed. With each statement, he stepped closer, until you were pressed against the door within the cage of his arms. “You are my only concern. I wanted you. I waited for you, and I made you. You were made for me, and I’ll not let you go to ruin!”
His voice gentled. “Ma chère mademoiselle, you cannot remain unempathetic to my affections. Only I know what you are going through, what you require. I can make this so much simpler for you, if you will merely give me your heart.”
Breathing heavily, you said, your voice steady, “Never.”
Monsieur Boudreaux pupils lengthened, and a quiet, high pitched noise like a sword being drawn out of its scabbard issued from his mouth as his fangs slid into place. “Very well,” he rasped “If you won’t change your mind, I will change it for you.”
Pulling your head to the side, his mouth descended toward your neck–
“Step back, scoundrel!”
You sagged in relief. Monsieur Kim.
His dark eyes flashed as he took in the scene before him, his jaw firm, his stance authoritative, as if he were about to strike Monsieur Boudreaux where the wretch stood.
Monsieur Boudreaux’s eyes narrowed, as he raised his face from your neck. Turning, he slanted a glance to the side, to see Monsieur Kim standing beside you, his form quivering with fury. A slow smirk sliced through his expression, as he looked between the two of you. In a voice so scathing as to be downright caustic he said, “Ah, the wretched revenant. Tell me, mademoiselle…is he why you haven’t been eating? Shall I rid you of him?”
“The only villain that I wish to be rid of is you, monsieur!” you ejaculated, pushing him away from you, with no inconsiderable effort.
Monsieur Boudreaux closed his eyes and, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck, visibly calmed himself, so that when his eyes reopened, he looked once more the gentleman. Pinning you with a look, he said, “You can waste your time being tormented by this useless phantom, or you can come to me and finally become all I have made you to be. I will wait. After all,” he smiled, his eyes hot and wicked, “We have time.”
You stepped aside, as he made for the door, and left. As soon as the door closed behind him, you sank onto the nearest seat, your hand to your throat to quell the tumultuous beating of your terrified heart. For, as much as you hated to admit it, he did hold some dark allure over you that you felt grow only stronger when he dropped his human visage. Nausea rose, as you tried not to swoon when, from the corner of your eye, you saw Monsieur Kim crouching beside you.
“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head, wordless for a moment. Then, “Non. Non! I am, most unequivocally not alright!”
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
Closing your eyes, you leaned your head against the overstuffed back of the settee, a tear slipping from the side of your eye to slide down your cheek, and fall with a small -pat- onto the arm of the bench.
Suddenly, you heard a soft, tentative breath, and then, Monsieur Kim began to sing. “Shigando jamshi gireul ireotteon got/ Haneulhan momjise geuman maeryodwen chaero/ geotjabeul su eopshi niga nae ane beonjeo/ neoroman gadeuki dameun shiya/ eongkin shiseone nal maedeupjieun chae/ neon muishikkaji chimbeomharyeo hae/ wiheomhadan geol almyeonseo/ han georeum deo nan dagaseo/ geojinmareun sseo almyeonseo geojinmareul sseo/ ppajin geora haetjiman sashil nal ppateurin neon gipeo/ kkeuchi eopshi boyeo seumyeodeureo joyeo/ ireobeoryeo da dwedollil sun eopseo/ cheoncheonhi deurikyeo euimi eomneun sum/ malhaejweo jigeum neol haega kkaegi jeon/ bonaejweo yeongweonhi naye pumeuro/ jamgil kkeot gata sum shwil ttaemada/ geunyang idaero/ neoye pumeuro ppajeoga/ kkeudeopshi/ kkeojil tteut adeukaejin neukkimi sungan nan neoman heorakdwae/ nan nege ppajeoga”
By the time he was finished, your frayed nerves had almost completely calmed at the rich, soft sound of his curiously calming voice. “What was that?” you murmured, eyes still closed. “What did it mean?”
He was silent for a long time, and then he asked, “Have you come back to yourself?”
You nodded, slowly opening your eyes to see him directly in front of you, so close that you could have easily reached out to touch him, had you been able to touch him.
A sudden knock on the door jarred you both from your private moment, and you looked up to see your father enter. When you glanced back, Monsieur Kim had vanished.
***
After the events of the previous night, an uneasy truce arose between you, and Monsieur Kim. He no longer inhibited you from taking your meals, though he was otherwise cool. Despite his penchant for cutting remarks, however, he even began to aid you in your hunts–even going so far as to scout the streets for potential meals–and, incrementally but surely, the streets of your city began to become a bit safer, just as the blooms began to return to your cheeks.
At times, he would even rouse you from your bed to inform you of some atrocity in the offing, and there soon were countless occasions where you had the pleasure of arresting the villains in flagrante delicto. Permanently. The only downside was, not wanting to be beholden to Monsieur Boudreaux, you now had to personally take care of the disposal of your leftovers.
The alligators in the neighbouring swamps slowly began to fatten.
***
One particularly fateful night, you were disposing of the body of a rake who had taken into his possession a servant girl who could have been no older than 11, for the purposes of selling her to a house of ill-repute, to pay off his gambling debts.
“So, what are you going to do about the girl?”
You looked over your shoulder, to see the malnourished, curly-haired waif had followed you, even after having seen what you had done to the rapscallion who had been preparing to divest her of her innocence before you arrived. Her feet were bare, and her chemise hung in tatters, off of her thin shoulders.
Striding over to her, you crouched to her level, taking off your cloak, and wrapping it about her shoulders. Her bedraggled copper curls brushed your face, as she leaned forward to caress your cheek while you fastened the cape at her throat. Wordlessly, you looked up into her wide brown eyes, eyes full of trust, despite the type of life she must have led. Setting your jaw, you made a decision.
Sweeping the girl into your arms, you strode off for home. After a few moments, you heard a soft snore, and looked down to see that she had fallen asleep, her head lolling against your shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Monsieur Kim queried.
“I’m taking her home.”
“And then what?”
“A bath, a meal, and bed.”
Monsieur Kim was silent. Then, “You’re not going to return her to her parents?”
Scoffing, you shook your head. “She will be given a position in my household. Once in my employ, should she wish to visit her parents, she shall–with supervision–until I am satisfied that they aren’t the ones who sold her into that scoundrel’s grasp.
He walked alongside you in silence. After some time had passed, he cleared his throat. “Do you remember that night?”
You said nothing, merely continued on your way, as you contemplated his query. You knew precisely what he referenced, but you didn’t want to break your uneasy truce. Finally, you nodded once, tersely.
“I was going to request your hand. You were going to say yes. Perhaps we would have been happy. However, since then, I have come to realize that we didn’t truly know each other, though I daresay that would have come in time. I hardly know what you thought of me, but to me, you were delicate, soft, clever, and altogether perfect. I had such dreams of taking you to see the world, of your being by my side, supporting me in all of my political endeavours. I envisioned taking you home, and ensconcing you safely in my household, a brilliant jewel to rival all of the other precious things that my ancestors have collected throughout the centuries.” He smiled ruefully.
“I wanted to treat you preciously.” Monsieur Kim slanted a playful glance at you. “You were going to bear me six sons.”
“Six?!” you scoffed, indignant.
“Indeed,” he responded, smiling almost as brightly as you remembered. “Six brilliant sons to follow in my footsteps, and four strong daughters with your wit, and cleverness, to be presented at court. I like to think that we would have been happy. Would you have been happy?”
The girl stirred, and you readjusted her in your arms, briefly wrapping a hand around her head to comfort her back to sleep. When she was once again silent, you nodded your head. “Oui, Monsieur Kim,” you responded quietly, your voice regretful. “I would have been quite happy.”
His eyes were pained as he once again faced forward. Swallowing with some difficulty, he shoved his hands into his pockets, as his thoughtful gaze fell to the cobblestones.
***
Cosette helped you bathe the child, whose name she told you drowsily, as you washed her hair, was Angeline. You had had to confess your nature to Cosette, who had taken it surprisingly well.
“Eh bien,” she had said, carelessly shrugging one shoulder. “I have been your servant since we were children. Despite this rather unsavoury change in diet, I’ve noticed no fiendish developments in your person, and therefore,” here, she had raised her eyes to yours, her wide hazel eyes glowing fervently, “I will stay with you, mademoiselle until the end. Until the end, I am your own faithful servant.” You had both clasped hands then, though you could not speak, emotion robbing you of your voice.
Between the two of you, you were able to create a story for the housekeeper, to convince her to hire Angeline as a new kitchen maid. Despite your prior misgivings, it had turned out that Angeline had been stolen from her parents, though they were quite pleased to know that she had been able to become a domestic in such a great household. Finding out that her mother was a seamstress, you began sending extra work her way, and found another household for which Angeline’s father could ply his trade as a factotum. You couldn’t save the world, but you could at least help one small family.
Every day, Monsieur Kim looked at you differently. You tried to ignore it, fearing that it was merely your imagination, but soon the cool glances and cutting smirks, began to soften and warm. He once more began regaling you with tales of his childhood, teaching you about his language, and culture, and even, at times, singing sweetly to you, when the things seen on your nightly hunts became too much for you to bear.
You were imminently grateful. Though he had started out as your torment, without him, you surely would have broken down and gone, either to Monsieur Boudreaux, or mad.
One day, you wandered into the kitchen gardens to find Monsieur Kim, and Angeline merrily chattering away. Stopping in shock, you turned, so as not to interrupt them, or accidentally eavesdrop, but Angeline caught sight of you, and tripped over lightly, childishly wrapping her arms around your waist, as she was apt to do when you were alone.
Returning the embrace, you looked down at her. “You can see Monsieur Kim, cherie ?”
“Oui, mademoiselle! Since the night he found me, and told me not to worry, that you would be coming to save me.”
Raising an eyebrow, you looked over to him, noticing his discomfiture. “He said that, did he?”
Angeline nodded emphatically. “Oui! He told me to just try to distract my old master long enough for you to arrive; that once you came, everything would be alright.”
Crouching to her level, you reached out a hand to gently caress her cheek. “Angeline, I suddenly have such a craving for chocolates. Would you be a dear, and go pick up a box for me?” Handing her a few notes from your reticule, you gave the back of her head an affectionate caress before she skipped off to the confectionary.
“You don’t eat chocolates,” Monsieur Kim remarked drily.
You shrugged elegantly. “Eh, bien, I suppose that she will just have to eat them for me.”
“You’re spoiling her.”
“Apparently, so are you.”
He averted his eyes. Then, quietly, “I love children.”
You nodded sadly, “As do I.” Then, shaking yourself of your melancholy, you approached him. “So, Angeline can see you, as well?”
He nodded. “It seems as if children, and people like you can see me, with no effort on my part, but to everyone else, I have to actively endeavour to be seen. I can do it, but it takes a lot out of me, and I can only do it for so often, or so long, before I have to rest.”
“Fascinating,” you responded.
He gave you a look. “Not quite,” he murmured.
A soft growling noise rent the peace of the late afternoon, and you halted in shocked horror.
Monsieur Kim stared at you, and then burst into delighted laughter, holding his stomach, and releasing peal after peal of mirth.
With a huff, you pushed forward, leaving him behind in his joy, but he was quick to catch up with you.
“It would seem as if a certain mademoiselle is hungry,” he chuckled, beaming down at you, his eyes bright and teasing.
“Oui, eh bien, that was not me,” you said loftily.
“No? Is your garden infested with diminutive bears, perhaps? Lilliputian lions?”
Your cheeks burned in mortification. “A gentleman would not notice such things as…garden bears,” you remonstrated.
“Indeed,” he rejoined, “but I’ve crossed beyond the veil. I fear that I’m quite beyond all constraints of gentlemanly behaviour.”
“Then why do you always avert your gaze when it’s time for my habilitation?”
He flushed to the tips of his ears. “Mademoiselle!”
Walking backwards, you tilted your head flirtatiously. “Why, Monsieur Kim!” you exclaimed teasingly. “I do believe that you are blushing!”
Monsieur Kim chuckled softly, and closed his eyes, lowering his head in admission.
When he opened his eyes, however, Monsieur Kim was gone.
A sloe-eyed rake looked up at you, his head tilted sideways as he bit his lip, slowly giving you a once-over.
Involuntarily, you swallowed.
He slowly stalked toward you, his gait as smooth and rolling as a panther, and you squeaked. Lifting your skirts, you turned tail and ran, to the teasing sounds of more of Monsieur Kim’s mirthful laughter.
***
That night, you were stalking through the shadows, when you came across something that you had never thought you’d see.
Someone like you, feeding from a fainting dark-haired girl.
Wordlessly, you ran to him, grabbing him by the back of his jacket, and throwing him as hard as you could against a nearby wall. Turning, you growled to the girl, “Go home to your maman, petit biquet.”
Before you could turn, he was on you, and you were soon embroiled in a fierce fight for your very life. Fangs and claws flashed as you fought like a wildcat, but he was ever so much stronger. You could feel yourself weakening from the multiple gashes and lacerations that you had been dealt, while meanwhile, he remained relatively unscathed. From the corner of your eye, you could see Monsieur Kim disappear, but you had to concentrate on your opponent, or else–
A sharp pain pierced your chest, and you looked down to see a wooden stake buried there. Faltering, you stumbled backwards, your legs giving way beneath you, as you fell to the ground.
The stranger crouched over you, his cold, pale blue eyes glittering under a mop of soft chestnut curls. If it weren’t for the murderous glint in his eye, he would have been handsome.
You wrapped a hand around the stake, and tried to pull it out, but the pain was too great, and a wave of blackness rolled over you. Your eyelids fluttered as you valiantly struggled to remain conscious.
“Who are you?” he grated, his voice rough, but cultured, his accent of the North.
You couldn’t have answered if you tried. The pain was too great.
He looked down at you consideringly, as if examining a specimen. “Why did you interrupt me?”
You merely gazed at him wordlessly, coughing wretchedly as blood began to pool in your lung. When you opened your mouth to take a desperate breath, but coughed again, you felt it, warm and thick, running down your chin to join the stain at your breast.
The stranger looked away, as if bored. “You robbed me of my dinner.” Turning back, he gripped you tightly by the chin, lifting your face, and turning it this way, and that, as if examining a horse. “What should I do to you, hm?”
“Leave her, if you value your life.”
You closed your eyes, as the last voice you would have wanted to hear rang through the night.
Monsieur Boudreaux.
Song translation:
Even time was lost in this place
Completely captivated by your light movements
I couldn’t stop you spreading inside of me
My eyes are only filled with you
The mixed up looks tie me up
You try to take over even my subconsciousness
I know it’s dangerous
But I’m taking another step
In the faintly shining sky
Draw me out thicker (draw me out more)
For a long time in your memories (in your memories)
Engrave me deeper (engrave deeper)
Yeah, lies are bitter, even though I know, lies are bitter
I said I fell for you but you made me fall so deep
I can see endlessly, you come inside and suffocate me
I lost everything, can’t turn it back
I’m drinking in meaningless breaths
Tell me before the sun wakes up
Send yourself forever into my arms
Feels like I’m locked up every time I breathe
Just like this, fall, fall, fall for you
Into your arms, fall, fall, I’m falling
Endlessly
Feels so far away
Only you are allowed for me in this moment
Fall, fall, into you
I’m falling
A/N: If you wish to follow me, then please do so @vampwrrr, as I post all of the latest updates there, and my stories have links, for easier reading.
