Evette hated him. He could feel it, the abhorrence that filled her stomach, leading her appetite astray. She stared darkly, angered by the closeness in which Dracul sat. He sat beside her, cloth in hand. He ran it over her propped right leg. The blood was thick; black like the midnight sky. The day was the same as the night, cold and smokey. Winter had come for them, and so had fire. So had roaring flame.

"Who is she?" The voice was quiet, yet Dracul could hear the excitement in his bother's tone.

"The woman I told you about." Dracul turned back to Eve, eyeing her for a moment before returning to his work. His nails slid against the arch of her right foot, her dirty, blood soaked boot lying on its side on the floor.

"Looks more like a girl to me. She's a young one."

"I am sure she would not appreciate you speaking like you are not aware that she is listening." Dracul murmured, scrubbing her skin a little harder. "She cannot speak, so I must."

"Why do you care about her feelings?" Octavian crossed his arms over his chest, his coat collar high. "You wanted her dead a fortnight ago; even searched her out. We should be rid of her before she curses us."

"She is no witch." Came an annoyed mumble.

"Look at her," Octavian lifted a hand. "The girl is still alive, even after she was killed. You may have pieced her back together, but only the soul can restore the heart. Witches are the only ones I know who can survive such a thing as she."

"I am," Dracul's rich lilac eyes flitted to meet hers for a moment as he shifted to clean her other leg, tossing her other boot to the side in one swift motion. "And I know that she is no witch. Only a girl who fell victim to one. A warlock."

"What should we do with her wings? Are you just going to leave them on the silk of your bed? Blood has stained everything, including my coat!" Octavian tried to brush the blood away, but he knew that the damage had already been done. The white of his coat was splotched with crimson, the gold buttons tarnished.

"I cannot reattach them. My magic is not strong enough, so we must not move them. They have a better chance of surviving if they are kept still."

"Don't worry," Octavian uncrossed his arms. "If they don't survive, the hounds Jotham left here with us before he passed over will make good use of them. I haven't fed them for a little while."

"Then, you may give them each a portion of your supper. You will not give them her wings."

Evette stirred, confused. She closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would magically erase the pain in her joints. Words were trapped in the back of her throat. Dracul propped up both of her legs, shifting his weight to the opposite side of the soft bench beneath her. She laid in an unusual position, her back at an angle, her legs lifted. The feeling of her soaked clothes against her skin made her want to itch all over. He knew this, she realized.

Dracul spoke before his brother could. He could not find the words regretfully. "Leave us," he ordered, to which is brother obeyed, sauntering away without another selfish word.

Thoughts flowed through Evette's mind, earning a smile from Dracul. She wondered where she was, though she eventually answered on her own. She had wondered why she was still alive—how she was still alive— but soon realized how and why.

"Your friends are safe," Dracul murmured without her asking. She was worried about the girls, and noel, and Narcisse. She remembered that he could read her thoughts, could sense every inkling of worry that shone on her face; every stab of pain that brought her closer to a rumbling slumber. "Though there is one girl still missing. I suppose you are the fifth. The sixth never arrived."

Morgan. Her name was on the tip of Eve's tongue, though she refused to speak. The girl's young grey eyes pierced the surface of Evette's armor; a tear slid down her cheek at the remembrance of Morgan's smile. She felt as if she had failed the girl. She felt guilt, and anger, and disgust all burn behind her eyes.

Dracul wiped away the tear that slid down her cheek, scowling as she flinched beneath his fingers. His eyes were ageless, yet over a century old. she could see a part of herself in him, oddly. The darkness, the pain, the small bit of hope. The memory of bloody hands and blackened fur overtook her mind. She once lifted gore to her lips, the blood of a dead wolf dripping down her arm as she did. She refrained from unclenching her jaw then, but she knew that Dracul did not have that control, that filter. His sharp teeth were not made for drawing blood, but she knew that he had once used them to try. In her state, she could see the white of his teeth turn red, pooling between the narrow gaps. The blood at his hands was bright, deathly blinding. She knew he was a dark man, but she never expected to feel a certain warmth towards him. It was the way he looked at her— like he wanted something only she possessed. If only she could read his mind, if only she knew what he wanted from her.

"Your elf friend is alright too, the one with the white hair and the green eyes."

Noel. His name brought a half smile to her lips, though it pained her. He was alive, and for the first time, she wished to kiss him. Eve wished to wrap her arms around Noel and hug him tight so no one could take him away. Then she remembered the look in his eyes; the hop in his step; the longing that overtook him. Perhaps it would be best if they never touched again, if she refrained from hugging him. Maybe then he would understand that she did not want him.

"No one else has showed," Dracul continued, and Evette realized why he had. Her wolf had not been seen. He was gone, taken by whatever or whomever had drug him away. "I have not heard from the others who were sent to accompany you on your journey."

"James. Killed." The words were barely audible. Evette tried to lift her head, but she couldn't. Not without the help of Dracul. Both of his hands slid behind her head, gently lacing his fingers through her wild hair.

"And the others?"

"Monty. Dwarves Road." Eve croaked out.

"Narcisse?"

Evette dread the thought of Narcisse. The last words he spoke were more meaningful than anything anyone had ever said to her. He loved her, and he had lost her. She could not recall what had happened to him. He was lying beside her one moment, and in the next, he was gone. She could barely remember the distant screams that echoed as he was dragged further away, much less the act that brought her to the castle.

Dracul nodded when Eve shook her head. "Do you remember what happened to you?" He asked, but Eve did not have an answer for him. "Anything at all?" She shook her head again.

"You will be able to walk in a few days. I have sacrificed much power to heal you, though I cannot save your wings." Dracul removed his hands from where he placed them, sensing her unease.

"Are you going to. . ." Evette began.

"I am not going to kill you now,"  Dracul reached for her hand, and took it in his, cupping it with paled fingers. "But when you are fully recovered, I will not stray from my promise."

Evette found her strength then, no longer wishing to be cared for by such a man. She had lost that fire within once, but she would not lose it again. War was upon her, and she wondered why he held her so. Why he gripped her hand tighter when he spoke. "How will we settle our differences once I am well, then?" She ignored the pain, forcing herself to speak.

Dracul turned his attention toward the sword that leaned in the corner of the doorframe, bloody and broken. The blue gems that were once inlayed were scattered on the wooden table beside the metal pieces. "I can have someone mend it for you, if you wish."  He offered.

Evette shivered, her head tilted to better see the broken sword. It had been the weapon used to sever her wings, her limbs; her head. Though shattered, she could still feel the magic that Immanuel had used to cover the blade with. She convulsed at the sight of it, the weapon that was left beside her when she was abandoned in the courtyard.

"No," Her voice was small. "If I must, I will use my fists to defend myself."

Dracul looked to the girl, eyeing her skeptically. "I am an honorable man. We will fight fair, or not at all."

Evette's hand slid from beneath his, reaching for his dark collar, barely able to grip it with both of her hands. If she wasn't so prideful, she would have whimpered in discomfort. "Honorable." She mocked. "Do not pretend that you are honorable, or merciful."

"You would have died in my court if it was not for my mercy." He allowed her to pull his body toward her, hovering over her.

"If you want a fair fight, I will give you one. Leave your shadows and your scythe where you cannot reach them." Evette swallowed, her throat pained.

"As you wish, little devil."

"I am not little," She glowered. "And I will not be treated as such by you. I am not a devil either."

"What shall I call you instead?"

Eve sighed. "I have a name, you know."

"Eve," He purred. "Such a lovely name."

Evette groaned, releasing her hold on his collar. Her hands fell back to her side as she stared up at him frustratedly. "I am not here by choice. Leave me, so I may heal. When I am able to walk, you are a dead man."

Dracul stood, smoothing his long black hair. "Your threats are empty, like your heart. Your pride is plentiful, but it will not save you. Perhaps you enjoy talking to your enemies, similarly to how I enjoy a silent kill." He stood at the door, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Do not come back." Eve scowled.

"I will leave you to starve, then. You may find your own way through the halls." He left her, exiting the room without another word.

Evette wanted to scream. The walls around her were dark, and they seemed to close in around her. To her dismay, they were as still as she.

• • • •

•Comic art above hand drawn by: @melenora.