Winterly's good claret warmed her blood as she left her room and allowed her slippers to guide her sedately into the direction of the library. Oddly, there was no sound of music nor any laughter to be heard in the castle, naught but the soft brush of her velvet train as it dragged over the marble flags in her wake.

Along that gloomy corridor, wherein her course would terminate, she came upon no servants save one — a silent footman trimming the candles in the sconces. But not a glance did he spare her as she bypassed him, nor did he move himself to notice her momentary hesitation before she admitted herself into Winterly's inner sanctum.

Here the quiet of the stone keep seemed only to compound itself, the lamplight silently disturbing the shadows, and though she was sure she appeared outwardly calm, she very clearly perceived the loud and fearful trembling of her heartbeat.

Even from this short distance she could see no sign of a body standing at the mural whither she'd been directed. She was quite alone; and yet the tugging of the flesh at her nape suggested otherwise.

With a bolstering lift of her chin, she passed the leathern chair atop which had been placed a book only recently abandoned, for it had not been returned to its rightful place. Had Winterly been reading it moments ago? Very likely. But, overcome with agitated trepidation, she only caught the first word of the lengthy title, "Memoirs..." briefly from the tail of her eye before sending her gaze over the length and breadth of the room in search of the book's owner.

At length, she reached the disturbing mural and halted there to wait, still believing herself observed. A feint rustling behind her occasioned Emma to whirl around, expecting to see Winterly emerging from the shadows somewhere behind her as he'd done before. But there was curiously no one there. With an uneasy expulsion of breath, she turned back towards the wall only to shriek in fright, for there, not an arm's length away, had suddenly materialized a very large, looming creature in a black cape.

"Calm yourself, madam, tis only I," came the droll assurance of Lord Winterly himself. "I had not thought you so easily affrighted as this."

He was wearing a grotesque, black vizard in the shape of a demoniacal satyr with long black horns and hollow slits through which she could see nothing of his gaze. Only his strong Grecian nose and curling lips were visible to her; although she could absolutely feel the tangible stroke of his eyes against her flesh.

"When you skulk about like a fiend without making a sound then surely it is no surprise to you that I might stop my heart at the first, unexpected sight of you!" Her poor heart had still not ceased its furious galloping, being far from stopped in fact, for in that instant before he'd spoken, she'd thought the very devil himself was standing before her.

"You're late," he said without preamble or apology. And indeed dusk had already fallen ere she'd finally left her suite.

"Only fashionably," she retorted, taking a step back from him.

But for every inch she gained for herself he counteracted with a checkmate until she was right up against the wall of cannibals, her back pressed to the plaster and his body following indecently close to hers. 

"And you're not eating." His tone had fallen dangerously low, and if she'd been permitted to glimpse something of the upper half of his face just then she imagined it would now be clouded over in displeasure.

"I—"

"Moreover, you've been avoiding me."

"That is not—"

"I suffered you to do as you please," he said tersely, his lips mere inches from hers, "even took myself off to allow you some small peace of mind; but I am grown bored of your malingering." His large hands he placed threateningly either side of her, flush against the wall. "And you are not quite the fainthearted maid you've latterly evinced."

She could say nothing — was powerless to string two sensible words together. Her sudden quietude seemed not to deter Winterly in the least — the opposite in fact — for he moved his mouth a fraction closer, pausing it only fleetingly over hers, before he swiftly joined their flesh.

Mercy! but the taste of him was so darkly exquisite that her knees as good as buckled beneath her. His arms, however, so close as they were, swiftly precluded her landing in a puddle at his feet.

His lips were so very warm and firm, and skillful. They seduced her own to part, whereat he made quick work of slipping his velvet tongue within the gap to coax hers to do the same. Her limbs were become of a sudden drowsy and her flesh was burning with excitement, and fear, but she had the wherewithal to fold her hands about his neck for purchase, lest she collapse again. But there was no danger of that for he held her close, pressed her near, and consumed her with his dusky scent and fiery kisses.

Then, as was done before, his mouth left hers to traverse a heavenly path towards her jaw, then down along the column of her neck before he pressed his kiss harder at the side of her throat. She felt his tongue there. She felt his teeth, gentle at first and then more insistent. Finally, with a frustrated growl, he pushed himself off her with an abruptness that had her reeling back against the wall.

"Sir!" she panted, calling forth all the indignation she could muster in her present disordered state, "You forget yourself."

At that his lips curved higher on the left side. "I never forget myself, madam."

"You take liberties to which you have no right!" As far as set downs went that was a pitiful attempt, and well she knew it. Blast her own treacherous body, for she had not fought him off in the least. And that he too was sensible of. 

"No right?" he sneered. "I saw an invitation; and I decided against ignoring the offer."

"Well, I insist you resist henceforward." She waited for an apology; his acquiescence; anything that might acknowledge he understood her, but he remained still as a statue. "May I interpret your silence as an agreement, Lord Winterly?"

"If it pleases you." His deep chuckle filled the room.

He proceeded thence to prowl from one side of her to the other, and then back again as he regarded her from the empty slits of his mask behind which she knew his virescent eyes were glowing. How on earth was she to steady her heart when he paced about like a ... like a predator; and she his next meal.

"Stop circling about me like a damned wolf!" she finally cried, with a testy stamp of her foot, unsettled by her own disrupted calm.

She had no sooner uttered the command than he lunged at her suddenly, caging her back against the wall and bringing his terrible mask to hover above her upturned face. Strangely, his words were uttered softly. Warningly. "Do not order me to heel, Emma."

"And yet," said she, this time pressing her hands to his chest to ward him off, "you presume to order me to your office like a naughty school girl!"

"A school girl? Hmm," he said, his body relaxing as he pondered her remark with one of his devious grins "You give a man such ideas."

"I did not come here to talk nonsense with you, Lord Winterly."

Once more was she treated only to amused silence and therewith sought to wipe the smile clean off the devil's mouth.

"And just what manner of man do you profess to be?" Not a man at all, I'll wager.

"As you see." He was so preternaturally still, even his sculpted lips hardly moved to form his answer.

"But I don't know what I see exactly," she replied, resolved to act boldly.

"Careful, Emma."

"Of what."

"You might be asking questions to which you might not like the answer." He moved away from her then. "I did not order—" with an imperious smile "—you here to discuss the nature of my manhood. I wanted to give you this." And he held out a small velveteen box to her.

"What is it?" she asked, taking it from him. Without awaiting an answer — which was all to the better, for he seemed disinclined to offer one — she opened it. "A bracelet!" She gaped awe-struck, both delighted and hesitant.

"I asked your sister what color your gown would be." He lifted the bracelet from its velvet nest and presumed to put it on her left wrist whilst she stood there dumbstruck.

Like her necklace, it subsisted of a fine gold chain that had, instead of a ruby cross, a single embellishment of a different sort — a strange lemniscate, a sort of infinity symbol over which was fused two lozenges placed side by side, and the whole of it encrusted with rubies.

"I cannot accept this!" she cried, her fingers already moving to undo the clasp.

"Why not?"

''Tis unseemly."

''Tis only a bauble," he countered. "Before you remove it, will you not first ask why I gave it to you?"

"Why did you give it to me? What sort of bauble is this?" she whispered. Other than that it is strangely beautiful.

"It is a safeguard from evil." He brought a long finger to trace the two rhombus shapes. "I wear it too," he explained, lifting his left hand to show her the signet ring on his smallest finger.

The golden ring was a masculine affair that bore his coat of arms — she recognized the crest from having seen it on his coach — in a bezel completely hewn of bloodstone, and above the coat of arms was the same strange symbol. He pointed to the rhombuses. "Do you recognize the initials?"

"Initials?" It was at that point she realized that the symbol wasn't two red lozenges at all but an 'M' mirrored atop a 'W'. "All the more reason why I should not wear this!" She was not his wife, nor a member of his family, and it was entirely inappropriate that she should wear his initials; his insignia; and his mark.

"You are analyzing this over and above what is necessary; you need only think of it as a ward and nothing else. These two letters do not stand for my initials alone." The smirk appeared again. "You needn't fear that I am making you an offer of marriage."

"I would never have accepted you if you had," she scoffed, blushing all the same. Then, seeking to change the subject, she looked over her shoulder at the cannibals glaring lewdly from the mural. "Pray, what sort of evil is this symbol meant to ward off?"

"Monsters. Devils."

"And will it protect me from even the very worst of these monsters?" she asked.

"That," he answered, "I cannot promise you."

By no means did she find herself equal to the task of dealing with this man — this vampyre — or whatever he was. She was not even sure she wished to know what the initials stood for other than his name. "What will you do if I refuse to wear your ... trinket?"

"I insist, madam, that you do wear it. Moreover, I might dare to hope that you will consider it a birthday gift."

Was she so wrong to refuse the gift? Everything about her dealings with him felt unseemly, and her every reaction to him was unbecoming of a lady, but she felt somehow unable, and unwilling, to decline the present.

It was with a hesitant sigh that she finally nodded. "I thank you, Lord Winterly. But you should know it is not my birthday just yet."

The ghastly mask was therewith canted curiously to the right. "But my sister assured me that it was."

"I was born on midsummer, but not the solecist that fell on the twenty-first."

"Then your birthday was yesterday."

Was she to assume he sounded perturbed because he'd missed wishing her a happy birthday? Well, then she was happy to disabuse him of that misconception. "No, I was born on the twenty-second."

"Is that so?" His voice had become strange, hushed.

Would that she could see his countenance and interpret the menacing quality of his tone and his rigid stance. "Yes."

"How very ... singular." The pause that followed seemed heavier than any that had passed between them before, but finally he seemed to realize that he was discomforting her above what was his usual wont. "Well, then we will be sure to toast your birthday at midnight." He held his elbow out for her and when she'd slipped her hand to rest where it was expected, he said, "We had better get you to the ball; that is not a gown to be wasted in a dusty library. And much as I am loth to share you, the sight of you is too beautiful not to grace my ballroom."

She flushed with pleasure and allowed him to lead her from the room. He did not seem the type to waste his words on flattery or meaningless gallantries. It was for that reason that the compliment was made all the more endearing. A vampyre! Endearing?! God in heaven! have I lost my senses?

"I feel it incumbent on me to warn you, Emma," he went on, "that I have every intention of monopolizing your dance card tonight."

It was her turn to be reticent now, her cheeks nearly as red as her gown. It was at that point that she wondered if at all he could see the hues of her flesh in the lowlight. 

"How did you know?" he asked suddenly, startling her from quiet contemplations as they moved along one of the many dimly lit galleries.

"Know what?"

"That red is my favorite color. And it suits you well." There was a heavy inkling in his regard and his smile that strongly inferred he spoke of her blushes; and not of her gown.

🌟A/N🌟

Question time! Are you (A) a Vampire Lestat/ Eric Northman/ Damon Salvatore/  kind of vampire lover or are you (B) all about an Edward Cullen kinda hero? Because I want to know how the majority of you feel about (A) a little biting, a little sucking, and just blood kink in general. Or if you're into (B) vegetarian vampires?

Knowing Winterly the way I do, I will tell you he's more partial to one than the other, but I'll let you guys guess which one.