Rushing water roared. An old drain swilled pink lather, as the water oppressed the bubbles. Raw hands rubbed together, chanting a mantra for cleanliness. Soap oozed into a pair of eager hands. No matter how much filth poured down the drain, not a single crimson stain was lifted from the chafed skin. The hands stopped for inspection. Wrinkled skin clung tightly against every contour of bursting blue veins. Suddenly, a ghastly gurgling erupted from the sink. Gunk sprayed up from the old pipes. After the first volley, thick red liquid spurted forth, drenching the hands.

Irene sat up in her bed. Cold sweat clung to her body, and she quickly brought her hands up for examination. They were spotless and just as youthful as ever. It was just a dream.

Irene gently rubbed her eyes, and then let her fingers travel to her temples. Massaging them, she tried to sort out her feelings. Am I a killer? Thoughts, such as having no choice, that she was preventing a catastrophe, and that it was survival, kept springing to her mind. However, no matter how much she tried to make the guilt go away, it whispered 'murderer'.

Just as Irene was about to try and go back to sleep, she felt a familiar presence. It was closer than usual. She slowly turned her head and saw a white, expressionless mask in the far corner of her room.

“What are you doing here, Cyrus?”

The smooth texture of the ghastly face slid into a wide grin before becoming serious and neutral again. “You seemed distressed."

Irene drew the sheets tighter about herself. “So?”

The face grew closer and more defined, until fragments of moonlight highlighted his dark form. "I am just checking on you. I do need to protect the goods.” He sat down at the foot of her bed.

“The goods?”

“No need to get defensive. Well, actually, do. Do get defensive. That's more like you." he sighed, resting his elbows on his knees. "You haven't been yourself. Drop the self torment, already."

Cyrus leaned closer. Irene shrank and bundled herself as tight as she could against the wall. “It wasn’t my call.”

“Uh, yeah, it was."

She shook her head and then sunk it into a nest of arms. “I killed a man!”

“Oh stop this moaning!" A rare sound of contempt entered Cyrus's voice. He placed a hand over his chest. "I’m the one who killed him!"

Irene swallowed hard. "He didn't deserve that."

Cyrus crossed his arms. "So what? You let a man die in your father's place. Own it, move on.”

She lifted her head and stared at him, her eyes burning. "Move on? That's something Robin can never do now!"

Cyrus grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the corner. Nose to nose, Irene shut her eyes.

“Don't feed your guilt, Peaches. It will grow into a nasty little imp that revels in destroying joy." Cyrus straightened up, leaning back to give Irene some space to breathe, so to speak, but still held her arms firmly. "Don't let it take control, or you'll always be miserable."

Irene tried again to pull away, but there was no escaping his clutch. This was the way it had been since he had arrived. Why do I bother? She reluctantly looked into Cyrus’s dark eyes, as they stared into her with inexorable intensity.

“If you say so…” Her voice sounded coarse, cracking a little towards the end of her meek statement. She didn’t want to admit that he was right; she hated to draw strength from him, but there was no one else there for her at the moment.

"I know so."

Irene wondered why her father hadn't come to check on her. But, she was also relieved. She couldn't confide in him about any of this. “You made your point, Cyrus. Please, let go.”

“Cute.” His grip did not loosen nor did his smile fade. Rather, it intensified. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.”

Irene opened her mouth to remind him to let go of her, but her words could not get past the two lips that pressed against her own. Her entire body tensed up as her mind raced so fast that a single thought could not be processed before being replaced. She felt her body leaning back, guided by Cyrus. He broke the labial contact to gaze into her eyes again. She wanted to resist, but every impulse in her body was a jumble of confusion. She tried to slap him, but instead her toes curled and her back arched.

"Relax," Cyrus whispered. Immediately, the tension melted away. He smiled in evident delight and kissed her neck. Irene tilted her head to one side reflexively. She felt trapped and distant from herself, as if she were standing across the room, watching with contempt. Contempt equally for Cyrus and herself. He didn't deserve her. And Jordan didn't deserve this.

Depressions on the mattress; his knees on either side of her hips, his hands on the pillows. He leaned down closer, their chests pressed together. Irene lifted a hand sluggishly, and it hung in the air, uncertain what to do as another volley of confusion and mixed signals cascaded through her nerves. Skin on skin; his hand slipped beneath her pyjama top and slid up her torso. At that moment everything came into razor focus, and she found herself again.

“Off.”

That single command fell onto silence and hesitance. Cyrus’s hesitance to stop, and Irene’s hesitance to slap him if he didn’t. Dejectedly, the vampire rolled off to the side and stood up. She glared up at him, bringing the sheets up around herself once more.

“Yes… you certainly are back to your old self…”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Get out!” Hues of red tinted her vision.

“Calm down." Cyrus snorted and crossed his arms. "Besides, Jordan isn’t here. Where's the harm in a little fun?"

Irene’s gibbous eyes widened fully, then ebbed to narrow crescents. “I never told you his name."

Cyrus leaned against her bedroom wall, only a vague outline of him showing against all the blackness. “True. However, a certain Jordan Fisher is the only patient to be visited by Irene Locklyn." He folded his arms, one hand fiddling with his earring. "It’s a shock to see how seldom you visit your boyfriend.” Cyrus smirked.

Irene responded with a commanding finger pointing to the door.

“There's a cute little name that pops up even more than yours: Merle Crowe.”

Irene drew in a deep, long breath. “So what?" She waved her arm in the air and pointed again at the exit. "You think I don't know? That I'll be jealous and, what, get revenge with-with you? You are pathetic!"

Cyrus leaned forward, away from the wall, a sneer deepening his nasolabial crease. “Pathetic? Stop blinding yourself with your moral superiority, and be more grateful you didn’t wind up like those other girls." Irene inhaled sharply and held her breath at the recollection of the other girls. "I can take what I want whenever I want!” He pivoted on his heel and headed for the door.

Irene stared wide-eyed, holding back a sob. His words hung menacingly like a sword of Damocles. She was under his protection, but she was also completely at his mercy. It was a frightening thought she'd often tried to push aside, but now he gave her no choice but to look up and see how close she was to disaster.

But then a different thought bubbled to the surface.

"You could. So... why haven't you?"

Cyrus scoffed, hand on the door handle. "You have to ask?" He brushed his bangs out of his eyes and turned back around. "I don't want to hear you scream 'please stop', but to whisper 'don't stop'." He squinted a moment, glancing to her window. In the dim lighting she wasn't sure, but his face seemed pensive if only for a moment.

With a fluttering in her chest, Irene sharply looked away, putting a hand to her bosom. Why won't he leave me alone? Why me? Her mind leapt to a far more urgent concern. What just happened?

"What were you doing to me?"

"I don't know what you're-"

"Don't play dumb! You affected my mind or body somehow. What did you do?"

Cyrus quickly looked back at her, crossing his arms and turning away. "Ah, that... you caught on to my little trick." A broken chuckle tried to materialize, but there were gaps in the mirth, leaving a hollow sound in its wake. "It's pretty neat. But..." He looked at Irene over his shoulder. "Ah, nevermind about that."

Irene crossed her arms, staring at him critically, silently demanding an explanation.

Cyrus shrugged his shoulders and faced her once again. "I thought if you relaxed enough to get a little taste, you might change your mind. Then we'd both be a lot less tense. Can you blame me for trying?"

"YES!" Irene then covered her mouth.

Cyrus opened her door, and leaned out into the hallway, watching silently for a moment or two. He then stepped back in, grinning. "All's clear. Now where were we? Oh, right, discussing the elephant shaped sexual tension in the room."

"Se- this is NOT sexual tension! You yourself claimed you could take what you want! Can't you tell the difference between terror and arousal!?"

"Actually, they're very close from a physiological standpoint." Cyrus stroked his chin, peering at Irene. "But, I admit, I may have threatened you a little. In retrospect, probably not the most suave move on my part."

"Not just threatened. Attempted! Just because I couldn't fight back or say 'no' didn't make what you were trying to do any less... it was still... still..." Fluttering sensations erupted whenever Irene tried to say the word she was thinking.

"Rape?" Cyrus scoffed and flung an arm out. "Come on, Peaches, it's only four letters long, you can say it. Of course, I'd respectfully disagree with your assessment."

"It's nothing to be flippant about! Have you no shame?"

"No. I don't," Cyrus responded curtly. He walked back closer to Irene, and she drew her covers tighter about herself as if they could actually protect her. "But shamelessness is just a mere quirk. I'd be more concerned about what Gabriel has in store. He won't be so lenient next time."

"Lenient? He tried to feed me to a pair of deranged vampires. And how did you... wait! Don't change the subject!" Irene glared at Cyrus who smiled at her sweetly. He brought his hands up under his chin, batting his eyes in mock innocence. Contempt bloomed anew in her and she did not hide it, a sneer curling her upper lip. "Using vampire mind tricks is no different than drugging a drink!"

"Uh-huh. Sure. We can equate my magnificent abilities with something as common as tipping a bit of powder in a drink. But what's your point?"

Irene grit her teeth. "My point is it is still a violation!"

"Tch! Enough with the pious school girl routine. If you'd get over yourself, you'd realise there's nothing to fear or be ashamed of. We can either be at each other's throats..." Cyrus smirked as his eyes drifted to her neck, "...or you could have some real fun. If it benefits us both, how is it a violation?"

"Because I am just a school girl and you're... who knows how old!" Irene's voice was getting higher pitched, but she was still trying to keep her volume low to avoid summoning her father.

"Hey! In my day, ladies younger than you were married to older, well established men. Try to be more culturally sensitive." Cyrus waved his hand in the air. "Anyway, this conversation's going nowhere. Let's just forget the whole thing and start fresh."

"I am not going to forget this, Cyrus." Irene was having a hard time controlling the exasperation in her voice, as she found his blunt and insensitive bantering distasteful at best, and mortifying at worst.

"Suit yourself. Anyway, I'm not in the mood to pull any more shenanigans tonight." He stood up. "Unless you want to hear about my valiant rescue from Gabriel's Lair of Horrors, trademark, then I think I'll go get a drink."

Irene remained with her knees up and her covers up around her neck. She bit her lip, combating the conflicting desire to get away from Cyrus, and for the truth. In the end, her need for safety won. "Get out."

Cyrus swung the door open, but before he stepped through, he sighed and sagged his shoulders. He looked over his shoulder. "I'll do my best to keep Gabriel's men away but, just as an added precaution, I suggest you hang up some mistletoe."

"No more of your jokes! Go!"

"I'm being serious for a change. Vampires cannot pass under mistletoe. Don't know why. Don't care. I just know it works." He shrugged. "Put it around your room and you'll sleep better at night."

Irene glared at him, unsure whether this was a prelude to mischief. She had no reason to believe him. But it wouldn't hurt to do a little bit of research on the matter and come to her own conclusions.

Saying nothing more, Cyrus finally left her room.