NOTE: Hello readers! It's me again, entering into the world of the Dracula fandom. Christopher Lee will always be my definitive Dracula, and I picture this fic very much in the Hammer Horror style. But, I suppose, it is up to the reader to imagine whoever they want to be their Count. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this one-shot (maybe, possibly).

If there was any mercy in this world, any sense of forgiveness, he would still be here with her. He would be behind her – his arms wrapped around her soft, delicate frame, her head resting against his solid chest.

Together.

Just as they always should have been, right from the very moment he had found her. Together, they could look out from the balcony at the Carpathian Mountains as the starlit moon glistened in the dark sky.

Yet, it was not meant to be. And she felt a pain that she could not describe – an emptiness that he had once filled. A space in her heart where she knew only he could occupy.

She had heart enough for both of them. He needn't have one – she willingly shared hers with him. Every piece of her she gave to him – welcomed him, desired him, only him.

It was meant to be the other way around. One day, he would be without her. One day, he would be alone – until he found the way, some secret way known only to those not cast from heaven's gates – to regain possession of his soul. And then, perhaps, he could be reunited with her.

Now, she stood on the balcony. The hard, gray stone felt cool beneath her fingers. She looked to the mountains beyond; winter was coming, a season that she at one time despised. She loathed the decay that it brought – the death that it summoned. Now, she found that she welcomed it – every gust of chilled wind, every icicle that would harden the ground – she welcomed.

She shivered, but no strong, lanky arms surrounded her. No comfort would she fine. She was alone.

Alone.

Mortal and alone.

She contemplated the words for a moment. She was mortal – doomed to perish.

He was immortal – cursed or blessed with eternal life; she had yet to figure out which one it was yet.

She was alone. By herself, and it was real this time.

No humans would take her back. She could not walk back to the village and expect to be welcomed with open arms. She could not return to her uncle and beg for his forgiveness – nor did she want to crawl back. Loving a monster was a sin – one that would not be so easily forgiven.

Even if the villagers showed no clemency – even if her uncle never forgave her – there was mercy in her, a compassion that ran deep into her bones – in the very blood that pumped through her body.

She loved whom she loved.

And she did not regret it.

In him, she had found an equal. He had welcomed her into his world of night – a world of beauty, rich with poetry, art, and language all its own. He had appreciated history and literature – knew a century's worth of the topics and more. She could listen to him all evening – his stories, his knowledge fascinated her. And he had promised her that he would ensure that she see the world – visit those places in his tales, learn what he had learned.

She would lay at his feet, her head resting against his leg as he spoke. His hand ran gently through the tangles in her dark hair.

She would sip her glass of red wine. She always offered him a glass – he consistently turned it down. He had once confessed to her that food and drink no longer tasted the same (nor did he require it). Moreover, he had no desire to distort his memory of the taste of red wine – a rich, earthy flavor that his palate no longer could recognize. Yet, he remembered the taste, and that memory he wished to preserve.

She blinked back tears from her own recollection of him and gripped the balcony harder.

The wind whipped her long flowing white dress – one she hoped would have been his favorite – if he ever had the chance to see her in it. The moonlight danced upon her skin. He would have noticed.

And she missed that. Missed him with every fiber of her being.

If she had been stronger then – like him – perhaps, she could have prevented what happened.

Now, she had no choice but to spend these evenings alone.

And, in that, she could find no comfort. No comfort in this sort of cosmic joke.

She wondered if God found this amusing. If the accursed had finally found something – someone – to love, a life to value, why now destroy him? Why strip him of the chance for redemption? Why doom him? She could not work out any reason…any method to the madness.

Dracula, the long-sworn foe of the Van Helsing family – her family – had been defeated. And she found that she could not forgive her uncle. How dare he use her as bait to lure the one she loved!

How dare he! Her nails dug into the stone of the balcony. If she had any strength to her, she felt sure that she could crumble the very rock of the castle – shake the foundation to its core.

She had witnessed the stake through her love's heart – watched his eyes fade to nothingness. And she fled. Her heart could not take it.

For some time, she wandered the forest. She could not return to the village. She had lost track of time – her mind desperately searching for something concrete to hold onto, but all she felt was numb. A cold detachment occupied her head, her heart, and her flesh. She could not feel the sun's rays upon her skin – the winter snow that beat upon her face. Nothing.

She did not know how long she remained in the forest. Days? Months? She could not recollect. All she knew was that she existed. She did not live, did not survive, merely existed.

Finally, she returned to the castle. His castle. The formidable, gray stone structure that looked over the Carpathian Mountains would be home to her, someplace, she hoped, where she could still feel him.

She continued to look out over the mountains now. As the snow picked up, she retreated back into the castle, settling in his reading room. In truth, it was more a library than a simple reading room. Stacks of books occupied the walls, volumes upon volumes. Rich burgundy leather furniture sat in the center of the circular chamber – an older fireplace to one side.

A fire crackled inside. She picked up the poker and stirred the embers. A flame caught and sparked. Her eyes focused on the fire, as if she could will its warmth to give life.

She let out a huff. "Silly," she mumbled aloud and settled on the loveseat.

She watched the fire in the dark. Unconsciously, her hand went to the other side of couch – searching slowly.

She knew no one would take her hand in theirs. But she hoped.

She almost laughed at her own foolishness. She brought a hand to her mouth, hoping to control her own hysterics.

He is a vampire. Death is supposed to be a joke. Immortality. Wasn't that his?

But she was here, and he was not.

She could have laughed herself silly. She did not know what to do with this grief that occupied her mind.

After what seemed to be an eternity staring at the fire, she fell asleep.

Her head slumped back onto the arm of the couch. Her chest rose and fell steadily.

He watched her.

His eyes transfixed on her sleight frame.

This woman that he loved. This mortal.

He almost hated to wake her.

He had missed her. Wherever he had gone – off the coils of this world – he did not belong – not without her.

So, he had returned. Reason did not question why.

He approached the back of the couch slowly. Her eyes began to flutter open – as if she felt a presence.

She awoke to the darkness that blanketed the room. Her eyes slowly focused, adjusting to the soft glow of the firelight.

Instinctively, her hand drifted to the other side of the couch's arm.

A hand clutched hers, sending shockwaves through her body. Her breath caught in her lungs.

She thought perhaps she imagined it.

Then, a low strong voice whispered in the darkness. "Hello, my dear."

And she gripped his hand in return.

She looked over her shoulder at him. His voice echoed in the chamber - the sound sending shivers down her spine.

He looked much the same - as if nothing had happened - as if he had never been gone. She wondered if he was a ghost, if her mind was playing tricks on her. If vampires were indeed real, then surely specters of the dead were as well.

"Are you real?" she shuddered, looking over her shoulder at the figure standing tall behind the settee.

"Do you not trust your senses?" he asked, a smile forming at the corner of his lips.

She chuckled. "I did once," she admitted. "Until I learned that there were things in this world that reason cannot comprehend...things that should not exist, but do…"

"You are wise for one so new to this world," he said solemnly. "Answer me this then." He came round from behind the settee to face her directly. "Do you trust your heart?"

She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "I'm not sure. I had protected it for so long. And then I met the sworn enemy of my family, and I fell in love with him. And he was taken away from me, and my heart broke. Like a crystal glass that had fallen out of my hand, shattering on the floor." She rubbed her hands together and glanced up, chancing a glimpse into his eyes. "So, why should I trust something that is broken?"

He met her soft brown eyes - those delicate orbs that were once so trusting of him. "Fragile," he stated, "not broken."

"You left me," she whispered, a tear racing down her cheek.

He brought a hand to his chest. "It was most unintentional, my dear."

"Still," she said, "the fact remains." She reached out carefully, taking his hand in hers. Her fingers smoothing over his rough knuckles. "You feel real. But can I trust this feeling?"

He sat down next to her, his hands smoothing over his pants. "Feelings," he spoke softly. "They are a difficult thing. Hard to pin down, even harder to describe."

She nodded. "They're just there...like you're just here." She looked into his dark eyes, mesmerizing and dangerous. "Will it always be this way?"

"What way?" He looked puzzled.

"Hunted," she answered solemnly. "I thought once that you were the beast that stalked his victims…" She continued to look at his hands, holding his in her own, smoothing out the folds of his pale skin.

His eyebrow raised slightly. "And now you think differently?" He wondered what went on in her mind. He had yet to figure this woman out - her secrets infinite - her thoughts remained guarded. He wished he could understand her better.

Did she love him still? Or had that all been an illusion? A trick of the mists of the Carpathians?

"Well," she hedged, "perhaps, I now understand that even the mightiest can still be prey to time."

"Ahh…" he murmured, "yes, time does run out for us all."

"Except you, it appears," she smiled, glancing up at him. "After all, you're back."

"Yes," he affirmed, "I am." He watched her hands as she continued to rub his knuckles. He had thought about her so many times...about how her skin felt...about how her eyes looked...about how she tasted...about her. "Perhaps," he began slowly, wondering if she would catch his meaning, "time running out is a gift."

She looked at him then, wondering what he could possibly mean. Surely, she did not have enough time with him. She knew one day that she would leave him.

Mortal.

One day, she would indeed be gone.

She tread carefully. "How so?"

"If things lasted forever, continued on, if life was truly eternal, perhaps then, I would not feel the need to treasure you. To love you. To simply hold your hand," he confessed softly. He brought his hand to her chin, lifting her head slightly to meet her eyes.

"You love me?" she asked gently.

"My dear, need you ask such a question?"

"Then kiss me." she whispered.

He brought her lips to his, his hand cupping her chin, tasting her. Sher arms wrapped around his neck, deepening the kiss, hoping to lose herself forever in the ecstasy that was him.

His lips traveled down her neck, sucking lightly. Her nails gripped harder into his back.

His eyes darkened, a rich red coloring the whites.

He stopped abruptly and moved away. His hands left her body.

And she felt cold once again.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked nervously, afraid she had caused some offense. Her eyes searched his face...until she saw his fangs, his bloodshot eyes, the restless hunger that remained inside of him.

He struggled to control himself, his breath heavy. He looked at her and then turned away, walking determinedly back out to the balcony.

"Wait!" she called.

He refused to hear - could not face her again.

He would rather throw himself from the ramparts than doom her.

"Wait!" Her voice echoed in the empty chamber. She hurried down the hallway and out to the balcony where he stood.

His hands gripped the edge of the stone parapet. His eyes searched downward at the sheer drop below.

He remembered what had ended him before. The stone - as sharp as a stake. The fall - the speed of the plummet. And Van Helsing - the triumph the vampire saw in his old adversary's eyes.

He wondered if he could duplicate his fall.

It was a sheer drop downwards. Perhaps, the rocks would be kind - end him quickly - if he could fall just right. All it took was one quick slice through the heart.

His breath remained heavy. His eyes - frantic.

She approached him steadily, yet she was unafraid. "Don't," she said firmly.

He looked at her. An ancient thirst, a desperate need, a cruel desire ran deep in his veins. He fought his own nature.

And yet nothing about him was natural.

Nor her - this mortal - if he thought enough about it.

His shoulders heaved with his own force of will as he wrestled for control.

"Please," she whispered as she approached him from behind, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Don't even think it…"

He shrugged off her hand. "I have no desire to hurt you," he said. "I will," he swore, "if you do not leave."

"I won't." Her voice raised an octave. "You won't hurt me. You don't trust yourself. But I trust you. I trust nothing else. Not my senses, not my mind, not my family. Nothing. Save you." She caressed his cheek as she watched the violent crimson leave his eyes.

"You would do well to listen to me," he said solemnly. "You should let me go. I should let you go. Away from this world of darkness. I will lead you to nothing but your damnation."

She let go of a breath she had been holding. "You asked me if I trusted my heart…. And I do. My heart feels nothing but love for you. And surely love cannot lead to ruin."

He looked down again at the rocks below. How easy it would be to jump. To leave her. To end him. Forever - this time. To no longer have to fight - with the world - with himself. It seemed like the easiest thing to do.

And yet he understood that the easiest path was not necessarily the right one - the honorable one.

And - if anything - the Count understood honor - better than most mortal men.

"No," he breathed, "it doesn't." He met her eyes. "Why would you choose me, little one?" He chuckled as his hand cupped her cheek.

"I had very little choice in the matter," she laughed, fully and heartily. "The heart wants what the heart wants."

She placed a chaste kiss upon his lips. He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his cape around her.

He felt her heart pound against his chest - a rhythmic thumping - its pace its own.

She rested her face against him, an ear pressed against his chest. She imagined that his heart was beating wildly - pulsing as the two held each other tightly.

"What am I to do with you?" He said to himself, more than her.

She smiled. "Love me...while I'm here," she whispered under her breath.

"You're cold," he said, feeling her arms prickle with goosebumps. He placed a hand at her back and guided her inside his castle to warm near the fire of the library.

He sat next to her on the sofa, pulling down the blanket that lay across its back.

"Thank you," she said.

He stared at the fire, watching the flames dance.

She watched him as he hunched over, his hands refusing to keep still as he rubbed them against one another.

"You have something on your mind," she noted. "Tell me…"

"It's knowing that this won't go on forever…" he said quietly. "You won't be here forever."

"No," she said solemnly, I won't."

"I'll be without you one day."

She turned his face towards her and looked into his eyes. "I'll give you every second I can find," she promised.

"But, I'll still be left behind…"

She kissed him then - a searing fire stirred deep within her belly. She wanted him to know that she would be his forever...a kiss he would always remember...even after she was long a distant memory….

He deepened the kiss...wanting to treasure her taste...to mark her as his...to never let her go...to remember how she is now...even though he knew time would not spare her.

Love's watermark.

"You will find a way," she asserted as they broke apart. "One day, we'll be reunited...as we are now. I may succumb to the decay of time. But you will be with me...one day. You will regain your soul."

He chuckled at the near absurdity of her certainness. No amount of penance...no divine pardon...nothing would ever allow him to reclaim what was once his.

Forgiveness would never be his.

Nonetheless, he chose to humor her. "Yes…" he breathed. "Perhaps, one day."

"Is that a promise?" she asked as she snuggled against him.

"Always," he said as he held her close. "Yes, my dear, that's a promise."