Warning – rated M for a reason.

Well guys, after a long break I'm finally back. Don't know for how long or anything like that... I'm just gonna go with the flow. Anyway, after the success of my first RimaXShiki story I decided to do another. I also wanted to see if I had it in me to write a lemon. As it turns out, I do. *shrug* Que sera sera.

Enjoy.

-X-

Rima knew the second she caught sight of him that something was very wrong. He hadn't turned to face her yet – she hadn't clocked his transformed eyes, or worse, the cruel, malignant smirk beneath them – but her instincts screamed out his wrongness like a siren in her mind. A loud, shrill, impossible-to-ignore siren.

And so despite her eagerness to be reunited with Shiki after so long apart, she stopped. Stopped because her instincts were never wrong. Stopped because there were two things of which she became simultaneously certain.

One: the man before her was not Shiki Senri.

Two: she was in grave danger.

Like a mirror image of herself, the man who was not Shiki stopped at the same moment. His back was to her, his line of sight elsewhere, but she knew he knew she was there. A biting wind pulled at her bubblegum pigtails, white skirt flapping dangerously around her smooth thighs as goosebumps started to erupt across every inch of her milky skin.

Rima shivered.

The pseudo-Shiki turned.

And her heart froze where it beat in her chest.

Fear was the only thing that registered in her mind. Touya Rima was afraid. More afraid than she'd ever been of anything. It was then that she understood what true terror was, and try as she might, she knew she would never forget it. It was looking into the face of someone you knew – someone you cared for deeply – and seeing nothing that even remotely resembled them. It was losing someone without them being physically lost. And it was more horrible than she could ever have imagined.

The not-Shiki was exactly like the real one. His hair was the same russet-red mess she'd always known; his face was the smooth, pale masterpiece it had always been; his body was as well-sculpted as the day they'd met; but for all this, Rima knew he was not the Shiki she knew and loved. She knew it to the very core of her soul, not least because of the grotesque mutation of his beautiful eyes. Where there had once been two lonely pools of ice, there were now mismatched orbs of molten ruby and sapphire. Orbs that pierced her through with a millennia's worth of malice.

The not-Shiki raised a slim-fingered hand slowly, bringing the tip of his pointing finger to his mouth with a toothy grin of sadistic relish. Rima watched, entranced as he bit the soft fingertip and as the blood pooled momentarily, drawing itself out to form a pliable crimson thread by the magic of his bloodline gift. She couldn't move – could barely breathe under the intensity of his gaze. She was little more than his prey now. A lamb tangled in a butchers net, with nothing to do but await the slaughter.

"And so..." he smiled, teeth glinting ferociously in the otherwise dim night. "... it ends."

The hand connected to the blood-whip flicked back and snapped forward with a flourish, his lethal weapon slicing the air to Rima's unprotected heart. She might have screamed; she couldn't be sure. But when the whip tore through her flimsy flesh and straight through her chest, there was nothing but pain. Pain and a certain remorse at the way things had ended.

Blackness ate at the edges of her vision, closing in until all she could see was his grinning face and those terrible eyes. Her legs gave way, her mind closed down, and her final image before she fell into nothing was the warped pleasure of a vicious stranger on the face of her dearest loved one.

-X-

Rima woke with a start, a shocked gasp catching in her throat as she flew upright in the safe confines of her and Senri's bed. Her heart was pounding, each beat resonating painfully against her ribcage, and although she'd been asleep and largely immobile she was panting heavily, chest rising and falling in an erratic tempo to the tune of her own fear. Her palms were sweating, her eyes blurred with petrified tears and the remnants of a troubled sleep, and she could tell without checking that her porcelain skin was several shades paler than usual. She was a mess and she knew it.

But nonetheless, Rima breathed an almighty sigh of sweet, intoxicating relief. She was awake.

Clutching her chest over her frantic heart, she slid her feet out of the bed and laid them on the polished hardwood floor, forgoing her slippers in favour of the cool, reassuring touch of solid ground beneath her toes. It comforted her; anchored her. Chased away the lingering image of those conflicting eyes. And she'd learned by now that it was important to chase away the after-images – to do otherwise left room for just as torturous day-mares.

Taking a sip of the water beside her bed – though the terror coursing strong in her veins made her hunger for something far stronger – Rima lent heavily on her knees, sloshing the cool drink over her short, silk nightdress as her entire body trembled uncontrollably. She bit her lip, hard enough that it split and started to bead crimson, and reflected in a giddy, black-humoured way that it was a good thing her glass was full of water and not blood; experience had taught her that bloodstains were stubborn, and she was wearing her favourite nightie this evening.

That nightmare again, Rima thought mournfully, swallowing against the persistent dryness in her mouth and rubbing her swollen belly with one small, quivering hand. She set the glass carefully on the bedside cabinet – using all the self-control she could muster to steady herself – and crouched over to wait for the shaking to stop. She knew it would, eventually, because it always did. Sometimes quickly, mere minutes after waking up, other times longer, hours afterwards.

Thankfully, this time there wasn't long to wait. Taking periodic sips of water and deep, semi-calming breaths, she was back to normal within half an hour. Or at least as normal as she was ever likely to get, all things considered.

With a cursory glance at the sound form beneath the thick duvet, Rima rose and made her wraith-like way to the heavily draped bedroom window. On passing, she plucked her red cotton dressing gown from the finely upholstered armchair and slipped her arms through the sleeves in a daze of routine; though it was warm enough that she could probably have gone without. Pulling the blue velvet curtain back slightly, Rima grimaced as unwelcome sunlight stabbed at her tired eyes, strong and irksome and a good two hours or so from sinking into darkness.

Up well before sunset again. Senri would be pleased. She had no doubt she'd get another earful about 'taking care of herself' and 'needing to rest' and other such nonsense; there might even follow an argument, though she'd yet to decide if she was in the mood for one. And then, when all was said and done, he would pull her in and let her drink from him because he simply didn't know how else to help her. She would taste the worry and confusion in his blood like a spoonful of salt in a cup of hot chocolate, and it would break her heart...

The same old routine. The one they went over several times a week because like her nightmares, it was unavoidable. Senri couldn't not worry anymore than Rima could control her dreaming mind. And she couldn't tell him; she could never do that. Even supposing she wanted to, where would she start – what would she say? It was a difficult thing to tell someone you loved that they were repeatedly killing you in your dreams.

Because even if it was Rido in Senri's body, that was basically what it boiled down to. That's the way Senri would see it too. He didn't deserve to hear something like that after all they'd been through together – he didn't deserve to hurt that way.

Releasing the curtain, she crossed the room in a flurry of red cotton and peach silk. Opening the door quietly, careful not to wake Senri, Rima sidled into the upstairs hallway with barefooted caution, padding past the six other bedrooms with the lithe grace of a cat – even pregnant, Rima moved better than some vampires could even dream of.

She'd go to the kitchen, she decided, after idling several minutes by the foot of the stairs. She had a book there for occasions just such as these, a worn and faded volume of Dracula by Bram Stoker – the irony when she read it never failed to cheer her mood, and in many ways, the old tale bore striking similarities to her own life. That was a comfort more than anything else. The human who wrote it clearly had no inkling of the realities of the real vampire world, and yet had been able to touch on things Rima knew as all too tangible... Albeit in a whirlwind of hilarious fairytale falsities.

It was not an hour later – possibly less, possibly more – before she was joined in the large kitchen by a small child; a three foot, red-haired girl with bright blue eyes that glittered excitedly in a way Rima and Senri's never had. She was still dressed in her own nightclothes, a long-sleeved, rose-pink gown which perfectly accentuated her alabaster skin – a gift from her fashion-conscious grandmother, who these days did more shopping than she did anything else.

Upon seeing the girl, Rima folded the page in her book and set it on the smooth ash-wood table, beside a plain-white mug of blood-spiked tea. She stood, smoothing the creases from the front of her clothes and pushing her chair back with a clinical 'KISHK' against the laminate floor, then held her arms out expectantly, the tiniest smile playing about her pink lips.

The girl, ginning wide if a little dozily, stepped eagerly into the circle of Rima's arms and wrapped her small ones around her neck, holding her in a hug which was that much more precious because of it's childlike fragility. This most simple of evening rituals was Rima's favourite part of the night, no contest – it reminded her of everything she had to lose, of everything she and Senri had built for themselves there in that big house. Everything she hadn't known she'd wanted until she had it.

"Evening Mommy." came the muffled greeting, and Rima smiled at the familiar yet peculiar sound of it. Even after upwards of three years hearing it, she thought she would never get used to being called 'mommy'.

"You're up early, Eriko." was Rima's only half-stern reply.

"You both are," a disgruntled voice from the doorway interjected, and Rima turned to see Senri enter the kitchen, already showered and dressed for the night. Unsurprisingly, Rima hadn't been nearly as quiet in her wakening as she'd first thought, and had woken Senri too. He must have risen to shower minutes after she'd left the room.

Senri crossed the immaculate kitchen in a few lazy, unaffected steps, approaching Rima as he did every evening and kissing her softly on the lips... almost nonchalantly, it seemed – the years had done nothing to wear away his disinterested façade. Then, in a gesture that appeared casual on the surface, he reached out a hand and passed it lightly across the smooth rise of his wife's bloated stomach, a flicker of something close to a smile dancing in his cool, blue eyes.

As quickly as it registered in Rima's mind, the spark was gone, and in it's place the same indifferent gaze stared back at her. But it didn't matter; Rima knew she hadn't imagined it.

He took his seat at the table, slouching in his chair the way he'd been wont to do at Cross Academy, barely blinking as Eriko crawled into his lap and wrapped her spindly arms around his neck with a bright 'Hello Daddy!'. Senri returned his daughter's embrace without hesitation, ruffling her hair and replying with a much less enthused yet equally heartfelt 'Hello'.

They were very close, Senri and Eriko. Senri didn't show it well, because emotion wasn't now nor would it ever be his strong suit, but he loved his little family very much. When he'd been growing up he'd had a somewhat dysfunctional existence; his mother was unstable, his father was... well, his father. To him, raising his children and making sure they enjoyed a childhood he hadn't was vital, and he did his utmost to make it happen. Rima had always admired him on some level, but his dedication to his daughter was something else – something wonderful. And she loved him all the more for it.

Children had never been part of the plan for Senri and Rima. Marriage hadn't either, truth be told. Even to this day, the pair had never spoken about their relationship much – had never truly defined what it was between them with words. They'd never needed to. It had been mutually understood that they belonged to each other and each other alone. But children... marriage... even having a place to call home... these things hadn't even been a consideration. They'd made no plans, had no expectations, and therefore could not be disappointed... But the war Kaname had started in the vampire world all those years ago had changed people, themselves included. Wars, they had learned, could do that to a person.

The war had undoubtedly been a dark period in vampire history. One of the darkest – a time vampires the world over would not soon forget. The fighting had been brutal, with vampires fighting vampires, vampires fighting slayers and – in some baffling instances – slayers fighting slayers. During those terrifying years, Rima had at times forgotten what she was fighting for – what anyone was fighting for. Who's side who was on had blurred more than once throughout the conflict, friends becoming foe and vice versa, confusion spreading far and wide as betrayals were continually exposed on both sides. She remembered with particular clarity a time when she'd even doubted Senri...

It was about that time she'd fallen pregnant with Eriko, she recalled. They'd argued that night – she'd accused him of treachery among other things. Ichijou Takuma had been seriously injured in a re-con mission earlier that same week and for a while it had looked like they'd lose him. Rima, of course, had been inconsolable, and she'd wrongly taken it out on Senri. They'd had a somewhat explosive argument, with many plates being thrown and a few electric currents batted about in anger... But in the end Senri had done what he always did best – he'd comforted her.

The rest was history, and when the war had finally ended a year and a half later, they'd married at their parents' insistence. A small ceremony, conducted by the pureblood Kuran Kaname himself, as thanks and as recognition of their unwavering loyalty throughout that black period in time .

Now, three and a half years on, they were happily wed and expecting their second child – a boy this time, whose name was to be Yuhisuke. Things should have been perfect.

But they weren't.

From the night they'd found out their second child was a boy, Rima had started having the recurring nightmares about Rido and her death. Sometimes there were small differences, but always two things were the same: her mistaking Rido for Senri, the way she had (though briefly) when he'd taken over his son's body back at Cross Academy, and her dying by his hand.

Rima really couldn't say why the nightmares had started; nor could she say why they continued. She'd never been troubled by such things before, even when the memory of Rido had been fresh, even the very night he had pierced her chest with his blood-whip. They haunted her, whispering of things to come even though her conscious mind knew such was impossible. Rido was dead. Had been for years, and would remain so for eternity.

"Rima?"

Senri's voice interrupted her meanderings of the past, cutting through dark thoughts which threatened to evolve into awful day-mares – or, to be technically correct, nightmares, because as vampires, their days and nights were reversed. From the slight, almost-imperceptible note of impatience in his tenor, Rima suspected she'd been zoning out as he spoke to her. Again.

"Hm?" she asked vaguely, rising from the table to put the kettle on and start breakfast.

She worked on auto-pilot, doing the same thing she did every evening as if it were engraved in her very soul. Toast in toaster, cereal out of cupboard, coffee poured, milk from fridge, blood from other fridge, OJ for Eriko, six glasses from cupboard... and on and on it went. Rima's morning routine – her first duty of the day in taking care of her family.

"I said Ichijou-san is coming to visit today. I asked him to talk to you about your... restlessness. I'll take Eriko to visit my mother while he's here."

Rima didn't answer, instead busying herself with preparing breakfast. The truth was she wasn't sure what to say; whether to be irritated by his interfering or grateful for it. Besides Senri, Ichijou-san had been her best friend back at the Academy, and she supposed it was possible that talking to him about it might ease her suffering.

Then again, it was also possible it wouldn't.

Breathing out a sigh as she brought the filled toast-rack to the dining table, Rima began to consider whether or not she wanted to argue with her long-time friend and husband this evening. Because sure as day, if it was going to happen, it would happen soon.

"That's not necessary Senri." she replied stoically, taking her seat at the table and motioning for Eriko – who was still sitting contentedly in her father's lap – to do likewise. "There's nothing wrong with me. You're troubling Ichijou-san for no reason."

He gave her a look that said more than words ever could. "You wake up gasping well before sunset at least three times a week, and you expect me to believe nothing's wrong?" he frowned nonetheless. "If you won't tell me, you might tell Ichijou – he'll be here at eleven."

And with that the subject was closed.

Usually, it would be at this point that Rima would come in with some indignant retort – a sarcastic quip, perhaps. But as she began to butter her toast, the warm smells of breakfast mingling with the hot, sweet scent of blood, she realised she was too tired to offer any resistance. Besides, perhaps it would be nice to share her bad dreams with someone – someone who could look on them with objectivity and who, she knew, couldn't possibly be hurt by the content of those dreams. It was worth a shot, surely, if nothing else.

So at half-past eleven – night time, of course – Ichijou and Rima settled in the sitting room for a little chat. They waved goodbye to Senri and Eriko (who had been very excited to see her 'Uncle' Ichijou, but was just as excited about visiting Grandma Shiki), and when the house was once again at peace they got down to the business at hand.

"Shiki tells me you're not sleeping well." Ichijou probed, smiling politely. He was not unfamiliar with her fiery temper, and had clearly been told to tread carefully with this particular subject.

Rima nodded, examining her old friend and taking in his largely unchanged appearance with a nostalgic half-smile. Dressed impeccably as always, he was as most vampires were – startlingly attractive. His blonde hair was comparable to that of a supermodel, green eyes like precious emeralds set in a face smooth and – to coin a phrase she'd once heard a Day Class student use – 'Godly in it's proportions'. His trousers, plain black but well-fitting, looked designer, and his cool-blue shirt clung in all the right places, open at the neck so that the tiniest sliver of livid red scar tissue could be seen marring his otherwise marble torso – the scar of the dreadful wound that had nearly claimed him during the war.

Yes, Rima supposed her old friend Ichijou was as handsome as they came, and so it was truth and not formality that made her say, "You look well, Ichijou-san."

He grinned that cheerful, completely non-vampire grin of his, and nodded an acknowledgement of her compliment. But if she had expected to divert him that easily, she was sadly mistaken.

"I wish I could say the same, Rima-san, but you don't look well at all. Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently.

Ichijou was a clever man – he knew Rima well, and knew that demanding (or even just asking for that matter) that she tell him would be foolish. She had to want to tell him herself and until she was ready, there was no use trying to press her. This conversation would run at her speed or not at all.

"Not really." she said honestly, rubbing a hand over her bump anxiously. "Not yet anyway. Why don't we catch up a bit first?"

And so they talked. They talked for hours, about how their lives were going (Rima told him when the baby was due, and Ichijou told her about the pleasant young lady he'd met at a recent function), about various friends they had or hadn't seen recently and how their lives were progressing, and even about foes, once-time foes and those who were neither friend nor foe. They discussed the past, even touching on the more tender issues like the time of Ichijou's disappearance, and his subsequent near-destruction in the war not long afterwards.

It wasn't until the clock struck two a.m., the pair of them having fallen into a companionable silence, that Rima finally decided it was time to share her nightmares. She felt they'd talked sufficiently long that some semblance of their old friendship had resurfaced, and at last she was comfortable enough to tell him what she'd been keeping to herself since the first.

So without preamble, she launched into an explanation.

Ichijou listened intently and didn't interrupt as Rima relayed the horrors of her sleeping-hours to him, nodding thoughtfully from time to time and frowning at some of the more gruesome versions of her nightmares. She told him about when they first started, and how she had an idea that the sex of her baby and the start of the bad dreams were somehow connected; she told him that, despite how well she hid it, the dreams terrified her, and that she was too afraid of hurting Senri to discuss it with him.

When she finally finished he stayed silent for a few minutes, no doubt contemplating what she'd said and how best to respond. It was a lot of information to take, and in Rima's own opinion it suggested she was downright crazy – something he would be struggling to rephrase into a friendlier diagnosis.

But to her surprise, when he looked up and met her nervous stare there was no trace of discomfort; he wasn't questioning her sanity in any way, shape or form, at least not so that it was obvious. There was a certain uneasiness in his bright green eyes, a concern for her health and well-being as a whole, but nothing that hinted at him wanting to drag her to the nearest psychiatrist.

"I think you're right." he mused suddenly, snapping Rima back to attention. "Your nightmares and the baby being a boy are linked... probably. Is it possible you're afraid he'll come back? That he might take control of Yuhisuke the way he controlled Shiki?"

Rima thought about it; really thought about it. It was entirely possible she supposed... an obvious analysis but not an entirely ridiculous one. Did she fear Rido returning? Definitely – she'd be a fool if she didn't. Did she think it would happen? That he would suddenly just rise from the dead and manipulate her son the way he'd manipulated his own son so long ago?

…

… No, she concluded at last. It may be something she feared, but she feared it in the same way people feared house fires, and being killed by wild animals. The fear was there but barely noticeable, because the chances of it actually happening were almost non-existent. She told Ichijou as much and he nodded vaguely, seeming lost in thought.

"I don't know what to tell you, Rima." he frowned after another lengthy silence. "I've no clue why you're having these nightmares. But what I will say is that I think you should talk to Shiki about this – as much as you don't want to, I really think he's the only one who can help."

"I was afraid you were going to say that." she sighed.

-X-

As the sun started to rise, peeking it's bright, blinding head out from behind the city skyline, Rima sat somewhat dejectedly on the cream leather couch with her head cradled in her hands. She'd been there for a while now. A long while. After politely declining Senri's request that she come to bed over two hours ago, she'd fixed herself a cup of blood – to help strengthen her resolve – and hadn't moved since, save to refill her cup.

She was afraid. She knew what she had to do – knew that in order to have any peace of mind, she had no other choice – but no matter what she told herself, she couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't want to hurt him. She didn't want to see him in pain. So she had put it off all night, telling Ichijou in hushed tones that she would do it when he left – when she and Senri were alone and had a chance to talk properly. He hadn't liked it much – said he thought she'd feel a lot better if he was there to offer moral support – but he'd respected her wishes and hadn't pushed.

Shortly after Ichijou bid them farewell for the night, the family of three had sat down to a dinner of tonkatsu and light, harmless chatter. Eriko had detailed her visit to Grandma Shiki with a big smile and excited laughter, while Senri told her about a trip to France his mother was in the process of planning for the five of them. Rima, trying hard to avoid thinking about Ichijou's advice, had shared the less harmful facets of her time with their old friend, feigning good-humour for the sake of her daughter.

After dinner, she'd told herself. I'll talk to him after dinner.

But dinner had come and gone and she'd come no closer to broaching the subject. It had been life as usual as she cleared the table and washed the dishes; although she actually only managed to clean a single plate before Senri wordlessly took over. That done, the three of them had settled down to enjoy a DVD in the living room (early morning TV was, in a word, rubbish) before Eriko was sent to bed for the day.

And still Rima had said nothing.

And so here she was, wallowing in her guilt and worry, testing various methods of approaching the situation in her head and glugging their supply of human blood like there would never be a tomorrow.

The blood helped, a little. At the very least it muted the churning in her stomach, even if it couldn't stamp out the emotions swirling in her head. And it kept her awake, firing through her veins like a shot of adrenaline and keeping the nightmares hovering around the edges of her awareness at bay. Though as time wore on they'd become progressively more persistent, batting at her relentlessly like angry wasps.

She curled up in a ball at the end of the couch and tried to block them out.

An hour after sunrise, that's how Senri found her – curled in on herself like a frightened child, tear tracks fresh and wet on her cheeks. He knelt before her and wiped the offending moisture away with the tips of his fingers, face straight and serious looking; a sharp contrast to the open anxiety in his eyes. Rima, not looking up, shakily wrapped her arms around him, pulling him up into a tight, comforting embrace. He complied willingly, a sigh escaping as he adjusted his weight on the couch next to her.

"What's happened to you?" he whispered gently, stroking her head and placing tender kisses on any part of her he could reach. "We used to be closer than this. You used to be able to tell me anything – everything – without uttering a single word... Now I feel like you're a stranger."

At this Rima sobbed, a broken wail of anguish stifled against his hard chest. He could feel the damp patch forming on his shirt, and with a pang of regret realised she was weeping freely. It only intensified his worry. He hadn't seen her this way since the war. Since the first night they made love and Eriko was conceived. Rima was usually so strong a woman – for her to be this way meant something grave was afoot.

"-m s-s-sorry," she choked, the sound muffled and almost unintelligible. "I'm s-sorry S-Senri."

Shiki Senri supposed it would be at this point that any other husband – any good husband – would hush his wife with sweet words of reassurance and soft, innocuous kisses. As it was, Senri lamented that he couldn't comfort her that way; it just wasn't in him. He didn't have a broad enough range of emotions for such a thing. Couldn't use enough sweet words to make it sound genuine.

So he said nothing. He simply held her, waiting for her shuddering to stop and feeling totally useless.

"I'm having n-nightmares," Rima croaked eventually, when the worst of her breakdown had finally passed. "I keep waking up b-because... because... because I dream about... about Rido taking over your body again... and killing me..."

The last part she whispered, saying it as one would say something unimaginably terrible – like a curse uttered in a convent. She felt Senri stiffen at her words and the tears came unbidden once more, flowing down her face to drip onto his shirt like salty rain.

"Senri? S-Senri? Please say something, Senri." she whimpered, as the silent seconds started to tick into long, uncomfortable minutes.

"Are you afraid of me, Rima?" he asked abruptly. The question took her by surprise and she sat back in confusion, meeting his collected gaze with a totally nonplussed expression of her own.

"No," she said slowly, wiping some escaped tears with the back of her hand. "No... you know I'm not."

"Do you think I might hurt you or Eriko? Or Yuhisuke?" he quizzed, not missing a beat. By this point it had become plainly obvious that he was hurting, though his tone of voice and facial expression gave nothing away.

"No Senri, I don't think that at all." she answered contritely, lowering her head to get away from the sharp glint of pain in his eyes. "It's not... I don't... you..." she trailed off, not sure what it was she was trying to say. Her usual mentality was returning slowly but surely, and her automatic response to pressure – that is, to lock everyone out – started to take hold. She wished with all her might she'd never said anything in the first place.

"Well if you're not afraid I'm going to hurt any of you, what is it that scares you? There has to be a reason... Do you think Rido is going to come back?"

"N-,"

"Do you have ideas about him coming back through Yuhisuke?"

"No, I-,"

"Well then what? What's causing these nightmares?" Senri demanded frankly, deadpan tone at odds with the gravity of the situation.

"IT'S ME!" Rima screamed, interrupting him before he had time to continue his verbal assault.

Senri raised a questioning eyebrow.

"It's... It's me." she repeated more quietly, realisation dawning even as the words dropped from her lips. Tears pooled in her eyes once more as the knowledge flooded her with the strength of a tsunami. "Back at Cross Academy... when Rido took you over and used you like a puppet... I... I wasn't able to do anything!" she exclaimed, frustrated, running an unsteady hand through her mussed hair. "I couldn't protect you... I couldn't help. And then when Ichijou went missing... when he got injured on that mission... I couldn't help him either."

She paused, looking up into her husband's stoic face and cupping a hand to his cheek tenderly. She bit her lip to stop the water falling from her eyes, vowing she wouldn't shed another tear on the matter. Crying was for the weak – that's what her father had always told her. Crying solved nothing. Self-pity was worthless.

"It just seems to me," she told him forlornly, holding his stare valiantly. "that every man in my life who's ever needed me... I've only let him down. You, Ichijou... and I'm worried – I'm terrified that the same will happen with Yuhisuke. I'm scared I'll let him down when he needs me."

Senri sat in stunned silence at her confession, not knowing what to say or do in response to such a deep, emotional admission. He'd never usually needed to worry about dealing with the sensitive elements of their relationship; they were so in-tune with each other that words were rarely – if ever – needed. So at times like these, when words failed him and simple gestures like a kiss or an embrace seemed too shallow to convey what he really felt, Senri would go back to basics. Back to the few other nights she'd been this... this alien to him.

Silently, he closed the distance between their lips and kissed her. He kissed her gently, lovingly... relishing the intoxicating taste of her on the tip of his tongue. Her lips were soft – supple, just like the rest of her – and he tried to send every comforting emotion, every understanding thought in his body, to her through their connected mouths.

As it was wont to do on such poignant occasions, their harmless kiss soon became much more intense, the atmosphere sparking and heating until the temperature rocketed to somewhere in the region of boiling point. Rima felt her skin flush with warmth, her stomach coiling with anticipation and excitement and something altogether primal. Her thoughts became a jumbled mess of half-formed wonderings and through the increasing haze of passion and desire, she could think of little else but how much she wanted – needed – Senri at that moment.

She wound her fingers into his thick red hair and tugged gently as he moved his mouth to trail hot, exploding kisses over her neck, groaning when he nipped her flesh here and there, and emitting a breathy sigh when he nuzzled a sensitive area over her collar bone. Rima had always thought, with some ironic amusement, that it was moments like these when vampires truly became the animals humans imagined them as. These heated moments when all pretence of control slipped, and nothing remained but raw want and the single-minded recklessness to act upon it.

Dazed, and entirely too hot to be comfortable, Rima pulled Senri gently by her grip in his hair back to meet her hungry lips, smoothing her hands over his sculpted shoulders to the front of his shirt and clumsily undoing the pesky buttons there. Senri did likewise, tongue gliding coolly over hers as he fumbled with the front of her blouse. They broke their frenzied kiss only briefly, to hastily discard their shirts to the floor, and wasted no time in continuing to disrobe.

Soon, though neither could remember precisely the sequence of events leading them to said point in time, the pair lay entwined together on the couch, deliciously exposed to the cool morning air and with no more barriers to separate their scorching skin. Senri was on top, looking down at his beautiful wife with an expression of utmost love and adoration, the uncontrollable passion in the air gifting him with the temporary ability to manifest such emotions on his face. He leaned forward to capture her lips in another dizzying kiss, his hardened length entering her at the same time and eliciting a loud, sensual gasp of ecstasy from her twisting, sweating form.

She heard him growl, deep and low and animalistic, rumbling through his chest approvingly at her obvious pleasure. His arousal throbbed erotically as her muscles tightened welcomingly around it, and she moaned his name in desperation as he slowly withdrew, before thrusting hard and making her scream in delight. His mouth roved every inch of her face and neck, placing soft, teasing nibbles between ravenous lashes from his tongue.

The tempo of his thrusts slowly increased, and Rima could feel herself rushing towards that exhilarating edge – the point of no return. The anticipation of that precipice, the waiting, was almost more than she could bear.

She looked up into Senri's eyes and found them not their usual icy blue, but as ruby red as the blood running though his veins, and knew without doubt that hers were the same crazed hue of a vampire's hunger. Because all forms of lust went hand in hand really. Blood-lust, romantic lust... when closely examined, there was no real difference.

Rima came in a torrent of pleasured grunts and groans, closely followed by Senri, who immediately sank his fangs into her neck, thereby muffling his own satisfied moans.

When he'd drunk his fill, he drew back and collapsed – exhausted – onto Rima's naked chest, the two of them panting in the aftermath of their fervent lovemaking. They didn't speak; there was no need for words. And that made Senri glad because it meant things were back to normal and he'd succeeded in comforting his hence distraught wife.

Absently, he stroked her swollen belly with infinite care, a vague, lingering smile touching his bloodstained lips as they both slowly drifted towards a weary sleep.

"Rima?" Senri mumbled, eyes flickering closed even as he spoke.

"Hm?"

"I'll... protect you, you know." he murmured. "I'll protect you always. You, and Eriko, and Yuhisuke... I won't let anything bad happen to any of you."

Several moments passed in blissful quiet before:

"I know Senri." Rima whispered back, taking his hand and holding it tight in her own. "I know."

There were no nightmares for Rima that day. Or the day after that. In fact there were no nightmares again ever. Because she knew with absolute certainty that nothing, in this or any other world, would ever touch her or her little family again. Never again.

-X-