A/N: Hey. I hope you enjoy the following chapter 14. After I've been turning the thought around in my head for quite a while, I have decided to turn this work into a series. I still have many ideas for a continuation of the stories of characters I love dearly. This show has helped me on a personal level in ways many people around me have not and I find it endlessly inspiring. I have mentioned before that I've started writing this piece as a continuation post season 3 and I think the first part – Ethan's rescue of Vanessa and her recuperation - has come to an end here. I plan for this to be a three part series with my takes on how Vanessa and Ethan's story continues. It will involve Ethan's lycanthropy, Vanessa's wish for a more permanent absolution of her demons and the threat of Dracula still walking the earth. All the while, I want to explore their relationship and how it could evolve further.

All of you who have liked, commented or even simply read this story so far – I thank you from my heart and hope dearly that you'll stick with me and continue to find enjoyment in this story and follow me along! : )

14

The rest of the day passes in a daze for her.

There is hypothetical talking and talking and talking about possible theories and things to come.

Several times she resists the urge to dig her nails into her skin and Ethan seems to feel it for he helps her wash tablecloths that do not truly require washing.

By the end of the evening, the rain has picked up once more and Sir Malcolm and Mister Lyle exchange theories about ancient Egyptian and African culture. It is around that time when Victor excuses himself to his own studies, biding them all good night.

She immediately wants to do the same and lets her gaze trail over their small group still engaged in lively conversations in the map room.

She looks over at Ethan who has joined Sir Malcolm's and Sir Lyle's musings about ancient history when Victor had left. He does not seem to notice what she tries to tell him wordlessly.

She wonders if she can radiate without a single sound that she needs to be elsewhere now. With both her body and her mind.

She almost feels the childish impulse to reach out both her hands for him to take them.

It is only when she gets up from where she had been sitting when he turns to look at her.

"If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I would like to turn in for the night", she says softly.

She feels Ethan's eyes wander over her face, searching. Mister Lyle and Sir Malcolm do not seem to notice his glance.

"But dear Miss Ives, it is only 9! You make rebels of us all maintenant."

Smiling, she touches Mister Lyle's shoulder, lightly.

"Do enjoy your soirée, Mister Lyle. I am truly glad to have you back with us here."

He counters her words with a bright, joyful smile and she takes a step back in the direction of the door.

Her eyes land back on Ethan's and the question in the warm brown is palpable. Do you want me to….?

She softly, almost imperceptibly shakes her head no. She is not even sure she will be able to find sleep at this hour, but she wants to be alone for now.

Questions roam within her head. And images. Talking about the dark master and her own actions have brought them back even despite all her efforts to keep them at bay and far away from her consciousness.

Now, there is a certain kind of hollowness these thoughts have left her with and she longs for calm, the familiarity of his room and maybe, hopefully, sleep.

"Goodnight, gentlemen. And thank you for all your help and plans. For worrying about me."

She turns around and leaves the room without giving either of them much of a chance to respond.

Wide awake, she tosses and turns. Lying still in bed strains her.

She draws the bedsheets up to her chin and feels ultrasensitive.

It seems to her like all her scars sting, the one from the bullet wound and then the old one, the cross branded in her back.

When she manages to close her eyes for a moment, she feels the sharpness of fangs against her throat, opens her eyes in shock just before they can sink beneath her skin.

She shifts to the other side of the bed, taking a few deep breaths. And she dares to close her eyes once more.

A dull ache throbs in her head and the metallic taste of blood lies heavily on her tongue. Has she bitten her lip?

It seems to her as though she has been blindfolded.

Somewhere within her, she knows it can't be dark. It is not night. She knows it is day.

She opens her eyes, but her vision does not get much brighter or clearer. But she can see something glowing in the dark.

Candles. Small fires in red glasses. It must be a cathedral, she thinks.

She swallows hard and tries to search the vast space for something, anything.

All the pews are empty. This cathedral drenched in almost complete darkness seems utterly devoid of life.

The pain continues to throb in her head and her hand trembles slightly as she touches her forehead. As hot as in fever. But she does not feel ill.

Indeed, she feels completely alive and that alone confuses her. This smells and looks of death and yet, there is such life in her.

She closes her eyes once more, trying to find something, anything close.

And finally, there is something echoing back to her. It makes her start and her eyes flutter open and she knows that he is there.

"Ethan", she calls out, her voice laced with the first forerunners of panic.

"Vanessa, dearest."

The voice is bodiless and it seems to resonate from all around her. Shock creeps into her body, down to her bones, mixing with the blood in her veins.

She turns her head to look at the ceiling which she does not seem to find. Is it truly a cathedral then?

She wants to speak, furiously. But her lips feel sealed and her tongue paralysed. She cannot speak for herself.

"Waiting for you was", the voice begins again, now more palpable, with more fervour, "torture, my dearest. Exquisite torture, black as pitch and red as the blood which I crave. You will too, so soon. I shall wait no more for you. None of your lovers shall."

She swallows once more and begins to run. Forward. Anywhere.

He laughs, the dark one and the space seems to reverberate with the sound, before he speaks again.

"Vanessa. Why are you still searching? You promised me. No more running from what you are."

She stops still as she hears these words, but her heartbeat continues to race.

"Where is he?" she asks, finally finding her voice again.

"As good as gone, dear Vanessa. Is it not familiar? The feeling of him leaving you in the human flesh?"

She breathes heavily, staring into the darkness before her and there is nothing, nothing to see and not a sound and for a second she believes him to be gone.

The shot rings in her ears and courses through her being, from her ears to her legs.

She looks down her own body, numbly seeking for a wound. And even in the half-dark she realises that she is covered in blood.

She does not understand. She is alive. She does not even hurt. Yet there is fresh blood smeared everywhere on her dress and even her skin, her hands, her cheeks…she looks back up from the floor.

And then she sees him.

"Ethan", she whispers, his name dying out on her lips as she screams.

He lies before her on the dark stone floor, dark blood streaming from a wound in his chest.

She sinks to her knees and touches him, her fingers running over his body which grows number and colder.

She whispers his name again and he looks at her, for a second, before his eyes close again.

She yells his name, seeks to warm his cold skin, desperate to save him.

And somewhere above her, the dark one is laughing. Waiting.

She screams.

"Something tells me you haven't quite understood the profoundness of your role in this yet, Mister Chandler", assesses Mister Lyle and there is a tilt to his slightly amused voice.

"And something tells me, Mister Lyle, that you're feeling the effects of this", he replies with a smirk, holding up the bottle of Sir Malcolm's good cognac.

Mister Lyle counters this with a small laugh and a throwaway gesture.

"Why, Mister Chandler, I am completely immune! But", he leans closer to Ethan now, in a conspiratory tone, "you must be aware that you are indeed the lupus dei!"

Ethan looks over at where Sir Malcolm is currently standing, studying a map of the West Indies.

When his glance meets Sir Lyle's again, the other man seems more serious again.

"It is prophecy. Older and wiser than all of us could ever be. You are her", he begins anew, laying his right hand on Ethan's knee to support the urgency of his message, "salvation, Mister Chandler. And she is yours."

Questions circle around in Ethan's head as he listens to this and he attempts to sort through them in order to find the first and most important one, but all he gets out is "Mister Lyle…."

That is when they hear the scream. It pierces Ethan's ears as violently as his heart and resonates through the vastness of the house.

"Oh my…was that…?" utters Mister Lyle and Ethan and Sir Malcolm look at each other instantly, a mere second before they start running.

"We shouldn't have let the doctor leave", mutters Sir Malcolm while they both head to the place the scream originated from, leaving the speechless Mister Lyle behind in the map room. They are both not sure how much of this he should get to see.

Ethan is unable to think of a reply.

His pulse is erratic, his heart pumping adrenaline into his every fibre. Fear grabs him and it seems like an iron weight now, dragging on his every limb.

Please don't let it be the illness again. Please. Don't do this to her. Not again.

When they have reached the closed door to the room, both men halt in their pace when they realise there is silence beyond the door.

"I think you had better go in first, Ethan. I will wait right here should you need help", mutters Sir Malcolm after a moment has passed.

Ethan looks at the older man and were he not this worried, he might have reacted more to the words themselves and the way Sir Malcolm does not "Mr. Chandler" him in this moment.

Now, he only nods and puts his fingers on the door handle and slowly, quietly enters the room.

The sight of her is simultaneously better and worse than he has expected.

She is in bed, although huddled together in the smallest shape and space possible, her arms around her legs and her whole body seems to be trembling with emotions she suppresses.

His carefulness wears off quickly and he does not waste much time looking at her from the distance, but approaches her, speaking her name, softly.

Only then does she seem to realise she is not alone anymore, but she refuses to look him in the eye for a long while and does not speak a word, shivering violently, clutching her frame as though holding herself together still.

He tries it again.

"Vanessa."

She still does not meet his eyes, but there is a faint whimper he believes to hear tumbling from her lips as he tries to remember the last time he has seen her this frightened.

She seems completely in shock and as he sits down next to her, he sees the marks of dried tears on her cheeks and her bloodied lip. She must have bitten it in sleep.

He reaches out, slowly and gently, and lays his hand on hers that is clutching her left shoulder like her life depends on it.

"Tell me what's wrong, Van, please."

At hearing that, she finally turns her head to look directly into his eyes, exhaling shakily. Her body still doesn't cease trembling.

"It is truly you", she mutters and her voice is just as fragile as the rest of her appearance, rough and raspy from the screams.

"Of course" he answers, squeezing the hand of hers he has a hold of, seeking to calm her, but when her eyes trail across his face as if to verify his statement and put the very last doubts to rest, she begins to shiver violently again and fresh tears gather in her eyes.

"Ethan."

"I'm here", he answers in a whisper while worry still keeps his heart imprisoned and he does not know what all this means. She looks so deeply distraught and it pains him, fear clawing at his guts. What is wrong?

A moment, a second and she begins to cry, sobbing violently and he draws her in his arms, fully embracing her and she cries like he has never seen her cry before.

"Sh, it's gonna be alright", he mumbles close to her ear, holding her while she holds on to him, "We're here. Together, Van. Was just a nightmare you had."

She does not stop crying for a long time, her fingers tracing his skin as though still proving that he is no apparition, no manifestation of something within her mind.

He can feel how exhausted she is, how she struggles for her breath and he holds her close and he feels her shifting in his embrace, so she can lay her ear against his chest.

"Try to tell me, huh. What happened?" he asks without pressuring her, softly as though spoken to himself.

He feels her take a deep breath, before she finally whispers.

"With all my darkness, I never could take the light from you."

She swallows hard before she continues.

"Your heartbeat. I can feel it. May I keep hearing it?"

"All night", he replies lowly, but not less worried. What has shocked her like this?

He holds her tighter once more, his hand somewhere in her hair, brushing it back softly, before he speaks anew.

"I won't leave you. Let me just tell Sir Malcolm what's going on, he's really worried about you. As is Lyle."

For a few seconds, she does not seem to react, wordlessly holding onto him and he looks down to see her face. She still looks so desperate.

"Don't be scared. We'll stay together no matter what will become of us, Vanessa. It was just a bad dream."

Slowly, softly, she disentangles herself from his embrace, only so much so that she can look into his eyes.

Her still frightened gaze wanders over his features before it comes to rest in his eyes and she swallows as another tear trails down her pale cheek.

The look in her eyes is grave and her voice even more so as she finally speaks again.

"I did not dream it, Ethan. I…" her voice breaks slightly as another tear falls from her eye.

"I saw it."

End of Part I.