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Part 1 – An Obsession

He couldn't help it. He never could. Not back in Oxford or in the intervening years between university and his "death". It was a ritual of sorts - a sick, masochistic ritual. He didn't know why he did it to himself. During his absence from all aspects of his previous life he hadn't indulged that much. The opportunities were few and far between after all and he couldn't risk letting himself be seen out in the open. This had changed recently and he had found himself slipping into old habits with surprising ease. If anything it was worse. Much worse. And he just couldn't help it.

He was sitting comfortably strewn across one of the many armchairs in the Sanctuary's drawing room, an old volume spread across his lap and a glass of deep red wine balanced between his fingers. It was a particularly cold night in Old City and a roaring fire had been stoked to warm the room. In his devamped state he was grateful for the warmth and turned his face up from the pages of the book he was reading to stare into the flames. Closing his eyes he sighed softly, turning his head slowly around to face forward.

There she sat. Curled up on a sofa directly across from him. Her hair was tucked behind her ears, softly framing her immortal face in dark ringlets. Her brow was creased in a slight frown, concentrating defiantly on the mysteries concealed in the book she had propped up in her arms. A manicured nail tapped lightly on the corner of a page as she bit her bottom lip and flipped over the page. The rustling of the ancient pages snapped him out of the fog that had settled around his thoughts. Swallowing hard he let his eyes drop to her exposed feet, hanging off the edge of the couch and partially covered by the blanket she had thrown over her legs. Today they were bare, her heels tossed aside in favour of comfort.

He carefully moved his gaze upwards to her slim ankles, lingering there as he imagined placing a soft kiss on the inside of her upturned ankle. Her calf spread gracefully from there on and he raked his eyes up the portion of her perfect legs that were not concealed by the pesky blanket. The covering could not hide the shape of her hips though, and the way her body leaned against the arm of the chair she was lying on. The gentle curve of her thigh met her waist in a perfect ratio and lead his eyes upwards to the ample chest so wonderfully accentuated by the tight fabric of the dress she wore. He felt a familiar longing coil in his chest as he continued. Her chest rose and fell softly as she breathed, the exhaled air worrying a single piece of brunette hair that fluttered in front of her eyes... her eyes. He was getting ahead of himself. Backtracking, he dragged his eyes over her collar bone and neck, the delicate bone structures and tendons causing him to grip the edges of the book in his hands tightly. He always faltered when he came to the curve of her neck, his Vampiric nature was dulled but not completely forgotten. He could just make out her pulse point beating steadily. He strained as he kept moving upwards to the graceful angle of her jaw. He blinked slowly, an image of her lying pressed under him flashed before his eyes, his lips gently caressing the exposed skin of her jaw, her cheek, her lips... He stopped. God, those lips.

She turned another page and this distracted him from his train of thought. Her eyes flicked up to his and he was almost lost in the clear blueness that radiated from them.

"Nikola?" she enquired, an eyebrow cocked slightly.

He held her gaze for a moment longer before lifting his glass of wine to his lips and swiftly downing the sweet liquid. Smiling at her, and rearranging his default expression of cocky nonchalance, he quirked his head to the side.

"More wine?" he offered, leaning forward to reach for the bottle resting on a small table between them. She shook her head slightly and dropped her eyes back down to continue reading.

Refilling his own glass he settled back and tried to force his mind back to the task at hand - deciphering the symbols of the map they had both become consumed by. Swirling the wine with expert ease he felt his heart sink painfully into the place it had been residing for more than a century. He really did not know why he tortured himself with her. Every so often he would find himself tracing his eyes over her, not in his usual flirty way and not accompanied with banter of any sort. No. These were times when his heart was painfully exposed, when he couldn't help the longing that had consumed him for so long. For her. Only her.

Damned fool

He berated himself.

Damned fool