The Doctor and the Countess

"You are an abomination."

He kisses her madly, wrapping hands around her slender form; his arms grip her with the strength of that madness.

She breaks the kiss, smiling and nodding. "It's true. I am."

He catches his breath, looking into her eyes, wary of her ability to hypnotize and completely surrendering to being mesmerized. He soaks in her every detail, taking special note of deeply red hair the color of broken hearts and the memory of sunrise. Eyes as crystalline and cold as arctic summertime flash in the dim, and her skin glows a perfect porcelain.

She is significantly smaller than he. He is a powerfully built man, wide in the shoulder and firm in his demeanor. Yet, she shatters his resolve as easily as she could shatter his grip. She tests his beliefs and limits, all with whispers and faint smiles.

"Are you just going to look at me?" She grins, and a flash of gleaming white reflects the gaslight of his bedroom.

He nods. "I'm going to use you. I want to hurt you, like before."

"You can't hurt me like before."

"Because he'll know?" venom creeps into his tone as his heart pounds in his chest. "Is he a good husband, a good master to you now?"

Her smirk falters. "It's not like that."

"Am I spoiling the mood?" He still holds her, but his breathing calms and his pulse steadies. Anger still seeps in around the edges of his passion.

She places her hands on his forearms, pushing away. He releases her, unwilling to keep his grip and unable were he to try.

She radiates confidence, strength, and sensuality. He's always thought her sexy, but things have changed. She has become more potent since last they saw one another.

Since she fell into the arms of another. Of other.

Watching him, she begins to remove her clothing. It is a protracted, deliberate exercise. Each button is exaggerated, every piece of lace is caressed. She looks him in the eye, and his anger remains, but becomes muted at the sight of her partial nudity. He waits no longer, gripping her roughly and ripping her free from the silk shift that separates him from her perfect, soft smoothness. He refuses to consider that her skin will never again be warmed by rays of the sun, instead, he is lost only in more basic thoughts.

He begins kissing her along the neck and shoulders, and the scruff of his beard elicits moans and smiles. His teeth find tender places, and her breath catches in his ear. She whispers encouragement with many a faint "Yes, Doctor." His bites gain ferocity, and her laughter inspires him to bite harder. His hands find her arms, and he throws her to the bed, pinning her down. His mouth travels her body, and inside her thighs, he sees the scar from her turning.

His heart skips a beat as his eyes confirm what his mind has known all night.

He looks up at her, her thighs to either side of his flushed cheeks. She smiles down at him, and it's all sharp teeth and hungry need.

Panic lances up his spine.

She breathes deeply through her nose, reveling in the scent of pheromones and fear.

"Van. Look at me."

His eyes dart from the scar to her womanhood to her eyes. He whispers, more weakly than before. "You are an abomination." His fingers gently stroke and part her, seeking, exploring, while he mumbles his horror.

She licks her lips, tracing her tongue across preternaturally sharp teeth that grow into a shark's smile.

"But you love me anyway, Abraham Van Helsing."

God help him, but he does.

When he enters her, he pretends to not notice how cold she feels beneath him.

When she feels him shudder, spent, she pretends not to notice his eyes dart towards the sharpened piece of elm hiding behind the wash basin.