Magia Posthuma ✓

Twenty-Three

Irina frowned as Vlad stepped from the shadows, wading into the moonlight that was pooling on the floorboards of the ballroom. He stood and stared at her as he took a moment to adjust his cuffs; the pale blue light illuminating only half of his face while the rest was left eerily in shadow.

"...I thought I told you to stay away," Irina sighed.

Vlad opened his hands, "And I obeyed for as long as I could, believe me," he told her, his gaze dropping from her riot of bed-tossed curls to the shining flesh across her collarbones and chest.

"Obeyed! Oh please, you don't even obey your own rules let alone mine," she scoffed. "I once read that your kind had to ask permission to enter the home of a living human... and yet here you are," she drawled.

"Here I am."

"Who let you in?" Irina demanded.

Vlad made his way over to her – closing the gap between them step by step. He couldn't help grinning, in spite of his better judgment, "You did."

Irina narrowed her brown eyes.

"...You don't remember," he realised.

"Or you're lying," she countered. "Which of the two seems more likely given your history, do you think?"

Vlad continued pacing towards her, stepping in and out of the shadows. "It was the day you were lost in the forests near Avrig," he told her. "I awoke at dusk to the scent of your blood on the breeze, and so I came to find you."

"Your mouth salivating at the prospect of an easy meal, no doubt," Irina grumbled, feeling every muscle in her body tighten the closer he got. She knew he'd be able to sense it, and that angered her even more.

He shrugged his lips. "It would have been," he admitted as he came to a stop in front of her. His cold blue eyes drifted downwards to her silk dressing gown - to the lapels, and the way they were hanging open over her wispy, scooped chemise - giving a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts.

Irina felt her cheeks colour. She snatched the dressing gown shut; folding her arms across it for good measure.

Vlad's lips curled as he looked up and met her furious gaze. "...Anyway, after you fired a shot at me and then demanded I escort you back to town... you invited me in for a drink."

"Oh! Well, I didn't realise I was extending an open invitation! That hardly seems fair!" she snapped.

Vlad nodded. "Open the door to the devil once and he'll expect to own the house."

Irina's jaw clenched. "Is that so?"

"I know that better than anyone," he replied, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

She looked away - he wouldn't have her sympathy. "So you think you own me, do you-"

Vlad frowned, "Of course not-"

Irina spun away from him and stormed off. "...I suppose you've come to claim what's yours - come to claim that drink, have you?" she spat over her shoulder, throwing her curls with it. "Well, please! Don't feel as though you have to stand on ceremony and accord, Count – it didn't seem to stop you before – by all means, do help yourself!"

Vlad breathed heavily through his nostrils. He hated when she called him 'Count'; he hated the way it sounded - so cold and unfamiliar. "Irina–"

She turned back to face him. "Oh no wait – that's right – I forgot," she interrupted, stabbing a finger at him, "you prefer your aperitif to be heated in its bottle before you partake... to be stirred, to arouse the flavour. Slips down the throat more easily, does it? Makes you feel like less of a monster?"