The Count watched as Jacquelyn’s body relaxed completely. She was unresisting as Yvonne whispered soothingly into her ear, telling her to pull herself free from the dress. It was with great satisfaction that the Count watched Jacquelyn slowly step away from it. Her body was now free of those silly frills and folds. He savoured the sight of her standing in the tight fitting corset. Her mostly exposed body revealed the leather straps holding her slaying tools to her thigh. She stood up straight, as though at attention and gazed blankly into his eyes. Yvonne’s hands continued dancing across her body, her movements slow and deliberate. The Count could see Jacquelyn’s chest rising and falling slowly, her body relaxed yet her cheeks were flushed, showing she was somewhat aroused.
The Count’s eyes hungrily lapped up the sight of his new prize, examining her every curve. She now stood tall, waiting upon his commands and this pleased him to no end. There were no more hate filled words, no acts of defiance or struggling against his will. He grinned at the thought of having broken her and now, he intended to test his hold over her. He took his time to slowly pace around the girls, watching their interaction. Yvonne was dutifully following his commands, keeping her sister’s desires smouldering just below the surface. His newly acquired pet remained mostly still, vacant and docile.
He was very pleased with how she was reacting. Feeling bold and he wanted to test the limits, if any, of his control. He ran his fingertips along her bare neck and she did not pull away from his touch. Her breathing remained unchanged and a mischievous smile crossed his face.
He ordered Yvonne off to the side and spoke to Jacquelyn with a playful edge to his voice, “Turn towards the wall little slayer and see your reflection.”
Jacquelyn obeyed without thought or moment of hesitation. She faced the wall, gazing upon her reflection.
“Gaze at yourself, My little pet. Look upon your reflection. See how deeply you are under my spell. Now, watch how perfectly your body responds to My will.” He whispered softly in her ear. The confidence in his tone apparent.
If any part of her remained aware, she would have seen her features being soft and relaxed. Her expression was calm and her eyes stared ahead but remained unfocused. Her body was still and at ease, her arms hanging loosely down her sides. The Count watched her chest swell with each breath, filling her corset. Although Jacquelyn had caught his attention earlier, he had not been in a position to admire her quite so closely, until now. Her raven black hair draped over her shoulders and his eyes followed it, lapping up the sight of her.
The Count leaned in and let his cool lips softly brush along her neck and down her shoulder. He noted the warmth and softness of her skin. Her delicate musky scent was incredibly inviting. The thought of just biting her, claiming her right now, greatly tempted him. Even the mere idea of tasting her blood caused his lips to tingle and brought an unmistakable tang of blood to his tongue. Despite his impulses, the Count let the temptation subside, he wanted something else from his new pet first. He gently brushed her hair behind her ear and began whispering softly. He continued filling her mind with his words and watched as she nodded slowly, her gaze remained passively locked on her reflection.
The Count took his time to fill her head with his honeyed words. He knew the power of his voice and relished every opportunity to use his gifts. He never tired of watching the young ladies slip under his spell. He liked it almost as much as listening to their soft, quiet voices as they whispered of their devotion to him.
“You are under My spell now.” he whispered into her ear.
The Count looked over to Yvonne and motioned for her to come. He could feel both their minds now and the emptiness pleased him greatly. They were open to him, compliant and now finally, both were his possessions.
Yvonne slipped around behind Jacquelyn and started to unfasten the corset at the Count’s command. He watched for a moment, seeing if his new pet would have any reaction. Jacquelyn remained still, her posture not changing.
The Count stopped Yvonne before she finished, “Slave, I will see to your sister Myself. For now, whisper in her ear and tell her how good it feels to be Mine.”
“Yes, Master!” Yvonne chirped happily.
Yvonne slipped around to Jacquelyn’s left as the Count paced around to her right. He snaked his arm across her thigh, which sent a little shudder through Jacquelyn’s core. Yvonne’s hands gently caressed slowly up Jacquelyn’s back. Jacquelyn let out a small half moan, her body just quivering slightly. The Count cast his eyes down the front of her corset. He watched as her chest swelled and shrank away from the corset in shallow breaths. Every time she breathed out, he could see the curve of her breasts, her nipples tantalising close to being revealed.
The Count and Yvonne were whispering in tandem, invading deeper into Jacquelyn’s mind.
“Relax, sister, Master wants you to sink…” Yvonne whispered huskily.
“Yes, surrender to My control pet, relax deeper…” He cooed in her ear.
“Yes, dear sister, obey Master. We are His slaves; it is pleasure to obey Him…” Yvonne’s voice was barely above a whisper in Jacquelyn’s ear but the Count had little doubt that she heard it, as Jacquelyn’s head rolled back a little and her eyes fluttered.
He continued with his soft touches. His fingers slid smoothly over her skin near flawless skin, running his fingertips slow and gentle down her cleavage. Jacquelyn’s breathing became shallower as she panted more heavily, the Count’s fingers now meandering across the top of her right breast.
Bringing his lips to her ear, he blew cool air along her neck, “Relax My little pet, and enjoy My touch.”
His fingers continued downwards, over her breast and across her stomach. He curled his fingers a little and pressed his hand between her legs. She rocked her hips forward and pressed herself against his soft touches. The Count watched her back arch and chest thrust out as waves of bliss began assaulting her mind as well as her body.
“Slave, kneel before your Master,” he spoke, beckoning Yvonne. She stopped mid-whisper and turned towards him. He grinned inwardly; he revelled at seeing his domination of the pair. The Count turned his attention back to Jacquelyn. He placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her slightly and pushing her down onto her knees. She knelt next to Yvonne, gazing ahead with glassy eyes. The Count placed one hand upon her head as the other gently cupped her chin. He tilted her head up, allowing his eyes to wander over her face. He took his time, admiring the soft, somewhat stupefied smile that touched her lips.
Gazing into her unfocused eyes he leant in to whisper, “Who is your Master little pet?”
There was hardly any hesitation with her initial response, “You are.”
“I am your, what?” He prompted, wanting to hear Jacquelyn say the title he desired.
“You are my Ma…mast…no…” Yet she did not finish the sentence as her voice trailed off.
The Count’s expression darkened as Jacquelyn’s stubborn resistance re-emerged. He had thought it to be gone, yet it still remained seemingly anchored soul deep. To break that last barrier, to get her to call him Master and submit completely was an infuriating task, yet, one he would not let best him.
“Slave! Chant your obedience to Me!” He commanded sharply and Yvonne quickly scrambled to obey.
“Yes, Master! Yvonne squeaked in surprise and began to chant.
Count De’Lu Carla is our Master. We are His slaves. It is pleasure to obey Him. We will do as He commands.” As Yvonne chanted, the Count turned his attention back to Jacquelyn. He moved his hands to her shoulders and gripped firmly as he poured his sweet voice into her ear.
“Listen to your sister. You desire to become just like her. Listen to how happy she is, how untroubled and certain she sounds. Do not deny yourself those same joys. Why not give in a little to them? Chant along with her; let those familiar words touch your lips. I already know they are echoing in your mind as soon as you hear them spoken.” Jacquelyn’s lips moved, silently mouthing the words. It was a small victory, but the Count still needed to her speak aloud.
“You have had a little taste of how I can make you feel. It is such a wondrous feeling. Focus on all those feelings of pleasure I provide. Think upon how you shiver in delight at My merest touch. How My words speak to you like no others. Let me fill your mind with all these thoughts, let the pleasure pour through you, the joy and the deep seated feeling of contentment well up from within you.” He whispered to her in a voice that was soft, alluring and enticing.
“Now, My little pet, who am I?” He spoke with a slightly harder edge to his voice.
“You ar…areeee…my…” She paused.
“you are mas……you mm-onster…” Jacquelyn whispered in reply without any inclination in her voice.
The Count’s body tensed for an instant and then relaxed a fraction. His hand clenched and shook as he struggled to compose himself. He was refined, a creature of the night that used guile and charm to trap his prey. The thrill of the hunt is what drove him. To trap and ensnare, captivating his victims. Willing them to give themselves over to him. That is how it had always been. Yet, her resistance was stubborn and infuriating and it mocked him again! Seldom before had any troubled him as she did. Suddenly, the animal, the hunger inside him surged and he pulled Jacquelyn up by her neck, slamming her against the mirrored wall. Her body was unresisting in his hands even as the wall shuddered from the impact.
He pressed in close to her body, titling her head and exposing her neck. Her sweet scent tempted him, it deepened his hunger. The all consuming desire of his nature compelled him to sink his fangs deeply into her soft and inviting skin. He dearly desired the sensation upon his lips, the sweet tang as her blood trickled down his fangs. He could feel his lips numbing as deep inside, the need for her blood grew. In an instant, another notch of his self control disappeared and his hunger, the need, the animal exploded forth. He wanted to drink in the metallic taste of her. He could feel the animalistic compulsions taking control.
He pressed Jacquelyn to the wall, pinning her with his body. The bloodlust was taking hold. He could think of nothing else but to ravage her, to drink deeply at her neck. He needed it. It was beyond thought, desires and want. It was primal, to consume, feed and sate the hunger. Nothing else existed except to feed on her flesh and blood. The imagined taste of her danced upon his tongue and tempted and seduced him beyond words. Jacquelyn ceased to be human, a woman. She was now just prey, meat, trapped and ready to be consumed.
The sounds of half moans catching in her throat only frenzied the animal inside. He did not even notice the way her body shuddered and writhed against his own. He ran his fangs along her neck, so close to biting, sinking into her warm and yielding flesh. The sound of her heart beat pounded loudly. Pulsing delicately under the sharp tip of his fangs. Her smell filled his senses as it fragranced the air clinging around her body. She personified arousal and temptation. Her body flushed with warmth and her chest rose and fell quickly as she panted. The Count pressed his hand against her chest and was a mere breath from sinking his fangs into her neck.
Suddenly, his mind snapped, wresting control from the animal. He was assaulted with sensations and awareness. The cold realisation dawned upon him and he drew back, letting his fangs rake her neck as he did. Jacquelyn quivered a little as she slid down the wall, her legs no longer able to hold her up. As the Count stepped back, he could see her trembling hand clutching a wooden stake, taken from the belt on her thigh. He had nearly paid the price for his over-confidence. The bindings that he used to tie down her fight and fury were close to breaking. He was suddenly confronted with the cold reality, that he was precariously close to her self preservation fighting back to protect her. This was a prospect he did not relish facing down, as toying with her had already cost him greatly.
The buzz diffused through him slowly as he recomposed himself. He watched her, the tang in his mouth still there, despite not drawing her blood. Her breathing was shallow, almost panting, the experience clearly aroused her. Despite forcing some part of her to almost break free, she remained slumped against the wall, her eyes cast downwards. Drawing up her chin and bringing her gaze to meet his, the Count saw a difference in her eyes now. No longer did Jacquelyn vacantly stare past him, but rather, her glassy eyes were now focused intently upon him.
The Count pondered for some long moments, thoughts racing through his mind in a flurry. He returned his attention to her when there was a pause in his thoughts. Jacquelyn continued to stare at him, that small fire still burning in her eyes, her hand still holding the stake. He did not want to chance advancing on her. Her resistance was still smouldering below the surface. The Count met her gaze and pushed into her mind. He watched her eyes as his words echoed in her head, compelling her to let go again. He pushed hard, blanketing his will around hers tightly, as one would put out a smouldering fire. Forcing himself into every crevice, smothering out every breath her resistance needed to survive. It surprised him how much effort he had to use to force her back down into a compliant state.
Gradually, her eyes become unfocused and she once against stared past him. He held her there for a few moments longer, as he again fought back his rage. She had proven to be such a stubborn thing, resisting him at every opportunity.
“Rise, Now.” The Count commanded.
Jacquelyn gazed vacantly at him and there was a long pause as she remained slumped. The Count maintained his gaze, but his frustrations were starting to get to him. His fist clenched again, but Jacquelyn slowly rose to her feet. He watched her carefully as she stood before him again, her breathing calm. Her arms hung loosely by her sides, yet she still held onto the stake. Despite her now docile appearance, the Count could take few chances with the slayer. He slowly and carefully relieved her of the weapon. Jacquelyn did not react, she remained passive and relaxed.
The Count struggled with himself now, as different aspects were in conflict. His bruised ego and pride were feeding his instinct, the animal hunger. The thought of her being fresh meat, as something to enjoy on a most primal level, was hard to discount. She was helpless and defenceless now. He could easily take her, ravage her, defile and feed. To rip away her clothing and rake her bare, warm flesh. Bare his fangs and sink into her and taste her blood, her fear and hear her cries of pain. He just wanted to break her completely. Shattering her mind, bending her will and force her until near breaking. Taking every part of her and smashing it to the core, then he could reshape her in any way he desired. To knit her mind back together in his image of perfection, to have her realise her proper place. To penetrate her body and mind so completely, breaking her and leaving nothing but an empty shell. A marionette without anything else left behind. They were all wonderfully delicious thoughts.
Yet, his careful side, intellect and guile, knew her value. It would only be a matter of time before she surrendered. He had already subdued her to this point. It would not be long before she craved to surrender to him completely. He thought about continuing his subtle approach, using her own temptations against her. The thought of turning her desires into his most powerful weapon against her. To make her feel the compulsions, the irresistible desires and urges to confess to her deepest and darkest desires.
He thought about using these fantasies to undermine her resistance and her sense of self. The satisfaction of watching her squirm and blush, trying to keep her thoughts away from such things, but being unable to escape them. He could guide her down into submission, breaking one barrier each time, until she realises that she has lost too much of herself. Realising at that point, she no longer wants to fight him. That deep sense of satisfaction knowing he has her wrapped around his finger, wriggling and curling her toes to each one of this commands. To finally see her, become so desperate for deeper submission, that she throws herself on her knees before him and begs to be claimed.
He threw her stake to the ground and spun around to bark at Yvonne, “Slave, fetch Me some wine! Your sister is slightly…vexing.”
Even though there was a recent flurry of action, Yvonne had remained upon her knees, chanting as she was previously ordered. The command from the Count struck her and she was abruptly shaken from her mindless stupor. She was disorientated for a moment and blinked away the fog in her mind.
“Yes, Master!” She squeaked and skittered off down the corridor.
His face contorted into a slight snarl as he snorted and turned his attention back to Jacquelyn.
“Now, little slayer. Just how to break you?” He asked rhetorically to himself.
It was a good length of time before the Count moved again. He had sat there, staring at the entranced girl, his hands clutching and releasing, deep in thought. Eventually he lunged to his feet and strode up to Jacquelyn. He took her chin and leant in, “Stay here little slayer. I am going to see where My slave has gone with My wine. You can think about how I am going to claim your mind and body, when I return.”
He turned and left, taking the same route as Yvonne. Jacquelyn was left alone now, standing still and at attention. Her body still relaxed as her chest rose and fell with each breath. If there was any internal struggle within her, some piece of her trying to break his hold, it did not show. Faint echoes sounded through the corridor. Were there any part of her mind still aware, the sounds of approaching footsteps would have filled her with a sense of dread.
Versar and Anello might have been thought of as an odd pairing. Anello was stocky and relatively short in stature. He took great pride in his waxed moustache, as it was shaped and styled to follow the rolls of his mouth and twisted into little slight curls at the ends. He clutched his cane close to his body, seemingly uneasy with the surroundings of the manor. Versar was by stark contrast, a lean, tall and less polished man. He wore many scars on his face, evidence that the manner in which in lived was not the most conducive to a long life. It was one of the reasons he revelled in his immortality.
“Are you quite sure that he was at this ball Versar?” Anello whispered in a concerned tone.
“Yes, I am sure. Do not get your knickers in a knot. My last source was in no state to lie to me when she told me where he had travelled.” Versar replied gruffly.
He and Anello had formed an unlikely alliance as they had travelled from the East, hunting a particular vampire.
“I can assure you, I am very composed!” Anello spoke in a slightly wounded tone. “I just want to be done with this scheming knave. What self respecting kin of ours would adopt such a name as ‘De’Lu Carla’?” he almost lamented.
“One who out-smarted you and made off with a large amount of your fortune, ousted you from your comfortable surroundings and exposed you as a vampire” Versar quipped.
‘Well, perhaps so. Yet, I do not have any scars of him almost ending my existence, now do I?’ Thought Anello, but he lacked the courage to speak the words.
The pair of vampires had slipped away from the ball as it was winding down for the evening. They quietly stalked through the corridors and hallways of the manor, searching for any sign of their rival. The mutual desire to enact vengeance upon him was their only shared bond. The tension between the two grew as their search had progressed. They bickered and took petty swipes at each other as they entered a corridor with large windows, facing out towards the gardens. A lone figure in the corridor caught their attention as they entered. She stood there, rather undressed and Anello quickly averted his eyes, turning his head away.
“Frightfully sorry milady! We did not mean to interrupt you.” He stammered, being completely abashed.
Versar gave a snort and pulled him around by the collar, “That little harlot will not mind you filling your eyes with her figure. Go on and look.”
Despite his own sense of being a proper gentleman, Anello cast his eyes towards the lady again. It was only now that he noticed that she had not reacted to their appearance. She stood there, still and dressed in only her under-garments.
Versar had suspicions as to what had happened to this little harlot. He cautiously approached her with Anello in tow, taking careful note of the surroundings. As they neared, he could see the unmistakeable signs of her enthrallment. He cast his gaze over her and his hunger grew. Warm and soft flesh, ready to be taken right then and there, she was extremely tempting. He leaned in and took his time to gaze down her corset as he gently sniffed her.
His expression soured as he sampled her scent, “The harlot reeks of him!” Versar spat.
“Do you think our presence has frightened him away? I do not think he is the type to leave a lady in this state.” Anello asked, the tones of worry rising in his voice.
“I would not leave one quite so…appetising unattended for long. Go rummage through her mind. Find out where our ‘friend’ is skunking around, since it is your speciality.” Versar snidely remarked to his unlikely ally.
Anello crinkled his nose at that distasteful comment but still approached the lady and focused on slipping into her mind. “Terribly sorry milady, I do not normally do this upon first encounters. I am really rather gentle and try my upmost to…oh…oh my!” He stammered as he started to show signs of embarrassment.
“What is it now Anello? Where did he go?” Versar asked impatiently.
“She is…she…he is ravaging her! It is the only thing in her mind! She is seeing it over and over… He…he wants to…” Anello managed to gasp before being cut off.
“Where I went is not your concern.” The Count’s voice boomed from behind them in a cold tone.
The pair whirled around and Anello drew out a silver blade that was hidden in the shaft of his cane. Versar’s body tensed up as he readied himself for a fight. The Count, remained unmoving, he betrayed little reaction as he stood there. “Du’lu Carla is it now?” Versar spat. “You know why we are here.”
The Count did not reply, remaining silent, eyeing the pair. His shoulders dropped as he sighed, looking reluctant to engage the pair. In a sudden flash of movement, he charged Anello, tearing at him with inhuman strength.
The Count wasted little time in advancing upon the closest vampire. Unlike before where he was toying with Jacquelyn, he had little concerns about preserving these two. Anello lunged forward, shifting his body to give the most reach to his strike at the Count. Unfortunately for him, the blade lacked the length of a rapier and the Count’s speed was greatly underestimated. The Count’s reflexes were razor sharp as he deftly arched sideways and brought up his arm, avoiding a thrust from the blade.
The Count’s expression twisted into a vicious snarl as the blade passed beneath his arm. He leapt forward, pinning the hand of the stocky vampire underneath his arm and snapped around, jarring the blade from his hand. Not content to merely disarm his opponent, the Count continued his spin, easily snapping Anello's wrist. Anello gave out a cry, but this paled in comparison to the scream he let out when the Count finally followed through. The Count held fast to the podgy vampire’s arm, preventing him from twisting his arm to recoil from the pain. As his momentum carried through, the Count struck the vampire’s elbow with great force. The sound of it breaking, echoing loudly throughout the room.
The Count released the vampire’s now useless arm and grabbed his throat. He ruthlessly used his great strength to crush the life out of the struggling vampire. His screams were quickly muted into rasping, desperate gasps and garbled noises.
The sudden assault by the Count had taken Versar by surprise. He was fortunate that he was not the first target and lunged reactively to the side. He watched as the Count swiftly disarmed Anello and decided to act fast to take advantage of the opening in the Count’s defences. Versar reached into his long coat and wrapped a length of chain around his gloved hand. He clenched his gloved hand and sprang towards the Count in an attack, coming from the side. There was only an instant for the Count to react to this new attack.
Pivoting quickly, the Count moved to face his attacker. Had he more time, he would have thrown the struggling vampire at this assailant, but instead he was forced to release his hold. Despite his reflexes and angling his body to absorb the impact, the fist struck with considerable force. The Count let out an audible grunt as he spun with the impact, covering his face where he was hit. He reeled back and felt his face starting to burn. His skin blistered and throbbed, his face was testament to the intentions of the vampires. They were using silver, something for which his kind had little love. They were obviously hunting him. There would be no mercy. Nor would any be given.
“You must be losing your edge. You were barely able to best Anello there and he is definitely not a fighter. A wench could fight better than you!” Versar goaded as he made a small leap over Anello to once again attack. Although Versar sought to press his advantage, he underestimated the Count once again. This realisation dawned in his mind an instant before he watched helplessly as the Count anticipated his move and kicked. The force of the kick struck Versar squarely in the chest and sent him careening into the wall a few short feet from where Jacquelyn stood. Despite the melee in front of her, she did not react. She remained still, her breathing unchanged, unfocused eyes just passively watching the scene before her.
Charging forward, the Count slammed Versar up against the wall, the impact shattering the mirror. A chorus of cracking glass sounded as the Count pinned Versar’s neck with his right forearm. The mirror’s surface was broken, tendrils like cracks snaked across the surface. Try as he may, Versar could not break the hold, nor could he gain enough leverage to strike at the Count. Crushing his throat, the Count’s brow was furrowed in a cruel snarl as he retorted to Versar. “How many of those wenches did you bed you after my improvements to your appearance?”
The Count continued to put increasing force upon his neck, taking almost perverse delight in the slowness in which it was taking to kill the vampire.
There was a cry from behind the Count and before he could turn, he felt a sharp pain bite into his back on the left side. The blow stabbed into him, but did not penetrate as it struck the mail beneath his attire. His habit of wearing the heavy chain mail had greatly proved its worth. Anello had tried to strike at the Count, having recovered his blade, but he lacked any real strength in his left arm. The Count reacted by pivoting and grabbing out at the wrist of his attacker, bringing his right arm away from Versar to grab at the weapon. The edge of the blade sliced cleanly into the Count’s hand and he pulled it away sharply. The pain of the cut bit sharply, but this paled to the burning and blistering of his skin as the silver scorched his flesh. The burning quickly turned into numbness and the Count could feel his hand losing its strength. His hand shook as he tried to control the blade with his right hand as the numbing pain spread up his arm. The Count twisted the blade out of Anello’s hand, ripping it from his grasp.
Turning it to lunge toward Anello the Count plunged the blade into the base of his neck. There were only a few gurgling, choked gasps as he pulled the blade back and the vampire fell to the ground. The Count held onto the blade uneasily and turned to stare down Versar.
While the Count was distracted by Anello’s attack, Versar scrambled to find an advantage. The half naked girl was still standing there, oblivious to the skirmish unfolding before her. He could only assume that she must have held some value to the Count and could be his leverage. Springing up, he dashed over, grabbing her roughly as he held her as a barrier between himself and the Count. Versar watched in distress as Anello fell to the tiled floor, his body weakly twitching. Fumbling for a moment, Versar pulled out his thumb claw and pressed it into the neck of the girl. The claw stretched over his thumb, curving around into a sharpened spike, its tip threatening to puncture her artery with the slightest shift in pressure. “Not one step closer or the harlot bleeds.” He threatened, trying to maintain a level tone.
The Count drew himself up, his left hand tensing up as he gripped the blade. He could feel the stinging numbness creeping further up his other arm. Not only were they using silver weapons, but they had applied a poison, making sure even little cuts were far more weakening and strength sapping than normal. The Count fumed about being forced into this position. Control was everything to him and any loss of it was a weakness. And now, this insolent wretch had the audacity to try and control him and his pet. A small knowing grin touched the Count’s mouth as he reigned in the animal. Truly, the fool did not know the value of his leverage. The vampire continued to sprout his demands, but the Count had ceased to listen. His thoughts were instead focused upon his little prize. He worked to loosen the ties that bound her mind. Although not the perfect time to undo his careful work, it had become necessary.
After some long moments of tense silence, Versar reissued his demand. The Count’s silence had added to his feeling of insecurity. Versar suppressed a shiver as a cold chill took hold within him as he watched a sly grin creep onto the face of his adversary. Panic started to crawl at him, even as he more desperately clung to the girl. “Do you hear me?!” He threatened towards the Count, mustering what courage remained. Versar watched as there was no reaction to his threat. The fear inside grew as he desperately tried to fortify his position by acting upon his threat. As he stared down the Count, he drew the claw purposefully down the girl’s shoulder. He could feel her shiver in his grip and she started making small noises of pleasure. Her reaction shocked him and disturbed him in the same instant. Forcing himself to mask his reactions, he raked the claw along her shoulder, drawing blood. “See, the little harlot likes it.” His words dripped with vileness.
The Count watched on as Versar threatened and postulated himself. His attention was focused upon the face of his little pet. Her eyes were fluttering and unfocused as he slowly loosened the strings in her mind. When he was done, the Count grinned as he nudged her mind into attacking Versar. Despite loosening the binds that held her mind, his prize was still lost in the fragmented thoughts of him. Reality and fantasy so blended that she had yet little awareness of her situation. The Count watched on as Versar ran his claw along her shoulder and she softly whimpered, wanting more. “See, the little harlot likes it.” Spoke Versar as he drew blood with the claw. The Count watched as Jacquelyn blinked and her eyes instantly snapped back into being focused and locked upon him. She stared coldly at the Count for only a fraction of a moment, but The Count could see the hard edge within her.
Jacquelyn snapped back into awareness when she felt the sharp pain of the claw cutting into her shoulder. She saw the Count as her thoughts came flooding back into her mind. Rage and anger ignited within, but she held it. She purposely stared at him for a moment, not reacting. Taking in everything, using all her senses. Assessing the situation and keeping still, till she decided what to do.
Her reaction was swift and brutal. Suddenly rearing her head back, Jacquelyn brought her hand up to grab the vampire’s wrist as the top of her head smashed his nose. Instinctively Versar reeled back, trying to pull his hand free of Jacquelyn’s grip. Pivoting, she swung around, her left elbow stuck into his side, knocking his breath from him and also forcing him off balance. Versar reached out and clamped onto her shoulder, desperate to gain balance.
Jacquelyn winced and bit back a cry as his fingers dug into her shoulder. She ripped her hand away from his clawed hand, pulling the claw away from this thumb and in a single movement, twisted herself around, getting behind him and exposing his left arm as he continued to cling to her shoulder. She swung around her right arm and drove the claw into his elbow with devastating effects. The vampire’s grip fell away and he cried out, cursing her. Jacquelyn pressed her advantage, springing upon Versar and wrapping herself around him from behind, trying to immobilise him while she grabbed a stake.
Her hand flew to her thigh and desperately felt for weapons, only to have a horrifying memory emerge as her hand ran across her bare thigh. She recalled standing in front of the mirrored wall and feeling His hands snaking up her thighs. He was whispering into her ear and holding her mind, but His hands were slipping off the strap that held her slaying tools. In that moment, Jacquelyn felt a mixture of emotions. Part of her seethed in anger and disgust and yet, another part of her wanted it, shivered in delight at the memory. Pulling herself out of the memory, she glared at the Count. She could see his smug smile, watching her doing exactly as he wanted. Yet, Jacquelyn also noticed the slackness in his posture and the way he held the blade. He was injured.
“Give me the blade!” Jacquelyn ordered of the Count.
His expression changed to a scowl but he did not move. Jacquelyn could feel the vampire in her grasp trying to gain leverage to break free.
“Damn you! Help me!” She cried out in spite.
Versar finally managed to struggle one arm free from Jacquelyn’s grip and tried to make a grab for her. She tore out the claw from his elbow and leapt off, kicking Versar forward towards the Count. Neither the Count nor Versar had expected this and they half fumbled into a melee. They both were weakened by their afflictions and Jacquelyn held back, watching as they almost danced defensively around each other. It gave her a perverse satisfaction to see the Count at a hopeless disadvantage, yet, part of her yearned to jump in and aid him. It took considerable effort for Jacquelyn to remain still and not intervene.
The Count’s body trembled as the effects of the poison continued. Even maintaining his grip on the blade was becoming difficult. It had become a stalemate, he did not want to risk exposing himself to an attack and neither did Versar. Both were aware that the victor would have to fight with Jacquelyn, who now held the advantage over the pair. The Count knew his strength was fading and he was faced with the cold mathematics. He had to act now while he had some strength or wait for a better opportunity, when it may be too late.
The Count lunged forward and thrust with the blade, forcing Versar to jump to the side to avoid it. In a flash, Versar launched out with his own hand and grabbed the wrist of the Count, whose reactions were greatly slowed. The Count grimaced and swung at Versar’s injured elbow. The Count’s blow connected, but more weakly than he had anticipated and it only enraged his opponent. Versar adjusted his grip on the Count’s wrist and advanced, pinning the Count’s arm under his own. He snarled at the Count and grinned evilly as he painfully twisted the Count’s wrist, forcing the point of the blade back towards the Count’s chest.
The Count’s arm shook as he tried to find the strength to break free. He watched as the blade inched closer, as the two struggled against each other. The tip of the blade slowly began to press hard against the Count’s chest and he could feel his arm rapidly losing strength. He tried to pull his other arm free to give himself more strength, but he could not. The sharp tip of the blade dug into his flesh and he cursed Versar. The other vampire was a grinning devil as he gleefully watched and shifted more of his weight behind the blade. It was now only a matter of time, the Count no longer had the strength to fight him directly.
Suddenly, the Count felt the pressure lift and he heard a snap. Versar’s body slackened and suddenly lurched backwards onto the floor in front of him, limp. The Count saw Jacquelyn had attacked from behind. A grin returned to his face, his gambit had played off.
"I knew you would defend your Master." He almost self congratulated.
Jacquelyn snarled at him, part of her did wonder if she should finish the Count right then and there. Instead, she ripped the blade from the Count’s grasp, trying to cause him as much discomfort as she could and turned to Versar’s still form. Better the devil she knew than the one she did not.
The Count was taken back by the brutality he witnessed from the girl as she drove the silver blade deep into Versar’s chest. He pulled himself to his feet with great effort and marvelled at Jacquelyn's behind as she viciously twisted the knife into the vampire's heart. There was an almost savage grace to her movements. Her heart beat so loud, that it was like a drum beat to the Count. He leaned in close behind her, took a moment to centre himself and grabbed her shoulder. Jacquelyn tensed up, but before she could react, he reached out with his mind and his words.
With all the will he had left in him, he began to rein her mind back under his control. The two were locked in a mental battle as their bodies remained still, betraying nothing of the struggle underneath for control. Jacquelyn's grip on the blade remained strong, as the Count held her fast, forcing his will upon her. Jacquelyn's mind began to slip back, fighting every step of the way and it was exhausting the Count. His wounds were taking their toll. The sharp numbing pain stabbed at the Count and he weakened for a moment, allowing Jacquelyn to pull the blade from Versar's body. Slowly, Jacquelyn pivoted and faced the Count. He stared into her eyes and could see the fire, the rage and the anger. Despite all his confidence, doubt penetrated him, but his ego would not allow it to breach his voice.
Taking in a deep breath, the Count drew himself up and pushed hard, putting everything into mustering the will to hopefully put enough force behind his last assault.
Staring hard into her very soul, he commanded her. “Kneel.”