Liam pulls me to my feet taking me home. I stare at the warm mug of tea.

I clear my throat. "I'm going for a walk."

"Again?" Liam stands with a frown. "It took me 3 hours to get you off the concrete."

I roll my eyes, grabbing my coat. "I'm going alone. Call me if you need me."

"We both know you don't keep that phone on," he grumbled, floating in the air, stretched out, hands folded under his head, eyes closed.

I don't mind him, leaving the brownstone and walking back to the gallery. I know I'm not mistaken. I know what I heard. What I felt.

But he doesn't reappear. Not even as I step into the gallery. Only one woman is there, staring at the painting I'd been standing at. Her fingers on the canvas.

"No touching the display please," I call, approaching her.

"It's beautiful," she whispered. "The only work here that doesn't feature an actual background. Is it from the artist mind do you think?"

Her voice...

"Ah...we can never be sure. It's from the 1800's. This is the only painting by this particular artist." I set my cane down, standing next to her.

She says nothing. People don't much mind my little gallery. I don't care. It's mostly for me, anyway.

She turns to me.

It can't be. She should've died 400 years ago. I would say perhaps they just look alike. But my Eleanor is unmistakable.

"Eleanor," I whisper.

The woman smiles, cocking her head. "You have a timeless beauty sir. Is this your gallery?"

I nod softly. Painting do her no justice. How she has come to be and from whence she came matter not. I am transcended again into the majesty of her beauty and I cannot escape.

I'm sucked in. Transfixed. It's her. No one comes close. No drug, no painting no poem no image.

I want to drink her. My mind is racing. Between wanting to throw her down and bury myself inside her to feast on her blood.

Hold her. Hold her longer than I did the last time I saw her.

"It is," I say finally, smiling. Can she see it? Can she see me? Ah...I hope not.

I pray. Nay. I ought not. My prayers won't be answered.

"Eleanor. Vex me no longer. Why have you appeared here today? Is it to punish me?" I pause.

She looks at the painting. "She looks so sad."

I close my eyes. I would wish for her to flee from me but I am unable. I am unable to want to go away from her, not for a second time.

"Cease this tormenting," I whisper breathlessly. "Who are you. How have you taken the form of my Dearest? What could you wish from me? Money?"

She scoffs. "You look good, Alastair."

She turns around, fur around her neck, long black dress slick on her skin, pearls around her neck.

I pull her back. "You're not leaving are you, Eleanor?"

She glanced back. "Is there something more I can give you?"

I lift my lips. Perhaps I should be upset. She's quoting me, isn't she?

I push her against the painting.

"It's antique," she muses. I reach out, brushing her lips, painted in red. I swipe it, leaving a trail of color.

"So are you," I lean down, inhaling. She doesn't smell human anymore.

Who...who defiled my lovely Eleanor.

"So you found someone to turn you," I muse, kissing her neck. "Him most likely. He's always watched me. I am eternally his prey. And now you grow weary of the years don't you?"

I smirk. "Perhaps it was fun at first. And then...then you became tired. Then you missed the sun. The daylight. People."

She swallows against my lips. I breath out a shuddering breath. To hear her breath again. Perhaps god has no completely forsaken me.

"You understand now," I whisper, my fangs sliding down. "Why I didn't turn you. I did it for the love of you, Eleanor. And now...now it's much too late."

"You have always been such an arrogant prick, Alastair," she says softly. But her hand caressed my face gently.

She does not refute me nor deny me purchase in her touch.

Syws the one. She's the thing I have ever yearned for— wanted. I think I will regret her. I already have. I have spent 400 years regretting her.

Because I couldn't keep her. But thanking God that I ever had her at all.

All in one breath. "But you have come back to me," I ask, bated breath.

Then I remember. I'm not letting her go anyway. Her legs wraps around my waist. I drive her up the wall, my hand next to her head as I lean in and kiss her.

400 years...

How had I gone on without her?

Her lips move against mine desperately with familiarity a dance we've done so many times.

Her tongue clashes with mine, the taste of her addicting, my hands roving her body. All her curves and valleys, this body, soft supple missing it's warmth.

But she feels good. Tastes good. She must be mine. She is. Her nimble fingers make work of my buttons, fangs slipping from her mouth. I lick my lips.

It is a curse, yes. But does it look so good on her? Fuck... Yes.

Her lashes flutter, a smirk lifting at the corner of her lips.

"You are an animal, Alastair. Always have been."

My Eleanor...her hand shoots out lodging between my fangs, forcing my mouth open.

My breathing shudders, my eyes on hers, a whimper leaving my lips.

"Shhh..." she smiles softly. "Be a good boy, Alastair."

I want her so bad. I'm going to come apart at the seams if I cannot indulge in her; I'll simply come undone I know I will.

But she doesn't care my Eleanor my love. She is ruthless. We are two of a kind, after all.

She relinquishes her hold, eventually. Subjecting to me to such intense need, such hunger.

"You are not allowed to go away from me. You are not allowed to leave my sight," I implore her. I demand of her.

She takes no heed to either. Instead she adjusts her fur coat.

"You look hungry, Alstair," she says simply, a simper on her face as she walks away