AN:  Sorry for the wait.  I got distracted by writer's 
block and shiny Buffy cross-overs on FF.Net.  I need help.  
I know.  Of course, I'm writing a BSB fanfic about Vampires.  
We all know I need help.  Shutting up now.

Oh, feedback, I love you all.  
inspiredthoughts@hotmail.com


******** Curiosity Killed... Chapter Thirty-Five ********



"They have been calling your apartment, they worry for you."  

I shrug off what might have passed as concern in Dracula's voice 
as I stare out the window of his French villa at the night sky.  
The stars are lovely and bright, even with the full moon and 
Paris's lights, the stars are the brightest natural things I 
will ever be able to endure again.  

I'm not of Lydia's stock, thank god, but the price of that is 
sunlight and whatever scrap of humanity I might have been able 
to preserve.

"Cat..." a gentle hand edged with the power of steel rests on 
one of my slim shoulders and I resist the urge to twitch away 
the compassion, and warning, that the touch contains.  Dracula's 
patience is very limited; he does not tolerate his minions 
ignoring him, no matter their internal pain.  

"They'll come here eventually, looking for me.  It doesn't 
matter."

"Cat."

I really can't ignore that kind of command.  I turn into 
Dracula's light embrace, and we fit together, my slight height 
folded in his.  I allow him to tilt my weary face up for 
scrutiny by his dark, ageless eyes.  Watch them linger over 
the lines exhaustion has managed to etch around my eyes, 
despite my immortality.  "You're not taking care of yourself."

I sigh, but don't even attempt to deny him, no matter how raw 
my emotional wounds.  "I don't want to feel enough to take care 
of myself.  I don't care."  

"And what grieves you more, Stephen's death or Kevin's 
rejection?"

I look down, away from my Master and Sire's too perceptive gaze.  
It really sucks having the Lord of Darkness in control of your 
life sometimes, especially when he cares enough to pry.  "I 
love... loved Stephen."  

"You love Kevin Richardson as well."  

Yes, thank you for not letting me avoid reiterating that 
particularly painful point.  

"I do," I manage to whisper, strangled.  

Dracula's hold on my chin tightens enough that it would leave 
bruises, if I was still mortal.  If I was still human.  If I 
could still stand under the damn sun, untouched, instead of 
skulking to the shadows like some B movie villain.  

"Whose loss grieves you more?"

I rail at my Lord mentally before replying softly, bitterly, 
"I don't know."  

Dracula's fingers release me and trail up the side of my face 
to trace invisible patterns on my cheek.  "You don't know?" 
comes the mocking answer.  "You, the woman who has everything 
figured out, including how to save your unworthy friends?"  
My head snaps up and Dracula smiles coolly at me, flinty stare 
brittle, but not even I am stupid enough to miss the rage 
burning beneath.  His lingering touch is sinister with this 
new context and I try to control the tremor that runs through 
me in response.  "Good, you still fear and respect me.  I 
wondered how deep your arrogance ran."

And shit.  See, Dracula isn't supposed to know that I had him 
figured well enough to know what he'd offer me, or what he'd 
take in return.  I decided somewhere along the way of my fun 
kidnapping spree that the Backstreet Boys were worth saving and 
since they aren't quite smart enough to figure out how to do it 
themselves, I ended up as reluctant mastermind. 

I'm a Vampire.  The Boys are under Dracula's somewhat more sane 
guidance, and Lydia is about to be cut up into happy little 
revenge sized pieces if I have anything to say about it.  Only, 
Dracula again was never EVER supposed to know that I played him.  
It's a pride thing- trust me.  

I'm kind of batting in the big leagues now with a whole lot of 
lives and there's a hell of a lot, not to mention a visit to 
Hell itself, riding on my answer to the Prince of Darkness's 
accusation.  Hello stress.  Nice to meet you stomach ulcer. So 
I say the first thing that comes to mind because that's so 
always a good idea with me.  

"I'm not complex enough for arrogance to run that deep."  

I hold my breath and wait to be disemboweled. 

The Prince of Darkness waits a breath, crushes me to him, 
throws back his head, and howls with laughter.  "Oh, pet, I 
hope I never have to kill you."  

I'll be the first to second that.

Dracula leans back and looks down upon me fondly, forgetting 
his simmering rage.  "You will not go after Lydia."  

The words, casual but absolute in their meaning, make me pause 
and boldly stare up at my Lord.  I'm pretty good about dancing 
around the rules, even when they're made by the legions of the 
undead, but I don't ignore direct commands, can't.  That way 
leads to pain and very creative torture.  

But I want Lydia.  I want her dead and gone and sent to whatever 
Hell waits for us bloodsuckers.  I have promises to fulfill, both 
to others, and myself, and those promises don't allow Lydia to 
continue down her insane path unscathed.  

Hence my quandary.  

"Catherine..."

I jut my chin out stubbornly.  "She killed Stephen."  

"You will not go after her or your life, and all you have brought 
to me, are forfeit."  

My jaw clenches.  

He taps one cheek and I ignore the gesture, furious.  "Cat."

"She killed Stephen!"

Dracula sighs, the sound resigned, weary with temporary indulgence 
for his newest toy's temper tantrum.  "And I will take care of 
it."  

This surprises me.  Vampires don't get involved with their peers' 
problems.  It just isn't done.  Bloodsuckers tend to live and die 
alone or something poetic along these lines.  "Why?" I demand 
suspiciously.  

A commanding stare pins my own as he leans down, reveling in his 
physical advantage, to whisper, cool breath raising the hairs 
along my nape as his lips brush the cup of one ear, "Because you 
are and always will be mine.  And in killing Stephen Lydia 
destroyed a part of you.  You laugh without heart, pet, and I 
miss the smiles that once reached your eyes.  Lydia has taken 
something from me by hurting you, and she will pay."  Dracula 
pulls back, mouth grim.  "I do not take the flaunting of my 
considerable power lightly."  

No shit Sherlock.  

My Lord kisses my brow gently and leaves me to my brooding 
thoughts, temporarily assured of my allegiance, and my ability 
to please him.  The Backstreet Boys are going to have a lot to 
learn.