"Atticus." He didn't turn to look at Merle. He'd known his cousin was there before he had spoken, he'd just been hoping that he would go away. They'd been back in Italy for nearly a week now, the meetings with The Council were well underway. It had been an endless day of pretending to be sane, pretending to be something that he wasn't and he was exhausted.

"What is it?" he inquired without turning away from the night.

He could hear the ocean crashing against the rocks of the cliff just below his villa but he didn't bother to look down at the water. The night appeared as bleak as he felt as he lifted the goblet to his mouth. He didn't bother with wine anymore, the alcohol may have helped to ease him the last time that he'd been separated from Genny, but she'd still been alive then. Now he needed a clear head. Though he had tried to lose himself to the alcohol while onboard the ship one night, he'd discovered that no matter how much of it he consumed, the wine did nothing for him anymore and he was unable to taste it.

Now the viscous liquid that pooled down his throat was blood from the human servant he had bled for it earlier. A part of him knew that Genny wouldn't approve of what he was becoming even if he had managed to refrain from killing the woman, but he had no control over the part of himself that needed the blood anymore.

Time was supposed to heal, he found himself being sucked deeper into the dreary abyss of nothing that had become his soul. The gaping hole within him was growing; the madness ate at his mind as relentlessly as the waves battered the rocks on shore. Blood was the only thing that helped to ease it even a little; vengeance was the only thing that he craved.

"Silas has sent a messenger," Merle replied.

He lifted the goblet and took another long swallow. Blood was the only thing he could taste anymore and though it wasn't sweet or even spicy like he remembered it tasting before, the acrid taste of it was at least something. Just being able to taste anything made him feel a little more like the man he'd once been.

"What does he say?" Atticus inquired.

"He'd like to know if you wish to postpone the wedding, given the death of your father."

"No."

He listened as Merle stepped into the room and closed the door. "This may be your chance to get out of this marriage now."

"Why would I want to do that?"

Before Merle could approach his chair, Atticus finally turned to look at him. His cousin's blue eyes were filled with concern as he held his hands helplessly before him. "It's clear to me that you're still grieving Genny. I know this marriage was never what you wanted."

"It is now," Atticus said flatly.

Merle frowned in confusion. "Why?"

"It is a good match."

His cousin stared at him before shaking his head. He dropped it down to run his hand through his disheveled hair. "Are you sure about this?"

"The alliance is a strong one." And one he would need in the future. "I'd be a fool to turn it down."

Merle hesitated before shaking his head. "Put it off Atticus; give yourself time to move on…"

"I will never move on, Merle." It was the first time he'd admitted that to his cousin, and he immediately regretted the words but annoyance festered inside of him at Merle's insistent words. "I will fulfill my duties and be done with it." It was a lie but that was best kept to himself.

He turned in the chair and drank down the rest of the blood within the goblet. Merle stood behind him for a minute more before finally leaving the room again. By not postponing the wedding, he would be wed again at the end of next week. Only, to him, this one wouldn't count.

***

October 1, 1050

My dearest Genny,

Yesterday I married a woman that I want nothing to do with, but I forced myself through the ceremony. I didn't cringe or walk away when I kissed her and though my stomach turned when I inhaled her lilac scent, I kept my hand on her arm when we turned to face the small crowd. She's nothing like you Genny, that is a good thing though. If she reminded me of you in any way I'm not sure I could do what must be done.

Atticus put the quill down and stared around the room he had shared with Anna last night. She was still in the bed, buried beneath the mound of blankets. The most beautiful woman in the world was lying in his bed and yet it did nothing to arouse him. He simply sat and stared at her, wishing that she was someone else entirely, and that he had rethought his decision to walk out of the fire that had killed his father.

His thoughts drifted back to last night, when they had finally retreated from the celebration to this room. Anna's apprehension and shyness had been evident and though she was only a stepping-stone in his plans, he wasn't about to force himself on her, mainly because the idea of having sex with her was entirely repulsive to him. There had been no other women since Genny and if he'd been able to, he would have preferred to keep it that way for the rest of his life. That wasn't going to be possible though, not if he was going to have children, not if he was going to rise in power.

Anna stared at him last night as if he were about to launch himself at her, but he didn't even bother to touch her as she stood ringing her hands and trembling by the bed. Her dread was the exact opposite of Genny's fervor for him; he had to fight the urge to sneer at her as she watched him pour himself some blood. He kept that disgusted part of himself suppressed though, he was growing increasingly capable of wearing a mask that the rest of the world thought was his true face.

"I've never done this…" she began to stammer.

"I understand," he interrupted briskly and downed the blood. He truly wished that alcohol still did something for him, he would be nearly passed out by now if it did. The last thing he wanted to be was completely sober when he touched her, but he no longer had that choice.

Placing the goblet down, he turned back to her. She'd taken her hair down so that the golden tresses curled around her sensuous face. The candlelight caused the chemise she wore to be see through in some areas but his gaze didn't stay on her.

He focused on the wall behind her head. "This doesn't have to happen tonight."

"It doesn't?" she squeaked eagerly.

Even the sound of her voice grated on his nerves but he managed to smile at her. The smile felt forced to him but he'd worn it often lately and they all seemed to fall for it as they always smiled back at him. "No. We can get to know each other better first."

Her shoulders slumped; relief filled her features as for the first time she smiled at him. "I would like that very much."

He wondered if it was because he was handsome that he was able to put her at ease so quickly. His pretty face hid the worms of insanity within his mind; she would have run screaming from him if she knew his inner workings. Instead, she only smiled brighter as she sat on the bed.

"I didn't know what to expect from tonight," she admitted. "Jane told me that it would hurt but that it would be over quickly."

Was she really trying to talk to him? He wondered as he poured himself some more blood. He thought he might prefer to fornicate with her rather than listen to her. There was something about her voice…

It wasn't Genny's and that was all there was to say about it, he admitted to himself. He would have felt sorry for the girl, she was merely a pawn, but there was no sympathy left within him. Not even for the innocent bystander sitting on his bed.

"I suppose you could look at it that way," he finally responded.

"I was sorry to hear about your father."

His hand tightened around the goblet, a shudder ran through him. His fangs lengthened, bloodlust stabbed through him at the reminder of his father. She couldn't know that she was poking the savage beast within, but if she continued to do so he didn't know if he could keep himself under control.

"Thank you," he managed to get out in a somewhat normal tone.

"Are we going to be staying in Italy for awhile? I've never been here before and it's beautiful."

"I think we will," he confirmed. He finished the blood and shrugged off his outer tunic. He dropped it over the back of the chair and blew out the candle on the desk before walking over to the bed. "I'd like to get some sleep; it's been a long day."

"Yes of course," she murmured.

He laid down on the bed and waited for her to settle in beside him. The scent of lilacs caused his nose to wrinkle but he kept his face impassive when she laid down beside him. She tentatively rested her hand upon his chest. Revulsion slid over his skin but he didn't shove her away like he wanted to, instead a small part of him died even more as he wrapped his hand around hers.

It's only for tonight, he reminded himself. Tomorrow she would return to the bedroom that adjoined his, and he would never have to share his bed with her again.

***

Over the next few months, he continued to play nice with his bride. He bought her presents and sat with her every night. He pretended to be interested in her conversation topics even though most of her talk of fashion and gossip amongst their peers bored him to death. It was all she knew though, this world of aristocrats, backstabbing, whispers and wealth that allowed her to lounge about during the day and dance and laugh away the night. She had no knowledge of anything outside of their world and wasn't overly concerned about anyone or anything outside of the aristocratic class.

It didn't make her a bad woman, it did make her about as interesting as a toad though.

At night, they continued to keep their distance. It was an arrangement he was more than content with and that she seemed exceptionally happy with also.

Merle married Jane a month after he married Anna. They had been sent to live in Spain by The Council to keep an eye over the vampire village there. Due to the fact that Germany and now England were off limits to vampires, the villages in the other countries had increased in size. Which also increased the vampires' risks of being discovered. The Council had ordered a higher number of nobles to keep watch and enforce the rules in these areas. They were there to make sure that another raid didn't occur, especially since no one could figure out what had triggered the humans in England.

It was the first time, since Merle had been born, that they'd been separated for more than a week. At one point he would have dreaded it, now it was a relief. He hated the way Merle watched him now, hated the sympathy and understanding he saw in his cousin's gaze. He was glad Merle was gone; it was much easier to get through the day without the constant presence of someone that had known how happy he'd been with Genny. Though his cousin thought him merely a heartbroken fool, if anyone could figure out the truth it would be Merle. If that happened, terror would replace the pity in his cousin's gaze.

Atticus took off his mantle and dropped it over the chair beside his desk table. His gaze drifted to the quill and parchment sitting there, waiting for him. This was the only time of the day when he actually felt any kind of excitement, the only time he looked forward to. When he sat down to write it was almost as if he were talking to Genny again. Almost as if she was standing behind him, with her hands on his shoulders and laughing as he kept his words hidden from her, just as she had done to him.

Before he wrote though, he read over her words again. Not all of them at once, like he had on the ship. Now he liked to savor them, to read over her life one week at a time, especially the laughter and happiness at the end of her life. His hand fell to the pocket he'd had sewn inside all of his inner tunics. He pressed the ring against his chest, where his heart would have beat if he'd been human. The press of the cool metal gave him a brief moment of relief from the suffering and turmoil that he lived with every day.

The scent of lilacs assailed him; annoyance shimmered through him as his head turned toward where Anna stood in the doorway. This was his time with Genny and she was intruding upon it. His teeth ground together so fiercely that he thought they might shatter. It took everything he had not to storm over to her, shove her out of the room and slam the door in her face.

Instead, he forced a smile to his face, one that seemed grim to him but she returned it. "I want to thank you… for these months," she elaborated when he remained immobile before her.

"You're welcome."

"I've enjoyed getting to know you better." He didn't know where this was going but a queasy feeling began to churn in his stomach. "And I think… I think I am ready now."

Fire burned in her cheeks before she ducked her head away. Atticus became as still as stone while he stared at her. She was even more beautiful when she was blushing, any man in the world would have been falling all over themselves to get at her. Instead of being turned on, he was as repulsed as he would have been if a thousand maggots were crawling over his flesh.

"I'd like you to come to my bed," she continued when he didn't speak.

That sensation of bugs sliding over his skin increased. "Are you sure?" he managed to get out.

Her blush intensified, it slid down her neck and burned over her arms. "I am."

Every nerve ending was screaming no at him but he found himself saying, "I'll be there in a minute."

He waited until the door between their rooms closed before he turned away and downed the goblet of blood on his desk. His hand wrapped around the ring in his shirt as he strived to gain control of his riotous emotions. He'd known that one day he would have to face this but he still had no idea how he was physically going to get through it. He couldn't picture Genny while he was with Anna; that would be like desecrating her memory and everything they had shared together. But when he thought of anyone else, everything within him seemed to shrivel up like a worm left out to bake in the sun.

There was no way he could put it off though; no way he could deny her. As of now, she thought he stayed away because of her feelings, if she realized it was because he didn't want to be with her, the gossip would start. It would be one thing if he favored men, everyone would already know that. He'd still be expected to produce an heir, but they would understand she wasn't his preference.

They all knew he liked women though. He'd never had a problem being with any of the women within the clubs, the serving women, or the noble women that had come to his bed. If he didn't do this, they would think him less of a man, unable to lead, weak. The alliances he was building, the power he had gained by marrying Anna in the first place would all be for naught.

He had to get through this, somehow. Reaching into his pocket, he removed the ring from his possession for the first time since he'd exchanged it with Genny. He could not bear to have it in the same room with him and Anna if they were to become intimate. His fingers lingered on the band as he placed it on the desk and turned toward the door. He felt like he was facing his execution but he walked into her bedroom.

***

Atticus snatched the ring off the desk and slid it on before bolting across the room and leaping off of the balcony that overlooked the rocks and ocean below. He half hoped he'd end up smashed against those rocks but he knew fate would never be so kind to him. The air rushed up around him, it whipped at his hair and tore at the clothes he had tugged back on when he'd finished with Anna. He welcomed the pain as it stung his skin but it wasn't enough, it wasn't nearly enough to drown out the anguish inside of him.

His arms were down at his sides when his feet plunged into the water below. The briny ocean rushed into his mouth and up his nose. It plummeted over his head and beat against his body. He allowed himself to be caught up in the waves, allowed them to pound and ruthlessly batter against him.

Keeping his eyes open, he watched as the murky waves rolled over top of him, spinning him around as they pushed and pulled him about. He didn't fight against them, didn't try to get back to the surface of the water. The sea would decide where he would end up, he didn't have to breathe, and right now all he wanted was to be beaten and pummeled by the ocean.

He was spun around so that he caught a brief glimpse of the blurry moon shining in the sky through the water above his head. His feet caught on something, his bare toes curled into the sand as he realized that the waves had carried him to shore. His head popped out of the salty water; he stared up at a sky that was clear without the tumultuous ocean to obscure the view.

Pulling himself upright, he rose to his feet and pushed the straggling strands of wet hair back from his face. The tug and pull of the waves caused his body to sway as they washed in and out of the shore. His fingers curled into a claw-like gesture, he fought the urge to tear his skin from his body, but he lost. Shedding his clothes, he tossed them onto the sandy beach. The water was cool against his bare skin but he found nothing refreshing about it. His hands began to rub vigorously up and down his arms before spreading to his torso and finally his legs in an attempt to scrub the feel of Anna's body from his. Lunacy swirled through his mind as a knot of disgust lodged in his throat.

He continued to scrub and tear at himself but no matter how much he tried, he couldn't rid himself of the feel of her. Nor could he deny that the only way he had been able to touch her was by doing the one thing he'd sworn he wouldn't. He had pictured Genny while he was with her. He'd done everything he could to keep her from entering his mind, but his revulsion of Anna had only grown to the point where he'd almost retreated from the room. The only way he'd felt any kind of arousal was when he brought Genny to the forefront of his mind.

A betrayal, that's what it had been, but he couldn't deny that during that brief time he'd been able to pretend that it really was her. That life was the way that it should have been instead of so hideously wrong. Now it was over and with reality once again upon him, Genny was still gone, and he'd just sullied her memory in order to consummate his hideous sham of a marriage. Self-hatred swamped him; the water running down his skin had become red. He'd scoured himself raw and torn the flesh from his body in some areas but he still felt dirty.

Glancing around the beach, he realized he didn't recognize where he was. There were some villas in the distance, with candles flickering in the windows. The water and blood dripped from his body as he emerged from the sea and gathered his clothes. He dressed again before making his way down the beach. He didn't know if he was heading in the right direction and he didn't care. He didn't even care about the irritating grains of sand that rubbed against his healing skin and stuck annoyingly to his flesh.

He'd gone about a mile down the beach before coming across two human peasant girls. Their clothing was dirty and disheveled, their hair was pinned on top of their heads but strands of it had straggled down to frame their faces. They appeared to have just gotten off of work.

"Excuse me sir, is all alright?" the small blond asked him.

Atticus stood and stared at them as he tried to sort through the chaotic thoughts swirling through his brain. The insanity that had been whispering at the edges of his mind over the past few months called even louder to him now. He'd been keeping it under control but he could feel the unraveling within him even more strongly tonight.

"Sir?" the small brunette squeaked. "Do you need assistance sir?"

His hands fisted as he glanced back and forth between them. "Can we help you sir?" the other one asked.

The last little bit of his sanity unraveled as his finger touched upon the gold band on his finger. "Oh yes, you can help me," he said in a low voice.

Again he questioned if it was his pretty face that kept them standing there, looking uncertain and yet unafraid until he was upon them. The brunette was never able to make a sound before he grabbed her by the throat and lifted her off the ground. The blond released a small squeak as he dragged her forward, but it was the only sound she got out before he buried his fangs into the vulnerable flesh of her neck.

Her hands beat ineffectually against him, the brunette's feet kicked uselessly in the air as he drained every ounce of blood from her friend's body. Power seeped into him as her life force rolled down his throat and the madness in his mind was appeased by the blood filling him. To keep the monster at bay, he must do more than feed he realized as the pulse of her heart slowed and finally stopped.

His head fell back as he pulled away from her and let her body drop to the ground. He hadn't killed since that night with Genny, and then he'd been too lost to the rage to feel any kind of release. He felt it now though. Not only did death keep the monster at bay but it also gave him power, power he would need in order to accomplish his goal. The events of tonight had caused him to waver in his ultimate purpose but he would never let that happen again.

The brunette tried to scream, she thrashed in his grasp as he turned his attention to her. Her eyes bulged and her kicking became more frantic. Her fingers tore at his hands enough to cause him to bleed when he smiled to reveal his lengthy canines. "Hideous rodents, all of you," he whispered before pulling her close and sinking his fangs into her throat.

Relief filled him as he drained the blood from her body. Death, it was what he required in order to thrive.

***

December 13th, 1050

My dearest Genny,

The only time I find any sense of peace now is in the few minutes I can lose myself to the blood I spill and the death I create. It's not something I'm proud of but I'm also not ashamed anymore. I simply just am. I guess that's the only way to describe what I have become. Just here.

I get up, I do what I must, and I go to sleep. I think of you, constantly.

I have no concerns about being caught in my new, nightly excursions. It is easy enough to make a body disappear or to make a murder look like it was done by a human. It is the vampires that completely lose themselves to the blood, and become careless, that get caught. I will never allow myself to become like that, I would fail in my mission if I did so. And all that matters anymore is the mission. I don't hunt near my home and even if someone sees me going out, I am allowed to do as I please. I don't pay to kill in the clubs; no one can know that there's even a little bit of a murderer living inside of me. We all know who the killers are amongst us; it is not a secret that is well kept amongst the club patrons.

I've tried to stop killing, but this beast inside of me won't allow me to do so. I can keep it in check but it feels as if I'm swallowing glass if I only try to drink blood from a goblet and do not allow the monster to have its nightly soul. I start to spiral toward what I was the night when you died and that's something that cannot happen again, not with so many around me now. They would know that I AM a monster now and they would put me down.

My ship returned to me today. I didn't ask where Camille finally decided to stay and they didn't tell me. They assured me that she is safe though, that she is well guarded and that she has settled into a home quite nicely. I hope she finds happiness, I know how much you wanted it for her and no matter how lost I am now, it's also what I still want for her.