“Did you face Coronel Barón in battle?”

He nodded in confirmation. Without thinking the image of that pompous ass on horseback and their brief introduction surfaced.

“Were you the one that ended his life?”

Marc shrugged as best he could. The only clear memory he had of that moment was facing Barón with swords drawn before the mortar before it blew in their faces… They said there was not much left of him…

“Most would choose to lie,” Contessa said.

“Get off me,” Marc demanded.

“No. You will either play nice or this ends now.”

He noticed two of her teeth lengthening into fangs. After remembering that chunk of raw meat on the floor, he understood the source of those puncture wounds.

“I wish I never met you,” Marc said.

“Understandable… ready?”

Marc tried one last time to break free, but she held on tight. If her grip was a bit tighter, she would break one or more of his bones.

He let out all the air from his lungs and said, “Ready…”

“While you’re free of my influence, even a small amount of blood opens your mind to me,” the Contessa replied.

Marc realised that Susanna was letting him know that she could access his thoughts. Did that extend to his memories? The idea bothered him, but what could he do about it? She can dominate me in both mind and body…

“Ready?” Susanna asked.

Marc’s jaw muscles bulged while his eyes burned with fury. She appeared to be indifferent, her smile growing the more he tried to free himself.

She surprised him by kissing his lips softly. Hopeful that this would distract her, Marc tried to use his legs to buck her off, but he may as well have been tied to the rack.

“If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of healing your wound…”

“Why waste your time?”

“You might still end up being dessert… However, I need answers.”

“Then why—”

“Because you needed to be free of my influence,” Susanna said even though her lips remained still. “You would have died, which forced me to use my blood to heal that wound.”

“How—”

As soon as the word ‘remember’ was uttered, imagery from last night flashed before his eyes. The invitation, the club, and every intimate detail about the Contessa.

“Didn’t I kick you?” Marc said.

He had no way of knowing how he was alive, and doubted that kick helped, but he could not help but himself… I may as well end life on my terms…

“Brave man,” Susanna said. “I could pick up where I left off…”

“Go ahead…”

In his mind he deserved no better fate. Any good Catholic recited a prayer upon hearing of his many violations of the Ten Commandments… I’m sure God is pleased that I’ve sent so many souls into his loving arms…

“You’re recovering nicely,” Susanna said.

It took a while for his eyes to adjust. In the pale light of the moon, he realised this was not the woman in white.

Whoever this was, she was beautiful, but Marc had no way to know if this was reality… This goes well beyond my regular fare of nightmares…

“Who are you?” Marc asked.

The Contessa smiled and ran a cool open hand against the side of his face. It might have been a caress, but the dominion she held over him fuelled his distrust.

“It’s okay,” Susanna replied. “Remember.”

Marc’s eyes opened wide and was greeted by darkness. He tried to roll out of the way, but could not fight against the force that held him down.

“Don’t scream…” a ghostly voice said.

Without waiting for acknowledgement, the ethereal force released him from its demonic grip. Marc gasped, the cool evening air tasted like heaven even at low tide. Given enough time for him to catch his breath, his opinion was sure to change.

He pinched himself in an attempt to confirm this was a dream. Without any accompanying twinge of pain, he nearly sighed in relief, until something changed his mind.

Pressure built up over his mouth and nose, much more than sleeping face down on the pillow would cause. Worse, there was nothing in sight to account for it… You’d think something reached out from the ether…

However, the grip was strong, steady, and effectively starved him of air. As his lungs began to burn, and the world before him caught fire, like an old portrait exposed to an open flame.

Before the fire consumed him, he tried to scream, but that grip ensured he remained silent.

His voice was almost indistinguishable from background noise by the time that last syllable was uttered. His eyes remained open, while his lungs were depleted of air, and his heart faltered.

Right before his failing eyes, there was a woman with raven black hair, and sunburnt skin. She wore a long flowing white dress, which remained immaculate even as she kneeled onto a puddle of blood.

“In a few more heartbeats, you’ll be—” the angel of death said.

“They… pushed me… into a duel… Barón… pushed me…” Marc said, his thoughts disjointed and incoherent.

“Wait? Coronel Rafael Arnáiz Barón?”

Marc did not realise he uttered that name. The one who expected him to roll over and die… He finally got his wish…

“Got what…(he)…deserved…” Marc whispered.