Despite the unutterable horror of what had happened that fateful night, your life continued, almost as it always had.  Your father was powerful enough to quell any official hint of scandal from your having been missing those three days, saying that you had suddenly taken ill, and been quickly transported to the hospital.  However, whenever your parents questioned you as to your whereabouts for those fateful three days, the horror of what occurred threatened to overwhelm your mind, and you had such attacks and palpitations that they soon learned to keep their questions to themselves, having to satisfy themselves in the knowledge that you were at least, physically, whole.  

One night, however, your maman had slipped into your bed, wrapping her arms around you, and holding you close–like she used to do when you were a child, crying over a nightmare–quietly asking if anything, untoward, had happened, for which they needed to prepare.  Though your answer was wrought from you with tears, you were at least grateful for the knowledge that nothing of that sort had been visited upon your person.

The scandal from Jongin’s disappearance, especially after his having been by your side all night, was far more difficult to handle.  You had told your parents that you didn’t know where Jongin–Monsieur Kim–was, which was technically true, your having no idea what Monsieur Boudreaux had done with his body.  They relayed that information to his peers, who instituted a city-wide search, with the full cooperation of the police.

During all of this, the wagging tongues of the gossip mill were set aflame, though you were shielded from most of it, due to your papa’s position in society.  That didn’t stop the censorious looks from old broodmares, as you walked down the street, or the sniffs from your peers who had already been envious of the singular attention he had been paying to you, all along. While they–thankfully–didn’t seem to think that you had anything to do with his disappearance, you had, unfortunately been branded an inveterate flirt.

***

Upon arriving home, after seeing Etienne safely ensconced in the arms of his retainers, you slipped inside the servant’s entrance, and crept up the stairs to your bedchamber.  Monsieur Kim was right on your heels, and you quickly closed the door in his face. There was a scoff, then he walked through the door, raising an eyebrow at you.

Sitting at your vanity, you met his eyes in the mirror, as you reached behind yourself to undo the hooks and eyes of your gown.  “Sir?”

He averted his eyes, a slight blush suffusing the tops of his cheeks.  After a moment of further thought, he turned around completely, standing stock-still until you walked by him in your nightdress.  Climbing into bed, you your side, facing away from him, and closing your eyes, desperate to achieve a few hours of sleep before you were awakened by Cosette.  

“You saved that boy’s life tonight.”

You sighed heavily.  “Is it not enough that you endeavour to starve me to death, must you now also add sleep deprivation to your list of tortures?”

He was silent for a moment, but when he spoke again, the sound was right behind your head.  “I still don’t understand what happened.”

Huffing in frustration, you turned to see that Monsieur Kim was lying on his back beside you, his head on your other pillow.  “Be glad that you’re dead, otherwise, my papa would kill you for being in his daughter’s bed, and my maman would kill you for putting your shoes on her antique coverlet.  Ma grand-mere’s maman crocheted this, you know.”

He slanted you an almost playful look.

You blinked.  It had to have been a trick of the light.  Clearing your throat, you asked, “So, what about this night was so confusing to you?”

“I’ve watched you kill countless men.  You’re merciless–” here you started in protest, but he gave you a quelling look, and you subsided, “and yet, allowed that boy to live.  Not only that, but you tried to stop those men from hurting him. Why?”

“Apparently, monsieur, your powers of observation are in inverse proportion to your looks,” you said tartly.  “If you had taken but a moment to mark the low nature of those whom I’ve been eating, then you would have realized that I only eat the murderous, and the rapine.  I am a monster, yes–I’ve come to terms with that–but if I have to continue in this accursed way, then I should at least do what I can to help clean the city of its filth.”

Monsieur Kim turned to you, his visage serious.  You tried not to think of how, had the circumstances been different, you both may have still lain just like this, but with soft words of love flowing between you, instead of the guarded expressions you now wore.  

“Clean the city of its filth,” he mused.  “Why do you not start with Boudreaux?”

You blinked, taken aback.  It had never even occurred to you to try to seek vengeance on the man who had made you a monster.  “I…haven’t thought…how could I? He’s like me–”

“Honour amoungst thieves?”

“I doubt I have the strength.  Besides, he already told me that he’s impossible to kill.”

“And you believed him?”

You were silent.  Then, slowly, “I’m still unsure of what I am…  If I kill him, I kill hope for any answers to this cursed condition.”

“Surely, he can’t be the only one.”

“No, but how do you propose I find another?  Shall I put an ad in the paper?”

“Is that why you hesitate?  Or is there a secret affinity for him, hidden deep within your ?”

Your eyes filled with tears.  “You think me so base?”

Monsieur Kim seemed discomfited by your tears.  “He…made you what you are. It would merely be natural–”

“Nothing about this entire affair is natural!” you ed.  Turning with a huff, you pulled the covers over your head.

 He was blessedly silent.

***

The next day, you dragged yourself down to brunch, still achingly weary, from both the previous night’s exertions, and the lack of sleep.  

Sitting at the table, you fortified yourself for another round of pretense. At first, you had called for your meals to be taken in your room, and it was easy enough to convince Cosette to eat them for you, blaming your lack of appetite on the loss of your paramour.  However, as you began to lose weight (due to Monsieur Kim’s interference with your hunting), and grow progressively paler, your parents insisted on your joining them for meals, so that they could keep an eye on you.

Food that you had once found delectable now nauseated you, and though you could consume it, you couldn’t keep it down for long, leading to a miserable post-meal ritual that you dreaded.  As you listlessly pushed about the food on your plate, the butler came with a card on a silver tray, for your father.

He took it and, glancing at you, nodded to the butler, saying, “Bring him in–tell him that we’re having brunch, and he’s welcome to join us.”

After a few moments, the cadence of a familiar tread reached your ears, and you froze in horror.

“Ah!  Monsieur Boudreaux!” your mother trilled, standing up from the table, wrapping her arm around his, and guiding him to sit across from you.  “What a wonderful surprise! How lovely to see you this morning. To what do we owe the occasion?”

“I was actually wondering if I may have the pleasure of speaking with your lovely daughter.”

For a fraction of a second, both of your parents faces dropped their genial veneer, before smoothing over once more, to polite anodyne.  “Why, Monsieur Boudreaux,” your mother started, “I fear that our daughter hasn’t been feeling quite herself as of late. Perhaps if you returned another day–”

“Mais non, c’est bien, Maman,” you murmured.  Standing abruptly, without looking at him, you said, “Monsieur Boudreaux, if you would be so kind as to accompany me into the parlour?”

You wheeled on him after closing the door, your fangs having already descended in preparation.  

Monsieur Boudreaux held up his hand, and you froze, a guttural growl rumbling from your chest.  

“I’m not here to antagonize you,” he said, his voice mild.  “Besides, you should be more careful. What if one of the servants were to hear you?”

Subsiding, you looked away, ashamed at your lack of self control.  

“It’s my fault,” he said.  “I shouldn’t have left you without guidance for so long.  I’ve been remiss in my responsibility to you, and for that, I apologize sincerely.”

“Pretty words will gain you no favours, monsieur.  I neither desire, nor require your assistance.”

“Do you not?” he asked mildly. “Tell me, mademoiselle, have you not found it odd that there has been no hue and cry in the papers about the deaths of so many of your…meals?”

You could feel the blood draining from your face.  

Monsieur Boudreaux cocked his head as he saw your realization.  “Ma cher enfante, did you really think that you could just leave bodies lying about the city, and no one would notice?”  

Having no remonstration, you were silent, though you cursed yourself inwardly, for failing to clean up after your predations. “Monsieur, If you are trying to arouse a sense of gratitude in my –”

“What I want from you is not gratitude, mademoiselle!” Monsieur Boudreaux thundered, losing control for the first time.  He began pacing the room like a caged tiger, raking a hand through his hair, causing it to stand at a rakish angle. “I have tried to give you time to come to terms with your new situation, I have given you space to become comfortable with what you are, but what do I find?”  He gestured to you, his movements jerky with frustration. “In my absence you have, what? Chosen to starve yourself? Tried to expose yourself by leaving evidence that even the most dreary dullard could interpret?”

“I assure you, I have no intentions of starving myself!  I found out quite early the impossibility of that, unless I want to lose myself and attack another innocent!  I just…have had trouble finding enough to eat, is all.”

“We are in a city of hundreds of thousands, and you cannot find enough to eat?”

“I am not a fiend; I will not eat just anyone.”

“Even so, there remain tens of thousands of blackguards from which to choose.”

“Just so.  However, I have run into certain complications–”

“Such as?”

You raised your chin, and looked down your nose at him, despite your inferior height.  “They are none of your concern, monsieur.”

“None of my–” he cut himself off, and turned to the window, positively trembling in an obvious effort to control his temper.  After a moment, he turned back to you, now looking far more composed. With each statement, he stepped closer, until you were pressed against the door within the cage of his arms.  “You are my only concern. I wanted you. I waited for you, and I made you. You were made for me, and I’ll not let you go to ruin!”

His voice gentled.  “Ma chère mademoiselle, you cannot remain unempathetic to my affections.   Only I know what you are going through, what you require. I can make this so much simpler for you, if you will merely give me your heart.”

Breathing heavily, you said, your voice steady, “Never.”

Monsieur Boudreaux pupils lengthened, and a quiet, high pitched noise like a sword being drawn out of its scabbard issued from his mouth as his fangs slid into place.  “Very well,” he rasped “If you won’t change your mind, I will change it for you.”

Pulling your head to the side, his