He was half-sitting up, his back against the wall, as far as he could get from her, having left the blankets in a tangled heap on the sofa cushions. Her heart sank with the realization that for all their perceived progress the night before, he was still terrified by the slightest sound.

Of course, Mac probably didn't help much...

"Easy," she said softly, wincing when the vampire's body jerked in startled fear as he flinched back against the wall, his breath harsh and ragged, rattling in his torn throat as he drew back away from the sound of her voice in panic. "It's okay...just me...remember? It's okay..."

He froze as she went on, and Tara was encouraged by the slight tilt of his head toward her, as if he was struggling to remember, to place her. His shaking did not cease, but did ease a bit as she gradually advanced.

"Remember? I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? It's just me; there's no one else here. You're safe."

She watched in fascinated wonder as he suddenly turned his head, just barely sniffing the air, before shifting slightly toward her. He kept his head bowed submissively, but she knew that he could smell the blood in the mug she carried, and hoped that incentive might be enough to keep him calm.

"That's it...that's good...it's okay..." She kept murmuring soft, reassuring phrases as she approached, trying to keep him aware of her position in the room, of how near she was getting, and hoping to keep him from becoming any more frightened than he already was.

She froze, however, when the vampire suddenly shuffled forward slightly onto his bruised, bony knees, falling forward again with his forehead to the floor, his trembling hands palm up in front of him in a pleading gesture. He was still breathing, rapid and shallow, though each breath sounded ragged and painful as it tore through his damaged throat.

Tara fought back her disappointment as she slowly crouched in front of him, a mere foot of space separating them. She had thought she had gotten through to him the night before, had made him understand that she was not going to hurt him. She knew she had - and yet, here, in the light of morning, all was forgotten, and he was back to terrified, desperate submission.

How long was he...there? Wherever it was...and...how often was he made to beg like this, for food...for...for mercy? She swallowed hard, her throat going dry as the chilling thought crossed her mind, How often was it denied him in spite of his begging?

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked them back, aware that she could not show any sign of disapproval or upset, not when he was in such a fragile state.

However, the vampire seemed to sense her displeasure despite her efforts. He bowed lower, his trembling intensified as a soft keening rose from his throat, almost silent, but a barely audible sound of such desperation and agony that it broke Tara's heart afresh. He turned his hands on the floor, laying them flat against it, his body lowered as much as was possible in his frantic attempts to show her his surrender.

*****************************

Please, please don't hurt me...be real...don't hurt me, please...

The desperate, pleading thoughts echoed through the vampire's mind as he huddled on the floor, willing to do anything she asked of him, whatever she wanted, in order to earn the blood he could smell. Warm and fresh and tantalizing - human again, he noticed in stunned disbelief - it made his painful stomach clench harder with need, his ragged throat ache with the desire for the warm, soothing liquid.

He flinched when he felt her hand close gently around his, but did not pull away, allowing his hand to go pliant in hers as she took his other hand as well and carefully tried to guide him back up to a sitting position. As soon as he realized what it was that she wanted, he struggled to rise, wincing as he braced his hands on hers, wary of taking too great a liberty with the assistance she offered.

He kept his head bowed, turned away from her slightly, not sure exactly where she was, and terrified to be caught looking her in the face. He was not allowed to look a human in the face; he was a monster, a thing, beneath them, and such boldness and presumption was not permitted him.

"You don't have to do this," he heard her soft voice say, and it sounded hushed and thick with tears. "Not anymore. You really don't have to bow to me, or...or beg for your food..."

He frowned, shaking his head slightly in utter confusion, unable to make sense of her words amidst the remembered threats of his captors, echoing in his mind. Of course he had to bow and beg for the privilege of sustenance. He was not allowed to feed at all until he had shown his captors his humility, his submission to them, his gratitude for the mercy they were showing him by feeding him. And even when he had done what he knew they expected of him, he could not be sure that they would grant him his plea.

He was at their mercy...and he was never fed if he had not shown the proper gesture of submission required of him.

As she gently supported him, helping him to rise to his knees, and then to carefully slide off them into a sitting position, he did not struggle, did not resist, simply allowed her to manipulate him into whatever position she wanted him in.

I'll be good...I'll do whatever you want, anything you tell me...see? I can be good...only please don't hurt me...please don't take the blood away...see how good I can be?

He was trembling, favoring his good arm, though he was so weak, he was not sure how much longer he could hold himself up. And suddenly, it didn't matter anymore, because the heavy, rich scent of the blood was directly beneath his nose, and the warm stone mug was to his lips again.

As she tilted it forward, he eagerly opened his lips to accept the blessed, beautiful gift, the warm, rich flavor of healing and relief for his broken body. Frantically he drank it, pulling it quickly into his mouth, choking on it, but still managing to get it down with greater ease than he had the night before. His throat ached, still torn and bruised by the collar, but some of the swelling seemed to have gone down, so that more of the blood passed more quickly into his stomach than it had before.

He was vaguely aware that she was talking, and he dutifully tried to listen, though it was difficult to focus on anything but the blood flowing so sweetly down his throat.

*******************************

His every swallow sounded so painful, rough and rasping, and Tara grimaced at the sound of it; but she kept talking quietly, keeping her voice level and soothing as she went through her plans for the day's activities. She knew he wasn't really getting anything out of the one-sided conversation besides the reassuring quality of her voice, but talking about it helped her to focus on what she had to accomplish. She had to get him some clothes to wear, and had to get him clean as well...which was the task she was particularly dreading.

She wasn't sure whether or not vampires could get infections, but she knew that his many wounds would likely heal better and faster regardless, if she could get him cleaned up. However, she was also not sure how he would handle a bath. He flinched every time she cleared her throat. How would he react to being lifted into a tub of water and thoroughly bathed by the hands of a stranger?

Nothing for it, Tara told herself firmly. It's got to be done.

As he drank the blood, she glanced down again, discomforted to see that he had left the blanket behind in his frantic attempts to hide from her, and the majority of his ghastly injuries were on display. He was so very painfully thin, each vertebra in his spine prominent and clearly visible, his stomach still concave in spite of the two brief meals he had had since being here.

She had no idea how much blood he would require to completely heal his injuries, but she only had one bag left...and she knew it would not be anywhere near enough. The thought of returning to the creepy magic shop made her shudder, but as she thought the situation through, she realized that it might be her only option. She briefly considered the idea of donating some of her own blood, but she had no medical training, and was afraid that she might do it wrong and end up doing herself serious harm - which would be beneficial to neither her nor the vampire.

She knew that vampires could drink animal blood, but she was almost positive that it would not be as helpful to him as human.

Another unpleasant job that has to be done, she decided. I'll go back there just this once, and I'll get plenty. And when it's gone...well, maybe he'll be ready to take animal blood by then.

As Tara watched him finish off the last of the blood in the mug, her reluctant eyes fell on his face - ironically, the one area of his exposed body she had most been avoiding since she had found him. Ordinarily, one's face was the best place to look if a person wanted to get to know them, to gauge their honesty, emotions, state of mind.

On this poor, damaged creature, it was the last place Tara wanted to look.

It wouldn't be so bad, if it wasn't for...

She swallowed back a wave of nausea, as she steeled herself for the most gruesome of his injuries.

His eyes.

One did indeed seem to be completely gone, only a mangled mass of torn and charred bloody tissue where it should have been, while the other was swollen almost completely shut. Tentatively, Tara waved a cautious hand slowly in front of his face, a foot or so away so as not to frighten him.

Nothing. Not the slightest hint of a reaction.

Her sick sensation intensified as she confirmed that the vampire was completely blind.

"Can you see at all?"

She remembered asking him the question, remembered his panicked response of desperate denial, and her heart dropped to somewhere around her stomach as she realized just how urgently he had wanted to make her know that he could not see. What had they done to him...how might they have punished him in the past, for the simple offense of being able to see? Had they deliberately kept him blind, as another means of control over him?

Her heart ached to imagine what it had to be like, to be lost in such constant darkness, helpless, unable to see where a potential threat might be coming from, unable to read the expressions, the posture, of those around him, to gauge their intentions. It was no wonder that he had been so terribly panicked by the slightest sound, the gentlest touch. She made a mental note from that point on to tell him everything she was doing, when she was doing it, to ease the terror that came with simply not knowing.

And the next thing she would be doing, she decided, was getting supplies.

In addition to his countless injuries needing treatment, the vampire was utterly filthy. His body was caked with blood and grime, and though she didn't hold it against him in the least - after all, it wasn't as if he could help it - he smelled terrible. The noxious odor of old blood and sweat and other scents Tara did not want to try to place surrounded him, and Tara knew that for the sake of his dignity, and her senses, a bath was in order very soon.

Tara set the mug down on the floor, already anticipating his reaction of humble gratitude for the food. The vampire shuddered, though this time it seemed to be a sign of relief rather than fear, as he lowered his body slowly, nervously, attempting to assume the bowing position as he had before. Before he could finish, Tara caught his hand, holding him gently in place.

"Please," she urged him gently. "Don't. You don't have to."

He froze, shivering with fear and uncertainty, and Tara realized with dismay that he seemed to be awaiting instructions from her. Uneasily, she tried to think what to tell him, knowing that it was not the best time to try to convince him to think for himself.

"Why d-don't you just...just lie down again for a while, okay?" she suggested softly. "I know you have to still be tired...aren't you?"

Hesitantly he nodded, beginning to lower his body slowly toward the floor. Gently redirecting him toward the cushions he had abandoned in his panic at her entrance, Tara covered him again with the blanket, instinctively raising a hand to touch his arm in a soothing gesture.

"That's it," she whispered. "Good. That's good." She waited for a few moments, pleased when he seemed to relax somewhat under her touch, instead of being terrified by it as before. She noticed, however, by the continued tension in his body, that he did not seem ready to go to sleep, at least...not while she was there.

After a moment's hesitation, she made a decision and continued softly, "I...I haven't told you my name. I'm Tara. Do you understand?"

He froze, as if confused, swallowing convulsively even as the swallow was followed by a wince of pain.

"Tara's my name," she said slowly. "Do you understand? Tara. I'm Tara."

After another brief pause, the vampire slowly, cautiously nodded, indicating that he understood, and Tara smiled with relief. "Good," she murmured, just slightly stroking her fingertips across the surface of his skin, afraid of aggravating one of the numerous injuries that marred it. "Very good."

She paused a moment, considering, before venturing cautiously, "I...still don't know your name. What...what is your name, Sweetie?"

Immediately the vampire tensed, though he dared not pull away, with her hands still on him, probably for fear of her taking it as resistance. He shook his head just slightly, his breathing becoming quick and shallow again as his trembling increased. Tara frowned in confusion. He had spoken the night before, but now he seemed terrified by the prospect.

Whatever his reasons, she would not push him before he was ready.

"No, no, no, it's okay," she reassured him, backing off, removing her hand from his arm, but still holding his hand, as that had seemed to calm him before. "It's all right. You don't have to. It's all right..."

He still seemed terrified, trembling and huddling under the blanket, apparently trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible. With a heavy sigh, Tara decided that the best thing at the moment was to give him a bit of space.

"Okay, you just rest. I'm going to go get supplies. I'll be back in an hour, okay?"

He didn't respond - she hadn't really expected him to - but she thought she felt a brief squeeze of her hand, so very quick and barely there as to leave her wondering if she had felt it at all. Carefully rising to her feet, she gently freed her hand from his and headed toward the door.

********************************

He was still tired, but the vampire was far from ready to go back to sleep. After she left the room, the house became quiet, and he just lay there for a long while, simply savoring the sensation of warmth and comfort, the sweet simple freedom to breathe, after so long deprived.

He drew in a slow, ragged breath, relishing it in spite of the pain it caused his damaged trachea. The cruel prongs on the inside of his collar had sliced into his flesh, causing terrible pain with even the slightest movement of his head or neck. They had known that, of course, and they had forced him to move them at every opportunity - keeping his head bowed, answering their pointless questions - so much so that he had almost become accustomed to the pain.

Almost.

What was more terrifying to him was the thought of the damage the collar might have done to his larynx and the muscles of his throat. He had no idea how bad the injuries really were, no way of knowing if he would ever be able to breathe, to speak again, without pain. Even the slightest whimper tore his throat with a sensation of burning agony.

But at least now...he could try.

His mind was dragged unwillingly back to countless memories, moments when he had tried to scream, tried to cry out for mercy, but the cruel collar had prevented the slightest sound. He shuddered at the thought that wherever he was, whoever had brought him here, he would eventually be found...found and taken back.

The collar would surely be put back on him.

His shivering increased at the thought, and he tried to focus on breathing, tried to block out the horrific memories that filled his mind, and the terror that the reality of them would soon return. His deeper breaths began to carry various scents from the air around him, and he reassured himself with the knowledge that this place did not smell like that place...or feel like it, for that matter.

But then, he had no way to be sure that he was actually in a better place.

No way to be sure of anything.

He wished she would stop playing whatever game it was she was playing, would just tell him what she wanted with him, why he was there, so he could stop hoping, stop playing made up fantasies of freedom and comfort over and over again in his head, and just face reality - whatever reality was going to be for him.

But then, she hadn't intentionally hurt him - not once - and she had shown him nothing but kindness so far. She had given him blood, enough that for the first time in months his stomach actually felt full, and covered him with warm blankets, tended to his injuries and simply given him the space and time to rest...and most importantly of all, she had removed the hated collar from his neck, allowed him the liberty to breathe again, to speak again...that was, if he dared to do so.

Which, of course, he didn't.

This place - her place - smelled only of human, specifically her. Vanilla and honey, with hints of spices and various herbs. And...dog. Dog? He couldn't fathom why there might be a dog in this place, though he could not mistake the distinctive, musky scent. The blankets that covered him were saturated with her scent, mingled with the fresh linen smell that he remembered from before his captivity, though he'd never before found it so comforting.

There was one other distinct fragrance in this place - just the slightest hint of magic.

All the other smells, the bad ones, he knew were coming from him. Blood, terror, suffering...and other scents, scents that started the shuddering again deep within him, and he struggled to blot the traumatic memories of degradation and violation from his mind. He desperately wanted to feel clean again; it had been so long that he had almost forgotten what it felt like.

Gonna contaminate this place...contaminate *her*...draggin' around their scent...the scent of...

He shook his head in denial, trembling violently.

No...no...won't think it...won't go there again...

His one good hand clutching at the blanket, he wished once again that he could see. So much would make more sense if he could, he was sure. Maybe if he could see, he could be sure whether or not this was real, or all some elaborate fantasy his desperate mind had concocted.

His thoughts turned once more to the girl - Tara.

She did not seem in the least afraid of him, though she clearly knew what he was. She did not seem uneasy around him, or disgusted by the knowledge of the monster in her custody. All he had sensed from her was concern, sorrow, and a sort of shy self-consciousness that did not seem to fit with the sense he had gotten of magical power.

It didn't make sense...and it made him more than a little uneasy.

But now she was gone again, and despite his fears and uncertainties...he wanted her back. When she was gone, there was nothing to focus on but the quiet and the dark and the fear, the knowledge that at any moment the door could open, and they would be there for him again, to take him back and reduce his life to sheer white agony once again.

When she was there, the terror seemed easier to manage. She talked to him, not in harsh, menacing tones of disgusted contempt, but in a soft, reassuring voice that was a balm to his shattered heart. She told him it was going to be all right, told him what she was going to do to him before she did it...even asked him if it was all right.

Not that it mattered if he thought it was all right.

She told him she wouldn't hurt him.

If only he could believe her.

She said she was going for bandages and supplies, but he knew he was not worthy of such considerations. He was so terribly confused, and dared not believe what he was beginning to hope...that perhaps the agony was over.

No...it was not possible.

Too many times he had been lied to, promised safety and freedom, only to have it brutally wrenched from his grasp. He couldn't believe her. It had to be a trick of some kind. Maybe he was still there, and this was all an elaborate deception to get him off his guard, to break him anew and make him "fun" for his captors again.

Or perhaps, he had lost his mind completely, and was locked away in this fantasy world, made up of all the wishes and hopes of his mind, while in reality he was still locked away in his tiny, dark cell, at the mercy of the soldiers.

He shivered again, huddling under the blankets and simply breathing in the comforting scent of Tara, while he drifted off to an uneasy sleep once more.