Marceline opened her eyes, stretched like a lazy house cat and lowered onto the bed. She grabbed the pillow, his pillow, brought it to her face and breathed in his scent. His scent was like a spell, it enchanted her beyond reason, made her crazy. She let out a soft purr as she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Used to his absence she went about getting ready, from the outfits he had deemed most flattering in one way or another. In the end Marceline chose one of his favorites, holding up the brazier top with a grin. She slipped into her low cut jeans, fitting her high heeled boots on top and struck a few poses to help the tight material settle more naturally on her.

It was such a shame her reflection couldn't be seen, but the mess her hair was in was unmistakable. She brushed it thoroughly before walking out into the living room. Walking because he could hear her heels click-clacking and he liked to know where she was. The living room was as barren as the walls. Marceline walked up to the faded remnants of the sticky tack, the memory of removing those pictures making her heart ache. She picked at the tack with her nail, lightly chipping it away like everything else.

Her stomach grumbled and she resigned to the kitchen. In the kitchen she found herself starring at the freezer again. Her face flushed when she thought about seeing that monster for the first time, his eyes sharp, that mouth twisted and grinning. When he had pulled her against him she'd noticed the hard lump prodding her thigh. She bit her lip, shook her head and went to the fridge. Inside there were mostly things for him but every once in awhile she found something she enjoyed. The other day she had gone to the garden to gather vegetables and had found a small vine of strawberries growing there. She had eaten half then and saved the rest for breakfast.

Only there weren't any strawberries for breakfast. The basket was gone.

Marceline left the kitchen and looked down the hall where the other rooms were. The one at the end of the hall with the light creeping under the door was the study. His study. She swallowed and walked. As she drew nearer she noticed that the door was ever so slightly cracked open.

He's expecting me, she thought, focusing on the doorknob. Marceline lightly knocked.

"Oh, has the princess finally arisen?" Came his voice, dripping with sarcasm. "And what brings her beckoning at my door?" he mused with a dark chuckle. "Are you perhaps, in search of something?"

"You know what I'm looking for," Marceline roughly opened the door.

He was seated at Simon's desk, a fortress of books surrounding him. Maps and notes, diagrams, drawings of symbols pinned hastily to the walls. He lifted a long slender clawed finger and beckoned her closer. Marceline obeyed and walked to his side. She caught the slight turn of his head, smelt his blood moving and smiled. He sharply looked up and her mouth formed a fine line. She swallowed.

"Ah, my vivacious little vampire," he mused darkly, hooking a clawed finger in a belt-loop. He pulled her closer with a sharp tug. "Have you something to say to me, perhaps to my face, my dear?"

"I…" she looked away, at the map on his desk.

He pulled on her pants again, hissing, "Look at me when I'm speaking to you!"

Marceline returned her full attention back to him, eyes wide. He chuckled at this, rolled his chair back and eyed her blatantly. She shifted nervously from one foot to the other, the points of her boots gravitating inward. His hand pressed flat against her hip and ran around to her bottom, cupping her cheek before he gave it a light pat. His other hand gestured to his lap and she sat sideways like a scolded child, knees knocking, her fingers nervously knotted together.

"Hmm," he purred, admiring the way the bodice held her chest up. He set his hand on her head and began stroking softly, as if petting a cat. Marceline felt herself leaning into his touch, unable to help herself. She parted her lips to answer but didn't get the chance to do more than let loose a light squeak. "I know why you're slinking around in that costume," his fingers twisted in her hair and lightly pulled back, "You want something, they always want something." He drew his clawed finger down the side of her face to her chin, cupped it firmly and released her hair. "What do you want?" His eyes shifted to the desk, to the strawberries resting atop a book. "Is that the prize you seek, little one?" She looked and he caught the flicker of her lip just over her fang. "Well?" he said. "Do speak up, I have many talents but mind reading isn't one of them."

"I picked those," Marceline said meekly.

"Oh did you now?" he chuckled, releasing her chin and grabbing her hair, "I plucked them from the fridge. I do enjoy them too," his voice lowered, eyes drifting to her chest, "Sweet, plump little treats."

The king loosened his hold on her hair, ran his fingers thickly through it. How he loved long hair. So much fun to pull. He leaned forward, his face brushing against Marceline's as he moved the strawberries to the edge of the desk. She looked at them longingly.

"Look at me," he said, leading her eyes as he plucked one from the basket, stabbing it with his index nail. "You desire this?"

She nodded. He smiled, stroking her hair. Marceline's eyes flickered with fancy as he brought the berry to her lips. As she opened her mouth to press her fang to it he pulled it out of reach. She looked at him warily.

"I'm not a mind reader, princess."

That word bit into her like hooked teeth. He could see it in her eyes and his grin only grew. She blinked the glossiness from her eyes and bowed her head, too filled with shame to look at that face. He tugged on her hair and she looked up but not at him.

"I'd like one," she said.

"Hmm?" he questioned.

"… please."

"Oh my little lovely," he purred, "but of course."

He held it to her lips, this time letting her touch her fang to the plump berry. Slowly the red faded away, leaving the strawberry a gaunt gray. Marceline closed her eyes and savored it. Strawberries were her favorite.

The crown traced her lips with the berry. Marceline watched in awe as he brought it to his lips and that silver tongue flicked, leading it into his mouth. Her face flushed, heart pounding as he closed his eyes and chewed. When he opened them she looked to the basket.

His hand pressed against her lower back and slid down into her pants, pleased to discover she was pantiless. Marceline let out a soft gasp as he withdrew his hand, those clawed nails raking against her skin. He ran his hand up her back, spidering it over her shoulder. He drew her to him, her shoulder pressed against his chest.

Marceline watched his other hand pluck a berry. He brought it past her eyes to his own mouth, taking it gently between his teeth. She looked up, bewildered by his grin. He bit into it smugly, juice glistening his lips, dribbling down onto his beard. It was a slap in the face but it didn't deter her from leaning into his hand as he combed his fingers through her hair, from wanting to lap the juice from that spiteful mouth of his.

He reached toward the basket again, only this time lifted a piece of paper and presented it to her. She took it in her hands. It was a list. Written at the top, scribed in his handwriting was: For Princess. He'd drawn a little heart on there and it boiled her blood.

Then his hand moved from her shoulder, up her neck and into her hair. She leaned back into the touch and purred. He chuckled mockingly, grabbed a fistful of her hair and pushed her. She stumbled forward and had to resort to hovering to keep from tripping entirely. Marceline clenched the list in her fist and threw him a look that melted instantly by the heat of his stare. The crown lifted his hand and with a flick of his wrist dismissed her.

Marceline hovered not a foot when his voice brought her to a halt, "We did discuss the matter of hovering," he snapped. Marceline lowered onto the floor and he chuckled, "That's a good girl." She walked towards the door and was about to leave when his voice halted her at the threshold with a soft, barely audible, "Ah."

Marceline waited. When he said nothing she turned, "Did you say something?"

He waited before responding, a clawed finger pointing in the air, "Yes. Your performance last night was a bit dull," he said dryly. "Do bring a rabbit or something living back with you."

Marceline scoffed in disbelief, stomped her foot and stormed off.

"Copper wire, candles, gun powder, rabbit," she hissed, shoving the list into her back pocket.

Marceline held onto her sun hat as the autumn winds picked up, her boots crunching into the fallen, dried willows. She uncovered her flask, hidden well in the large knothole of the grand tree. Biting down she pulled the cork free, sighing as the scent of whiskey hit the air. There was a rock that stuck out over the edge of the hill, half suspended by twisting roots. That was where she sat and sipped the potent drink, hardly flinching.

She knew the first time she'd visited this place alone. The date was etched into the rock. Marceline threw her head back and gulped, shut her eyes and bowed her head. Her eyes focused on those numbers as she quickly returned the cold metal spout of the flask to her trembling lip.

She threw her head back against the wall. All she could think about was him, those hands, those teeth. It was unbearable.

Every other, other thought though… she would think of Simon. Simon who would wake up on the couch feeling sick and disgusting, who punished himself when he caught the bites and bruises on her body. Those sad eyes would look at her and then look away filled with shame, thinking she bit her tongue for his sake. He almost never said a word aloud but Marceline knew he knew they were there and from him. Sometimes she'd catch him sitting, watching those hands, those wonderful articulate hands. Sometimes she would catch him with the crown in his hands, rings under his eyes just staring with those sunken eyes at his reflection, looking utterly broken but the moment she came into the room he'd smile and laugh.

He hardly slept anymore, so afraid that the crown was taking him in his sleep.

Marceline would try to convince him otherwise but he never believed her. Of course, she never told him the whole truth.

She heard him walking around the living room, muttering to himself. When she stepped out of her room he smiled sweetly and greeted her with a hug that lasted just a second too long. He stepped away from her briskly when he realized what he'd done, rubbed the back of his neck and reoccupied himself with his current project.

"Simon," Marceline asked, "What is that thing?"

"It's a lawn mower," he sighed, scratching his head as he skimmed through the several how- to books he had open, "I snagged it from Greener Pastures in the East building. I'm going to see if I can use it for spare generator parts."

"Aren't those two different things?"

"Well…" he said, smiling, "It never hurts to try."

Sometimes it does, she wanted to say but bit her tongue.

"Can I help?" she asked instead, sitting criss cross beside him. "You look like you're about to fall asleep."

"I didn't get a wink last night," he admitted with a heavy sigh. "My mind is too occupied I suppose."

"What's taking up space on your hard drive?" she giggled.

His held his breath, looked up at her and then focused entirely on the mower. His hands fumbled like they were numb. She could tell he was getting frustrated, perhaps unnerved by her watching him work. Marceline floated over to the couch and picked up a magazine. This seemed to take some of the pressure off of him as he went back to work with more focus. He enjoyed fixing things, it gave his mind something to focus on. Seeing him at peace made Marceline smile.

A chill crept up her spine like frostbite. Marceline brought the magazine over her face, squirming. Her eyes darted to the side and widened when the gems glinted in the light as if throwing one of those smug winks. She felt this wave of desire wash over her and suddenly Simon's scent was overwhelming her senses. She grit her teeth, hands shaking.


She pressed the magazine to her face. "Y- yes?"

"Are you… okay?" he asked, leaning back on his legs. "Your hands are shaking."

"I'm fine," she replied smoothing out her voice the best she could. "I… I'm just, it's an intense article."

"Oh," he said, unable to hide his disbelief in her statement but unwilling to pry. "Okay…"

She peeked over the magazine to watch him work. He didn't look like he was enjoying himself.

"Simon… are," she paused to breathe and then continued, "Are you okay?"

"Hm?" he asked as if he hadn't heard a word she'd said. The words came to him a moment later, he shook his head with an empty laugh, "A little out of it, haven't slept properly in days. I didn't get a wink last night. My mind is too occupied I suppose."

"You said that," Marceline pointed out worriedly, setting the magazine down.

"Hm?" He tilted his head, confused. "Did I?"

Simon looked down at his hands. He flexed his fingers, closed his eyes. Marceline floated over to his side, put her arm around his shoulders. He leaned into her gentle touch, his forehead touching her temple. It pained her to see him so lost. She stroked his cheek and he closed his eyes, nuzzled into her hand. He looked so vulnerable in her arms. A desire fluttered to the surface as her hand cupped his cheek and she brought his lips to hers. At first he parted his mouth for her but then suddenly he jerked away.

He pushed her back and stood, put distance between them. Marceline remained on the floor, legs folded to one side, her eyes large and filled with guilt. Simon dug his fingers in his hair. She could hear his heart thumping in his chest at frantic speed.

"Simon," she said softly, "Calm down… I'm sorry… I."

"Oh bread-balls," he cursed. "Marcy no." He shook his head, covered his face in shame. "I'm sorry I… I can't. Oh God I can't do this anymore."

"Do what, Simon?"She asked, eye wide, her nails digging into the floor.

"Keep pretending everything is okay," he shouted, making her flinch. At this he clenched his fists and calmed his voice. "I'm sorry for shouting, Marcy but… but I can't let you feel this way when everything is so… wrong."

"Simon," he held up his hand and her mouth shut out of habit. Her eyes followed him as he paced back and forth, cursing and muttering. She felt that chill run up her back again, and lurched forward, letting out a small gasp.

"Look at you," he said, gesturing to her. "You're always so on edge. Marceline I'm not dumb I've seen the marks, I just… I was so afraid to hear you say it that I… and I," he roughly ran his hand through his hair, "I can't sleep, or eat or even hold onto a lucid thought it seems for longer than a few minutes. This has to stop. It's not healthy."

"Simon wait-"

"No." He looked her in the eye and her heart sank to furthest depths of the ocean. "I can't wait for something worse to happen to you." He saw her panicked expression and tried his best to sooth her with a calming tone. "I'm doing this because I love you, Marceline. I'll stay till dinner, make sure everything is working properly for you so you will be comfortable, then I'll pack and I'll take the crown and go."

He left to go tend to the generator, leaving Marceline teary eyed on the floor. She stood on shaking legs that almost forgot how to walk, drawn to a source of twisted comfort. As she pressed the crown to her forehead her tears fell heavy and silent, streaming down her face. It was cool against her skin. That calming sensation flowed over her, made her dizzy till she fell to her knees. It couldn't talk to her, not in words. But she felt that presence.

Her eyes fluttered open as she realized what she had to do. Because Simon was a man of his word and if he said he was leaving after dinner, through the fires of hell he'd leave the mall after the last bite was gone from his plate. But she knew how to keep him. She kissed the main jewel of the crown softly and set it down.

Marceline ran to the kitchen, opened the freezer and pulled out what she needed. She threw the recipe book down on the counter besides the ingredients and followed the instructions like her life depended on it. As long as she followed Simon's notes tasting it wouldn't matter. After an hour of cooking the stew started to look like it was supposed to and she hoped it would taste just as good.

She let it simmer for hours. Hours of waiting, of Simon dodging her as he checked everything from head to toe. It was nerve racking.

When the food was done she poured him a hearty bowl. Marceline reached into her pockets and pulled out a hand full of pills. Constantly looking up at the kitchen entrance she broke them open with fumbling fingers , dumping the powder into the bowl. She mixed it well before carrying it out into the living room.

Simon was on the couch, his head rolled back. She could tell he was exhausted. There was a fleeting moment where she almost turned around. Simon lolled his head towards her and pointed at the bowl.

"Is that for me? My last meal?" he joked sadly.

Marceline's grip on the bowl tightened. "Yeah," she said. "It's venison stew… I followed the recipe."

"That's sweet of you Marcy." He sat up, put his hands on his knees and slapped them a bit. "I'm sure it's delicious, bring it here and have a seat." Simon bit his lower lip, hesitant to bring up the topic at hand. But it had to be done. "Have a seat beside me sweetheart, we… we need to discuss some things before I go."

She put the bowl in his hands. She sat and watched him fiddle with the spoon, scoop a small bite and bring it to his lips. Time slowed to a near stop as he partook of that first bite. He made a face and Marceline flinched.

"It's good," he said, smiling, quickly taking another bite. "Thank you."

Marceline forced a smile.

"Marceline…" His voice was soft, distant. "Please don't hate me for this… I'm leaving because… because I love you…"

Marceline was hunched forwards, hands in her lap. It was torture hearing him spill guts to her yet again. She tried to close her eyes and tell herself that everything was going to be okay. She heard the soft clink of a spoon in an empty bowl. The deed had been done. She just had to wait now.

Suddenly the bowl hit the floor and shattered.

"Simon?" Marceline turned to him, grabbing his shoulder. His eyes were glossy and distant. "Simon?"

"M… Marceline," he said, looking at her as if she weren't really there. "Hello sweetheart," he said with a slow smile.

"Sit back,"she instructed, placing her hand on his chest. She gently tilted him back and smoothed his hair out of his face. "Please don't hate me for this, Simon," she whimpered, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, pressing her face into his arm. "Please don't hate me."

"Marcy baby," he cooed, his voice drawn out and slow. "I could never hate you dear. I love you," he said.

"I love you too, Simon," she whispered. "And I'm so, so sorry."

A tentacle slithered up the armrest of the couch, curled around the crown. Marceline softly cupped Simon's face, her fingers buried in his beard, thumb softly caressing his cheek. He was bewildered by her apology. Simon parted his lips, motioned to speak but didn't get the chance for any last words as Marceline kissed him deeply.

Simon cupped her cheek. The tentacle dropped the crown. He changed.

"Hello princess," he said, his voice no longer soft and gentle as he pushed her off of him. Her back hit the opposite arm rest and before she had time to think he was crawling between her legs, those talons tracing the curves of her body. "Just helping yourself while I was indisposed were you?"

"No," she said, tucking her chin to her chest. "I…"

He wiped his mouth and spat, "A fine mess the little princess has gotten herself into hasn't she?"

Marceline bit her lip and looked away.

"Look at me," he purred, rubbing her thigh as his knee wedged between her legs. Marceline looked up as he leaned over her, the pressure from his knee making her blush. "Don't worry my dear," he said with a crooked, toothy grin. "It's all over now."

Despite everything she gave herself to him and he had been particularly rabid that night. She'd loved every moment of it. When morning came she got up to dress Simon and put him on the couch before he awoke only… Simon wasn't there.

He never… came back.

"That… bastard," Marceline groaned as she buried her head in her arms. "Marceline you moron."

She dropped the empty flask, not quite drunk enough for the alcohol to linger like she wanted. Marceline tucked it into her jacket to refill later. The supplies had already been gathered, it hadn't taken extremely long. The knot in her throat was forced down with a hard swallow.

Marceline scanned the list but the last item was a request, a slap in the face. She looked up and into the forest and sniffed the air.

Drinking blood was an intense experience, it made her as powerful as it did vulnerable. When she partook her animal senses went wild and not just the vampire, but that thing that lived buried deep in her soul.

The demon.

It was like loosening a choke collar on a short tempered dog, after taunting it with meat. Wiggling free was all too easy. Marceline looked up into the trees, watching the light twinkle through the empty patches of leaves. Mutants and larger creatures had been absent for a long while, scared off by her monstrous temper. She enjoyed strolling through the forest, where she was the Queen. None of the animals dared challenge her.

An hour passed. Marceline stumbled around her domain as she sobered up. She softly sang songs about lost love, broken hearts and fading dreams. As the sun set she found herself walking in circles around a thick red oak, her fingertips running along the rough skin of the old tree. As her buzz wore thin Marceline began to curse her weakness. Those claws etched into the bark and deep down she wished it was his face. She considered never going back and her feet stopped.

Because even deeper down she knew she couldn't… or wouldn't.

Instead of flying Marceline walked back to the mall. She held the ball of fluff in her arms, petting its soft fur to keep it calm. Walking through the entrance she felt like she was being swallowed whole. The energy in the mall was different ever since Simon left. Marceline hadn't seen so much as a cockroach in months. Removing her hat she walked past the clothing shops, looking in the windows. A photography studio caught her eye and she slowed to a stop, finding herself captivated by the smiling couples and grinning children. Laughter played like an old forgotten song in the back of her mind and unable to take her own tired reflection she went about window shopping.

She knew the stores by heart but it left her with another hour or so of semi- freedom. Never truly free within these walls because they were his walls. This was his castle and she was hardly more than his prize. A prize from a victory she had helped him obtain out of her own stupidity. Marceline leaned over the railing and slowly lifted herself into a one handed handstand. She closed her eyes and focused on the pressure building in her skull. Slowly she let herself tilt forward. She loved the weightlessness of free falling.

Marceline stopped an inch from the ground.

The rabbit was still alive, its heart beating rapidly. She cradled it, cooing as she entered the living room. The soft sound of a throat being cleared nearly jump started her own undead heart. She swallowed, looked to the couch where he sat with a book in his clawed hands. His stare was cold and calculating as he analyzed her appearance. That stare focused on something that pleased him enough to bring a little smile to his lips. Marceline followed it to the rabbit in her arms, which she was currently petting softly. It was warm and gentle and breathing in her arms and she didn't want to let it go.

His eyes traveled up and met hers. "You brought everything I requested?" he said in seriousness, smiling only when she nodded in affirmation. "Now that's a good princess," he purred, patting his lap then gesturing for her to come with his index finger.

Marceline flew over to him. She sat facing him, her legs on either side of his thin frame. The Crown looked down at the rabbit. He ran his hand against the fur from the tail to the ears. Grabbing the ears he lifted it and those little bunny feet kicked as it began to panic. This made him chuckle. Marceline scowled and leaned away while he fiddled with the delicate creature. His hand went up to its stomach, those claws lightly scratching the fur.

The rabbit squeaked as he nicked it, cutting the skin enough for a bead of blood to form. Marceline's eyes widened as the smell hit her. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, sniffing the air hungrily. When he chuckled Marceline's eyes snapped open, cloudy but coherent. Suddenly her brazier top was impairing her breathing. Anxiously she glanced up at the prize then back down her hands, nervously fidgeting. The Crown smiled, baited Marceline with the rabbit. When she looked at him he was absolutely devious, a sharp grin on his face. He tilted his head with slightly whimsy and chuckled.

"Oh, does this interest you little one?" he said. Marceline's eyes followed the squirming creature as he brought it to his chest, pet it till it's heart slowed, watching her eyes glaze over. "How long has it been? A whole week?"

She nodded, eyes transfixed on the little ball of fluff.

"Why do you deprive yourself, my dear?" he asked, lifting the rabbit, letting it dangle in front of her. She reached for it but he was quick to stop her, "Tsk- tsk- tsk… I taught you better," he whispered, drawing forth another small bead of blood. "You want this?"

Marceline inwardly shivered. She could taste the blood on her tongue as its scent clung to the air, hear those two hearts beating fast. Her red demon eyes drifted to his chest, she tilted her head back and inhaled that bittersweet aroma of arousal, felt that all to familiar lump forming in his trousers.

"Yes," she whispered hoarsely. "You told me to get it…"

"I know very well what I said." His eyes sharpened, he shook the rabbit.

Marceline could smell its fear, hear its heart racing. Blood was sour once the host died. Her fingers itched to take it from him like a dog awaiting its master's orders to gobble a treat set on the floor. But he was pressing his foot down on that treat and despite herself Marceline feared he'd break it.

"Stop," she squeaked before she could catch herself. Recoiling inward she bit her nail and looked away. "You're going to k- kill it."

"Aren't you clever," he remarked, grabbing her face. His eyes bore into hers, made her feel small. "You must know how very lucky you are that your worst attribute, being your tongue, is also your finest. And that's still not saying much."

He slid his hand over her cheek and into her hair, smiling as he tangled his fingers in the dark locks. He pulled her closer, glanced at her bosom, held up her prize. Her mouth fell open, parched. He looked up. The smirk he bore was villainous as he placed the rabbit in her lap. Marceline looked down at the poor little thing, a part of her recognizing it was frightened and hurt. The other part extended her fangs as she took in the mixture of man and blood in wanting stride.

She paused before biting. He was watching her, those eyes so deprived of sleep yet sharp stared into her. The crown could smirk with his eyes alone and with them he was mocking her defeat. Her lips quivered as her tongue seemed to dry and crack, urging her to feed. She felt sick and so in need of that warm, life giving fluid. And he knew, the bastard, how she loved the rush as much as she hated it. Those eyes were on her as she briefly nuzzled the rabbit's soft fur, a silent apology.

As she sunk her teeth into the creature his hands went to her hips. It took only a minute to drain the rabbit, but in that time Marceline growled, writhed and moaned as the sheer bliss of it consumed her. Those clawed hands tightened on her thighs as she moved over him, the rough texture of her jeans bringing a breathy chuckle to his lips.

Marceline clutched the drained rabbit to her face, momentarily overwhelmed by the taste of morning grass and night air. Her body lurched when the euphoria hit in a second powerful wave. The girl was nearly gone from her eyes when she looked at the body of a man beneath her, a man whose scent she knew, she loved, she longed for. A man who sneered instead of smiled when she tilted her head to the side like a curious dog. A man who bravely leaned back, unguarded as she put a hand on his chest and barred her fangs, hissing. She felt his hips tense and bit her bottom lip, making a small noise as she shut her eyes.

"Can't decide whether to kill me or fuck me?" he asked quietly, calmly. "Rather pointless when we already know the answer."

The Crown placed his hand on her head and began petting her. It took only a moment for her growling and hissing to melt into a deep purr. She leaned into the touch, hands kneading his chest to gather the fabric in her hands. With two fistfuls she desperately pulled him to her, biting and licking his neck, tugging and clawing at his clothes. Marceline ground against that hard mound between her legs as she angrily drug her nails down his back, nearly tearing the fabric of his shirt. There was battle raging between her heart, mind and libido. As badly as she wanted to kill him she wanted him on top of her, behind her, beneath her.

She smirked, purring as she bit hard into his collar, moaning as he let out a light gasp of surprise. Her serpentine tongue twisted over his skin as she sucked till the flesh began to bruise. He bit back a moan and grabbed her wrists. She sunk her teeth into his shoulder, fighting his grip. Magic flowed to his hands and they became iron bars she couldn't bend. Throwing her to the side he attempted pinning her down with his weight. Marceline kicked her legs wildly, thrashing till the two of them fell to the floor.

Marceline was stronger than him, but he was calm, collected. He straddled her, bearing down on her with an invisible weight that allowed him to pin her wrists to the floor. The girl in her panicked, the vampire fought for freedom and the demon arched.

"Let go of me," she managed, her voice trembling from rage and lust.

"Is that what you really want?" he purred, leaning over her, his lips brushing against her collar bone light as a feather. "You wish for me to let go and what… what will you do?" His chilled breath batted lightly against her skin leaving goosebumps as he drew his lips up to her neck. He nibbled gently. "Will you slay, ravish or submit little princess?"

Marceline turned her head, eyes closed, whimpering as he nibbled up to her ear and took it in between his teeth. She mewled, melting as he tugged on it. He chuckled through his teeth.

"Ah," Marceline gasped as he released her ear and moved her wrists to be horizontal to her body. She wiggled, fighting that invisible force holding her down. The rage she felt melted into a heated, desperate desire every time he touched her. It was maddening. She bit her lip, making eye contact as he moved down to her disheveled brazier top. He tickled her skin with a light breath between the valley of her cleavage. "You bastard," she hissed, one of her legs half wrapped around him.

He slowly moved against her, grinning as her slender legs wrapped around him. Marceline arched, eyes closed, lip trembling, twisting to try and free her wrists. Free them so she could strangle him, slap him, scratch him, hold him down. The burning in her belly was spreading to her lower back, encouraging her hips to meet his slow paced thrusts till she was nearly driven mad. She let out an animalistic roar and thrashed beneath him so wildly she nearly broke free.

"Such enthusiasm," The Crown chuckled heartily, adjusting his position to keep from being thrown off of her. With the utmost control he brought her hands above her head and held her wrists down with one hand. The other smoothed her hair. At the gentle contact Marceline's movements began to slow till she was rubbing her face into his palm like a kitten. Her legs slowly slipped from around his waist, knees bent and limply falling open. "There's a good girl," he purred, bringing his hand down the side of her face to cup her chin.

His index finger brushed over her lip, still stained with blood. He leaned down and let his lips rest on her neck. She made a soft pleading noise, turning and rubbing her cheek against his, licking the side of his face. The Crown lightly grabbed her face and made her look at him. He shifted so his knee was between her legs, his body tall and lanky and dominant over her.

Their eyes locked into a wordless exchange of understanding.

He chuckled and pressed his finger to her lips. She slowly parted them, allowing him to slip his finger inside, licking and sucking the blood from it gently. Victory brought a different kind of grin to his face as he slowly drew his hand from her wrists and cupped her breast. He ran the other down, contouring her curves till he reached the hem of her pants. They were low cut, showing the definition of her pelvis. Through the struggle they had moved low enough for a sweet reminder that beneath them she wore nothing.

The button was easy enough to undo with one hand, he merely flicked it loose with his thumb. Marceline dug her fingers into his hair as she lifted her hips, hoping he would aquiest and pull them down, give her what she so desperately wanted, needed. When he chuckled and brought that hand over her stomach to cup her other breast she whimpered and hooked a leg around his waist. After a brief moment of harsh fondling his hands went to her pants. He tugged once and his brows furrowed in displeasure. Marceline pawed at him as he leaned back on his knees. She propped herself up on her elbows, head quirked as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with hunger.

The Crown glanced over his shoulder, stood and sat on the couch. Marceline scrambled to get to her feet, her knees weak as her blood raced. She looked at him, hands clawing. He chuckled and beckoned her closer. She saw that his pants had already been unbuttoned. As she looked up at him he laughed.

"I'm not about to work up a sweat trying to remove your outfit," he said, gesturing for her to carry on.

Marceline hastily shuffled out of the skin tight jeans and kicked them aside. She undid the laces of her top with fumbling fingers. It fell around her feet and she stepped over it to walk to the edge of the couch. He smirked crookedly, grabbed her hands and brought them to his pants. Marceline got down on her knees and pulled his pants off. He leaned back, languid as she grabbed his boxers and began to pull those down as well. As his erect member was released she stared, wide eyed, hungry. Purring, she nuzzled it with her nose. He let out a ghostly gasp and set his hand atop her head. Marceline darted her tongue out as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her off her knees.

"Come here," he purred, encouraging her to straddle him. Marceline climbed into his lap and positioned him at her entrance. She looked at him for clearance to which he chuckled softly, "Hop on, Princess."

She nodded with glossy eyes. Biting her lip she lowered till he filled her. Face flushed she closed her eyes and leaned forward, burying her face in his shoulder. He turned his head and bit her neck drawing out a soft cry of pleasure. She moved her hips, keeping him deep, digging her nails into his shoulders. He was still wearing his shirt. Marceline buried her face in it, breathing in the mixture of his scent and whiskey. It made her heart pound as little memories trickled through her thoughts. Her breath came heavily as he bit her pointed ear, chuckling as he hit that sweet spot. Marceline muffled her cries by pressing her face into his shoulder.

"Enjoying yourself, princess?" he growled darkly.

Those claws were on her hips suddenly, moving her how he wanted. Marceline pressed against him, staining his shirt with blood. It smelt so good on him, mixed with those familiar scents. Taking the fabric between her teeth she sucked. And for a moment the blood reminded her of the woods, the whiskey reminded her of a pleasant outing, the taste of his skin, the scent of his arousal reminded her of a man. An man who was so close yet so far away. She arched back as she came and he lurched forward, taking her breast in his mouth as he continued to grind her against him. As she neared her second climax, Marceline the girl started coming back.

She remembered a time when all she wanted was a night with that man, that man that belonged to her.


He stopped. Marceline opened her eyes, confused and frightened as his nails began digging into her hips.

His hand flew to her jaw, placed it in a painful vice that made her cry out, "What did you call me?" he seethed. Marceline shook her head, eyes wide. This only angered him further. "Get off."

Marceline's heart pounded as she lifted herself off of him. Once free he roughly pushed her off the couch. Marceline hit the floor as he stood, towering over her, tense, fists clenched, a dark menacing shadow over his sharp eyes. She hastily scrambled backwards, digging her heels into the floor as his hands glowed with magic.

"C- Crown please," she sputtered, holding her arm up defensively.

Marceline turned, intending to run. She didn't get far as ice pinned her forearm to the floor. Marceline panicked and pulled as the appendage quickly grew numb. Tears welled in her eyes as she was unable to break free. She turned and he was there, on one knee, in her face looking at her in such contempt.

"Please," she whispered shakily, "I…I'm so-"

He grabbed her face, his mouth a mixture of a grin and a scowl. "Oh no, sorry is just a word," he hissed, twisting his hand in her hair, making her cry out. "You will atone for your mistake, little princess." Marceline squeaked as he slammed her head to the floor. He leaned over her his body cold, breath icy as he growled, "You will learn not to make that mistake again."

Marceline watched the tub fill while leaning on its edge, her gaze listless. She dipped her fingertips in the scolding water and hissed as it felt like thousands of tiny needles were digging into her skin. As the numbness faded from her fingertips Marceline sighed. She turned the water off and shakily climbed into the tub. The heat was a welcomed contrast to the cold. She dipped her washcloth in the water, lightly wrung and placed it over her shoulder where one of her many bruises had welted.

She sunk lower into the water, lip quivering. Nose barely above the surface she wrapped her arms around herself, kept her knees pressed together and bent towards her chest. Marceline remained there till the water grew cold. When she climbed out of the tub some hours later, wrinkly, sore, disheartened she was glad she couldn't see her reflection. She slipped into a comfortable pair of jeans and pulled a shirt over her head. The loose clothing would be more comfortable while her body healed. It was surprising that the welts hadn't started fading already but Marceline suspected perhaps magic had something to do with that. Wrapping her arms around herself she walked out of the bathroom, jittery, eyes shifting back and forth.

Purposely avoiding looking at the couch she walked past the living room and into the kitchen. Picking up a red Betty Crocker spoon Marceline drained the red out of it. After eating the red from a few items Marceline stopped, covered her face.

She still felt empty.

Marceline wandered out of the kitchen aimlessly. It was still dark, she could see the moonlight through the skylight. She wondered how time had passed. It had felt like forever. Shuttering she latched onto her sweater, drew her head into her shoulders. Creaking filled her ears and she looked down the hall. The study door was cracked open and a dim yellow band of light illuminated the dark passage.

When the door was open he expected her.

Marceline quietly pushed the door open and stepped inside. The crown was at his desk casually flipping through the pages of some book. He was calm, like nothing happened at all. She swallowed, anxiously twisting the fabric of her shirt. The silence was bearing down on her, a weight that quickly became suffocating. When he finally spoke she flinched.

"I require this book from the collection downstairs," he said holding up a slip of paper between two fingers.

Marceline walked up to him and gently grabbed the paper. She waited until he let go before fully taking it.

"Yeah, sure," she said meekly.

As she left The Crown looked over his shoulder and smirked.

Marceline returned, book in hand twenty minutes later. She waited at the door quiet as a mouse. He looked up and briefly gestured for her to approach. Her legs wobbled as she walked up to him, the book pressed against her chest. By his side she held held it out, her head bowed. His eyes swept over her. He smiled as he gently accepted the book.

"What a good girl," he said softly, gently taking hold of her hand. Marceline panicked. He smiled and gently led her into his lap. "You know," he said, opening the book in one hand, softly stroking her hair with the other, "I have found myself completely fascinated by this Egyptian culture. Really they were quite ahead of their time. They figured out how to remove brains," he mused, "by pulling them out through the nose. Now isn't that interesting?"

Marceline hooked her index fingers nervously. "Yeah," she said.

He gently swept her hair behind her ear as he read a passage he found interesting. She swallowed and hesitantly looked at his face, which appeared pleased. Those agile fingers began gently massaging her scalp. Marceline sighed, closed her eyes and relaxed into his hand.

"Do you recall those items you gathered for me, little one?" he said running his hand from the top of her head down to her lower back. She winced as he passed over the tender bruises, biting her lip to keep from making any noise that would upset him. Noticing her pain he went back to massaging her scalp, "Well do you?" he asked.


"I think I've found a rather opportune solution to our current living arrangement." Marceline's spine straightened and he chuckled, amused by her flighty behavior. "I did say our, my pet," he purred into her ear, making her hold her breath, "You're coming with me princess."

"Where?" she asked, her brow raised slightly. He cupped her chin and she flinched, pressed her full lips into a fine line.

"I would hope somewhere populated," he said, laughing as he stood, nearly sending her toppling to the ground, "Or at the very least something other than vile slime creatures and rancid trash beasts… but who knows, things could be so much worse."

"How," he looked at her and she froze. He gestured for her to continue and she responded, "How are we going to get there?"

"Excellent question," The Crown sneered smugly as he pulled a book from a locked drawer in his desk, "Why with this."

Marceline's eyes widened. It was the Enchirideon.

When the sun rose The Crown led Marceline out into the woods. She carried all their supplies in Simon's old camping back pack. He followed the book's instructions exactly. When he finished setting up the incantation he stepped back, observed his work compared to the example and gave a short, pleased nod.

"Light the candles," he instructed. Marceline closed her eyes and summoned flames, igniting the wicks. "Follow me."

They entered the circle and stood in the center of the markings he had drawn in chalk. The Crown skimmed the text with his finger, reading intently one last time before moving forward. He pulled out a knife and sliced his hand, then handed it to Marceline who did the same. They let some of their blood drip on a particular symbol Marceline couldn't read. She assumed this was the token for their safe passage.

The crown lifted the book, cleared his throat and began repeating the spell. Marceline held onto her hat as the wind picked up around them. She scooted closer to his side as a vortex formed around the circle and caught fire from the candles. He kept chanting, lost in the repetition. Beneath their feet the symbols glowed, the light spreading till the ground vanished completely. Marceline warily got back to back with the Crown, not sure what to expect.

Everything went white and she suddenly felt like she was falling. She hit the ground and cried out, her hand going to her sore, bruised ribs. Once her head stopped spinning Marceline opened her eyes. She looked up. The Crown was already on his feet and standing on the edge of something. His hair and jacket bellowed softly in the breeze. He stretched and cackled happily. She propped herself up on her elbows, trying to push her hair out of her face. The Crown turned, his smile nearly from ear to ear. She stood and her eyes widened.

"Oh princess," he said as she walked to his side at the edge of the structure, "Just think of the fun."