Subj: Consequences of Falling ch. 45
Date: 8/3/01 10:23:50 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Nicole

Meanwhile

Constance could not stand the way Petofi was staring at them, gawking at them as if they were an exhibit at the zoo. She wanted to kill him, to rip his bloated body limb from limb. But she did no t budge, only increasing her hold on Quentin to keep her in her seat. She had no intention of letting Petofi sink his claws into Quentin. "Why are you here?" she asked, her voice finding a strong, steely timbre.

"I came to offer Quentin a last chance." Petofi laughed as he took a seat across from Constance and Quentin. "Come back into the fold and you'll never revert to the wolf again."

"So you can have the chance to manipulate me with my guilt? So you can once again rule my life?" Quentin laughed softly, saying, "No, I'd rather be enslaved to the demon inside me than to you."

Petofi shrugged as he moved toward the sofa. "Have it your way. You can run the chance of hurting this delicate flower."

Petofi reached out to touch Constance. If he touched her, she was convinced she would bite his hand. She would not do something so blatant, but she had no intention of turning to Quentin and hiding like a frightened kitten. Constance only stared at him, her eyes meeting his as thin slits. "You'd be wise not to copy your husband's insolence. I can hurt you in ways you can't imagine."

"I don't fear for myself and I'm not afraid of you," she snarled, her cheek firmly pressed against Quentin's. "You can't frighten me. I won't let you."

Petofi laughed as he returned to his seat, his eyes never wavering from Constance. "You have spirit, too much spirit for a child."

Constance did not answer immediately, knowing her anger would not help Quentin. If Petofi called her a child once more, she would hurt him. She understood his motives. He wanted to demean her, make her feel foolish. She was not alien to this tactic. Constance was used to it. Constance could pass for anywhere from 21 to 25 years old. The moment she angered someone, that person would throw words like "child" or "girl" (the worst of all) around like epithets. It never failed to fire her passions and make arguments last longer than they should. And now Count Petofi had decided to use this tactic. He had no idea what he was doing. "My spirit is not in question, Count Petofi."

"And what is?"

"Your motives. Why would someone as powerful as you need me?" asked Quentin angrily.

Constance only looked at him. Quentin's anger rightfully outreached her own. She knew his temper better than her own. If he lost control, he would lose all hope. There was no way for her to calm him without either one of them looking weak. She fell back into Quentin and whispered, "Please."

"No!" he insisted. "I need to know if I'm right. I'm of no use to you, not really. What do you want?"

"I want what is mine."

"And what is that?" Quentin leapt from the sofa and stormed into Petofi's face. "Is my life up for grabs? What do you want? The money? The fame? My lover? I need a fucking answer!"

Petofi stared at Quentin, his face quietly pleased. "For what I gave you, I deserve it!"

"I didn't ask for it. I would have gladly died. I deserve to die."

"Yet you didn't. You not only lived but you thrived. You don't deserve the money or this girl."

Constance did not react immediately. She quickly came to a breathtaking conclusion: Petofi did not know what she was. She swiftly formulated her plan, hoping against all her bad luck that he would fall for it. Constance took a deep breath and stood, moving between Quentin and Petofi. "Can I speak?"

Quentin attempted to voice protest but stepped aside. Petofi sat and she knelt before him, placing both hands on his knees but failing to look in his eyes. He revolted her, but she knew what she had to do. "We should work out a deal."

AS Petofi reached out to touch her hair, Constance repressed her gag reflex. He touched her with "the hand.' She only stared at it, watching as the ugly thing approached her. She noticed the large ring on his hand. It was the only thing that seemed completely solid. "You'll do as I tell you if I save Quentin?" asked Petofi deviously.

"Constance no!" screamed Quentin.

Constance ignored him, attempting to shut his broken image from her mind. "You can have me when you want if you save Quentin," she said, trying her best to sound sincere.

Petofi began to laugh, his hand never leaving Constance's hair. "You'll have to make me before I save him."

"I'm okay with that. There's a bedroom down the hall."

Petofi continued to laugh as he rose from his seat. His laugh became stronger once his eyes landed on Quentin and faded as he walked away. Constance took her time rising, waiting until Petofi had left to make it to her feet. When she saw Quentin, she instantly noticed the anger in his gaze, the wounded pride and broken trust oozing from his eyes. She repressed her tears as she whispered, "Forgive me, please."

Quentin softened immediately. He ran to her, taking her into his arms and kissing the top of her head. "Don't do this," he cried. "This isn't your problem."

"He wants me and he'll get EVERYTHING I have to give." Quentin nodded, seeming to understand but still uneasy. Constance kissed him deeply, wanting to have his taste in her mouth before she went to Petofi. "Will you forgive me?"

"Of course," he whispered.

"Again," she moaned, pressing her mouth against his and letting her hands ease down his torso. They kissed over and over again, neither one willing to let the other go. But Constance pulled away, kissing Quentin's cheek before walking toward the bedroom. She could barely look at Quentin. He looked so broken. As she walked to the bedroom, she stripped, unwilling to give Petofi a strip tease. When she entered the bedroom, she was that he was ready fro her. She quietly sucked in her breath and closed the door. Petofi's staring unnerved her, made her feel conspicuous. "What is it?" she hissed.

"You're unearthly," he whispered. "You're unlike any woman I've ever seen."

"Unlike any woman." Constance glanced at the bed, judging it good enough for her plan. "I'm on top," said Constance firmly.

"I won't complain." Petofi went to the bed, lying down as Constance waited. "Hurry! You needn't keep Quentin waiting."

Constance repressed grumbles as she mounted him. She was drier than the Sahara so his cock scraped her cavity like sandpaper. It was easy after that point: all she had to do was close her eyes and thrust. Soon, she could feel the vaginal contractions become stronger, pulling more from this man than his seed. It was power in it's purest form. She had full control over his life. She was stealing this man's vitality and he believed he was getting free tail. It made her want to laugh.

Once he came, Constance faked her orgasm and crawled away. The power surged through her body, making her nauseous. But this soon passed, meaning that the act had worked and his soul was in her possession. She turned to see if he had moved. To her delight, he had not budged an inch. "What's wrong?"

Petofi shifted his gaze to her, his eyes completely filled with terror. "What have you done to me?"

"What could I do? I'm just a child, remember?"

Petofi's eyes grew wider as she approached him, his bottom lip trembling as he tried to speak. "Succubus!" he finally whispered.

"Yeah."

"But it's not supposed to end this way!"

"But it will!" laughed Constance. "You are going to die."

To Constance's surprise, Petofi began to laugh. "I may die but Quentin's will still become the wolf in a few moments. His cure leaves this earth with me."

"No, I'll get that from you before this ends."

"How will you, little one? My power only follows my will and I certainly wouldn't help Quentin Collins."

Constance screamed, the sound so deafening that the windows rattled. She grabbed a metal bookend and bashed his face, turning it to a bloody stump. She only stopped when she noticed the ring on her finger. She remembered seeing the ring on Petofi. She checked his hand to find the ring gone. "What does this mean? Do I have the power?"

Constance had little time to contemplate it. She soon heard wild screams from the living room. She slipped in Petofi's blood as she ran, not bothering to throw on clothes as she hurried to the source. Quentin lay on the floor, wailing and convulsing uncontrollably. Memories of Corrin instantly flooded her mind and she wanted to turn away. But she could not turn from Quentin. She ran to him, and, after much struggling, restrained him. Without thinking it through thoroughly, she placed the ringed hand over Quentin's heart. Nothing happened. "I command you to rip the curse off of the heart of Quentin Collins," she said. Nothing happened. "I command you to rip the curse of the werewolf from the heart of Quentin
Collins." Nothing happened. Constance repeated the phrase until she lost patience. She screamed, "No one has been avenged by this worthless curse! I demand you rip it from his heart!" Almost instantly, she felt a force come beneath her hand and knock her away from Quentin, sending her flying across the room to be knocked unconscious from her impact with a desk.

Night had fallen when Constance came to. The stench of Petofi's rotting corpse had already filled the house. Constance ached but nothing broken would not soon be healed. She checked for Petofi's ring to find it missing. She did not care. She grabbed a blanket to shield her from the wind as she searched for Quentin. To her surprise, he lay on the floor unchanged. Constance began to say his name, at first softly but increasing in intensity when he failed to answer. She touched his arm to find it limp and luke warm. She checked his pulse and his breathing. She felt nothing. Constance staggered away, her tremors beginning in earnest. She felt a hand touch her shoulder. She looked up to see Angelique. Constance pointed towards Quentin and urged her to touch him. Angelique checked the body and gasped. She ran back to Constance and let her cry, both of them oblivious to the moonlight pouring over them from the window.

Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production.