Curse of Dracula

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  She simply wanted him to stop.

  Around and around her mind reeled, unable to find purchase on one side of the argument or the other. All that she knew was that her sanity and her moral value were deeply in conflict. When she was around the vampire, she willingly fell into his hands. Apart from him, she had wondered if his influence would fade. If his proximity was truly to blame for all she felt for him—a product of her empathic gift.

  But now, she missed him. She wished he had spent the day with her. Last night she had given him her body, but he had already owned her heart. And she had been given his in return.

  No one had ever loved her the way he did. She had been cared for well enough by the Roma—but never like that. Even to them, she was always an outsider. Never one of them. Never truly family.

  Family.

  What an odd concept. She had always thrown it away as something she would never have. Never belong to. But it seemed that was precisely who Dracula collected—those who found no companionship elsewhere. Zadok. Elizabeth. Witchdoctor. Even Walter, she knew, must serve his master out of a familial sense of friendship and love.

  She was loved. She pulled out the small box of chocolates Vlad had hidden inside her coat. She had eaten two and had resisted the urge to eat the rest over the course of the day. It was so rare she was given things, she wished to savor them.

  It did funny things to her to think about it. She felt butterflies. It made her smile, even as she dwelled on the wreckage of the city.

  I deserve to go to Hell for this, don’t I?

  The odds that I would ever be allowed into Heaven were rather slim. She sighed. And now they are certainly dashed. He is the King of the Dead, even as he is the lord of vampires. I cannot escape what I am, even as he cannot escape himself. I cannot ask him to be that which he is not.

  I love him. This is no trick of his nearness. It is truth.

  But this suffering—this death and torment—it had to stop. It was too much for her to forgive. Even for someone she adored.

  What could she do? Destroy his soul? The thought hurt her like a physical wound. She leaned against the railing and let out a wavering breath.

  “Miss Parker. Good evening.”

  She turned and saw the cold redheaded vampire standing by the door. She smiled faintly at him and motioned him to come closer. “Hello, Walter. Good evening to you as well.”

  He squinted a little at the rays of the fading sun but came out anyway. She gasped. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think—”

  “It’s quite all right. I would not have come out here if I were in any danger. Being so closely tied to Master Dracula’s blood allows me the benefit to walk in the sun if I choose. I find it simply too bright to enjoy, although the warmth is nice.”

  She turned back out to look at the city. “Do you miss it? Being alive?”

  “Sometimes. It was certainly simpler. My days as a mortal were not the most pleasant, though, so I cannot say I miss the events, per se.” He stood beside her, a hand folded across his lower back, the other resting on the railing. He looked out over the city. “I have seen worse than this, I fear.”

  “I suppose that is meant to be a comfort.”

  “No. Not particularly.”

  She laughed at his strange dry commentary. She looked up at him and could see nothing on his features but stoicism. That icy nothingness that reminded her so much of a carving and less of a sentient creature. But her gift allowed her to feel something more. There was a sorrow there—the memory of old grief. Of regret.

  “I think you are not as cruel as you look, Walter. You do not wish for this fate to have fallen the city either.”

  He smiled lightly. “No. I do not enjoy death.”

  “What would you have him do?”

  “Leave here and go to the mountains as he has offered before. Away from all the prying eyes. I do not like the level of visibility this forces upon us. The world may well rally to breach our defenses. We can stand against them for a while, but for how long, I do not know.”

  “It is not the human lives spent that troubles you?”

  “I am afraid not. While I do not relish the blood, it does not trouble me.”

  That was fair. He was a vampire, after all. She looked back out at the city. “Would you tell me how you came to be as you are, Walter?”

  He was silent for a long moment, and she worried perhaps she had offended him. Just before she was about to apologize for her question, he began. “I am nearly a thousand years old. I hail from northern England. I was the mayor of a small village there. Perhaps there were a hundred of us? Two hundred at our peak? We had no armies. We had no defenses. We had nothing to offer. But it did not stop him from coming. It did not stop him from setting upon us like a plague.”

  His hand on the railing tightened. “One by one, night after night, people began to die. It continued like an illness, spreading, until more and more of my people—the ones I had been chosen to protect—were preying on the survivors. What manner of terrible sickness raises its victims from the grave? It was not until I took a torch and threatened to burn everything down if he did not show himself that he came from the shadows. I stood there and knew I was helpless. If he wished me dead, he would have it. If he wished us all to be his slaves, that would be within his right.”

  Crimson eyes slipped shut, as if he were picturing that night in his mind. “He asked me if I wished to serve. I told him I would kneel at his feet if he spared the rest of my people his terrible fate. It was my duty to protect them, and I would proudly lay down my life to do so. He agreed. With one gesture of his hand, all the vampires he had made seized and burst into flame. He freed them from the curse…and burned the city to the ground. All of my people around me. He proved my threat had been nothing but childishness. I had also not been clever enough in my definition of the word ‘spare,’ it seemed. He freed them from his curse, and the humans from their lives. He made me as he. I stayed true to my word and have served him ever since.”

  “I…I’m so sorry.”

  “I am not.” He opened his eyes again and looked out at the city. “I have come to understand that what he did was indeed mercy. It is I who have suffered, not those villagers.”

  “Then why do you not choose to die?”

  “I made a vow to serve him. I will do so until he releases me. I am a man of my word. And he…” He paused, as if he had spoken too much. He sighed and continued. “He is in need of counsel. Left to his own devices, his wrath is far worse. He cannot be changed—his temperament is not capable of being mended. Some wounds never heal, and some blood shall never dry. But he can be tempered.”

  “Is that advice or a warning, Walter?” She smiled. He was such a dour and curmudgeonly thing. “I shall take it to heart either way, I suppose.” She pulled the box of chocolates from her pocket and, lifting the lid, offered him one.

  Looking down at her quizzically, he blinked. Carefully, as if he were afraid the box might bite him, he reached in and took one of the chocolates. He looked down at it in his hand as if he was utterly perplexed. “Thank you, Miss Parker.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  He ate the chocolate, and she took another as well, and they stood there in silence for a long moment.

  “Tell me something, Walter,” she began, unable to contain her curiosity. “Do you care for him? Do you love him?”

  “Certainly not in the way you do.”

  She laughed, not certain if that was intended as a joke. But she took it as one, regardless. “I suppose one must need specify when the likes of Zadok wander your ranks.”

  “I am terribly sorry you were forced to spend two days in his company. The man is a cretin.”

  “Yes, perhaps. But there is tragedy there that has made him what he is. Same as you. Same as all the rest. Same even as Dracula himself. Very few wake up in the morning and decide they are to be the villain of their own life stories. What cruelty we pay to others we have learned to dismiss. Save perhaps
in the case of mental illness or in the deranged. But he is neither of those things.”

  “You are a wise creature.”

  “I have witnessed much of human life despite my few years.” She shrugged. “It is not by choice.”

  “To answer your question—yes. I have come not only to respect him, but to call him my friend. He is the closest thing to family I fear I have ever had. I loathe the idea of a world without him. But perhaps he deserves his rest. Perhaps this suffering should come to an end once and for all.”

  “Are you suggesting that I should destroy him?”

  “No. I am merely saying I would understand it if you did. And I would not find it as loathsome a concept as perhaps the others have done in their bids to you.”

  “Ah. You know of Elizabeth’s and Zadok’s treaties to such an effect?”

  “It is hard not to know of their comings and goings, or indeed of quite literally anything that passes across their infantile minds. They speak loudly of it at all times. Pity me, if you will, Miss Parker. I have had to spend centuries with them.”

  She laughed again, smiling up at the dour vampire. The one who seemed somehow even older than Dracula himself. Vlad had a shocking amount of life to him—no pun intended—in spite of his thousands of years. Walter looked and acted like the grave. “And you have my sympathy, Walter. Although it is an easy thing to come by.”

  It was his turn to smile. “And you will have no shortage of those hungry for it. I fear you may become exhausted by the needs of monsters wishing for a tender hand and a gentle word.”

  She sighed. “There are worse fates than to pay kindness to those in need of it.”

  A hand settled on her shoulder, and she nearly jumped in surprise. She was not expecting the vampire to touch her. Luckily, it was over her coat, and she did not find herself careening through his memories. “I do hope you choose to forgive him. I hope you can come to love him for who he is. But I have come to put little value on such things as hope.” He paused. “Dracula will come for you soon. I should leave you be.”

  “It has been nice to speak to you, Walter.”

  “And you, Miss Parker.” He lifted his pocket watch, flicked it open, then shut it once more. “I also have business to attend. I have been placed in charge of hunting down those who were too foolish to flee. The ceasefire is over.”

  She cringed and hung her head. It was not a surprise. It stung, regardless.

  He turned to walk away. “Ah. You should know that Alfonzo Van Helsing is now our prisoner. His torment has already begun. You will come to witness his downfall. And if you still love our Master when he breathes his last…perhaps I will learn to hope again.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  What hope could be had in a world of such darkness?

  The idea of paying such creatures any mercy at all should turn her stomach. They did not deserve such things. That was the crux of her dilemma at its heart. It was not whether she loved Vlad enough to forgive him.

  It was the possibility that some souls no longer deserved mercy.

  22

  Eddie was covered in muck. It was a putrid combination of blood, dirt, and debris. Some of the blood was his—most of it wasn’t. That was a win, he supposed.

  The sun had set. He wasn’t anywhere near Copley. A whole day passed since he and Al had split up. He had gotten hung up helping people, then stream after stream of bastard monsters kept coming out of nowhere to try to kill him.

  He kept trying to tell the monsters he had somewhere to be and somebody to save, but, shockingly, they didn’t listen. He had killed seventy-two monsters, thirty-nine ghouls, eight lesser vampires, and three vampires who had really given him a run for his money. “And a partridge in a pear tree,” Eddie sang to himself sarcastically.

  This was getting old. The joke had worn thin. He wanted to go home.

  “Hello, handsome.”

  Eddie stopped with a sigh and pulled out his guns. “What? What now?” He turned to look at the woman who had spoken. She had long, chestnut hair pulled back into curls in an intentionally sloppy bun at the back of her head. Christ, she was probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her lips were painted deep red.

  But her eyes were an unnatural green.

  He raised his guns and pointed them at her.

  “Is that how you greet a lady?” She raised her hands in a show of harmlessness.

  “You ain’t no lady, vampire.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. “And don’t give me any of that ‘boo-hoo, I’m an unarmed woman’ bullshit.”

  The woman grinned wide and lowered her hands. “My name is Elizabeth. I am an elder vampire. I am nothing like the creatures you have fought so far. I have served at the left hand of Master Dracula for more than three hundred years. I will be your death, tasty boy. Come, embrace me, and I will make your exit from this world one of bliss and ecstasy.”

  “Going to have to pass. Thanks for the offer.” Seemed he was going to get that pear tree for his list in the form of an elder vampire. Or he’d die. One way or another. He clicked back the hammers of his guns and opened fire.

  Alfonzo flinched, jarred from his unconscious state by someone shaking him roughly. His head bounced off the stone floor, doing little to help clear the sensation that he was lost in a turbulent sea. “Wake up, scum.”

  He didn’t know the voice. He didn’t know that it much mattered. The room was dark, lit only by a few paltry candles scattered about. The room smelled of rot and death. It might have been him. It was hard to say.

  Everything was numb. He could have been missing limbs, and he would not have known. Like the morning after a drunken binge, he was left with only the pounding ache in his head and the regret over what he had done. Even if he could only vaguely remember it.

  Images of Bella flashed before him. Of her naked body beneath him, parting for him, begging for him. Now he could see it for what it was. In the coldness of his clear thoughts, he understood. Succubus. Either one had taken her form, or…she had become a demon herself.

  No. It had been her. He would have seen through a lie. Like you saw through the vampire who was in your midst for two days and you were too bullheaded to notice?

  And he had fallen prey to her like a fool. He remembered her over him, and being buried deep in her fire. Shame made his stomach twist in disgust, and he wanted to be sick.

  He was a failure. Not only in killing Dracula—but as a friend, a mentor, and as a man. He had betrayed Bella the moment he didn’t notice she was gone. He betrayed her when he fell victim to his own temptation and sin.

  The only thing left was to let God judge him. “Let me die.”

  “Oh, you will. Just not yet.” The man—or monster, it was hard to tell—stood from where he was crouched. Alfonzo wondered if that would be the last of it. He let his cheek fall against the grit and grime of the dirty stone floor. If it was the last thing he felt, he would be grateful. He was a wretch. He could not even greet his death with honor. He had not fallen by the blade, dying in combat against his enemy.

  He had fallen victim to lust.

  Lust for a girl he had sworn to protect. The haze of desire that had driven him to madness did not keep the images from flashing through his mind. The memories of what he had done, all the pleasure he had experienced, and how eager he had been to defile her.

  He could not pretend his desire had been a lie. But he never would have acted on it without intervention. Without the poison of a succubus sinking into his mind. He was weak. The city was now doomed for nothing.

  I will burn in Hell for what I have done. And I will deserve it. God, forgive me. God, please, take pity on me.

  The man picked up his ankle. Alfonzo grunted. “Let me die—”

  The other voice only laughed. “Pathetic.”

  Then he began to move. The man was dragging him out of the room. The edges of the rough-hewn stone dug into his back and exposed flesh. He was still naked. Bits of rock scraped at him, opened wounds, and stung him. His
head bounced painfully of the first step of a stone stairwell. Then a second. Then a third.

  Alfonzo hollered and prayed for death. But darkness took him instead.

  Maxine sensed Vlad’s presence a second before he appeared, standing at her back. Hands settled on her shoulders, heavy and sure. He moved to fold his arms around her waist in an embrace, lacing his fingers with hers as he held her.

  He was cold. But the smell of roses and the feel of the strength in him lured her into resting her head against him and simply basking in his presence. There was the night sky in the touch of his hands. But it came with more than that. It was accompanied by the flash of white teeth in the darkness. The bloodlust. It was a keen reminder that she was surrounded by the suffering of others.

  “Walter told me that Alfonzo has fallen.”

  Vlad’s voice was a deep rumble. “He has.”

  “Did you face him in battle?”

  “No. The coward was felled by his own hubris and lust. He thought himself untouchable by sin. Bella was his undoing—not I.”

  He sounded a little too amused by the idea for her comfort. “Vlad…you didn’t.”

  “She has accepted her nature as a succubus. She has fallen in love with Mordecai and made her choice. She has opened her arms and embraced her fate. I did not have to do much convincing when I asked her to be the trap for his downfall.”

  “I have a hard time believing you made a request of her. You mean to say that she did not resist the order she was given.” She glanced up at him and found his lips curled in a slight smirk. “You do not typically ask for anything.”

  “That is very fair.”

  “And I do not appreciate the insinuation that I am somehow being stubborn in this ordeal by not doing as Bella has done.” She looked back out at the city. “Why did she agree to do it? To destroy the man she once called family?”

  “I think she has come to resent the demands placed on her by the mortal world. And I believe she appreciated some of the poetic justice in that the man who made her a vampire hunter would be the one to complete her transformation. He was given the chance to save her, and he turned it down. I think she felt betrayed.”