Heart of Dracula

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  “I am many things…” His voice was quiet and deep, a sensual rumbling sound in his chest that made her eyes slide half closed. “But mad, I am not. Not as of yet.”

  Her body didn’t feel her own. She commanded it to whirl, to slap him, to punch at him, but none of those things manifested. Instead, she stood perfectly still as she felt him slide his hands along her shoulders, slipping along the fabric of her dress.

  He ran a hand over her hair, pulling the pins from the curls that kept her hair in a bun, and let the tight spirals fall loose along her back. He let out a low hum and combed his fingers through the strands. He had sharp nails that felt like claws, and they dragged along her scalp like a comb. No amount of willing herself to turn around was working. He had come close to touching her, but he had not done it yet.

  She couldn’t even command herself to speak and could only make a soft whimpering sound at his nearness. She shivered and felt goosebumps spread. He repeated the gesture. Her eyes slid shut, lured by the feeling of those sharp points against her skin. It felt so good, even though she knew it shouldn’t.

  A dark chuckle reverberated in him as he leaned his head in close. Cold breath pooled against her. “What a rare thing you are. So strong, and yet so fragile. And to never have been touched at all? This will be quite delightful, my treasure. You do seem to enjoy the sensation very much.”

  He turned her to face him slowly, and he reached to the crimson choker at her throat. He pulled the brooch from the fabric and pinned it to his lapel. “I appreciate the commentary. I would hate you to think I overlooked it. You wore my color. You wore my jewelry. You paint yourself as my property, seeking to lure me into a trap. How did it go, I wonder? Has this worked to your satisfaction?” He reached behind her neck and untied the string that held the choker in place and tossed it aside. “You have lured me in, I will say that much.” He leaned toward her neck, and she felt his breath there against her. She knew what he meant to do.

  “Please—I—" she gasped and tensed, her panic pushing through his control of her. “No!” When she shoved against him, she felt the spell snap. By her struggling or his release of it, she did not know.

  He banded an arm around her lower back and pulled her flush against him. She felt as though she were in the grasp of a force of nature. He might as well have been a volcano or an avalanche. Crimson eyes bored into hers, and all her will to fight was robbed from her once more. She railed against his hypnotic spell, but she could not break it. She felt her limbs go slack, surrendering to him. No!

  “I feel you fighting me. There is much strength in you, little empath. I cannot wait to taste you.”

  He hovered his hand over her cheek. She whimpered. “Please—don’t—don’t touch me, you can’t.”

  “If I do and you rip out my soul, then so be it. You will be the victor where all others have failed. If I don’t…oh, Maxine,” he grinned. “Think of the fun we will have.”

  “Wait—”

  “No.” And with that, he laid his palm against her cheek.

  She quietly cried out as she felt the strength in him pour over her. Not only the power in his firm hand, but inside his very being. She felt him crash over her like a wave. She struggled to maintain control, but she was slipping. She tried to hold back the tide, armed only with a teacup as she was.

  She shivered as he cradled her cheek in his touch, stroking her skin with his thumb.

  “My, my. What’s this? A last bulwark?” He hummed. “Look at you, trying to stay in command of your gift. Do you seek to protect me?”

  “No—”

  “You are protecting yourself, then? Does this pose you any danger? I think not. I think you simply wish to avoid adding anyone to your list of victims. Tell me, how many people have you killed?”

  “Stop, please,” she begged. Strings like yarn were stretching thin in her fingers. She couldn’t withstand him. She struggled to hold on. “Stop touching me. I can’t…I can’t control this for long.”

  “Then don’t. Let go. You cannot harm me, little empath. I can feel you there, inside my mind. Mortals may not have the power to withstand you, but I am no mortal.” He leaned toward her throat once more. His lips grazed her throat.

  She pressed her palms against his chest, finding the sudden will to fight. He was going to bite her—to drink her—perhaps to kill her. She couldn’t let that happen. “Please, no!”

  He laughed, a low, dark sound that vibrated through her. He lifted his head to look down at her. His hair brushed against her in its soft, dark tendrils. “Still, you struggle against me. I am impressed. You know you cannot win.”

  “I know, but…” It didn’t stop her from trying. “Please.” She could only beg him. There was nothing else she could do.

  “You will feel my kiss this night, Maxine Parker.” Crimson eyes were lidded as they watched her, the desire in them undisguised and burning as bright as the red moon in the sky. “But I will reward you for your bravery—for your conviction.”

  She was shivering in his grasp, trembling. She had no words.

  His lips ghosted across her cheek. There was a sound from him then, something strange an inhuman—like an animalistic, bestial purr. Like a great predatory animal was before her, hungry for the kill. It was not a vague metaphor. It was the truth.

  He hovered his lips by her ear. “I will have all of you in time, Miss Parker. You have sealed your fate with me this night. How I have delighted in you…how I know I will continue to do so. Do you fear my bite?”

  “Yes.” It came out as little more than a terrified whisper.

  “Then I will take my kiss from you another way instead.” He shifted to hover his lips over hers, a hair’s breadth between them. For that brief second, it seemed as though all of time stopped. Her heart hitched in her chest. “Let go, Miss Parker.”

  Then the gap was closed.

  He kissed her.

  His skin was cold to the touch. He had no body warmth of his own, but the heat behind his embrace drove all discomfort out of her mind. One of his hands slipped to the back of her neck and held her, cradling her head in his grasp. The arm around her waist pulled her tighter against his chest. Even from this, she could tell how unbeatably strong he was.

  A growl left him as he kissed her. He took from her all that he wanted, and he wanted it all.

  Despite herself, despite what she should feel, she moaned against his lips.

  It was her first kiss.

  Her first real kiss.

  And it belonged to a vampire.

  Her mind reeled for purchase against the onslaught of what he was levying against her. She should be screaming in panic. Instead, her hands were against his chest, clinging to the lapels of his black peacoat. She could not find the strength to push him away.

  She had never felt anything like it before in her life. She would have fallen if he was not holding her so effortlessly in his arm.

  But then, it changed. Reeling from his embrace, her grasp of the reins of her power ripped from her fingers. More than the kiss rampaged through her.

  He tore into her mind like a wildfire.

  Like a stampede of wild beasts, her empathic gift linked them together without warning. She felt him there inside her mind. Felt his desire and his need for violence. Their souls touched, and in that moment, she saw the crimson moon above. She felt the spread of enormous dark wings upon the cold wind, blotting out the stars above.

  The feeling of freedom—of the joy in the hunt.

  But more than all the rest, she felt hunger.

  She saw a mountain range. She saw miles and miles of trees that stretched up to stars that she did not recognize. She saw sand, burning in the blistering sun. The taste of blood in her mouth, bitter and poisoned. She saw death. Bodies in the mud, soldiers left to rot where they fell.

  She felt the loneliness, the crushing emptiness that surrounded his heart that now felt like hers. She felt as that loneliness turned into ice. She felt the pain recede, and a cold like the gra
ve took its place.

  The years…

  There were so many years.

  She felt the loss—the grief. Tears streaked down her cheeks as a pain unlike any other seared through her like an iron brand and marked her soul for the rest of eternity.

  Abandoned by God.

  And now a god on Earth himself.

  When he broke off the embrace, she was breathless. She felt the dampness on her cheeks and knew her tears were real. He looked down at her, his eyes narrowed in irritation and curiosity in equal measures. “Prying child, I stand corrected. It seems I cannot protect my mind from you.”

  She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t fathom what she had seen. It was only flashes of imagery and emotion. It was too scattered—none of it made any sense. But what she could understand was the grief, the pain, and the emptiness. And the years. She reached up and placed her palm against his cheek. The pain had been his.

  It still was. She felt him as though what burned in his heart were her own feelings.

  Something crossed over his features again. Something akin to surprise flared before it dulled into a softness edged in need. “Careful opening doors. You may not like what you find.” She pulled her hand away from him. He winced briefly, as if he did not intend to scare her touch away.

  His moment of vulnerability was tucked behind a stern, hard exterior as quickly as it had come, and he straightened his shoulders.

  “You are a curious thing, Miss Parker.” He cradled her cheek in his hand. His touch was cold, even in the dewy fog. She shivered. He placed his thumb against the hollow of her chin below her lip, and she felt the press of his sharp nail against her tender skin.

  Then came an order she could not deny.

  “Sleep.”

  10

  Death.

  And the feeling of cold skin against hers.

  “If you are right, and I die, then your problems are solved. If I am right…you will belong to me. Either way, I win.”

  Death. It echoed in his words. In his touch. In his kiss.

  Her dreams were filled with it. Blood mixing with the mud of a sprawling battlefield. Flashes of imagery filled her mind. Wading through the thick muck. Bodies within it, some moaning in agony, some lying still. Fingers and limbs jutting from the ichor like roots of a tree.

  She felt something worse than apathy for those lying in the mud. This was delight. This was pleasure. This was joy. The feeling of the thrill of the kill. The love of bringing death, pain, and suffering.

  Flashes of throats being slit. Of screams in the night. She saw a figure in full armor, driving a massive blade through the chests of enemy soldiers. Blood dripped from his sword and from his archaic leather armor. It was an ancient vision of times long ago. She had long since learned to keep herself as a separate observer in moments like these—and not trapped within the eyes of the person whose memory she was witnessing. It was far less traumatizing.

  Especially in cases such as this.

  She did not recognize the man in the armor at first. His helm was removed, and his hair was short, blond, and matted in blood. But when he turned to look at her, she saw his crimson eyes, and saw the soul inside.

  Vlad.

  He wore a different face, but there were some things that could not change.

  A man in steel armor came for him, raising his sword, meaning to cleave Vlad in half. But he deflected the blow easily. He drove his hand—his very hand, sharp nails and all—through the throat of the man who stood before him. He tore out the man’s flesh and watched as he crumpled into the mud, a bloody heap. A dying carcass. Nothing more than meat.

  “Hello, little empath. We meet again so soon.”

  She gasped as she felt him there inside her mind. Their souls had touched when he kissed her. He had broken down the barriers she had so carefully placed as though they were nothing but paper screens.

  The figure had not talked, but she heard the vampire’s voice all the same. She watched as he lifted his bloody hand to his face and snaked his tongue out to lick a line of crimson from the back of his fingers. She shuddered.

  “Are you so eager to see me?”

  His voice was taunting her, even as she couldn’t find the strength to respond, watching the warlord as he smiled wide in sick pleasure, his teeth stained red.

  “Do you even know it was you who called me here? I heard you whisper…and I answered.”

  “No, that’s not true.” She took a step back, nearly stumbling in the mud, and bumped into something behind her. The dream shattered and shifted, changing around her like oil in water. When her world reformed, she stood in a private study. A fireplace roared by one wall, filling the room with warmth and amber light. She could smell the burning wood. It was a comfortable, familiar smell, but it did nothing to quell her fear.

  A hand splayed across her stomach, fingers spread wide, pulling her against what she had bumped into. Not what—whom. It was Vlad, and he felt as immovable as stone.

  “What have you done to me?” she whispered.

  “I left you asleep in your bed, beautiful child.” Amusement was thick in his voice. She entertained him, and she was not quite sure she was glad for it. A sharp-nailed finger trailed through her hair, tracing over her scalp, tucking her hair behind her ear. It brought a shiver out of her even before she felt cold breath against her cheek. “And I lay in my coffin alone. I slept only to hear your call in my dreams. And so, I have come.”

  “I have not called to you.”

  “I thought we promised not to lie to each other. You disappoint me, Maxine.”

  “Then if I did call to you, I have not meant to do it.” She shivered again. She felt so cold. The fire did nothing. It wasn’t real, after all. His other arm wrapped around her, pulling a long swath of fabric with it. A thick black cape with crimson lining. It was as though he meant to warm her.

  “Now that, I do believe.” He let out a quiet and thoughtful hum. “Tell me something, my dear…have you come to realize why you seek me out? Why you touched the stone though you knew it to be dangerous, or why you answered my invitation to the gala? Why you whispered to me now? Why I know you will answer the invitation I have left upon your dresser?”

  “No.”

  “For someone so aware of the emotions of others, you are ignorant of your own.”

  “That is true. I will not deny it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “My emotions have never mattered, vampire.” It was a personal confession, but they had made an accord, after all. And it felt impossible to lie to him in this place, even if she thought she could. “Therefore, I have never bothered with studying them.”

  “Oh, child…” He slowly ran his fingertips over her cheek. She pulled in a sharp breath through her nose and went rigid in his arms. It was all too much. “Such a lonely thing you are. That is why you whisper to me in your dreams. There is a void deep within your heart, an emptiness that longs to be filled. And it is the very same you feel in my own soul. You see a reflection of yourself in my shadow. That is why you are drawn to me.”

  She opened her mouth to deny it. She wanted to say he was wrong. She wanted to tell him he was mistaken or, at the very least, was misunderstanding her. But she found she could not. With a sense of defeat, she shut her mouth and said nothing at all. It was true. From the moment she held that gem, she felt something in him that drew her in. Her shoulders slumped. Damn him. I am likely too late for that.

  “Not to mention…I believe I am the first soul to ever touch yours and not feel your wrath. Is that not so?” When his cheek pressed against hers, she felt her eyes slip shut. She found herself pressing into him, seeking more of that which she had never had.

  Touch.

  Simple contact.

  He hummed in approval, turning her slowly in his arms until she was pressed against him, chest to chest, her fingers finding the lapel of his clothing. She gasped in surprise. He wore another version of himself, it seemed.

  His face had barely changed,
but his hair was a stark white that flowed around his shoulders in sharp contrast to the dark fabric. It gave him a much older air, and his clothing was far more antiquated and austere, as though he were an ancient King in some dusty castle.

  Perhaps he was.

  Perhaps he had been.

  “Who are you?” She searched his crimson eyes for the answer and saw only the depths of his years looking back at her.

  “I have been many names and many faces. Countless personae have come and gone. But you can see through that easily enough, can’t you?” He lifted his fingers to her cheek again, brushing over her skin. “You can see through to something deeper.”

  Tears stung her eyes. She felt them slip loose.

  He shushed her gently and, using the pad of his thumb, stroked them away. “Why do you cry?”

  “I’m frightened.”

  “Of me?”

  “Yes, of course. But…”

  “But?”

  “I am more frightened of your touch. Of this.” She had promised not to lie to him. “That I seem to wish for it.”

  The look on his face softened to one that seemed filled with a strange kind of warmth and affection. As if she had once more melted something in him that had been frozen for a long time. “You have no need to be frightened of me. I mean you no harm.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. The sensation was so foreign to her.

  “What do you want from me?” She had asked before, and she asked again.

  “I have left you another invitation to meet me alone. This time upon your dresser. Answer it, and I shall answer you.” He tilted her head up to him with the crook of a finger underneath her chin. “Now, my darling, I have told you to sleep, and you disobey me. You need to rest.”

  As his lips lowered her hers, she let her eyes slip shut. He kissed her, and the dream faded away.

  Maxine awoke with a start, sitting straight up in her bed.

  Her bed.

  She put her head in her hands and tried to still the spinning. Her vision was reeling around her. Even with her disorientation, there was no mistaking where she was. She knew the smell of her room, the feel of the mattress beneath her. This was, without a doubt, her home.