Heart of Dracula

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  “I suspected as much. You see why I have come peacefully. And you see why I have not told the hunters. I only wish to avoid violence. For me, for the hunters, for the city as a whole.”

  “It is a hopeless endeavor. But I commend you for your efforts,” Walter replied, and she was once more surprised at how old he felt to her. Far older than even the Vampire King himself. All she could feel from him was a tired weariness over the whole ordeal, where his elder was still driven by passion. “It takes a wise soul to understand they will fall to something they cannot hope to defeat.”

  She looked out the window to the street as it rolled past them. His words were true. She was facing a power that could command monsters and turn the moon an eternal, full, and unflinching red.

  What am I against a creature such as him?

  “Tell me something, vampires.” She let her fingers trace along the fringe of the curtain that decorated the wall. “Why do you serve him?”

  “Our reasons differ.” Zadok chuckled, shifting lower in his seat. He draped an arm over the back of the upholstered surface, inching his touch closer to her shoulder. She leaned away from him. “Myself? I enjoy it and the benefits his cruelty afford me. Walter does it from a childish sense of loyalty, as Dracula is his sire.” Zadok paused, as if waiting for her to ask what the word meant. She was well enough versed in the breeding of horses to catch his meaning. Vlad had made Walter directly.

  She nodded once in understanding.

  The blond-haired, yellow-eyed Frenchmen smiled broadly in response. “Tell me. Is it true that I cannot touch you? Usually, our lord threatens me with violence if I play with his toys. But with you, he said there were far more dire consequences than the usual dismemberment I suffer.”

  “He is being quite literal. If you don’t wish me to tear out your soul from your carcass and sending it skittering into the void, no, you can’t touch me.” She looked to him pointedly. “On second thought, go on and try.”

  Walter chuckled.

  Zadok recoiled from her. “What kind of monster are you?”

  She smiled at his look of horror. “I could not rightly say.”

  “Why has our Master taken a toy he cannot touch?” Zadok asked Walter. “That’s madness, even for him.”

  “It seems he can touch me.”

  Silence. She shouldn’t have said that. Both vampires were watching her in curiosity and confusion, reflected in yellow and red tones. She looked away from them and sighed. “His soul is immovable. Even from me, he is immortal. It is for the best. If I tore out his soul and left him an empty shell, I dislike thinking of what kind of wandering spirit might come to inhabit something with that manner of power.”

  “An unsettling thought indeed,” Walter muttered.

  “He can touch you. And you have never known the embrace of a man or a woman?” Zadok cackled. “I see why you climbed so willingly into this carriage, my beautiful thing. You’ll climb as eagerly into his bed before long.”

  She shot Zadok a withering glare.

  The vampire only howled in laughter. “Oh, what a look! No wonder he is infatuated with you. How I wish I could have you for myself. I would teach you a man’s touch in all its glory.”

  She looked to Walter. “How angry would Dracula be if I ripped his soul out of his body?”

  “No. You will do no such thing—” Zadok protested.

  Maxine and Walter ignored him. The redheaded vampire thought it over. “I think not very.”

  “May I, then?”

  “I would ask that you not.” He smiled thinly at her. “As tempting as it may be.”

  “I resent that, old friend.” Zadok folded his arms across his chest and propped his feet up on the bench across from them, crossing them at the ankles. “You would miss me.”

  “You would be disappointed to learn how very little I would do anything of the sort.”

  She fought a smile and lost. She turned her gaze back out to the window. “What is it that he wants from me?”

  “Well—” Zadok began.

  “That is not our place to say,” Walter interrupted him sternly. It was clear that Zadok was to keep his mouth shut on the subject. “You may discuss it with your Lord.”

  “He is your Lord, not mine,” she protested.

  “Oh?” Walter watched her, devoid of emotion, and she realized how fruitless a sentiment it was that she clung to. She had come here for lack of any other choices. If Vlad wished her in a cage, she would be in one. If he wished her dead, she would be so.

  Who was he now, if not her King?

  Willful surrender. His words to her during their dance rang in her mind. It disgusted her that she could not see him for what he was in hindsight. But he had hidden from her flawlessly. She had trusted her gift to warn her of an intruder, and it had failed her.

  Zadok trailed a hand over her shoulder, ghosting over the fabric. It seemed even though he had decided not to touch her skin, he was still intent on playing with her. She flinched and pulled away, but there was nowhere for her to go in the small carriage. He shifted closer to her, his leg touching hers. “Do not be afraid, my beautiful. He does not intend to hurt you.”

  She glared at him and pushed his hand away from her. Or rather, she tried. He returned it to her shoulder a moment later, undiscouraged. “What did you do to the man you pretended to be last night?”

  Zadok laughed and ended it with a grin, a reminder of the sharp fangs that he owned. They were not long enough to cause the wound she saw without leaving the mark of other teeth—they must retract like a cat’s claws. “Arthur…lovely boy. He was quite willing in whatever harm I paid him, I assure you.”

  “Please stop touching me.”

  “You do not scare me.”

  “I should.”

  “I do love a little danger. As do you, I think. Or else why would you be here? I will tell you this. Our kiss brings pleasure the likes of which you have never known. Tell me, Miss Parker…since you cannot touch anyone, are you quite skilled in pleasuring yourself, then?”

  “Enough, Zadok,” Walter hissed from across the carriage. “I needn’t remind you how displeased our Master would be with this indiscretion of yours.”

  The blond vampire sighed heavily and slid away from her obediently. “Yes, yes…Why must you ruin my fun, Walter?”

  “Someone must.”

  Zadok grumbled.

  And with that, the carriage came to a halt. She recognized Boswell Street. The wooden sign for Marliave swung in the breeze from its hooks. Walter pushed open the door, stepped out, and offered her his hand. She was glad to be away from Zadok, and she eagerly followed the red-haired vampire.

  Walter bowed to her, climbed back into the carriage, and shut the door without a word of goodbye. With the crack of a whip, they left her there. Technically, the church bells had not yet struck the hour and she was early. But she knew he was waiting for her regardless. With a shuddering breath, she tried to steel herself against what was about to happen.

  It was time.

  12

  The sound of laughter, glasses quietly tinkling, and of silverware meeting porcelain greeted her as she stepped through the door. Along with the smell of food, the warmth of the room complimented the elegantly decorated interior. Boston had only the one real French restaurant, although many different establishments drew inspiration from their cuisine.

  Despite the murders and the disappearances in the city, the restaurant was crowded. It was filled with people, and the feeling of their emotions washed over her. The comfort that came with company. The enjoyment of not being alone.

  But they felt like stars circling a black void. One she could sense waiting upon the edges of the room like a cloud. He was here. She did not doubt it. He was like the rushing river underneath a bridge.

  The dining room was on the smaller side. It felt, for lack of a better word…intimate. Different from the bustling grandeur of the Parker House, and far more refined than the Oyster House or the Green Dragon. It felt dis
tinctly European.

  It should have been a rare treat to come here. Instead, it filled her with nothing but nervous anticipation and dread. She wondered if she would live to see the morning. Hell, she wondered if she would live to see nine o’clock.

  “Mademoiselle,” greeted the maître d’, a very polished looking gentleman standing behind a small counter by the door. He was as French as the décor and as well-kept. “Welcome, welcome! I believe I know who you have come to meet.” He gestured with a white gloved hand as he began to walk into the restaurant. “The monsieur has been expecting you.”

  “I’m certain he has,” she muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing, never mind.” She waved him off. The man, seemingly perturbed at anything that missed a beat in his expected routine, turned back to leading her through the restaurant.

  A table by a window was their destination. The sight of the tall figure standing there with his hands clasped behind his back sent her heart beating into a faster tempo after skipping a few in its eagerness to double its efforts. She pulled up her steps and froze like a deer spotting a hunter.

  “Is something the matter, mademoiselle?”

  “Very much so.” She did not take her eyes off the man—the creature—who had yet to turn to face them. She had been in his presence before, but it always seemed so brief and hurried. This was going to be a much more drawn-out affair. “There is nothing you can do about it. Thank you. You may go.”

  Heeding her dismissal, the head waiter bowed and, without another word, left her to her plight.

  The figure at the window stayed stoic and unmoving. If she hadn’t known better, she would have figured him for a ghost. He looked so very detached. He was a silhouette cut against the lights of the street and the crimson clouds beyond. He looked out at the passing people, carts, and horses that crossed in front of him.

  She wondered how much of his existence he had spent watching the living. Last night, when he had kissed her—the thought made her cheeks grow warm—she had felt so many years stretch out behind him. So much time lived within his soul that she found she could not fathom it.

  “A city so young and full of life…it is charmingly naïve in its hope for a new nation. It will mire in death soon enough.”

  Maxine was not certain whether it was his voice or his words that cut her to the quick and made her hair stand on end. They came from him in a bass rumble, and with them came such unwavering darkness.

  “More quickly now that you have come.” She was honestly surprised she found her voice at all. “Each morning I read that more have been taken. You are to blame for these disappearances?”

  “Of course.” He finally turned to look at her, his crimson eyes glinting in the candlelight of the establishment. “You answered my invitation.”

  It was an obvious statement, and she knew what he meant by speaking it aloud. He wished it known that she understood why she was here. He wished to skip the pretense. She appreciated that much. “You made your point perfectly clear, Count Dracula. What manner of blade you hold against my throat I do not know, but its presence there is undeniable.”

  A wicked smirk twisted his lips. “Do not tempt me. Although I find knives are so…impersonal.”

  She could not keep the warmth from her cheeks, and she turned her gaze away from the creature in front of her. The room was filled with dining couples, business partners, and friends. Joining them now was a monster…and whatever she was. “Why did you choose this place?”

  “I thought perhaps you would appreciate somewhere with the safety of a crowd. As I am unlikely commit any rash acts or do you harm where I may be discovered.” He moved toward her. She locked up as he did. She had become comfortable with his distance, but now he seemed to wish to change it. “And I am eager to enjoy an authentic European meal. I do miss it. The cuisine here in America is…lacking.”

  She took a single faltering step away from him. By all the Gods, he was tall. He stepped closer to her, and she felt so very tiny in his presence. The power that filled the air around him washed over her like the fog had done the previous night. Without realizing it, she had clutched her hand to the center of her chest over her heart, which was now thudding painfully loud.

  She wondered if he could hear it.

  Judging by his smile, the answer was yes. “May I take your coat?”

  She stammered an embarrassing sound before she managed to swallow it all down. This was a negotiation—a parlay. She needed to remain calm. She nodded. Her resolve lasted a brief second. She jolted and went stiff as he circled behind her like some great shark and placed his hands on her shoulders.

  He lowered his head to her ear. His cold breath on her skin made her shiver. “You were brave to come here.”

  “As I said, I have little choice…”

  He slipped her coat from her shoulders. She stepped forward, eager to put some distance between them. She turned to watch as he hooked the dark gray fabric on the wall. Crimson eyes caught her gaze. “There is always a choice.”

  When he moved toward her again, she took a step back too quickly and bumped into the edge of the table. A knife and fork clattered to the ground loudly.

  Not a single person turned to look.

  She watched the room, curious and afraid in equal measures. There was something wrong here. Very wrong. With a rising sense of dread, she looked back to the vampire before her. “This place is no safer than any other, is it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If I were to hurl that glass against the wall, not a single person would hear it shatter, would they?”

  Vlad smiled, pleased. He crouched to pick up the fallen silverware and placed it back on the table. “Sit, Miss Parker. Let us talk.” He pulled her chair out for her.

  “No. Not until you explain to me what you have done here.” She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to sound firm. “I will not knowingly walk into a lie. Did we not make a promise, after all?”

  “That we have. Forgive me.” He raised his hand and, on cue, all conversation ceased. Maxine looked out at the room. The true horror of her situation was now laid out before her. She thought perhaps he was merely hiding their presence and keeping them unseen and unheard.

  No. It was far worse than that.

  Everyone in the room—absolutely everyone—had simply stopped. Stopped everything. They were standing or sitting, whichever they had last been in the process of doing and were staring blankly ahead like so many dolls in a window display.

  Maxine’s heart thumped in her ears almost painfully as fear flooded through her system. He had everyone in the room under his control and dangling from his fingers like puppets. Each and every one of them was in his thrall.

  When he spoke, it startled her. “I had hoped to spare you this.”

  She would have withdrawn farther, but she was already up against the edge of the table. She had nowhere to go. Not just here within the restaurant, but in a far more global sense. “Spare me what? The truth of my inescapable circumstance?”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head and struggled to find her footing in the sinking sandpit in which she had found herself. She swallowed down her fear. She refused to let herself devolve into panic. Raising her chin, she met him head-on. “No. Pay me any unkindness that you wish, Count Dracula, but do not mask your cruelty behind a guise of kindness.” She swallowed and forced herself to take a deep breath. She knew she was to die someday. If it came now, like this, it made no difference to what waited for her at the end. “I have seen and felt a thousand deaths as if they were my own. I have felt far more than my life’s share of tragedies. Do not think me so naïve or fragile. I assure you I am neither.”

  Dracula bowed his head to her. “Forgive me. I am accustomed to dealing with those of a far less…pragmatic demeanor than what you possess. And, may I remind you, my dear…” His crimson eyes caught hers again, making her heart stick in her throat. “To you, I am only Vlad.”

  He snapped
his fingers.

  And with that, the room sprang back to life as if someone had released the gears on a wind-up toy, letting it resume its actions without any knowledge of its pause in time. Maxine let out a breath.

  “Please.” He gestured to her chair. “I ask you to entertain my invitation to dine with me, a ruse though it may be. It was not my intention to scare you. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “Are you certain you wish to dine with me and not on me?” It was meant as an insult.

  He certainly did not take it that way. Instead, he took the barest step toward her. “Patience…” The sound was barely more than a low rumble in his chest. It seemed to resonate inside her, and she shivered. “Now, sit. Please.”

  Overwhelming. There was that word again, the one that sprang to mind in his presence. What would she prefer, to fight with him? To be shackled and chained? Kidnapped by his cohorts and thrown at his feet?

  Was dinner not preferable?

  She nodded weakly, not truly having any other recourse. Turning, she sat in the chair. He pushed it in for her as she did. He took his seat at the corner, choosing not to sit across from her but close. It was intimate. It put her nerves even more on edge than they should have been. With a simple beckon of his finger, a waiter came forward and poured them both a glass of wine.

  Red.

  Naturally.

  “Before we go too far, I must ask you something.” She picked up her glass of wine and sipped it. She was glad for its presence. It would make this all that much more tolerable.

  “Of course.” He was holding his wineglass in such a way that he could watch the light of the candle on the table reflect off the surfaces. His thumb ran along one of the ridges in the cut crystal stem, and she found herself entranced by the motion. He was graceful and dexterous for someone his size. She had to snap herself out of it and turn her focus away from him and out the window to the people crossing by instead.

  After gathering her wits again, she looked back to him before speaking. “Tell me—how did you manage to keep a straight face while I not once, but twice, attempted to save you from your own creations?”