Heart of Dracula

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  It would still its tempo soon enough, but for now, he would relish in the warmth she shared. He had barely taken a mouthful of her. It had been enough.

  It had certainly served its purpose.

  She had asked for his bite. She had asked for his pleasure. She had wanted him. She was too afraid to do much more—yet—but he would lead her down that road by the hand. He knew now he would not have to drag her behind him.

  He placed a kiss to her lips, knowing she would taste her own blood on him. To her, bitter and copper. To him, the bliss of life itself. But she did not turn away from him. She did not resist him. She kissed him back.

  Beautiful girl. So innocent and yet so wicked in the same breath. I think I have become besotted with you.

  If she heard him, he did not find that he cared. He was an open book to her—a library with all his tomes and pages thrown open for her to read. There was nothing he could hide from her. No sin of his that she could not see. He belonged to her. And she was kissing him back.

  Perhaps that was what drew him to her now. Perhaps that was what brought him so much joy to watch her twist in his arms.

  It was still midday. He could feel the position of the sun, and it was pulling on him to return to slumber. He nuzzled closer to her, tucking her head against his shoulder, and wrapped his arm over her. Her heart was still pounding a rapid rhythm in her chest, but it was slowly calming. He pulled the blanket up over them both. It was for her benefit, not his. “Sleep, darling Maxine.” He kissed the top of her head. “This time, I shall do what I can to leave your dreams alone.”

  He felt her pull in a shaking breath and let it out slowly. He knew how she wished to fight him, to rail against him. To push him away and weep because she wore invisible chains about her neck. She was torn.

  And he could also feel how he comforted her. How she took shelter in his arms. He had kept his word. He had brought her pleasure and nothing more. And in turn, she did not send him to the void.

  He wondered if she yet realized the chains in her hand did not run to her own neck. They ran to his. He belonged to her, his beautiful empath, his Lady of Souls, who held his very eternity and cradled it so carefully to her breast.

  She could ruin him.

  Instead, she embraced him.

  She tucked her head closer underneath his chin, and he found himself smiling at the guileless and innocent gesture. He pulled her closer and felt her curl her hand against his chest. The wicked girl enjoyed what he did to her, and somehow remained a sweet flower all the same. It made for a wonderful combination.

  Something blossomed unexpectedly in his heart.

  Something dangerous and deadly.

  He fought the urge to swear aloud.

  Gods below, may you rot in your graves.

  He loved her.

  But he would not say the words. He would not frighten her so. She would ignore that which she must know to be true. She was too afraid, too overwhelmed, to see it for what it was.

  At least…not yet.

  20

  Vlad had promised to try to stay out of her dreams. To his credit, it had worked. Either because he had stayed true to his word, or because she was too tired to rifle through the mind she felt so near to hers as she slept.

  Wrapped in his arms, held close to his very being, she had felt safe. Cared for. She hadn’t felt alone. As she woke, she reached out for him without realizing what she had done. But her fingers touched a pillow, not a vampire. She was still lying in the casket, but she could feel the pillow beneath her head. A thick fur blanket was pulled up over her, warm and comforting.

  There was a faint light in the room, and she looked up to see the lid of the casket was hinged open. It was one of the styles of coffins that was tapered at the toes and the head. It was as lavish as she would expect from him. She could see the bits of shining black lacquered wood where the silk and piping had been carefully tailored to end.

  She sat up, holding the fur blanket to her chest. She was still in her silk slip and undergarments. The curtains were pulled back, and the sun was setting, casting the room in ruddy hues of orange and amber, mixing with the blues and purples of twilight.

  And there he stood at the glass, watching.

  He was a breathtaking silhouette against the light. She was in awe of him. Handsome, beautiful, and terrible. He sought to destroy her city. To kill thousands to “feed his wolves.” And what wolves they were, a cornucopia of beasts and monsters.

  He has done such terrible things.

  “I have.”

  She cursed under her breath.

  Her invective made him chuckle. “Not accustomed to being the one whose thoughts are privy to others, I take it? How hypocritical.” He was teasing her, but the expression on his cut-granite features was still hard. Something was troubling him. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I did.” No point in denying it. “Why must you sleep in a coffin? Isn’t it a bit too apropos?”

  He smiled faintly. “Perhaps. Perhaps I enjoy it. It also suitably blocks the light. My eyes are incredibly sensitive, as you can imagine. Even the thickest curtains cannot keep it from disturbing me. Yet I find the dankness of a basement or a tomb utterly unappealing.”

  “I cannot argue that point. I think if I found us now in some vaulted mausoleum I would be rather upset.”

  “Noted.”

  Pulling her legs underneath her, she kept the fur blanket tucked up over herself. It was a sad attempt to maintain her modesty—especially after what had transpired between them—but she felt obliged, nonetheless. “I think I may need my clothes.”

  “They are on the chair there.” He gestured toward a pile of fabric. “I have sent Walter to fetch you the rest of your belongings while the hunters remain distracted.”

  “I can go myself.”

  “No. You will not leave my home without me at your side.”

  “Why?”

  “The boy marksman saw you choose me over a bid for freedom. You will now be suspect in their minds. They will think I have corrupted you.”

  “Have you?”

  “Have I?” He cast a wicked and playful smile over his shoulder.

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I am now officially your prisoner, then.”

  He turned to her, and his expression hardened. “If that how you wish to view this, then very well. The hunters you welcomed into your home will now mean to take you away from me. This I cannot allow.”

  “You do not own me, Vlad Dracula. You will let me go. You will set me free.”

  “No.”

  “I will leave this place.”

  He grinned, this time an entirely unfriendly expression. “You shall not. Not unless I stand by your side as you do it.”

  “You cannot—” Before she could react, before she could even make a sound or finish her sentence, she was suddenly on her back in the coffin. His hand was twisted in her hair, pinning her. He was over her, straddling her thighs. She went to scream, but his other hand snapped over her mouth, silencing her.

  “Oh, but I can.” Crimson eyes glittered down at her, catching the fading light of the sun and making them seem somehow even more unnatural than they were before. “I am a monster, make no mistake. You pondered it yourself.”

  He lowered himself, sliding his hand from her mouth, and replacing it with his lips. His kiss was angry and possessive. It was reminding her of her place in all this. Her head reeled with the passion behind it. The hunger. The desire. And how she seemed to be more than willing to throw all she knew of his truth away if only he would kiss her a little longer. When he broke the embrace, she struggled to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding in her ears.

  His face hovered close over hers, his cold breath washing over her cheek. “You can tear my soul from my chest. Do it. Do it, if you wish to be free of me. Or your words are only bluster. A bluff.”

  “I should.”

  He pulled his head back, straightening enough that he could peer down at her in curiosity.
There was no surprise or anger on his face—merely fascination. “And will you?”

  “I don’t…I don’t know how.” This was how she died; she was certain. Right in this moment, she was going to be obliterated.

  He placed his hand over her throat. He did not squeeze, he did not lean down, he did not dig his sharp nails into her flesh. He simply placed it there and waited. “And if you knew how, would you do it? Would you destroy my soul and end my eternal life?”

  “I—”

  “Do not lie to me.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t know.”

  He smiled cruelly. “Good.”

  She would not cower from her fate. She watched him and forced her pounding heart to calm. Forced her fear away. “Will you kill me now? Tear out my throat like you have so many others? Certainly, it’s the wisest choice.”

  His smile faded. “I see now you will mean trouble. I suppose I should do as you recommend.” He lifted his hand from her neck and curled his fingers into his palm. He let his knuckles trace over her cheek slowly. “But no. I shall not kill you. It seems we are mutually incapable of destroying the other to save ourselves. Nor shall I release you. You are mine, Maxine.”

  “You cannot truly mean to keep me here.”

  “If you wish to walk the streets, you shall. If you wish to picnic in the Common, you shall. If you wish to sail the seas, you shall. If you wish to reside in London, or in Serbia, or travel to Egypt, the path is yours. I lay the world at your feet. Whatever you desire, you shall have it. Money and means are no longer any barrier you will ever know. But you shall do all this with me at your side.”

  “And when you tire of me, as you have all the others I see in the sea of blood in your mind? All those you have killed and lain in waste? Will you forget my name as well?”

  He laughed, cruel and dark, and he sank down over her again. She held her breath as he nuzzled his cheek against hers and kissed her earlobe. “Pray that I do. For if you remain as enticing as you are to me now for even but a day’s length longer, I think I shall never grow bored of you. I fear then you will come to hate me even more.”

  When she felt tears escape her eyes and streak into her hair, he let out a low disappointed hum. He kissed the tears away, one side and then the other. “No. No tears, my darling. You are too strong for that.” He straightened. “I can hear your thoughts. You are caught in turmoil. You fight me, even as you wish for me to hold you in my arms. Why do you resist the happiness I can bring you? Why you insist on remaining alone in this world?”

  His words left a gaping hole in her armor. Then it came to her. The answer to his question. She tried to keep it away, tried to hold it back. But it was like holding back the tide with a teacup. It was futile.

  And he could hear her thoughts as she could sense his emotions.

  He grinned fiendishly. “Oh, my darling child…” He tore the blanket from her, tossing it aside, and he was suddenly there in its place, his leg between hers, his dark peacoat draping over her.

  He kissed her again, and this time insistence and desire was what spurred him on. But it was no less bruising. His fingers slipped to the back of her neck and lifted her into him, wanting more of her.

  It isn’t the death he’s caused that scares me.

  I’m not even afraid he’ll kill me like all the rest.

  I’m afraid in the end I won’t matter. I’ll be another cobblestone in the empty streets he walks alone.

  I do not want to bring him more heartbreak.

  He chased away her thoughts with his embrace. Pushed away those emotions and replaced them with his own. He would have her. He would keep her. He was all that mattered now. His fingers twisted in the drawstring of her underwear, and she knew what he planned.

  Something tore through her like lightning.

  Her hand flew to his and stopped him. He parted his lips from hers, and she felt his breath, warming as it was, against her cheek. “You are correct. These things should not be rushed. And in my coffin is not where you should be taken for the first time.”

  He climbed off her and back out of the casket and tugged on his clothing to straighten it. “I wish to take you to the opera tonight. Will you join me?”

  She looked down at her lap for a moment and thought it through. She had no real ability to say no. More terrible was that she wanted to say yes.

  She nodded once, silently.

  “I will have Walter bring you some proper clothes.” He leaned his head down to kiss her forehead. “I will return in an hour. I have some business to attend in the meanwhile.”

  Before she could say a word, he was gone.

  She jolted, startled. She would have to learn to adjust to his abrupt comings and goings. She shook her head. She was torn in two.

  I fear him. I want him. He walks in darkness alone, but so do I.

  He is a monster, bathed in blood. This means my death…

  She shut her eyes.

  But perhaps he is right. Perhaps this is meant to be.

  As he had promised, clothing was brought to her. The red-haired vampire was a bashful thing, for all his outward stoicism. Walter didn’t even look at her as he placed the stack of fabric by the door and nearly fled the room. She donned her corset and her dress, even if the laces were not pulled as tightly as society would have insisted. She found no means by which to pin up her hair in the supplies she had been brought. She was certain her hairpins were omitted on purpose.

  He did very much prefer her hair down, it seemed. She sighed. It was improper for this day and age, but she also decided he likely did not care.

  She did her best to braid her hair. Finally, once she was dressed, she went to leave the room and explore her new “home.” Upon opening the door, she yelped and jumped as there was a man standing on the other side. He was leaning an arm up on the jamb, grinning at her.

  A vampire, at any rate.

  “Good evening.”

  Zadok.

  She was growing to loathe him. She glared at him accordingly. “Please get out of my way.”

  “I was told to see to your every need. And as my Master commands”—he placed a hand against his chest, fingers splayed wide—“so I must obey.” The wicked smile on his face displayed that he had a great many ideas on what might constitute her needs.

  “I think I rather dislike you.”

  He gasped in mock hurt and clutched his heart with both hands. “Oh, how tragic. And here I had hoped to don some leather gloves and take you to bed. Even with a layer between us, I know I could show you great joy.” He grinned. “What do you say?”

  She blanched and shook her head. “You are rude.”

  “That I am. C’est la vie, my love. Come. You must be hungry.” He stepped from the door and walked down the hallway. “I have prepared you a small meal before you attend the opera with our beloved Master.”

  “He is not my Master.”

  “Mmhm.” He shot her a playful wink over his shoulder. “Of course not. Come, come, the hour grows late.”

  Letting out a beleaguered grunt, she followed him. She had little else to do, and she was indeed starving. She touched the mark on her throat. She had found a silk scarf to wear to hide it, but it was tender.

  The building was beautiful, if dimly lit. Vampires likely have little need for bright gas lamps, she realized. It occurred to her how little she knew about them.

  Despite his showboating, there was something about Zadok that intrigued her. One thing only. “For someone who is so utterly brash and irritating, you are quite lonely, aren’t you?” She would enjoy cutting him to the quick. Men like him deserved to be lowered a peg or two.

  He paused in his steps and turned to look back at her. “I never sleep alone.”

  “You may sleep with flesh against yours, but you still sleep alone.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “I can hear all your emotions, Monsieur Lafitte. Your sadness, your loneliness, your wish for a family. Perhaps if you did
not drive everyone away with your callous behavior, you would have one already.”

  “Uncanny…” Zadok breathed. His eyes were flashing in excitement. “Truly uncanny. You are a marvel.”

  She didn’t like how he was watching her, and she gestured for him to continue to lead her away. With a flourish of a bow, they continued their trek. “How old are you, Zadok?”

  “The lady takes interest in me!” He gasped in playful dramatism. “I thought perhaps you could not see me.”

  “You will quickly make me regret asking you anything at all.”

  “Touché, my lovely. I was born in the year 1442, in the north of France. I died twenty-five years later to the fangs of my sire.”

  “And what became of him?”

  “He grew tired of his state of being and sought to greet the dawn.” Zadok glanced at her again. “We are not all suited for immortality. Our gift is not a blessing to all. With him died the family you clearly know I desire. I serve our Master to fill that gap you so plainly see.” He brought her to what looked like the kitchens. A plate of fruit, of meats and cheeses, and several slices of bread sat on the counter next to what looked like juice. “Please, eat.”

  She was happy to change the subject. “Are you well-versed in nursing your victims back to health?”

  “Hm?”

  She gestured at the plate of food.

  He chuckled. “Oh. Yes. I fear I am. I tend to enjoy the spark a living companion brings to me. Your kind experience love with such brevity that you do so like wildfire. Our kind grow cold as the years climb on. When I find someone—”

  “Like the poor aristocrat you’ve likely murdered by now?”

  “Like Arthur,” he continued with a sly smile. She sat on the stool in front of the food and began to eat as he talked. “I tend to ensure I do not end them too soon. He lives.”

  “And will you end him?”

  “I will turn him if he wishes it. I will not kill him. He is a playful, morbid thing. I enjoy him too much to kill him for the fun of it. Why do you care?”

  “I suppose I care for the fate of everyone. It is the curse of being an empath. Along with my inability to be touched.”