Heart of Darkness

by Claire Marta

  Faint footsteps behind me pick up. The scent of humans teases my nostrils laced with a hint of fear. Have I been marked as an easy target? Ambitious robbers hoping to make a score.

  Keeping my leisurely pace, I wait until they’re almost upon me before turning to greet them. Two males and one female. Their hearts beat in a steady rhythm. One has a crossbow aimed at my chest. It’s only my quick reflexes that saves me from a wooden arrow through my heart.

  Hunters.

  Blackness comes at my call. A blanket of protection snuffing out the streetlights and electronic cameras on nearby buildings in one smooth sweep.

  Do they think I am any mere vampire? A hapless predator of this era they have so readily set their sights on.

  “Challenging me will be your last mistake,” I murmur, listening to their first noises of surprise and panic.

  As they slip night vision goggles over their eyes, I dissolve into a mist. Fluidly dodging the slash of a blade, I fall wrathfully on the female. Solidifying swiftly, I cage her slender frame in my arms, burying my fangs in the side of her neck. She barely has time to cry out as I sever her carotid artery. It’s hardly a taste of her. A quick meaningless death.

  Rescuing the blade from her slackening fingers, I release her form to let it crumple to the ground to bleed out.

  “Rita!” The male with the crossbow charges at me his voice breaking on the name he screams. Instead of firing an arrow, he swings the solid shaft of the weapon at me. I use his loss of control to my advantage. Capturing his arm, I twist, getting its aim at his colleague and loosing the projectile. It slices through the air in a blur hitting its target with a fleshy thwack.

  Confusion flickers over the hunter’s expression. Hand reaching for the long wooden shaft protruding from his stomach, he slumps down onto his knees.

  Ripping the weapon from my assailant’s hands, I toss it aside.

  “I sense your hatred,” I murmur softly in his ear, drawing him into my deadly embrace as close as I would a lover. “Your rage. It’s all for nothing.”

  Arm whipping up, he moves to strike me. With ease I shackle the limb, twisting it until the bones shatter under my grasp. I ignore his scream mimicking my action breaking his other.

  “Did you really think you could destroy me?” Smiling widely, I let him see my crimson-stained fangs. “You chose a very foolish profession.” Noting the cord around his neck, I hook it on my finger, tugging the necklace of fangs free. “Did you revel in the power to bring vampires to their knees? Savor each kill while you gathered your trophies?”

  His eyes shift to the left of me.

  I’ve been aware of the harsh breathing of his friend. The sound of him clumsily getting to his feet. Their fate is already written either way this goes. Will he try to flee or aid his companion? How far does their loyalty lay for each other?

  “Self-proclaimed judge, jury, and executioners. You know nothing of death, of true suffering. You’ve all sinned and will face the consequences for your actions.” I continue.

  “Fuck you, vamp.” He all but spits in my face.

  A presence I haven’t sensed in centuries filters into my awareness. An old soul. Touched by the Devil in his own unique way.

  My prisoner’s expression morphs into shock. Behind me a broken gurgling erupts into the night. Wrapping my fingers around his neck I snap it into an odd angle. Discarding his corpse as the light of life ebbs from his eyes, I swivel to confront an old friend.

  “Hello, Vladimir,” the familiar young man greets me wiping the blood off the blade of his sword with a satin handkerchief.

  Raising an eyebrow, I eye the dead hunter at his feet. “Why does it not surprise me to find you haunting London, Dorian Gray?”

  A smirk crosses Dorian’s lips, his youth and beauty just as unchanged as back in Victorian times. Beautiful, yet magnificently deadly. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a stylish polo shirt, his golden hair hangs loosely to his shoulders.

  “Enjoying, dear boy, never haunting, you make me sound like a ghost.” With a look of satisfaction, he sheaths his weapon in the length of his hollow ivory carved walking cane. “I thought you could do with some help after seeing these three shadowing you, and no, I had nothing to do with them. I was actually on my way to speak with you myself.”

  Holding out my hand in welcome, he takes it firmly in a shake. “It never crossed my mind, and it has been far too long.”

  “Yes, it has,” he agrees giving me a stern but playful look. “You left for your jaunt around Europe and never returned.”

  “How remiss of me not to send you a telegram.”

  “Believe it or not, many of us worried about you. The Hellfire Club was never the same once you were gone.”

  Warmth expands through my chest. Damned as I am, I never thought I could have a lasting friendship. Humans come and go. Wither and die. Getting attached to them only causes pain when it comes time to commit their empty bodies to the earth. My children worship at my feet, dazzled by my power. Those turned into vampires groveling and fearful, they are more like puppets. Even my brides, such company as they are, have never filled the need that I once shared with Dorian and my other comrades.

  “What can I do for you?” I ask him as we fall into step continuing along beside the river away from the corpses, the city already stirring around us.

  Dorian slices me a sideway look. “It’s more what I can do for you. The league Sir Westenra started has been nothing but a plague to beings like us. Even now they hunt us. Murder us in cold blood. Drive us from our homes and slaughter anyone connected to us. With modern technology, it has made things easier for them and their descendants.”

  “This is not the first time vampire hunters have pursued me,” I confide.

  Dorian runs a hand distractedly through his mane of blond hair. “I thought as much. I’ve learned a considerable amount about their organization. Their prowess as killers. The task passed on from generation to generation in an effort to eradicate anything that isn’t human. Vampires such as yourself.”

  I don’t even blink at the fact he knows what I am. Vampirism today is sensationalized by books and tv. We have become a romantic notion. Creatures of the night that millions love and wish to be. Who some even emulate.

  Scowling at the dark waters to our left, I watch a boat slowly make its way past us. “They have never come close to having the skill to end me. My children, however, are another matter.”

  “With mankind creating new and devious weapons daily, that could soon change,” Dorian points out softly. “It’s why I’ve sought you out. Some of us have started our own league against those who would see us destroyed. Immortals who strive to survive these new modern times and thrive.”

  “And you wish me to join.” I guess perceptively, my focus returning to my companion.

  “We are all powerful in our own right but together”—Dorian laughs his eyes sparkling— “nothing would stop us striking down those who would see us burn in Hell. You wouldn’t be alone anymore.”

  It’s tempting, and I see the appeal.

  Running my hand over my bearded jaw, I hum. “I will consider your offer.”

  Slipping something from his pocket, he offers it to me between two fingers. “You can reach me here any time. I do hope you say yes, Vladimir. You’d be among friends. Goodnight, old friend.”

  Taking the small white business card, I watch him walk away.

  Other immortals? Beings persecuted and hunted for what they are? For the nature and desires they possess. Outcasts, misfits, shunned by God.

  Glancing down at the words blazoned across the surface in dark black ink, a smile curls my lips. It seems the Hellfire Club is not as dead as I had thought.

  Chapter 20

  Watching from the window, I observe the car as it rolls to a halt outside the mansion. Its occupant can’t hide her nervousness. Pointed chin tipped up behind the tinted glass, she stares up at the imposing structure. Emma’s breath-taking blue eyes widen, and it makes me wonder
what she thinks of my home. Like any building I have dwelled in, it is well fortified. Secret passages are an interest of mine. When you have the enemy at your gate, they are always a necessity. I have not existed this long without using a few tricks.

  It pleases me that she’s accepted my invitation. I’ve kept Charles, her fiancé, on a tight leash. He’s been busy with projects that I know leave him no time to see her. My plans to separate them have only just begun. I’ll have him out of her life in no time.

  Walking swiftly from my study, I waste no time lingering. Now that she is here, I intend to take full advantage of getting what I want tonight.

  My sensitive hearing picks up the click of the main doors.

  Renfield ushers my guest into the hall. From my position in the shadows, I watch her covertly.

  Glancing around her surroundings, she loops a lock of loose hair behind her ear. Her anxiety is more palpable.

  “My Master will be with you shortly, Miss,” he informs her with a stiff bow. “May I take your coat?”

  “Oh, yes.” Hastily she slips off her jacket, handing it to my manservant. “Thank you, Renfield.”

  The dress she wears is demure but elegant. A soft woolen grey material with matching calf high boots to keep out the October cold. On her wrist, a plain watch is the only piece of jewelry to adorn her.

  Striding from my hiding place, I take care to make some noise. Humans find it disconcerting with my stealthy, silent tread. I have learned to put them at ease. It’s better when they have no inkling of the vampire in their midst.

  “Emma, thank you for coming.”

  I’m aware of the thickness of my accent. She is the only creature alive that coaxes it from me without even knowing it. I’ve spent years perfecting an English accent without a trace of Romanian, and all it takes is this woman to undo all my work.

  Whirling around, her lips part as she catches sight of me. “Hello, Mr. Alucard.”

  Her use of my surname irks me. I thought we’d made some progress in the hospital. The fact she has reverted to my last name shows me that I’m wrong.

  “I’m a little confused why we couldn’t meet during the day,” she continues.

  Taking her hand, I give it a brief gentle squeeze, feeling the fragile bones beneath her skin. “I have many business connections abroad, and I’m more of a night owl,” I lie.

  “I mean, I’m not sure why you invited me at all.”

  “How else am I meant to ask you to dinner, Emma?”

  How she blushes so prettily. Is she remembering how I fucked her in her dream? The way I drank her blood and made her come? She has no idea I was truly in her bed only a few nights ago. Dreams that have lingered to seduce her.

  “You’re a very attractive man, Mr. Alucard, and I’m flattered, really I am...”

  “Vladimir,” I correct her.

  “Vladimir,” she amends, nervously knotting and unknotting her fingers in front of her. “But I really can’t have dinner with you.”

  “Not even on business?”

  Her brows pinch together in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “You refuse to accept anything from me for saving my life. So I have decided to make a generous donation to your library, but I would like to keep it discreet. I enjoy my anonymity.”

  “They say you’re a monster in the media. A man who doesn’t have a heart,” she quotes from a prestige tabloid.

  “I am.” I’m not about to deny it. I’m more of a monster than she has yet to know. A demon in human disguise.

  “I don’t believe that. You didn’t want anyone to know that you’d contributed to those charities that have been all over the news. That’s not the actions of a bad person. Neither is this.”

  So naïve, young, and trusting. A lamb in a wolf’s den.

  I watch the expressions dance across her lovely face. “Does this mean you will have dinner with me, draga mea?”

  Emma seems to consider my request for a brief moment before giving her answer. “As…friends. Yes.”

  She’s loyal to the core. A trait she had in her previous life. One I won’t let be used against me this time. The boy stands in the way of what I want. I’m not sure she will let him go so easily, or vice versa. Emma doesn’t realize it, but her words have sealed Charles Barker’s fate.

  Taking her hand, I thread my fingers through her delicate ones. She doesn’t flinch away as before. My skin is warm from a recent feeding. Tonight, I have prepared myself to be around her and to keep my hunger at bay. I guide her along the hallway with purpose. “Excellent. I’m glad you’ve accepted, as everything is ready.”

  Startled, she stares up at me in disbelief. “What if I’d said no?”

  “Then the food would have gone to waste, and Renfield’s feelings would have been hurt. He’s quite the chef when allowed to use his culinary skills.”

  Emma obediently follows me as I show her into the dining room. Classic, stylish, it holds a charm from the Victorian era that tends to leave me in the mood to reminisce.

  Holding out her chair, I gesture for her to take it.

  A smile curves her plump lips, a hint of amusement sparkling in her irises. Men nowadays lack the manners they once had. It is something I make sure never to miss.

  Rounding the table, I take my place opposite her.

  As if by magic, Renfield appears carrying a covered plate. Presenting it with a flourish, he lays it before Emma and removes the top. Steak, sautéed vegetables and potatoes await her. A simple meal, but one I know she will enjoy.

  “This looks amazing,” she compliments, giving my servant a grateful smile.

  He accepts the praise with an inclining of his head.

  “That will be all. Thank you, Renfield.”

  With a bow, he slinks from the room, leaving us to the meal.

  Emma’s attention jumps to my empty table setting. “Aren’t you eating?”

  “I’m on a very strict liquid diet due to Doctor’s orders at the moment,” I apologize with a look of regret. “I’ll enjoy my wine while you eat.”

  Red wine laced with the blood of a young woman Renfield has kept in the basement. She’s lasted a few days. Much longer than the other strays he’s tempted home with the promise of food and a warm bed. Fresh sustenance is far more appealing than the bagged blood available at blood banks. Why have second best when you have the world at your fingertips?

  Lifting a heavy jug, I fill her glass with water. “Tell me about yourself. Your childhood. Did you have a happy upbringing? Any brothers or sisters?”

  I already know the details of her life but crave to hear her tell them to me freely.

  “No siblings. I was raised by my mother. My father abandoned us before I was born. She worked hard to provide a stable home to raise me.” Emma cuts the steak slowly before placing a delicate piece between her lips.

  Sipping from my cup, I watch with avid fascination as she eats. Such a simple thing to do. Even now I feel a tinge of envy. “Are you close?”

  A sadness seeps into Emma’s features, dulling the light in her gaze. “We were… she died last year of cancer.”

  Something unfamiliar inside my chest twists for her sorrow. “I’m sorry.”

  Her loss is fresh. The wounds still open, and I can see them clearly. With no other family, she is alone in this world. No one to love her as she should be loved.

  “And you? Do you have a family?” she questions, now focused on cutting up the rest of her food.

  Refilling my glass from the crystal decanter on the table, I shake my head. “Not anymore. I had two brothers, but we were never close. I was married once…but she died.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Her three words throb with anguish.

  “It was a very long time ago.”

  “But her loss still causes you pain.”

  Startled, I meet Emma’s perceptive blue eyes. Sympathy and kindness shine through. Understanding.

  “It does,” I admit softly. “I loved her very much. She was my world.”


  To have her before me now and not recognize me is the worst torment. Decades without my beloved and now here she sits within a hand’s touch with no recollection of the life we’d had.

  We share a companionable silence for a while. I’m content to watch her eat. Emma doesn’t rush her food but takes her time savoring every morsel. Tentatively I ask her trivial questions regarding her work, and the conversation once more flows.

  Curiosity lights her gaze. “The signet ring you wear, is that a family crest?”

  My attention falls to the gold antique ring on my finger and the dragon carved on its surface. “Yes. My father had it made when he became a member of the Order of the Dragon. A secret society that no longer exists. He became to be known as Vlad Dracul. In Romanian it has two meanings the Dragon or the Devil.”

  “Oh my, that would make you the son of the Dragon,” Emma exclaims, her countenance lighting up with innocent amusement. “It all sounds very fierce.”

  “Or the son of the Devil,” I point out solemnly unable to share her delight. Lifting my glass, I sip at the contents enjoying the flavor.

  She has no idea of the savage acts of barbarism I performed to protect our beloved homeland. How even then, I delighted in the torture and murder of my enemies. Fed the ever-present darkness inside me. The blood lust that even my beloved Elizabeth had no knowledge about.

  “This is a beautiful room,” Emma comments when she finally discards her knife and fork. “Is it odd that it gives me a sense of déjá vu?”

  My expression remains watchful as excitement clamors up. Does she recall our time together in her second reincarnation? Mina, my passionate schoolteacher. The love that was taken from me in cruel, unfeeling fire.

  “Not at all. This particular room has been designed to recreate the splendor of the Victorian era.”

  A dreamy look settles over Emma’s features. “I would have lived in a cottage by the sea back then. Whitewashed walls with a thatched roof overlooking the cliffs to the harbor. Somewhere with flowers and close enough to the village to walk to the school…”