18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

J onathan jolted awake to the shrill bleat of the carriage driver’s whistle. His room was dark, but he didn’t bother to light the oil lamp on the bedside table. For some reason, he was able to see somewhat sharply, even in this dead of night. He grabbed his luggage and quietly headed downstairs. He spotted the owner in the dark near the bar with a sickle in hand as if to attack him. Jonathan watched him for a moment unsure if he should speak or not. He decided to just simply take his leave of this place.

As the rickety coach set off, Jonathan gazed out at the quaint thatch-roofed cottages, finding an odd sort of melancholy beauty in this place he was leaving behind.

His thoughts drifted to that rambling old man named Van Helsing and his ramblings about vampyres. He recalled Lucy and her servant Bistra’s warnings as well. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the cross necklace, turning it over in his hands before tucking it away again. It hadn’t saved him, after all. Jonathan couldn’t help but chuckle now at the absurdity of it all, as if a piece of metal could save him.

A sudden cry from the driver broke Jonathan’s reverie. There was a harsh crunch of gravel underfoot, and several ominous figures emerged from the tree line, brandishing torches and crude weapons. The beleaguered driver tried to whip the horses into a gallop, but it was too late. Fear gripped Jonathan’s heart as he realized they were under attack.

“You there, coachman! Pull up and surrender the passenger, and no harm shall befall you!” A familiar, gravelly voice bellowed through the evening gloom. Jonathan strained to see the speaker, but the darkness and chaos made it impossible to identify him.

“What do you want from me?” Jonathan shouted, his voice trembling. “I haven’t brought much money; my trip was funded by my company!” He assumed this was a simple robbery, his mind unable to grasp the true nature of the attack.

Without warning, the armed men surged forward. They attacked the carriage with brutal efficiency, setting it ablaze with their torches. Jonathan found himself trapped inside the burning vehicle as the horses panicked, their whinnies of terror piercing the night air.

Just as Jonathan thought all hope was lost, the carriage door was wrenched open with inhuman strength. There, silhouetted against the flames, stood Count Dracula. His pale face was a mask of fury, eyes blazing with an otherworldly light.

“AWAY FROM HIM, YOU WRETCHED FOOLS!” The Count’s voice was a bestial snarl ripping through the chaos. With almost languid ease, he landed amidst the raving mob, those piercing eyes now burning like twin garnets in the torchlight.

What followed was a horrific display of speed and brutality, as Dracula quite literally tore his attackers limb from limb. Jonathan watched in sheer, petrified awe as the Count unleashed the full ferocity of his preternatural strength, talons and fangs lashing out to shred flesh from bone.

Blood rained down in steaming arcs with each tattered body part flung aside, only fueling the frenzy in Dracula’s scarlet-flecked gaze. Though armed with blades and pikes, the coterie proved little match for the immortal’s berserker onslaught.

One attacker lunged at Dracula, swinging a heavy axe. The Count moved with impossible speed, dodging the blow and seizing the man’s arm. With a sickening crack, he wrenched the limb from its socket, using it as a gruesome club to batter another assailant. Blood sprayed across Dracula’s face, his fangs bared in a terrifying grin of savage pleasure.

Another man charged, brandishing a sharpened stake. Dracula’s hand shot out, fingers elongating into razor-sharp claws. In one fluid motion, he plunged his hand into the attacker’s chest, ripping out his still-beating heart. The organ pulsed in Dracula’s grip for a moment before he crushed it, showering the ground with gore.

The air filled with screams of agony and the wet, tearing sounds of flesh being rendered. Dracula moved like a whirlwind of death, his supernatural strength allowing him to toss full-grown men about like rag dolls. Bones snapped like twigs under his assault, and arterial spray painted the night in crimson.

Shaking off his stupor, Jonathan noticed the carriage driver struggling to free the panicked horses. He rushed to help, his hands trembling as he worked to undo the harnesses. As he did so, he caught sight of a figure creeping up behind Dracula, stake raised high.

Without thinking, Jonathan snatched up a fallen dagger and plunged it into the would-be attacker’s back. The man’s dying gurgle was lost in the chaos of battle, but what he’d done hit Jonathan like a physical blow. He’d never killed anyone before, and the realization left him horrified and nauseous.

The mystery leader, his voice now unmistakably familiar to Jonathan, called for a retreat as they were overpowered. Dracula, his face and clothing drenched in blood, turned towards the fleeing figure with murderous intent.

“You dare... lay a hand... on what is MINE?” The Count growled.

“Foul deceiver of God!” the mystery leader howled from above the hill, drunk on fanaticism. “I’ll see your profane existence wiped from this Earthly plane...”

As the man turned to flee, Jonathan caught a glimpse of his face in the flickering torchlight. With a jolt of recognition, he realized it was Van Helsing, the very man who had warned him about vampyres in the tavern.

The shock of this revelation was cut short as a sharp pain lanced through Jonathan’s abdomen. Looking down, he saw blood seeping through his shirt – he’d been wounded in the chaos without even realizing it. His legs gave way, and he crumpled to the ground, the world spinning around him.

Dracula, poised to pursue Van Helsing and his retreating men, froze as the scent of Jonathan’s blood reached him. In an instant, his priorities shifted. He let out a frustrated roar and allowed Van Helsing to escape, instead rushing to Jonathan’s side.

With impossible gentleness for one who had just torn men apart, the Count gathered Jonathan into his arms. “Hold on,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Then, with a powerful leap, they were airborne, soaring through the night sky back towards the Castle.

The journey back to Castle Dracula passed in a blur of pain and disorientation for Jonathan. He drifted in and out of consciousness, aware only of the strong arms holding him and the rush of wind against his face. The night sky above was a tapestry of stars, impossibly bright and close, as if he could reach out and pluck them from the heavens.

Its imposing silhouette loomed against the moonlit sky as they approached the castle. What had once seemed a place of dread now appeared as a sanctuary, a promise of safety in chaos. The great doors swung open of their own accord as Dracula swept in, still cradling Jonathan’s limp form.

“I think I’m dying...” Jonathan muttered, blood seeping from his lips.

“You will heal, that I promise you.” Dracula entered his chambers and laid Jonathan onto the canopy bed, cradling him close as he tore open his own shirt and used his long nail to slice at his chest. “Drink from me and heal, boy.”

Dracula cradled Jonathan’s head, his eyes locked onto the young man’s face, pale and drawn from blood loss. He pressed his bleeding chest to Jonathan’s lips, his voice a soft, urgent command. “Drink, Jonathan. Take my blood to heal.” He pleaded once more.

Jonathan’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Dracula’s gaze. He hesitated for a moment, then his lips parted, and he began to drink. The first taste of Dracula’s blood was like an electric shock, jolting through Jonathan’s body, awakening every nerve ending. He could feel its power, the ancient, primal energy that was the Count’s essence.

He felt a warmth spread through him, a tingling sensation that started in his core and radiated outwards. His heartbeat quickened, and he could feel his cock stirring, hardening against Dracula’s thigh. He let out a soft moan, his hips beginning to grind against the strong body.

Dracula’s eyes widened in surprise, his breath hitching as he felt Jonathan’s arousal. He knew he should pull away and stop Jonathan from drinking more of his blood. But the sight of him, lips stained red, eyes glazed with desire, was intoxicating. He could feel his own body responding, his cock hardening as Jonathan’s hips moved against him.

“You,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire and restraint. “You should stop. You’ve had enough.”

But Jonathan shook his head, his mouth still pressed to Dracula’s chest. He looked up at the Count, his eyes pleading. “More,” he whispered. “I want more. I want you.”

Dracula’s resolve crumbled. With a low growl, he pushed Jonathan back onto the bed, his hand wrapping around the young man’s cock. Jonathan gasped, his hips bucking as Dracula began to stroke him, his thumb circling the sensitive tip.

“Is this what you want?” Dracula asked, his voice low and rumbling. “Do you want me to make you come?”

Jonathan nodded, his breath coming in short gasps. “Yes,” he managed to say. “Yes, please.”

Dracula’s hand moved faster, his grip tightening as he pumped the solicitor’s slick wet cock. He could feel the young man’s pulse racing, his heart thumping in time with his own. He leaned down, his tongue licking at the blood still smeared on Jonathan’s lips, tasting himself on the young man’s skin.

Jonathan’s hands clutched at Dracula’s shoulders, his nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. He was close, so close. He could feel the pleasure building, the tension coiling in his body, ready to snap.

“Count,” he gasped. “I’m going to... I’m going to come.”

Dracula’s eyes flashed with hunger. He leaned down, his mouth hovering over Jonathan’s cock. “Come for me, Jonathan,” he growled. “Let me taste you.”

With a final, desperate cry, Jonathan came. His body convulsed, his cock pulsing in Dracula’s hand as he spilled himself. Dracula’s mouth was there, catching every drop, his tongue licking and sucking until Jonathan was spent.

Jonathan collapsed back onto the bed, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm. But he wasn’t satisfied. He wanted more. He wanted Dracula inside of him.

He reached for the Count, his hands tugging at his shirt, trying to pull him closer. “Please,” he begged. “I want you inside me. I want you to make me yours.”

Dracula’s body was taut with desire, every muscle straining with the effort of holding back. He wanted nothing more than to give in, to claim Jonathan as his own. But he knew the consequences, the darkness that would follow. He had made up his mind to stop chasing after the ghost of the past. Even if this boy proved to be his long-lost love, he would leave him be.

Gently, he pried Jonathan’s hands away, his voice a soft, pained whisper. “No, Jonathan. You need to rest. You’ve been through too much tonight.”

Jonathan’s eyes filled with tears, his voice breaking with emotion. “But I want you,” he said. “I need you.”

Dracula cupped Jonathan’s face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears. “I cannot condemn you to a life in the shadows, a life of darkness and blood.”

Jonathan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But I’ve already tasted your blood,” he said. “I’ve already crossed that line. I won’t pretend to understand your meaning, but I don’t think I can return to my life now.”

Dracula shook his head. “But you still can. A taste is not enough to change you, Jonathan. You are still human, still alive. You can still go back to your life in London, leave this darkness behind. If you take another helping of my blood for the third time, then you will be changed forever.”

“Then give it to me!”

“You do not know of what you ask! You are just afraid and running from your London, just as I was running from my loneliness. I am determined to accept my fate, as should you. This…is not love, just two lonely souls clinging to one another.”

“What does it matter?” Jonathan fired back. “In London, families arrange marriages for sport. People commit their lives to one another, unsure if love will ever bloom. Why can’t we do the same? We have passion; that’s a better start than most.”

“Can you live forever with me, knowing I see another man in you? How I long to kiss his lips once more. Would you tolerate me crying out his name as I enter you?”

Dracula chuckled at Jonathan’s silence. “You must rest now. Tomorrow, you will leave this place. You will return to your London, to the life you were meant to live.”

Jonathan looked like he wanted to argue, but suddenly and without warning his head was light as the exhaustion and blood loss were taking their toll.

“Yes, Sleep…” Dracula’s voice was so hypnotic. Through the haze, Jonathan knew what was happening; the Count was using some sort of magic to alter his mind.

“Please don’t make me forget…” he muttered, trying vainly to fight against his heavy lids. “Don’t make me…”

“Just sleep. You will remember everything. I promise.”

“You play dirty, Count…”

His eyes fluttered closed, and he drifted off to sleep, his breath soft and even.