20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

J onathan sat at the ornate writing desk in his chamber, his quill poised over a sheet of crisp parchment. He then tapped the edge to his lips, a habit he wanted to break before he began to write:

My dearest Lucy,

I hope this letter finds you well. I must apologize for the delay in my correspondence; my journey has taken unexpected turns that have consumed my time and attention.

Transylvania is a land of breathtaking beauty and dark mystery. The castle where I’ve been staying is a marvel of architecture. I wish you could see how breathtaking it is. Knowing you, you would lose yourself in his hedge maze drunk off of his old wine. Something I’ve found myself doing not too long ago! My host, Count Dracula, is a man of remarkable character - cultured, intelligent, and possessed of an old-world charm that is utterly captivating.

I find myself changed by this experience in ways I could never have anticipated. The air here seems to breathe life into one’s very soul, awakening parts of myself I never knew existed. I’ve discovered a thirst for adventure, a yearning for knowledge that goes beyond the stuffy confines of our London society.

Lucy, I must confess that I’m uncertain when I shall return. My work here has expanded beyond its original scope, and I feel compelled to see it through to its conclusion. I hope you can forgive this extension of my absence.

Please give my regards to my partners at the firm. Tell them that all is well, and that I am making great strides in my professional endeavors.

Know that you are in my thoughts, even as I am caught up in the chaos of this extraordinary place.

Yours sincerely,

Jonathan Harker

He sealed the envelope and felt a twinge of guilt at the omissions and half-truths. But how could he possibly explain the reality of his situation? Blood drinking creatures of the night, reincarnations, and raving bands of monster hunters, the danger, the complex emotions gripping his heart - these were things that defied explanation in a simple letter.

He set the sealed envelope aside, his mind already turning to thoughts of Dracula. He knew he needed to discover a way to convince the Count to allow him to remain at the castle and he had just figured out how to do it.

Jonathan leaned back in his chair, his mind drifting to the enigmatic Count. “A man as handsome as the Count,” he mused aloud, “shouldn’t be cooped up in a castle forever.”

He again indulged in a brief fantasy of introducing Dracula to London society. He saw the Count effortlessly charming both women and men, captivating hearts with a mere glance. The image brought a smile to his face, but it quickly faded as an unexpected wave of jealousy washed over him.

Suddenly, he found himself wanting to keep Dracula hidden away, like a jealous explorer guarding a rare, precious pearl. The Count was more than just a man; he was a living embodiment of all things dark, mysterious, and hidden in this mundane world. Jonathan felt privileged to have glimpsed this secret realm, and the thought of sharing it - even under the guise of introducing a European noble seemed almost sacrilegious.

He chuckled softly at his own possessiveness. “That’s silly,” he chided himself, rising from the desk. Still, the sentiment lingered as he considered his plan to convince Dracula to let him stay. It wasn’t just about remaining in the castle anymore; it was about preserving this connection to a world beyond the ordinary, a world he was increasingly reluctant to leave behind.

Jonathan made his way through the castle’s winding corridors. He found himself outside Dracula’s chambers, hesitating only briefly before pushing the heavy oak door open.

The room that greeted him was a stark contrast to the rest of the castle. Where the other chambers were adorned with tapestries and ornate furnishings, Dracula’s bedroom was austere, almost monastic in its simplicity. The walls were bare stone, their rough surfaces catching the fading daylight that seeped through the heavy velvet curtains. He didn’t have time to look at this room last night, for one it was too dark, even for his newly sharpened vision, but he was also too wounded to care. Now he was able to take it all in.

A massive fireplace dominated one wall, its hearth cold and empty. Beside it stood a high-backed chair, its dark leather cracked with age. A small writing desk occupied one corner, its surface bare save for a single quill and an inkwell. He spotted the canopy bed off to the other side of the room, its bloodied sheets were gone and replaced as if nothing happened. But Dracula was not there.

It was the center of the room that drew Jonathan’s gaze. There, atop a raised dais, stood Dracula’s coffin. It was a thing of terrible beauty, crafted from polished ebony wood so dark it seemed to absorb the light around it.

Jonathan approached the coffin with a mixture of trepidation and fascination. His fingers traced the intricate carvings on its ebony surface, feeling the stories etched into the wood - tales of a mortal life long past. The coolness of the wood beneath his fingertips sent a shiver down his spine, this was the thin line between life and death that Dracula straddled.

As he peered inside, the rich, blood-red silk lining caught his eye. It was luxurious, almost inviting. A part of him recoiled at the idea of willingly lying in what was essentially a vessel for the dead. Yet another part, a part he was only beginning to acknowledge, felt an odd longing to experience it, to understand this aspect of Dracula’s existence.

He imagined what it would be like to lie there, enveloped in silk and darkness. Would it feel confining, or would there be a strange comfort in it? Would he feel closer to Dracula, sharing this most intimate space? The thought both thrilled and terrified him.

His gaze fell upon his still form. The Count looked so peaceful, so human in his repose. It was hard to reconcile this image with the powerful, sometimes terrifying being Jonathan had come to know. He found himself wondering about Dracula’s dreams. Did vampyres dream? And if so, what visions haunted the slumber of a creature who had lived for centuries?

Unbeknownst to Jonathan, Dracula was acutely aware of his presence. The vampyre had sensed Jonathan’s approach the moment he had entered the room, no long before that, he had heard the scratching of his pen along the parchment and the beat of his heart as it grew louder the closer he approached.

And yet Dracula remained still, feigning sleep, his keen senses attuned to Jonathan’s every move like wind brushing against the hairs on his skin.

He was curious to see what Jonathan would do, how he would react to this intimate glimpse into his unlife. Would he run in fear? Or would his fascination overcome his natural revulsion? Dracula found himself hoping for the latter, though he chided himself for such sentiment.

Béla would have ran from the room the moment he saw the coffin. He hated all things that had to do with death as he had lost so much of his family. And when he confessed his pact with the monster, not even he knew what type of monster he would become or the conditions that came with it. Perhaps Béla would have changed his mind the moment death became a part of it.

And yet, here this boy was, tracing his hand along his coffin and having the gall to gawk at him as if he were a piece in a museum.

There was a spirit in this solicitor, a curiosity and courage that both intrigued and unsettled Dracula.

Finally, when he sensed Jonathan leaning in too close, Dracula decided to end his charade. His eyes snapped open, his lips twisting in a fanged grin.

Jonathan stumbled back, but not quickly enough. Dracula’s hand shot out, grasping Jonathan’s wrist and pulling him into the coffin.

“Why have you disturbed my sleep?” Dracula’s voice was a low growl, his face inches from Jonathan’s.

Jonathan felt his face flush, acutely aware of their proximity. He felt both fear and desire, each threatening to overwhelm the other.

“I... I was just...” he stammered.

Dracula’s lips curled into a smirk. “You seem well enough to catch the train out of Transylvania,” he said. “Though it isn’t quite nightfall yet. I’ll escort you to the station when the sun sets.”

Jonathan’s heart sank. “My work isn’t complete,” he protested. “I refuse to leave a job half-finished.”

Dracula chuckled, the sound reverberating through the confined space of the coffin. “Real estate was merely an excuse to bring you here, solicitor.”

“Then I’ve discovered a way I can truly be helpful to you,” Jonathan said, his voice gaining strength.

Dracula cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? And what might that be?”

“You no longer wish to live like this,” Jonathan breathed, he could feel his partner awakening to the Count’s cock pressed against him. “Isolated from the world. I can help you rejoin society.”

“Oh?” Dracula’s voice was tinged with amusement and irritation. “And you presume to know how I wish to live? We share a bond, solicitor, but you don’t know me.”

Jonathan’s eyes flashed with determination. “Then why did you search for Béla’s reincarnation all these years? You could have given up, but you refused. And now I’m here. Why lock yourself away in this castle full of memories from a long-dead era? It’s nothing but dwelling on the past. Why refuse to go out there and experience the new world, a new era? I don’t have to know you to know that this is unhealthy.”

Dracula’s expression hardened. “Sending you home was most certainly the right call, boy .“ He shifted, giving Jonathan space to leave the coffin. “We leave the moment the sun goes down.”

But Jonathan refused to budge. “Why did you kill the others who resembled Béla?” he asked. “Have you killed every mortal you’ve come into contact with, or transformed them into whatever your servants are?”

Dracula muttered under his breath, “Vigo has certainly been chatty.” Then, louder, “Do you have a death wish, Jonathan?”

“I do not,” Jonathan replied firmly. “That’s why returning to London is something I can’t do. Van Helsing might follow me there, or other Hunters.”

“I will have my children of the night look after you,” Dracula countered.

“But it won’t be the same,” Jonathan insisted. “It won’t be you.”

Frustration colored Dracula’s tone. “I’m trying to give you your life back, to make of it what you will. Right now, you’re experiencing the highs of drinking my blood, but after a while, it will settle, and your heart will pump more of your human blood back into your body. Do you really wish to be like Vigo?”

Jonathan paused, considering. “I’m not sure what I want,” he admitted. “And that’s all the more reason why I need to remain here. We can help one another break whatever cycle we’re in.” He continued, his voice softer now. “I am not Béla, but you are no longer the historical war hero, nor do I believe you to be a monster. Times have changed, things are different. And you are alive. So you should live.”

Dracula scoffed, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something—uncertainty, perhaps. “I won’t pretend to be unaffected by your words,” he said. “But I most certainly am a monster.“ He flashed his fangs at Jonathan. “You will die if you cannot see what is right in front of you.”

The first touch was electric. Dracula’s lips were cool and surprisingly soft. Jonathan felt a shiver run through him as their mouths met, the Count’s breath ghosting across his skin. Perhaps it was desperation; perhaps it was courage; perhaps it was who the fuck knows what, but Jonathan couldn’t help himself.

For a heartbeat, Dracula remained still, shocked by Jonathan’s boldness. Then, with a low growl that Jonathan felt more than heard, the Count responded. His lips moved against Jonathan’s with centuries of pent-up passion, alternating between gentle caresses and hungry presses.

Jonathan’s senses were overwhelmed. The taste of Dracula was intoxicating - a heady mixture of wine, copper, and something indefinably ancient. His scent enveloped Jonathan, a complex bouquet of earth, smoke, and a hint of something metallic.

As the kiss deepened, Jonathan felt the sharp edge of Dracula’s fang graze his lower lip. A jolt of both pain and pleasure shot through him as the fang nicked his flesh, drawing a bead of blood. The taste of iron mingled with their kiss, and Jonathan heard Dracula’s sharp intake of breath.

The Count’s hand came up to cup the back of his head, his fingers tangling in the young man’s hair. The touch was possessive, almost desperate, as if Dracula feared Jonathan might slip away at any moment.

Jonathan’s own hands found purchase on Dracula’s shoulders, feeling the cool, marble-like skin beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. He pressed closer, lost in the sensation, all thoughts of fear forgotten in the heat of the moment.

When they finally parted, both were breathing heavily. Jonathan’s lips tingled, swollen and sensitive from the intensity of the kiss. He could still taste Dracula on his tongue, a flavor he knew he would crave for the rest of his days.

Dracula’s eyes were dark with desire, the earlier uncertainty replaced by a hungry glow. A drop of Jonathan’s blood clung to his lower lip, a vibrant splash of red against his pale skin.

He reached for the Count, to pull him in for more.

Dracula tried to pull away, but Jonathan held fast. Dracula laughed, a rich, warm sound that Jonathan loved. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

Béla would have obeyed, would have left when ordered, perhaps out of respect for his rank. But Jonathan... Jonathan was different. Dracula didn’t know how he felt about that.

The boy began unbuttoning the Count’s shirt and resumed kissing his neck and then cheeks before moving to his lips again.

But Dracula held back, admitting, “I can’t do much. I’ve been weakened by the blood loss from mending your wounds.”

Jonathan looked up at Dracula, his eyes filled with desire. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice husky with need. “There are other things we can do together. Let me show you.”

Dracula raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, really?” he said, his voice a low rumble. “And what, pray tell, do you have in mind?”

Jonathan smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. He began to unbutton Dracula’s pants, his fingers working deftly despite the cramped confines of the coffin. “I think you’ll like it,” he said, his voice filled with promise.

Dracula chuckled, his breath hitching as Jonathan’s hand slipped inside his pants, wrapping around his cock. “I have no doubt that I will,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving Jonathan’s face.

Jonathan began to stroke Dracula’s cock, his hand moving in a slow, steady rhythm. Dracula’s eyes fluttered closed, a low groan escaping his lips. His hips moving in time with Jonathan’s hand.

Dracula reached for Jonathan, his fingers making quick work of the young man’s pants. He pulled out Jonathan’s cock, his hand wrapping around the shaft and beginning to stroke in time with Jonathan’s movements.

The coffin was narrow, forcing them to press close together, their bodies aligned from chest to thigh. Jonathan could feel Dracula’s cool breath on his face, could see the desire burning in his eyes. He leaned in, capturing Dracula’s lips in a fierce kiss, never breaking the rhythm of his hand.

Dracula moaned into the kiss, his hand tightening around Jonathan’s cock. “You’re quite skilled at this,” he murmured, his voice laced with teasing. “Where did you learn such wicked things?”

Jonathan grinned, his cheeks flushing with pleasure at the compliment. “I have my secrets,” he said, his voice a low purr.

Dracula chuckled, his thumb circling the sensitive tip of Jonathan’s cock, making him gasp. “I bet you do,” he said, his voice a husky growl. “But I have a few secrets of my own.”

He leaned down, his lips ghosting over Jonathan’s ear. “Do you like this?” he whispered, his hand moving faster, his grip tightening. “Does it feel good?”

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

Dracula’s lips curved into a smile, his fangs grazing the sensitive skin of Jonathan’s neck. “And what about this?” he murmured, his hand slowing, his grip loosening. “Does it drive you wild?”

Jonathan let out a frustrated groan, his hand still moving on Dracula’s cock. “Yes,” he said, his voice pleading. “Please, don’t stop.”

Dracula laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down Jonathan’s spine. “Don’t worry, my dear solicitor,” he said, his hand resuming its previous pace. “I won’t stop until you’re begging me to.”

They moved together, their hands working in sync, their breaths mingling in the close confines of the coffin. The scent of their arousal filled the air, a heady mix of sweat and musk that only served to heighten their desire.

Jonathan could feel the pleasure building, the tension coiling in his body. He knew he was close, could feel the edge approaching. He looked into Dracula’s eyes, seeing his own desire reflected back at him.

“I’m close,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Dracula nodded, his hand moving faster, his grip tightening. “Me too,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Let’s come together. Let’s find our release together.”

With a final, desperate cry, Jonathan came, his body convulsing as he spilled himself into Dracula’s hand. At the same moment, Dracula threw back his head, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as he found his own release.

They slumped against each other, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Jonathan could feel Dracula’s heart dance and could see the flush of pleasure on his pale cheeks.

“That was...incredible,” Jonathan said, his voice filled with awe.

Dracula smiled, his eyes soft and affectionate. “Yes, it was,” he agreed. “You never cease to amaze me, Jonathan Harker.”

“It’s settled.” Jonathan breathed, still feeling lightheaded. “I’ll remain here and take on a new job. I’ll become your teacher, educate you on the changing times and the ways of a Victorian man.”

Dracula laughed, a sound tinged with both amusement and disbelief. “Are you sure this is what you wish to do?”

“Yes,” Jonathan said without hesitation.

Dracula hesitated, a shadow passing over his features. Being happy like this with another man... it felt like a betrayal of Béla’s memory. He pulled away abruptly. “You will leave the castle tonight,” he said, his voice cold. “You must.”

Jonathan’s face darkened with anger. He climbed out of the coffin, his movements sharp and decisive. “I am not going anywhere,” he declared.

“You will,” Dracula insisted. “And I’ll hear no more discussion about this.”

“I can’t believe you…after what we just did…”

“I said no more discussion…please, let me rest.”

Jonathan stormed out of the room, his mind already formulating plans to defy Dracula’s orders. He would not be sent away, not if he had any say about it.

Dracula watched him go, his emotions warring within him. Part of him admired Jonathan’s spirit and his determination. Another part feared what it might mean to let someone in after so many centuries of solitude. And still another part—a part he tried desperately to ignore—yearned to call Jonathan back, to hold him close and embrace him once again.