23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

T he ballroom lay silent, the only sound being Jonathan’s soft breathing as he slept peacefully on a makeshift bed of cushions and blankets. Dracula stood, adjusting his clothing and casting one last tender glance at his lover’s slumbering form when the presence made itself known.

“Bravo!” The sound of clapping echoed from a dark corner of the ballroom.

Taken completely off guard, Dracula instinctually went on the attack, moving fast as lightning and pinning the intruder to the far wall, tearing the brocade wallpaper as the plaster underneath cracked from sheer force. It was a vampyre! But how? Dracula had not known another was in Transylvania, let alone in his home! He hadn’t sensed the other’s presence at all.

“My my, such a warm welcome from a father to his son.” The vampyre chuckled. “I must admit I’m surprised by you, I thought you would have paid me a visit the moment I crossed the borders into your land, but it seems your senses has dulled over the centuries.” His icy eyes glanced past Dracula to the delectable human sprawled naked on the chaise like a carved work of art. He could smell his sweet blood pumping, his skin still flushed from sex.

How he wanted to join the pair when he watched them coupling, how he wanted to run his tongue over that soft pink flesh and give him taste of his own cock.

Dracula sensed the raw, primal desire emanating from the other vampyre and felt a surge of hatred course through his undead veins. With an iron will, he forced the younger immortal to maintain eye contact, preventing him from gazing upon the vulnerable human nearby. “Andor,” Dracula intoned, his voice a low, menacing growl, “why have you darkened my doorstep?”

In response, Andor merely chuckled, the sound reminiscent of some mischievous trickster god. He was Dracula’s firstborn, the initial success in the dark art of vampiric creation—a living experiment to test the boundaries of the elder vampyre’s formidable power. Andor had once been a mere peasant from a neighboring village, a place so ravaged by plague that it had earned the moniker “hell on earth.” Every soul there had either perished or teetered on the brink of death. It was in such forsaken places that Dracula had prowled, searching for suitable test subjects. There, he had discovered the young, handsome man of sixteen, desperately clinging to the putrid corpse of a deceased lover.

Like an angel of mercy—or perhaps death—Dracula had swept through the window of the desolate hovel. His presence filled the room with an otherworldly aura as he offered the young man a tantalizing promise: eternal life. Though uncertain if the transformation would take hold, Dracula extended the opportunity nonetheless. Without hesitation, the plague-stricken youth had fallen to his knees, his parched lips barely able to form the single word that would seal his fate. “Yes,” he had whispered, his voice cracked and desperate but filled with unwavering conviction.

But those were days long gone that Andor couldn’t help but recall while in his father’s presence. Now, he was a healthy, strong, immortal man with smooth white skin and plump red lips from having fed before his arrival at the castle. He had captured a nice soft boy and squeezed his nipples as he seduced the blood from his body as eagerly as he siphoned his cum.

Dracula could smell the blood and sex emitting from him. He released Andor, forcing himself not to glance once more at Jonathan, not wanting the other to know how much he was beginning to care for the young man; better he be seen as a whore to sate his lust. He had no intent on entertaining his son for long.

“I ask again. Why are you here, Andor?”

The young vampyre ran his fingers over the tuft of white in the sea of black hair, a side effect of the change from man to vampyre.

“You really have no idea what is going on outside of your little bubble, do you, father?”

“Speak plainly. I have no time for your games.”

“My siblings have noticed the rise in human activity here and are naturally concerned even as they are too frightened of you to confront you.”

“Ah, and are you here to prove to the others that you are not afraid?”

“Oh, but I’m trembling as we speak,” he mocked. “Don’t be so eager to dismiss their concerns. We are living by your rules, after all—rules that, if you break, don’t make for very good rules, now do they?”

“And what rules have I broken?”

“Did you really think you could hide that human of yours for long? Your rules were not humans cannot know of our existence without being turned or killed, and yet you were going to allow that boy to return to London.”

Now, it was Dracula’s turn to laugh. “You wish to lecture me on following rules when you are the wildest of all my children? Don’t forget that one of your little messes is still receiving care under my roof.”

Andor sighed. He knew who his father was referring to. He purposefully went out of his way to avoid the lowly manservant. “My mess, as you say, was a simple man pursued during a simpler time. Now, times have changed, humans have become more resourceful, and they are far less simple. You would return an educated man with ties to aristocracy back to the most advanced city of our era while you allow Van Helsing and his growing band of hunters to run wild within your border. Have you gone mad?”

Dracula’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of concern passing across his ancient features before being quickly masked by his usual stoic demeanor. He had indeed underestimated the situation, both with Jonathan and the growing threat of Van Helsing. However, he refused to show weakness before his impudent offspring.

“Your concern is noted, Andor,” Dracula replied coolly, “but do not presume to dictate my actions or question my judgment. I have ruled these lands for centuries, long before you drew your first breath as a mortal or vampyre.”

Andor leaned against the cracked wall, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. “And yet, here we are. The great Count Dracula, caught off guard in his own castle, distracted by a pretty face and a warm ass. Tell me, father, is this human worth risking everything we’ve built?”

Dracula’s hand shot out, gripping Andor’s throat with inhuman speed and strength. “You forget your place, boy,” he snarled, his fangs elongating. “I created you, and I can just as easily destroy you.”

But even as he threatened his son, a part of Dracula knew Andor’s words held truth. He had grown complacent, allowing his fascination with Jonathan to cloud his judgment. The mention of Van Helsing sent a chill down his spine – how had he allowed the hunter to gain such a foothold in his domain?

Releasing Andor, Dracula turned away, his mind racing. He needed to reassert control, both over his wayward children and the growing human threat. But first, he had to deal with Jonathan. The young man’s fate now hung in the balance, caught between Dracula’s desires and the harsh realities of their world.

“Leave us,” Dracula commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I will address your concerns, but not tonight. Go, and speak of this to no one.”

Andor bowed mockingly, backing towards the shadows from whence he came. “As you wish, father. But remember, the others are watching. We all are.”