25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

D awn filtered through the castle’s high windows as Jonathan Harker crept through the silent corridors. His bare feet made no sound on the cold stone floors, and he found himself holding his breath, afraid that even the slightest noise might betray his presence. He was on a mission, driven by his unsettling conversation with Andor.

The East Wing. That’s where he needed to go. Where, according to Dracula’s son, the other men who resembled Béla were kept. Jonathan’s heart raced at the thought, a mixture of dread and morbid curiosity propelling him forward.

He had explored much of the castle during his stay, but the East Wing had always been off-limits. Now, as he approached the heavy oak doors that separated it from the rest of the castle, he understood why. An aura of foreboding seemed to emanate from beyond, sending a chill down his spine.

Jonathan’s hand hovered over the ornate door handle, trembling slightly. Did he really want to know what lay beyond? Could he handle the truth if Andor’s words proved true? His fingers had just brushed the cool metal when a voice startled him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Master Harker.”

Jonathan whirled around to find Vigo standing behind him, the old servant’s face a mask of concern.

“I... I was just...” Jonathan stammered, searching for an excuse.

Vigo shook his head, a sad smile playing at his lips. “Curiosity is a dangerous thing in this castle, sir. Some doors are best left unopened. Don’t allow that fiend to talk you into walking into your own death.”

“Andor...What do you know about him?”

“I gave my heart to him once when I was younger and prettier...and he abandoned me.” He sneered at the memory. “Trust me when I say that nothing good will come of taking his words to heart.”

“B--But you’re not turned.”

“No, and I never will be. It was Andor who began my transformation into a Vampyre consort, and once the transformation begins, only that Vampyre can finish it. Dracula has taken pity on me and only shares enough blood to keep me alive, but I still age, albeit very slowly and one day I will fall asleep and never awaken, if I’m lucky.” His tone was filled with malice though he tried to sound as neutral as possible.

Vigo led him away from the East Wing with a gentle but firm hand on Jonathan’s arm. As they walked, Jonathan couldn’t help but notice the servant’s knowing gaze, as if he could see right through to the doubts plaguing his mind.

The day passed in a haze of restless energy for Jonathan. He tried to distract himself with books from the library, but his mind kept wandering back to the mysteries of the East Wing and the implications of Andor’s words. By the time evening fell, he was a bundle of nerves, both dreading and anticipating Dracula’s awakening.

As the last rays of sunlight faded, Jonathan felt a change in the castle’s air. It was as if the ancient stones themselves were holding their breath, waiting for their master to rise. He made his way to Dracula’s chambers, wanting to move on; perhaps he could give the Count another lesson.

The door creaked open just as Jonathan raised his hand to knock. Dracula stood there, resplendent in a black silk robe, his dark hair tousled from sleep. For a moment, all of Jonathan’s doubts melted away in the face of the Count’s otherworldly beauty.

“Jonathan,” Dracula breathed, his voice husky with sleep and something else – desire, perhaps? “Come in, solicitor.”

As Jonathan stepped into the room, Dracula pulled him close, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. Jonathan melted into the embrace, his body responding with a fervor that surprised him. Despite everything, despite the doubts and fears swirling in his mind, his attraction to Dracula remained undeniable.

When they finally parted, both slightly breathless, Jonathan saw a flicker of something in Dracula’s eyes – a vulnerability that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“Did you sleep well?” Dracula asked, his tone casual as he moved to pour them both a glass of wine.

Jonathan accepted the glass, taking a sip to steady his nerves. “Well enough,” he replied, then, gathering his courage, added, “Though I found myself rather... curious about certain parts of the castle.”

Dracula’s back stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Oh?” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “And what parts might those be?”

“The East Wing,” Jonathan said, watching Dracula’s face closely for any reaction. “I’ve never been there, you see, and I wondered—“

“The East Wing is off-limits,” Dracula interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “It’s... not safe. Promise me you won’t go there, Jonathan.”

The abrupt change in Dracula’s demeanor only fueled Jonathan’s suspicions. “Not safe?” he pressed. “What do you mean? What’s in there?”

The Count turned away, moving to stand by the window. “It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with,” he said, his voice distant. “Just promise me you’ll stay away.”

Jonathan felt a surge of frustration. “I’m not a child, Count,” he said, unable to keep the edge from his voice. “I think I deserve to know—“

“Enough!” Dracula’s voice cracked like a whip, making Jonathan flinch. The Count’s eyes softened immediately, regret evident in his features. “I’m sorry. I just... I need you to trust me on this. Please.”

The pleading note in Dracula’s voice tugged at Jonathan’s heart, even as his mind rebelled against the secrecy. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and Dracula visibly relaxed.

As the night wore on, Jonathan found himself hyper-aware of every touch, every glance from Dracula. The Count seemed more attentive than ever, almost hovering at times. When Jonathan mentioned taking a walk in the castle grounds, Dracula insisted on accompanying him, citing concerns about Van Helsing and his hunters.

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Jonathan said as they strolled through the moonlit gardens. “I’m not completely helpless.”

Dracula’s arm tightened around his waist. “I know, my dear solicitor. But you don’t understand the dangers that lurk in the shadows. It’s better if you stay close to me.”

The words, meant to be comforting, only served to increase Jonathan’s sense of unease. Was this protectiveness born of genuine care, or was Dracula simply trying to control him, to keep him from discovering uncomfortable truths?

A sudden and peculiar sensation coursed through Jonathan’s body, amplifying his awareness of the world around him. The rustling of leaves in the far reaches of the garden tickled his ears, and the rich, loamy scent of the earth clung to the air, filling his lungs with vitality.

“Dracula,” Jonathan began, his voice a mix of curiosity and awe, “sometimes I get used to this new sensation, and it feels normal. But then, out of nowhere, I feel the wind on my skin, or I catch a glimpse of a leaf dancing in the breeze. It’s like I can see everything at night so clearly. It’s fascinating.”

As Jonathan spoke, he noticed a flicker of concern cross Dracula’s usual calm demeanor. “It’s the effects of my blood,” Dracula explained, his voice low. “Your body is... changing.”

Jonathan’s heart raced at the implications. “Changing? You mean... am I becoming like you?”

Dracula shook his head, a sad smile playing at his lips. “No, not yet. But the potential is there. My blood has awakened something in you, Jonathan. But it is something that can be undone with a lot of time.”

The mixture of excitement and fear that Jonathan felt must have shown on his face, for Dracula cupped his cheek gently, his eyes intense. “We don’t have to decide anything now,” he said softly. “There’s time.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Dracula might say more, might finally open up about the mysteries surrounding them. But then, as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. Dracula’s hand dropped away, and he stepped back, his expression once again inscrutable.

“It’s getting late,” he said, his voice suddenly brisk. “You should rest.”

Confused and hurt by the abrupt dismissal, Jonathan retreated to his room. Sleep eluded him, his mind too full of unanswered questions. Finally, unable to quiet his thoughts, he sat at his desk and began to write.

“Dear Lucy,” he began, then paused, unsure how to continue. How could he possibly explain the turmoil he was experiencing without revealing the supernatural nature of his situation? In the end, he settled for vague generalities, hinting at a growing attachment tinged with doubt and confusion.

As he sealed the letter, a knock at the door startled him. It was Vigo, come to collect any outgoing mail. As the old servant took the letter, a wistful expression crossed his face.

“It’s good to see the castle with some life in it again,” Vigo said, his voice soft with memory. “It’s been too long since we’ve had a guest stay for more than a few days.”

Jonathan’s ears pricked up at this. “Oh? How long have the others stayed?”

Vigo’s eyes widened slightly, as if realizing he’d said too much. “Oh, no, not long and not many have come here as you may think,” he backpedaled. “None of them were as... special as you, of course.”

The servant’s hasty retreat left Jonathan with a sinking feeling in his stomach. More lies, more half-truths. Was there anyone in this castle he could trust?

As dawn approached, Jonathan again found himself drawn to Dracula’s chambers. He told himself he would demand answers, to confront the Count about the fate of the others. But as he raised his hand to knock, he hesitated. Did he really have the right? Dracula was going to send him back to London. But it was Jonathan who forced the Count to allow him to remain. What right did he have to demand he spill all of his secrets. Whatever happened to the others. Dracula was trying to prevent from happening to him. Perhaps...he should follow Vigo’s advice.

On the other side of the door, unbeknownst to Jonathan, Dracula stood frozen, his keen senses having detected the young man’s approach. His hand hovered over the door handle, every fiber of his being yearning to open it, to pull Jonathan into his arms. Maybe this time it would be different?

But the memory of past heartbreaks, of the terrible price of vulnerability, held him back. He couldn’t risk it, couldn’t bear to see Jonathan’s admiration turn to horror and revulsion when he learned the full truth.

And so they stood, separated by mere inches of wood yet divided by centuries of secrets and fears.

Jonathan turned away from the door, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Inside the room, Dracula sank into his chair, his head in his hands.

The castle settled into its daytime silence, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Another day would pass, another night would come, and still, the dance of love and doubt would continue, each step bringing them closer even as it threatened to tear them apart.