26. Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

T he forbidden East Wing of Castle Dracula loomed before Jonathan like a maw of darkness, ready to swallow him whole. His heart thundered in his chest, and each beat a war drum urging him forward, even as his instincts screamed for retreat. The ornate door handle, cold and unyielding beneath his trembling fingers, seemed to pulse with otherworldly energy.

With a deep breath, Jonathan steeled himself and pushed the door open. It swung inward with an ominous creak, revealing a corridor shrouded in shadows. The air that rushed out was stale and tinged with a sickly-sweet odor that made his stomach churn. ‘How can anyone live like this?’ he thought, swallowing hard before taking his first tentative steps into the forbidden wing. The floorboards groaned beneath his feet, each sound amplified in the oppressive silence. Cobwebs clung to every surface, their silken strands glistening in the dim light that filtered through grimy windows.

As he ventured deeper, the corridor seemed to twist and contort, defying the laws of physics. Portraits lined the walls, their subjects’ eyes following his progress with malevolent intent. Jonathan could have sworn he saw one blink, its lips curling into a cruel smirk.

The air grew thicker and heavier with each step. Jonathan’s heightened senses, a gift—or perhaps a curse—from Dracula’s blood, picked up on subtle sounds. Scratching behind the walls. Whispers just beyond the range of comprehension. And something else... a rhythmic thumping that grew louder as he progressed.

Finally, the corridor opened into a vast chamber. Jonathan’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the scene before him. The room was circular, its high ceiling lost in darkness. But it was the occupants that truly chilled him to his core.

Coffins lined the walls, each containing a figure that bore an uncanny resemblance to himself—to Béla. But these were no mere men. Their faces were twisted in perpetual agony, skin pallid and stretched tight over protruding bones. Eyes, once perhaps as blue as Jonathan’s own, now glowed with an unholy red light.

As Jonathan’s presence registered, the creatures stirred. They pushed open their coffin lids and emerged, approaching him with slow, menacing steps. Their mouths opened in silent screams, revealing rows of needle-like teeth.

“Welcome, brother,” a raspy voice called out, sending shivers down Jonathan’s spine. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Jonathan spun around, coming face to face with one of the creatures. It stood a mere feet away, its emaciated body swaying slightly as if caught in an unfelt breeze. Despite its horrific appearance, Jonathan could see traces of the handsome man it once was—the man who, like him, had caught Dracula’s eye.

“What... what are you?” Jonathan managed to choke out.

The creature’s face split into a gruesome parody of a smile. “We are what you will become,” it hissed. “Dracula’s failed experiments. His discarded loves.”

Another voice chimed in. “It is only his past lover he seeks. He’ll do the same to you, pretty one. Turn you, twist you, lock you away.” It chuckled wickedly.

“No,” Jonathan shook his head in denial. “He wouldn’t—“

“Wouldn’t he?” the other creature interrupted, stepping closer. “Look at us. We were all you once. Full of hope, of love. And see what his ‘love’ has wrought.”

“The ones who did not make the cut were fucked, drained, and discarded.”

“Oh, to be a rejected one.” Another giggled like a child.

As if on cue, the creatures began to wail, a mash of anguish threatening to drive Jonathan to his knees. He clapped his hands over his ears, but the sound penetrated his soul.

“You can’t trust him,” the creature before him continued, its voice cutting through the din. “Dracula corrupts everything he touches. He’ll promise you eternity, but deliver only suffering.”

Jonathan’s mind reeled. Could this truly be his fate? To end up twisted and caged in this place, a monument to Dracula’s obsession? He thought of the tender moments they’d shared, the passion that had ignited between them. Had it all been a lie?

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the creature inching closer until it was too late. With inhuman speed, it lunged forward, its claws raking across Jonathan’s chest. He cried out in pain and surprise, stumbling backward.

“Stay with us,” the creature crooned, its voice a mockery of tenderness. “Be our brother in misery. It’s better than the false hope Dracula offers.”

Panic surged through Jonathan as he realized the danger he was in. He turned to flee, but found his path blocked by more of the creatures. They had now surrounded him, their eyes gleaming with hunger and madness.

The vampyres began unbuttoning Jonathan’s clothes, their fingers cold and deliberate against his skin. They wanted to have sex with him, to play with him as if he were their toy. They guided Jonathan to the floor, their movements fluid and predatory. They all wanted to touch him, taste him. One of the creatures leaned in, its breath chill against Jonathan’s ear, and whispered, “Playing with us will be way more fun than playing with Dracula.”

“Why did he lock you all in here?” Jonathan asked, trying his best to swat the pawing hands away. “Does he...?”

One laughed. “Does he still fuck us?”

“Aw, poor lil Johnny boy. Doesn’t want to share the master with his brothers?”

“Does he believe himself to be Béla? We all tried to be, and look where it got us.”

“No! I know I’m not Béla and don’t want to be!” Jonathan hollered. “If he falls in love with me, then it will be me he falls for and not some poor imitation of his lover.”

The chorus of voices laughed and mocked him.

“Is that what happened to all of you? Did you try to become Béla?” Jonathan tried to get more out of them, but they only laughed at his desperation.

“It’s the only way.”

The chorus of voices began to chant

It is the only way

Jonathan’s survival instincts kicked in. He ducked under a grasping arm, wincing as claws scraped against his back. He ran, not caring which direction, just needing to put distance between himself and these pitiful, terrifying beings.

The East Wing became a nightmarish labyrinth. Corridors stretched and twisted, doors appeared and disappeared. All the while, the creatures pursued him, their howls echoing off the walls. Jonathan’s lungs burned, and his legs ached, but terror kept him moving.

He burst through a door and found himself in what appeared to be a sitting room. Plush, cobweb-infested armchairs and ornate sofas were arranged around a large, unused fireplace, with dusty antique side tables holding delicate lamps and curious ornaments. But he had no time to investigate. The sounds of his pursuers grew closer.

Jonathan’s eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape route. There—a window! He rushed towards it, praying it wasn’t locked. A cold hand clamped onto his ankle as his fingers closed around the latch.

He looked down to see one of the creatures, its face contorted in a rictus of glee. “Join us,” it rasped. “Be one with us forever.”

With a cry of desperation, Jonathan kicked out, his foot connecting with the creature’s face. It released him with a shriek of pain and anger. Not wasting a moment, Jonathan wrenched the window open and climbed out onto a narrow ledge.

The cool early morning air hit him like a slap, clearing some of the panic from his mind. He was several stories up, the ground a dizzying distance below. But the creatures were still coming, their twisted forms now framed in the window he’d just escaped through.

Jonathan inched along the ledge, his back pressed against the rough stone of the castle wall. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he had to escape. His fingers found purchase in the cracks between stones, and his feet somehow found solid footing despite his terror.

After what felt like an eternity, he spotted another window. This one was slightly ajar, warm light spilling out into the dark fall morning. With a silent prayer, Jonathan made for it.

He had just swung himself through the window when a hand grabbed his shirt. Jonathan looked back to see one of the creatures, its face a mask of fury and desperation. “Don’t leave us,” it pleaded, its voice a mixture of threat and anguish.

With a final burst of strength, Jonathan tore himself free, tumbling into the room beyond. He scrambled to his feet and ran from the room, slamming the door shut.

Jonathan backed away, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He was safe, for now, but the horrors he’d witnessed in the East Wing would be forever seared into his memory.

He sprinted down the winding, dimly lit corridors of the ancient castle. His ragged breaths echoed off the stone walls, mingling with the sinister laughter and taunts of his pursuers. They emerged from shadowy doorways and hidden alcoves – pale, gaunt figures with eyes gleaming with malice and mouths twisted into cruel smiles that revealed razor-sharp fangs.

The vampyres’ mockery cut through the air, their voices dripping with sadistic pleasure as they savored Jonathan’s terror. He could feel their hunger, their desire to tear into his flesh and drain him dry. Every instinct screamed at him to look back, to gauge how close they were, but he knew that even a moment’s hesitation could mean his doom.

With single-minded desperation, Jonathan focused on his goal: the main castle entrance just ahead. His legs burned with exertion as he pushed himself to his absolute limit, lungs heaving as he gasped for air. In a final, frantic burst of speed, he hurled himself across and shut the doors.

He stepped away as if they could open the door at any moment, but for some reason, they didn’t. Perhaps it was some sort of unholy magic keeping them confined to the eastern wing?

Jonathan took a deep breath. His legs were wobbly as he tried to regain his composure. As the adrenaline began to fade, anger took its place. Anger at Dracula for keeping such secrets, for the suffering he’d inflicted on those poor souls. Anger at himself for being so blind and willing to overlook the darkness that lurked beneath their passion.

Jonathan strode down the familiar corridors of the main castle. He would confront Dracula, demand answers, and—

“Going somewhere, little human?”

The voice, smooth as silk but sharp as a blade, stopped Jonathan in his tracks. He turned to see Andor lounging against a wall, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

“I need to speak with Dracula,” Jonathan said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Andor’s smirk widened. “Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. You look... rather disheveled. Been somewhere you shouldn’t have?”

Jonathan’s silence was answer enough. Andor pushed off from the wall, moving towards him with predatory grace. “Come,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “There’s something you need to see.”

Before Jonathan could protest, Andor grabbed his arm and pulled him along. They descended a spiral staircase hidden behind the main staircase, going deeper into the castle’s bowels than Jonathan had ever been.

The air grew cooler and damper. The walls were rough-hewn stone, and water seeped through in places to form eerie patterns. Finally, they emerged into a vast underground chamber that took Jonathan’s breath away.

Rows upon rows of coffins lined the walls and floor, each ornately carved and inlaid with precious metals and gems. The air hummed with an otherworldly energy, making the hairs on the back of Jonathan’s neck stand on end.

“What is this place?” he whispered, awed despite his lingering fear and anger.

“This,” Andor said, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture, “is where we slept in the early days. Now it’s a tomb to my brothers and sisters who couldn’t handle eternity and wished to go down for the long sleep.”

Jonathan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why have you brought me here?”

“You can’t confront my father now,” Andor continued. “He needs to focus on the coming battle. Your... emotional entanglement would only serve as a distraction.”

Jonathan bristled at this. “I’m not some... some complication to be brushed aside. I deserve answers!”

“Perhaps,” Andor conceded. “But now is not the time. Besides, can you truly trust anything my father might tell you?”

The words hit Jonathan like a physical blow, reminding him of Vigo’s warning. “Vigo told me not to trust you,” he said, eyes narrowing. “He said you abandoned him.”

For the first time, Andor’s composure cracked. A flicker of what might have been pain crossed his features before being quickly masked. “Ah, Vigo,” he sighed. “My greatest love... and my greatest regret.”

“What happened?” Jonathan found himself asking, curiosity momentarily overriding his anger and fear.

Andor was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance. His voice was soft when he spoke, tinged with an emotion Jonathan couldn’t quite place.

“I suppose you’ve earned the right to know this much. Vigo was the love of my life,“ he began. “Perhaps he still is, in a way. But the turning... it wasn’t going well. By the second dose of my blood, he was already showing signs of becoming feral. Like those poor souls you encountered in the East Wing.”

Jonathan shuddered at the memory. “So you just left him?”

Andor shook his head. “I couldn’t bear to see him suffer. I stopped the process and left him in the care of a wealthy family. I even paid for his education, intending to provide for him for the rest of his mortal days. But Vigo...” A sad smile played on Andor’s lips. “He was always stubborn. He set out to find me, nearly losing his life several times in the process.”

“And that’s when Dracula took him in?” Jonathan guessed.

Andor nodded. “It seemed the best solution at the time. He would be safe and cared for. I thought... I thought it was for the best.”

Jonathan absorbed this information, his mind whirling. “Could that happen to me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Could I become like those... things in the East Wing?”

“It’s always a risk,” Andor admitted. “Not every human takes to the change. What you saw... that’s the worst-case scenario. Personally, I think my father should put them out of their misery. But he keeps them as some sort of twisted penance, I think. A reminder of his failures. Personally, I never liked any of them. They tried to become Béla. Is that what you intend to do boy? Find his journals and adopt his mannerisms like some fool?”

“No! I would never!”

“Then there may be hope for you still. Perhaps you won’t be driven mad in the pursuit like those others.”

“They did that because they loved him...”

Andor cut him off with a sharp laugh. “Love? Hardly. They wanted immortality, and like all humans, they were willing to do anything to get it.”

Jonathan opened his mouth to protest, but if he truly thought about it, he still had no idea what he wanted.

“Why, after everything you had seen and experienced, did you want to return to London?”

Jonathan breathed deep as he thought of his answer. “Fear. I...I was rejected and I wanted to get away. I was afraid of myself and what my attraction to Dracula could unleash in me, and I was afraid of him.”

Andor merely nodded. “Why didn’t you run off after you were healed?”

“I thought my place was by his side for better or worse.”

Jonathan felt sick. The idea that he could end up like those pitiful creatures, locked away and forgotten, filled him with dread. But another part of him, the part that still yearned for Dracula despite everything, wondered if it might be worth the risk.

As if reading his thoughts, Andor placed a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “You have a choice to make, little human. But make it with open eyes. The world you’ve stumbled into... it’s beautiful and terrible in equal measure. I often find that the change takes better to realist than idealists. A lot of these coffins here are filled with idealists. That east wing is filled with fanciful fools. I’m not saying there is no way you two could ever love one another, he was actually beginning to move on from persuing Béla before you arrived, at least that’s what I was told.”

“Then why send for me?”

“Old habits are hard to break.” he shrugged. “Especially for a Vampyre. We tend to fixate on things.”

Jonathan opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden, earth-shaking rumble cut off his words. The coffins rattled in their alcoves, dust raining down from the ceiling.

“What was that?” Jonathan gasped, steadying himself against a nearby wall.

Andor’s face had gone pale, his eyes wide with an emotion Jonathan had never seen in him before: fear.

“It’s started,” Andor whispered. “That worm Van Helsing has found us.”