28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A s they fled into the night, the fate of the others remained unknown, but Dracula pushed these thoughts aside, focusing solely on the precious burden in his arms. Jonathan’s life hung by a thread, and every second counted. They needed shelter, somewhere safe where he could tend to Jonathan’s wounds and plan their next move.

The Transylvanian landscape flew by in a blur as Dracula flew across the sky. As the first hints of dawn began to lighten the eastern sky, Dracula knew he was running out of time.

Finally, as the sky began to turn from inky black to a deep purple, Dracula spotted what he was looking for – a small, abandoned church nestled in a grove of ancient trees. It was risky – consecrated ground could be dangerous for him – but it was their best option for shelter.

Approaching the dilapidated building, Dracula felt the familiar prickle of discomfort that came with holy ground. But his concern for Jonathan overrode any personal discomfort. He kicked in the rotting wooden door and carried Jonathan inside.

The interior of the church was musty and thick with dust. Cobwebs hung from the rafters, and the few remaining pews were covered in a thick layer of grime. But it was dry and, more importantly, defensible. Dracula gently laid Jonathan down on the altar, the irony of the situation not lost on him.

As he examined Jonathan’s wound more closely, Dracula’s keen hearing picked up the sound of another Vampyre approaching. His entire body tensed, ready for another fight. But as the creature drew nearer, he recognized a familiar scent in the wind.

Andor.

Moments later, the younger Vampyre burst through the door, supporting a semi-conscious Vigo. Both looked worse for wear, with torn clothing and various cuts and bruises.

“Father,” Andor gasped, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. “You made it out.”

Dracula nodded curtly, his attention still focused on Jonathan. “What happened with Van Helsing? Are they in pursuit?”

Andor shook his head. “No, they’ve retreated for now. But...” he hesitated, glancing at Vigo.

“Speak,” Dracula commanded, his voice hard.

Andor took a deep breath. “It was Vigo. He’s been helping Van Helsing. Feeding him information, and... giving him vials of your blood.”

Dracula’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing with fury. “Is this true?” he demanded of Vigo.

The old servant, looking more haggard than ever, nodded weakly. “I... I’m sorry, my lord. I…I only wanted them to get Andor…I have no excuse.”

A low growl escaped Dracula’s throat, but Jonathan stirred on the altar before he could respond. In an instant, all of Dracula’s attention was back on the young man.

“He needs help,” Dracula said, his voice tight with worry. “I... I didn’t give him my blood. I couldn’t risk it.”

Andor moved closer, examining Jonathan’s wound. “It’s bad,” he said softly. “Without intervention, he won’t last much longer.”

Dracula closed his eyes. “I know. But after what we saw in the East Wing... I can’t condemn him to that fate.”

A moment of heavy silence fell over the group. Then, to everyone’s surprise, it was Vigo who spoke up. “There is a witch in Moldova who can surely heal him enough to keep the wound from killing him.”

Dracula’s eyes flickered with a mix of hope and skepticism. “A witch? Are her powers genuine or merely a trick of light and shadow?”

Vigo struggled to rise, bracing himself against the altar, his voice raspy but resolute. “She is formidable, my lord. Though her methods may be unconventional, I have seen her work miracles with mere herbs and incantations.” He paused, swaying slightly. “She took me in a long time ago. I’m sure she still lives.”

“And if we seek her out, we risk drawing attention,” Andor warned, glancing anxiously towards the door. “Van Helsing’s hunters could be tracking our movements. They will not rest until they capture us, and who knows how much blood our little spy has been giving them.”

“I believe Van Helsing may have another vial, but only enough for himself...”

Andor thumped his skull.

“Then we must be swift and stealthy,” Dracula said, stepping from the altar and fixing a hard look on his son. “Andor, you do as you please with him,” he said, gesturing to Vigo. “I will fly with Jonathan to Moldova, and you, you filthy worm, you will tell me this witch’s exact location.”

“Father, I must insist you reconsider using your blood to save him. Perhaps... perhaps if we are careful, we can control it—“

Dracula’s voice cut through the air, a cold wind sweeping through the room. “I will not risk that path again. Once Jonathan is healed, I beg you to take him to the train station so that he may return to London.”

Dracula gently scooped Jonathan in his arms.

“Father, it’s dawn! You will not make that flight and survive!”

“It no longer matters,” Dracula muttered, his tone finite and resolute.

“Drochia,” Vigo spoke up. “That was her last known location to me.”

Dracula’s eyes narrowed, the name echoing in his mind like a distant bell tolling in the fog. “Drochia,” he repeated, tasting the syllables like bitter wine.

Andor stepped forward. Urgency was etched on his face. “You cannot fly to Drochia! What if she doesn’t live there anymore.”

Dracula hesitated, glancing down at Jonathan’s pale face, the young man’s chest rising and falling unevenly. “I will fly low and fast. Find Jonathan there tonight.”

Andor didn’t want to agree to what would amount to damn near a suicide mission. Dracula was strong, for certain, and he could withstand some sunlight, but he was talking about flying without any protection to a witch none of them knew was still there. To Andor, the sure thing was taking the risk to turn Jonathan. But it wasn’t as if his father would listen.

“Fine. I will stash this fool somewhere and find you tonight.”

“I didn’t say find me . I said find Jonathan.”

And with that, Dracula took off into the morning, leaving a trail of burning smoke behind him.

“I’ll not beg for mercy,” Vigo spat, his voice filled with defiance as he stood tall, despite just how damn tired he was.

“Good. Cause I won’t ask you to,” Andor replied, his tone cold. With a swift motion, he delivered a powerful blow to the back of the older man’s head, sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious.