Into The Shadows, page 12
Velkan gripped the hilt of his sword in a warning manner.
"What do you want, Dracula?"
"Such hostility, your grace. There's no need for that. I have not come here to harm you or your delectable guest. A woman of such prominence and caliber is vital in the game you and I play," he replied, a husky look in his eyes as he considered Hera, slightly tilting his head to one side. "A pity she's chosen to be so neutral."
"She has nothing to do with our battle, Count," Velkan shot bravely, desperate to keep Hera out of the unforgiving clutches of this monster. "Any quarrel you have is with me and my family, nothing more."
Dracula rolled his eyes, suddenly impatient with the prince's insistent interference.
"Oh hush, you cretin! I'm not here for you." The vampire's attention returned to that of Hera and the reappearance of his smile made the flush in her cheeks deepen. "I'm here for Miss Garret," he hummed. "I'd like to have a word with her."
Velkan unsheathed the sword that lay strapped to his waist and he pointed it at the Count when he took another step toward them.
"Won't happen," Velkan answered matter-of-factly. "Not if I have to stand here and witness it!"
But Hera knew what had happened the last time someone drew a sword against the Count. Victor Frankenstein had made the same mistake and he was dead now. Luckily, Dracula was feeling unusually generous.
"Fear not, your grace. I'll make certain you don't," and he snapped his fingers.
Hera expected Velkan to respond, but he didn't move. When the vampire nodded in satisfaction and then turned as he began to walk over to one of the shelves, Hera glanced at the gypsy prince who appeared to be frozen in place. She waved her hand in front of his eyes, but he never moved; he didn't even blink.
Dracula had stopped time – or at the very least, had slowed it down dramatically.
"Impressive," Hera commented, getting the Count to turn and look back at her. "I didn't know you could do that."
The Count removed his cloak and draped it over a chair, leaving his gloves on, eyes fixed on the woman across the room.
"Yes. But you do know a great deal more than you tend to lead on, don't you, Miss Garret?"
Hera continued to smile, refusing to show any signs of fear or apprehension.
"Either your memory is exceptionally good, or you truly did send your brides to spy on me," she replied and Dracula chuckled.
"A bit of both, I suppose. I confess, I've found myself regretting that you and I were unable to become better acquainted when last we met. Although, I'm sure you recall, our first meeting was ill timed and not so pleasant."
"Ah yes, that's right. You tried to kill me."
"Kill you? No. I'd never allow such beauty to go to waste. A figure as pleasing as yours deserves to be preserved for all eternity."
Hera knew what he was doing; she had seen it before. And though the idea of being pursued and seduced by a man such as Dracula had its appeal, she refused to be an easy conquest. She understood her worth.
"Of course! How could I assume that you were going to kill me? All you wanted was to feast on my blood without my consent. How silly of me! It couldn't have been any simpler. My mistake."
She watched in private triumph as a single brow of the Count's arched in response to her blatant sarcasm, derailing his attempt at flattering her into submission. Although a bit taken aback by her cheek, his smile never wavered, just as his eyes never left hers. Deciding to change his tactics, he began to circle the room in an attempt to intimidate her.
"You must forgive me for my conduct of that evening, Miss Garret. I fear you caught me at a rather inconvenient time. I wasn't in the best of moods."
"Do you have better moods?" she asked, smirking.
The Count suppressed the urge to laugh.
"I find it extraordinary that you aren't afraid of me," he suddenly declared.
"Do I have reason to be?" Hera asked with a false sense of innocence.
"Most people find the fact that I could end their lives in the blink of an eye rather intimidating."
Hera's expression narrowed.
"Is that a fact? Or a threat?"
Her audaciousness was foreign to him – foreign, yet refreshing, and the hint of naïveté that she possessed in her gaze, her lack of caution – it intrigued him.
She intrigued him.
"A fact, my dear," was his dispassionate response.
He noticed how Hera was now observing the frozen prince standing beside her and it made him curious.
"Do you love him?"
"Who?"
"The Valerious boy."
"I don't know," she replied honestly, touching the prince's rugged face with the tips of her fingers. The Count, as he watched her, could have sworn he felt the faint touch of phantom fingers against his own face. He went to raise his hand to touch the cheek, but refrained, forcing his eyes and mind to focus on the mortal standing across the room. "At times I think I do, but I can't be sure."
She glanced back over into the direction the vampire had been standing, only to find that he was no longer there.
"I'll admit, you had me fooled," he said from behind and she jumped in surprise. Dracula moved around her slowly before standing on the other side of the frozen Velkan, resting his arm casually on the man's shoulder before looking back at Hera. "Your kisses are apparently very deceptive."
His expression possessed the appearance of mockery and Hera found she didn't care for it at all. In fact, that sadistic smirk of his was starting to wear on her nerves.
"What do you want?" she shot a little impatiently, moving away from him to pick up the book she had dropped earlier. Hera turned her back to the Count to put the book away, but the young woman would quickly learn to never turn her back on him, for he was always unpredictable.
"I wanted to ask you a question."
Hera went to face him to discover that, once more, he had vanished. She had started to roll her eyes in annoyance until she realized how the drapes were slowly closing over the windows of their own accord and the temperature in the room began to descend as ominous shadows slinked across the floor.
"What kind of question?" she asked the encompassing darkness, struggling against the small well of fear that sent her heart beating just a little faster.
"A question of great import," a voice answered behind her as she backed into something firm.
Hera turned around to see Dracula standing behind her, the darkest of intentions in his eyes. The Count collected the book from her grasp and moved away to put the volume back in its proper place on one of the shelves.
She observed him with interest as he progressed down the aisle. His movements seemed languid, as though he floated when he walked; and when his boots touched the floor, they never made a sound. He was the very essence of control, oozing unadulterated masculinity with his warrior build and confident posture. Everything about him from the hair on his head to the hessians on his feet seemed perfect – almost too perfect, and Hera couldn't decide if she was impressed with him or a bit put-off.
"You know Count, you aren't at all how I imagined you," Hera admitted unexpectedly.
The Count returned the book to its proper place before looking back at her, his eyes glowing slightly in the shadows. He said nothing, but his expression seemed to question her.
His face reminded her of a statue—distinguished and chiseled in a lovely way, carved and polished white alabaster stone, the contrast of his silky dark hair and black clothing almost giving him the appearance of being made of porcelain.
Count Dracula didn't seem quite real to her. His beauty was unnatural, and her attraction to him borderline embarrassing, especially when she felt her fingers twitch at the thought of touching him, skin against skin.
Aware of the long silence that had been lingering between them, Hera grappled for control over her baser instincts, continuing their conversation.
"History paints you in such a different light than what stands before me."
"History is always filled with bias and falsified depictions. I wouldn't be surprised if the future views me in an obscured light. However..." and he turned to face her completely now, "...I'm curious as to how I've been viewed."
Hera could feel his words slipping into her ears like silk does through one's fingers, his voice wrapping around her mind and within moments, she could feel her legs moving of their own volition, leading her in his direction, although he never raised a finger to beckon her into the seclusion of the shadows. But she moved nonetheless and she couldn't seem to stop herself, as if her mind, body, and soul were irrevocably drawn to him.
"Is your curiosity born out of vanity, perhaps? Or maybe something a little less narcissistic?" She spoke the words in a lower tone than intended, giving them a sensuous quality. She wasn't quite sure where this newfound boldness of hers was coming from, but it simultaneously frightened and excited her.
"It's merely a harmless inquisition, I promise."
"I hate to disappoint, but I fear you don't exist. In all the history books, Vlad Țepeș is rarely ever mentioned, and with a want for greater detail. Whereas the vampire known as Count Dracula is little more than a myth, a fairytale, Transylvanian folklore twisted and immortalized by an Irishman named Bram Stoker. In my time, you are nothing by a figment of fool's imaginations."
The Count's expression remained impassive, but buried deep behind his façade of apathy was a bewildering sense of attraction and curiosity that he could not seem to snuff out, try as he might. This stranger had awoken something in him, and though his conscious mind vehemently denied it, there was something about this Hera Garret that was secretly thrilling him to his very core.
"Do you doubt my existence, Miss Garret?" he asked her when she finally reached him. She had stopped about two feet from him before proceeding to lean back against the bookcase, her casual posture suggesting that she did not quite comprehend the danger she was in, being alone in the darkness with this man.
"René Descartes said that for anyone to know of absolute truth, one must doubt the senses, for the senses are unreliable."
Hera noticed how the Count moved to stand in front of her now, towering before her so she'd be consumed in his shadow, but she never shrank from him. His eyes, which continued to glow, intensified in color as he started to lean in, the proximity of their bodies sending a sensation of liquid cool running down her back.
"Is that so?" Dracula cooed as he tried to ensnare her mind, but she turned away from him, diverting her gaze down to the floor so she wouldn't have to look.
Although the blue was beautiful, she could only imagine the power those swirling irises possessed. He had secretly hoped she'd be willful, and her obstinence certainly did not disappoint.
"Why do you not face me?" he inquired.
"I don't trust you."
His lips curved into a wicked grin, clearly pleased with her answer.
"Oh? What a very intelligent woman you are," he lulled, pushing a little harder in an attempt to burrow himself into her mind.
But Hera remained steadfast, refusing to let him in. It had been an age since Dracula had had to work so hard to control or manipulate another person, and though impressed with her adamant rejection, it left him mildly irritated, forcing him to rethink his tactics once more.
"It would appear we're going to have to try a different approach with you," he mused, though mostly to himself, and he rested his hands on either side of her against the bookcase so she had no route of escape. He watched as her eyes finally came back to his, warm honey meeting glacial ice. "Tell me truly, are you afraid of me?"
When she shook her head "no", he noticed how her eyes kept diverting back and forth between his gaze and his lips and it gave him an idea.
"I have no reason to be," was Hera's answer.
"Are you certain of that?" he queried, voice soft, deep, seductive – like black velvet caressing her ears and mind. Something about his voice soothed her deeply, leaving a pleasant warmth to pool in her womb.
"I have no reason to fear what I know, and I know everything there is to know about you, Count Dracula."
He chuckled richly, amused by her presumptive statement, but not put off by it, so he moved in closer to her, inch by torturous inch.
"I'm sure you do," he said, not taking her seriously.
Hera decided it was time to get brave.
Swallowing her apprehension, she allowed a slender hand to lift from her side and she gently grabbed hold of the lapel of his jacket, running the material between her thumb and forefinger, the bold and uninvited action taking the vampire by surprise.
"Don't you find it curious, Count, that individuals throughout history take their enemies—the people who could ultimately destroy them—captive, making them their slaves, instead of removing the threat entirely by eradicating them? The Egyptians and the Israelites are a good Judeo-Christian example. One I'm certain you've heard of, considering your background."
"Yes, I am familiar with the tale," he replied, watching out of the corner of his eye as her delicate fingers stroked the collar of his jacket.
"What about the Christian Crusaders and the Muslims? Or the European explorers and natives of what was once the new world? Isn't it curious that they would destroy entire cultures, civilizations, and make them their slaves? Deceiving their enemies, making them believe that they are inferiors, when in reality, they are equals."
Hera's eyes met the Count's with a noted amount of cheek as she grabbed hold of the lapel in her hand, pulling him towards her only to whisper in his ear, her lips barely brushing the lobe.
"I find it curious that the king of vampires chooses to keep werewolves in his employ, especially since they are the very creatures that could cause his demise."
She could sense his shock from the stiffening of his body when she spoke, and the turn of his countenance confirmed all suspicions.
"How did you-" he began, but he stopped in mid-sentence, his mouth curving into an unmistakable grin of pleasure as he watched her lean away from him again, a very self-satisfied smirk appearing on her own lips—the lips he was finding rather tantalizing as of right now.
"What I find interesting is that the answer has been under the Valerious' noses for centuries, and they've never noticed. It's rather obvious actually. Why else would you create a cure for the supernatural disease if it did not benefit you in some way, shape, or form? Your sense of self-preservation is undeniable."
For the first time that evening, Dracula found himself genuinely impressed.
He liked this woman. She was clever and beautiful, and her bewildering sense of fearlessness was like a breath of fresh air after a lifetime of being confined indoors. It became clear to the Count that this Hera Garret and all of the fire inside of her would be of much greater use to him than to the likes of Velkan Valerious and his arrogant sister.
What a creature he could create, if given the chance to mold and guide her.
"You are a very clever woman, Miss Garret," he said at last, a dark amusement in his eyes. "Almost too clever for your own good," and he closed in on the space between them.
Hera felt the faint brushing of his chest against her bosom and in an effort to distract herself from the simmering lust beneath her skin, she tilted her head back a bit so she could hold his gaze.
"Oh, I'm not finished yet," she replied with vixen-like flirtatiousness. "I have another query: why would a vampire hire a mortal scientist and finance his research on creating unnatural life?" She tapped her chin in a mockingly thoughtful manner, earning another dark smirk from the vampire. "Could it be that during the past four hundred years with three beautiful women at your beck and call that you happened to father offspring in the process? But wait… that would mean that they'd have to be born dead, wouldn't they? Considering that their parents are in fact dead – or undead, or however that works. I'll admit, I'm lost when it comes to the logistics, but let's not get tangled up in semantics."
I can think of one thing I'd certainly enjoy getting tangled up in, Dracula thought lustfully to himself, before replying,
"So you know two of my greatest secrets, then. Is there anything else you know that you'd wish to share with me?"
"Not presently, no."
His hands moved from their positions on either side of her on the bookshelf to her arms.
"Oh, I'm sure you can think of something," he said huskily.
The Count's spidery fingers grabbed a fist full of her gorgeous hair and he very gently pulled her head farther back, his lips hovering over hers at a torturous distance while his remaining hand caressed the side of her neck.
"What do you want, Dracula?" she asked him, the feeling of his icy breath against her skin sending a strong shudder of delight shooting down her spine.
His mouth was now hovering over her jawline as he breathed her in, his hand carefully nudging the front of her dress down a bit so his palm could rest over her heart – and consequently over the upper swell of her left breast.
The sound of her beating heart was strangely intoxicating to him – pumping all of that warm, fresh blood. But the scent of her gradually increasing arousal at his closeness was like a light perfume in the air and he inhaled deep through his nose so the aroma could fill his lungs, his eyes glowing more vibrant in response.
"What did you tell Verona a few weeks ago?" he whispered, lips brushing against the lobe of her ear while the defiant strands of his pitch colored hair tickled her face and neck.
"Why do you care?" Hera asked, her voice a bit higher pitched and sensuous than she meant it to be.
His hand that had been resting over her heart was now taking a slow, leisurely voyage down the center of her front, his palm smoothing between the breasts that ached for attention, and over her abdomen which twitched in response, as if his very touch awoke her more primitive side. The chill she had felt earlier was rapidly dissipating as that becoming flush reappeared in her cheeks and she noticed a delicious, liquid warmth between her thighs. Her body was a treacherous thing, so ready to be touched and claimed.
