Into The Shadows, page 51
"You are too generous, master," and Igor bowed deeply as he backed away.
"Now go. I don't want to see you until the task is complete."
When Igor vanished down the hall, Dracula returned his attention back to Hera, who was still sitting out in the rain, silently crying. With a heavy sigh, he finally entered the room, shutting the doors behind him before making his way over to the intriguing mortal whose broken heart was disturbing him far more than it should have.
He reached into the pocket within his cloak and removed something she had forgotten to take with her when they had last crossed paths.
"In your haste to depart without saying goodbye, you seemed to have left this behind," he commented, standing behind Hera who didn't move to look up at him. She didn't even speak. So, he crouched down beside her and placed something in her hand, earning her gaze. It was her iPod. "It's a remarkable invention, this music player of yours. It took me a good half-hour to figure it out. Some of the music you posses is, I confess, rather distasteful. I'm not sure I will ever understand your generation's obsession with women's posteriors, for instance."
His comment earned him the chuckle he had been aiming for, though her smile was still tear-filled.
"Sorry," was all she could manage to say.
"There's a collection of music in there that I believe you compiled together. It would be wise if you listened to it," he suggested, turning it on for her and scrolling over to the playlist she had entitled Hope.
He placed the ear buds almost lovingly into her ears as he turned on the first song, standing shortly thereafter, knowing full well that she needed time to grieve and recover. But before he departed, he whispered,
"Promise me that my favorite spitfire will be back soon."
And then he left her to listen to the collection of songs. Some of the music was wordless and it moved her soul in ways nothing else could, whereas others reduced her to tears as their lyrics pierced her heart.
She'd get through this, she told herself silently as the chilling rain soaked her clothes and her hair – and after two hours of music and rain, Hera emerged – washed clean.
XXXIV
Quality Time with the Count
Hera would never really understand what it was about fire that hypnotized her mortal soul—why she was so helpless to the alluring flames that licked and cracked as the pine in the fireplace burned. She'd never comprehend how something so dangerous could be so enticing, even when knowledge and experience told her that the flames would burn her, should she get too close. Still she moved nearer to the hearth within the library of Castle Frankenstein, letting that heat thaw out the unforgiving cold that had embedded itself into her skin.
It had been nearly two weeks since she had seen Velkan. From what she had heard, the Count's wolves had been ravaging Visceria and the surrounding countryside, but they remained unsuccessful in obtaining the last surviving male of the Valerious line.
Not that the Count was in much of a hurry. He had all the time in the world—not to mention Igor and the Dwergi were still fixing up the laboratory and the Count was still trying to decipher what was left of the late Doctor's notes. Victor had had chicken scratch for handwriting; it was a wonder the vampire could read it at all.
Dracula had invited – or, more appropriately, insisted – that Hera remain a resident in Castle Frankenstein as he worked on the progeny business. This allowed him to keep her out of Velkan's reach, away from his jealous brides, and within his own sights. He spent a good amount of time with her in the evenings, and then he'd return home before the sun would rise.
Hera and Count Dracula soon came to deeply appreciate the company of the other, particularly Hera who fed from his strength in her time of otherwise low spirits, grateful for the distraction he provided her with.
After a good evening of crying her eyes out, she had finally decided to put Velkan Valerious behind her—or at least as much as she could, as the gypsy prince still drifted across the sea of her thoughts every now and again. There were instances when she truly wondered if he had meant what he said the last night he saw her—that everything he had told Anna was a lie so he could protect his family's name and reputation.
But the doubts that ensued always caused her to resentfully push the remnants of her feelings aside and she'd refocus on something else. For two weeks, her days and nights went on like this. She ended up returning to the more nocturnal lifestyle, similar to the one she had had during her seven month stay in Castle Dracula, in part because the Count was her one source of social interaction and he was only around in the evenings.
Tonight found Hera sitting alone by the fireplace, her legs tucked close to her as she leaned against the wall, staring into the flames, her thoughts lost on the Count. She was so confused when it came to her feelings for him. The young woman knew he was ultimately using her, simply because he had warned her of that reality time and time again.
But, as her thoughts often did, she started to reminisce on her last night in Castle Dracula—the night they had slept together. Did he feel something for her after all? Did she even feel something for him? She had admitted some time ago that she had been falling in love with him, as unintentional as it was, but was that even love? Or was it just an infatuation? She didn't know, and not knowing bothered her.
How very similar these flames in the hearth were when compared to the Count and her feelings for him. Like the flames, Dracula was alluring, seductive — enticing. But just as she recognized that fire would harm her, she understood if she let herself feel something more than attraction and fondness when it came to the vampire, she'd wind up getting hurt. She couldn't quite explain how she knew this, but it was a feeling she had in the middle of her gut whenever the thought crossed her mind, and Hera Garret was in no mood to get her heart crushed and her hopes disappointed again.
The young woman grumbled something under her breath as she continued to sit on the floor beside the fireplace, glancing over at the large clock on the wall. It was only ten-thirty. Not even close to midnight, which meant she had another long evening ahead of her. She noticed Voltaire's classic, Candide, on the coffee table a few feet away from her and she made a face.
"No—I've read that at least six times," she muttered to herself as she climbed to her feet and began to wander about the room.
She didn't feel like reading tonight. Maybe Dracula could give her something to do. So with her mind resolute, she exited from the library and into the hall in search of the vampire.
"Igor!" Dracula called, sounding a bit more exasperated than usual. The revolting little weasel perked up at the sound of his name.
"Yes, master?"
"How much longer before we are ready?" he asked, glancing back down at the charred notes sprawled out on the desk at which he sat.
"It's hard to say, master. We are still missing two dynamos to replace the ones that over-heated during the last experiment. They should be here from Budapest within the next week or so."
"This is inexcusable, Igor," Dracula stated, slamming his hand on the desk and standing up. "You said everything would be up and running weeks ago."
"Igor is trying, master. It will go faster now that we have more Dwergi."
"We are running out of time!" the vampire continued, appearing suddenly in front of the deformed man and getting into his face, Hera's entrance into the room having gone unnoticed. "I want this ready before we obtain Velkan! Do you understand me?!"
Igor cowered in fear and went back to work.
"Yes, master… of course," and he scurried away like some sort of rat.
Hera made a face as he passed before looking over into the direction of the Count who had returned to his seat, his head in his hand as he continued to read over the Doctor's notes.
"Another one of those evenings, then?" she inquired while approaching, now standing in front of the desk, observing the Count with muted interest. "I'm assuming you still haven't found anything of use yet."
He unleashed a throaty laugh, still studying the notes before him.
"If I had, my mood would probably be better."
"I didn't know your mood could be any better."
Dracula glanced up, a single brow arched.
"Somebody has run out of things to do."
"How very perceptive you are," the woman teased.
"Living for over four hundred years does that to people."
"I wouldn't know."
"Yes… you must be so terribly envious of me."
Hera laughed.
"Ha! Me? Jealous of you? Keep dreaming, Count."
"Vampires don't dream, Miss Garret."
"And why is that?" she asked with an over-exaggerated sense of interest as she took a seat in the chair across from him, leaning forward. He inclined back in his seat, deciding to accept the distraction she was offering him.
"Because we live long enough to see those dreams become reality," he stated simply. "Most mortals do not live to see their hopes and wishes come to fruition. Their aspirations often become overshadowed by the mundane tasks of everyday life, and before they know it, those days have vanished and their time runs out. When you live forever, time is no longer an issue."
She thought about it for a moment before responding.
"You're right."
"Right about what?"
"I am jealous of you… but only in that respect!"
"What do you want, Miss Garret?" he smiled, returning to his work.
Hera just sighed dramatically.
"I'm so bored!" she exclaimed while lightly banging her head against the desk, earning a concerned, yet mildly amused look from the vampire seated across from her. "I've perused nearly every book Victor owns and I could easily navigate the entirety of this castle blindfolded. If I don't find something to do soon, I think I'm going to go mad!"
"I'm sorry to hear that," he answered with feigned indifference, feebly suppressing a smirk.
"No you're not," she claimed. "You could care less."
"Apparently you know me better than you tend to let on."
The Count soon pushed the papers away from him, agitated. He rubbed the spot between his eyes in an effort to dispel the nagging pain in his head. What was it about scientists and other academics with their terrible handwriting, he wondered quietly.
"So what exactly are you looking for in those notes, anyway?" Hera asked.
"I'm looking for some way to either reconstruct the creature, or perhaps unveil some unexplored way to create life without him. The Doctor was always so thorough, documenting every experiment, every failure, every lesson learned. But his appalling penmanship aside, it's like he wrote the entire thing in code, as though he was paranoid someone would steal his work."
"Which is kind of silly, really, because you were the only person he could find that would finance his research in the first place, right?" Hera clarified, beginning to examine one of the charred pieces of parchment, handing the notes with care.
"Precisely."
"Good Lord, I see your problem – deciphering Victor's writing is like trying to crack the Da Vinci code." Dracula sent her a look of utter confusion and she just smiled. "Never mind."
The Count watched her for several silent moments as her eyes scanned over the pages with apparent interest.
"Do you want to know how you can make yourself useful?" he said at last.
Hera nodded, placing the notes back onto the desk.
The vampire motioned for her to come to him with a curled finger.
She obeyed, tentatively at first, not sure if she liked the way he was looking at her. But she submitted, allowing him to wrap his fingers her wrist, and with a gentle tug, he led her to stand behind him, resting her hand on his shoulder. Hera could hardly believe what he was silently asking her to do, but after pushing aside her timidity when it came to touching him, she began to rub his shoulders.
Dracula took note of how uncomfortable she was at first, but he lacked the willpower to let her stop. For the oddest reason, since that night he had shared her bed all those weeks ago, he had found himself craving her touch. Her hands on his shoulders, rubbing away the tension in his muscles – it was exactly what he needed and he unwittingly let out a soothed sigh, the sound of his pleasure putting Hera a little bit more at ease with the situation. His shoulders were hard and broad, and as the muscles in his back rippled beneath her touch, little fantasies began to creep into her mind.
Apparently the Count sensed her thoughts, because his lips curved into a mischievous grin as she continued.
"If I had known you'd be enjoying this as much as I, I would have had you do this sooner," he commented suggestively.
Offended by the undertone of his comment and realizing that he had been muddling about in her head, she stopped with her massage and smacked the backside of his skull, not caring if he got angry with her.
She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her by the wrist, his grip like some kind of vise.
"That was uncalled for," he said with a noted degree of impatience, only tightening his grasp when she struggled.
"And your comment wasn't? You are so…"
"So what?" he dared, standing from his seat and yanking her closer to him so he could get in her face.
He loved the fire in her eyes—that mask of defiance that thinly veiled the lust lurking in the shadows of her heart. She liked being this close to him, and that feeling was certainly mutual.
"What am I, Hera?" he challenged, his mood and tone swinging from anger and impatience to a deep suggestiveness as he pulled her even closer, draping her arm around his neck before pushing her body against his. "Dark and frightening?" he offered. "Or perhaps mysterious and tempting?" and he hovered his lips over her open mouth, threatening to steal a kiss.
Oh, did he want to.
"Arrogant," was her thoughtful answer. "Arrogant and inexplicably horny."
His smirk turned wicked as the hand that had been smoothing down her spine now slid over the curve of her backside.
"Is that so?"
"Remove your hand from my ass, Count," she ordered him, a playful sense of rebelliousness sparkling in her eyes.
It made him want to laugh.
"Or you'll what?" he dared her. "Do you still want something to do?" he asked, voice low and sensuous.
"Depends on what it is," was her answer.
"You are so picky!" he taunted, feigning impatience before placing a quick and rather impulsive kiss on her lips. Then he released her, steering her toward the exit. "Go to the library – now!"
"I thought you said you were going to give me something to do!" she called peeking her head through the doorway as she watched him gather up the charred notes on his desk, placing them in a neat pile.
"I'll be there in a moment," he promised. "Now out! You're a distraction I can't afford."
"Why Dracula! I didn't know you felt that way about me," she laughed, placing her hand over her heart.
"Miss Garret," came his warning.
"Alright, I'm going, I'm going…" and she left the laboratory.
The moment she was out of sight, the Count broke character, staring after her, unaware of the soft, genuine smile that was curving his lips.
God, did he love that woman sometimes.
He was about to gather the notes off the desk and follow after her when his silent confession brought him to an abrupt halt. His smile quickly faded as his eyes went wide in disbelief.
"I what?" he said aloud.
Igor perked up at the sound of his master's voice.
"What, master?"
Dracula stood there in the center of the laboratory, surrounded by his minions, his servants—his hundreds of years of scheming and plotting finally on the verge of being a reality—and all of it seemed to fade into the distance as the thought of what he had just admitted to crept into his mind, effectively tearing him in two completely different directions.
He loved Hera.
The Count made a face.
No… he couldn't actually love her! Outside of his own personal sexual gratification, he had never been able to tolerate much of the female sex. He chuckled uncomfortably as he made his way out of the laboratory and into the hall, heading toward the library where Hera was waiting for him.
No, he didn't love her. He just… he respected her. Admired her. He wasn't in love with her, what a ridiculous notion! He couldn't love! It wasn't because he didn't know how, he just refused to. Dracula had given up that emotion centuries ago. He didn't even love his own brides, what would possess him to fall in love with a human?
The Count tried laughing it off, though the amusement was rapidly overrun with a sense of anxiety.
He entered the library, noticing Hera sitting alone on one of the sofas by the fire. But it wasn't her scribbling at a piece of paper that troubled him so, it was that voice in the back of his head.
You love her, Vladislaus, don't you?
No, of course not! The only thing I feel for that woman is… is mutual respect and admiration. And lust, of course, maybe even a degree of affection, but nothing more.
Are you sure?
Yes! Of… of course I'm sure, was his indecisive thought as he continued to stand in the doorway, unaware that he was openly staring at the mortal in front of him who was now smiling curiously at him.
Something happened inside of him when she did that – that soft curvature of her lips, the mildly bashful flirtation in her eyes as she quickly returned her attention to the paper on her lap. The sight sent a violent round of chills through the vampire's dead body and he released a shuddering breath of delight.
You love her, Vladislaus.
I can't love her, he despaired after putting the Doctor's notes in their usual hiding place. Loving her would ruin everything.
Why would loving a woman you have clearly had feelings for from the beginning ruin everything?
The back-up plan, he reminded himself. If I can't bring the children of my brides to life, Hera can at least give me what I seek. But I cannot use her in the way that I need to if I love her. I can't love her. I don't. I am fond of the mortal; that is all.
