Into The Shadows, page 63
When the task was complete, the pain in Hera's head eased tremendously, but her brain had still taken a nice knock and the overwhelming urge to close her eyes and drift off to sleep was something she could not shake.
"What if something had happened to you?" he continued. "No doubt you left a blood trail all over the length and breadth of the countryside."
"Are you seriously chastising me right now?" she asked weakly.
"I'm not apologizing for being concerned about your well-being," he relented, and that was the closest thing she'd get to an apology. Hera managed a feeble smile.
"Thanks for coming to my rescue."
Her words soothed the hard lines in his face as he relaxed a little until she visibly shuddered as cool breeze moved passed them. He pulled his cloak tighter around her, before lifting her up into his arms as he stood.
"Where are you taking me? Home?" she inquired.
"No. Someplace new and a little warmer. Care to guess?" he teased.
She smiled and curled up, melting into his hold.
"Ah, Budapest," she exhaled, her consciousness fading.
"Yes, Hera. Budapest."
"I haven't been there in years. I wonder if it still looks the same?" she wondered deliriously and he had to bite back a laugh.
"I do believe you'll find it very different from the Budapest you are accustomed to."
He moved out into the front courtyard before preparing to shift forms, having heard the friar coming for the door.
"Try to stay awake, my dear. I need you conscious for a bit longer."
"I'm not sure I can do that, Count."
"Just keep talking to me," he whispered, and with an exertion of will, his body transformed into that of a large winged beast as he leapt into the sky.
Carl opened the front door after the first flap of the vampire's enormous, leathery wing, and he screamed in terror before realizing what was going on and he shouted Hera's name.
The friar's cries drifted away as Dracula flew high up into the clouds, the few rays of the morning sun having no effect on him; he was after all, the king of vampires. He wasn't, however, accustomed to its brightness. Descending a little lower as to stay hidden in whatever cloud cover was available, he began to fly west with a soon slumbering Hera in his arms.
XLII
Vilkova
A thunderous boom awoke Hera with a start as she sat upright in the night, her eyes wide as they struggled to adjust to the dimly lit room, the only proper light being that of the smoldering flames in the fireplace. A flash of lightning lit up the chamber for a mere instant, giving Hera a chance to recognize that she was in a bedroom. Rain pummeled the windows mercilessly and the wind howled, another flash of lightning cracking in the sky, followed by the deafening rumble of thunder.
"Heh - hello?" she called into the seemingly empty room.
It took a moment or two for her racing heart to beat steadily once again as she took in her surroundings.
She was in a beautiful bedroom of a fair size—definitely not as large as the one she had had in Castle Dracula, but it was bigger than the one she had at the Valerious manor, and infinitely more handsome. It was too dark to take everything into consideration, but the chamber ranged in color from the deepest of crimson red to beautiful golds and creams, radiating off the warm glow of the fire, the metallic accents emphasized in the darkness.
The walls glinted with gilded crown molding, the intricate design of the jacquard wallpaper similar to the stunning damask comforter over the bed. The room was handsomely furnished, but the most impressive piece had to be the large bed in which she found herself situated. She felt mildly dwarfed lying in the middle of it all by herself.
How she got here was something she couldn't seem to understand.
And where precisely was here?
Lightning cracked once more outside as the rain continued to pound against the house. A shiver ran down Hera's spine at the sound as a hint of anxiety tightened in her chest. But determined to figure out where she was and who was keeping her here, she began to make her way towards the door in the direction of what she assumed would be a hall.
The chill of the floor hit her instantly as she became aware that some unknown person had changed her out of her clothes while she had been sleeping. She was dressed in a silky white nightgown that fell to her ankles with loose-fitting sleeves that kept rolling off her shoulders and down her arms. Not knowing where to find a robe or a small enough blanket to wrap herself in, and too nervous about where she was and how she had gotten here, she ignored the cold and slipped out of the room and into the darkened hall.
There were no lights nor candles to speak of; only a few windows here and there and most had the drapes pulled over. The air was frightfully frosty as she made her way down the corridor in search of what, she hardly knew. Lightning cracked in the sky once more as thunder vibrated the floor beneath her feet just faintly.
"Hera…"
She jumped at the sound of her name and turned to look behind her, frightened to find nothing but more hall and the open door to the room she had just left.
Who had called her?
Who else was in this house?
She waited a moment before turning around and continuing down her pre-designated path when the voice called her name again.
"Hera…"
She spun around once more, finding that no one was there… only the unlit corridor.
"Who's there?" she asked the darkness.
"Hera…" said the disembodied voice once again, only this time a little louder than before, as if it were getting closer.
She recognized the sound… but from where?
"Who are you? Show yourself!" she insisted, but no one came and no one answered.
The temperature in the hall descended dramatically as she stood there, alone in the blackness until lightning lit up the hall and thunder rolled in the sky, its unexpected emergence causing the mortal to practically jump out of her skin. She was so unnerved and confused, and the storm outside only made her feel more apprehensive.
Suddenly, at the far end of the hall, she noticed a white mist billowing towards her from around the corner. Paralyzed with fear, she found herself frozen in place, helplessly watching as it grew ever closer, that familiar voice calling from within.
"Hera… Hera…"
Something strange happened as she continued to stand there, staring into the curling mist that covered the floor of the hall – her fear began to dissipate as curiosity made its way into her system, particularly when the mist enveloped her and she closed her eyes. The fog was oddly warm, yet simultaneously cool, and she could have sworn she felt someone in the haze with her, circling her, whispering her name.
"Hera…" and she felt phantom fingers brush against her cheek, over her bare shoulders and down her arms. The voice whispered her name into her ear and her eyes snapped open as it dawned on her whose it was that was speaking.
"Dracula?"
The moment she uttered the name, the mist abruptly began to retreat down the hall and she followed after it. It led her up a flight of stairs, down another corridor, up one more flight of winding stairs, and then it slipped beneath the crack under a large wooden door. Her curiosity getting the better of her, Hera placed her hand on the handle, pushing against the heavy oak and making her way into a circular room that was covered from ceiling to floor in ice.
In the center of the small chamber was a sarcophagus made of stone, surrounded by ten large fixtures that reminded her of tall candelabras made of gorgeously carved marble and black iron. An assortment of white candles were situated on top, all igniting of their own volition as she entered the room. The melted wax hung over the sides like large stalactites, lending the space a primeval elegance to the already enticingly dark chamber.
The compartment was freezing, and her breath created a light mist in the air each time she exhaled. Rubbing her arms vigorously to ward off the goose-pimples, Hera approached the centered sarcophagus with a sense of intrigue, too entranced with the seductive aura of this place to even utter a word. She moved between a pair of the large candelabras and stood beside the iced-over sarcophagus, recognizing who was encased within.
Count Dracula.
Something wild and untamed burned in Hera's chest as she leaned over the sarcophagus, staring at the slumbering face of the frozen Count.
Why was he asleep in the dead of night?
And then it all came rushing back to her— she had been injured when the windmill had collapsed. She had gone to the Valerious manor to get help and Verona saved her from Aleera. Dracula had saved her life. He had brought her here, to Budapest. They were inside the Vilkova palace.
Admiration and a deep sense of gratitude swept through the woman at the thought of what the Count had done for her, what he must have done for her as she had slept. She recalled how unwell she had felt when he had found her. Now nothing seemed to be ailing her in the slightest.
Gently raising her hand, she reached out and brushed her fingers over the layer of frost in an attempt to get a better view of her rescuer. However, the moment her fingers grazed over the ice, it began to melt and she stepped back in surprise as all the ice in the room receded, creating a strange rippling affect, all from the simplicity of her touch.
A slight breeze ran through the room, flickering the candles as the rest of the chamber rapidly thawed out and when all the frigidity had vanished, the unnatural wind died away and Hera was left in the silence.
She stood there motionless for several lingering moments, waiting for something more to transpire, but the Count never emerged from within, so she took a cautious step closer to peek inside the sarcophagus. Within Dracula slept, his hands folded gracefully over his chest, his face peaceful and still. Not even his chest rose with breath. He was lifeless, as still as death, and yet, there was just a hint of color in his naturally pale complexion – a sign of life, as unnatural as it may have been.
Oh, the temptation to crawl inside with him and just sleep, her head nuzzled in his chest, his strong, powerful arms wrapped around her. She longed to trace his face with her fingertips, every feature of his perfectly fashioned form. Hera reached out to brush her fingertips against his cheek when out of nowhere his hand snapped up and grabbed hold of her wrist, and the woman jumped in surprise.
The Count's eyes opened as another round of thunder and lightning broke outside. She half expected him to show off his fangs, to hiss dramatically. But he did nothing of the sort.
No anger marred his features.
Just concern; genuine concern.
"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked her after sitting up.
When she tried to back away, he continued to hold her wrist in his hand.
Hera couldn't seem to formulate any sentences in that moment. She was too caught up in the brilliant color of his eyes. She had never seen them so bright before, so clear and pristine. So calm. It took her a moment to find her voice.
"I…I awoke because of the storm," she explained.
His lips curved slightly as he released her and climbed out of the sarcophagus with ease before vanishing from sight. He reappeared behind her and whispered in her ear, startling her.
"Did it frighten you, spitfire?" he teased.
She whirled around and sent him a look.
"Excuse me!" Hera practically shouted, but he hushed her as he chuckled to himself, placing two fingers over her lips.
"There's no need to shout," he said gently, and he caressed her cheek. She was a vision in that nightgown – what a sight to wake up to. "How are you feeling?" he asked her, his finger running over where her head injury had been. She managed a smile.
"Better," she replied. "It took me a moment or two to recall everything…"
His fingers ran down her bare throat, his touch cool, smooth.
"You suffered a minor concussion," he explained. "I healed what I could, but my powers are limited to external wounds. I made sure to mingle a bit of my blood with yours when I did so. Now that it's had a chance to move through your system, your symptoms should be minimal."
She smiled.
"Thank you."
His hand fell over the pale curve of her shoulder.
"Of course."
He left it there for a moment or two, as if he was silently contemplating something before he gracefully removed it and reached for her hand, wrapping her arm around his as he led her to the door.
"We better get you back to your room. You'll freeze walking around like that," and he led her down the tower steps.
"So we're in Budapest?"
He nodded.
"Yes. We arrived late this afternoon. It's a three or four day journey by horseback. Luckily for you, it only took us less than a day since we flew."
"You flew us all the way here… nonstop?" she asked with evident awe.
He nodded.
"Yes. Which reminds me, you must be starving. I can summon some food to be brought up to you, though I fear the options will be a bit limited. We won't have a full pantry until tomorrow. My caretaker of the estate was not anticipating my arrival until a little later this week, nor was he expecting a mortal guest to be accompanying me," he said with a smile. "If what we have here in the house won't suit, I know a place in the city."
Hera wanted to blush at his hospitality. He was being such a gentleman, the perfect and most obliging host! It made that warmth beneath her skin intensify.
"I'd be happy with whatever you have on hand," she assured him. "Besides, you must be exhausted, being without your usual rest."
"I've survived off less; sleep is a rather trifling matter for me and usually unnecessary," and he opened her bedroom door, leading her inside the dimly lit room. It was significantly warmer than the rest of the house; that was for certain. "I don't mind."
Hera let her arm slip from his as she turned to face him.
"I'd love to go into the city tomorrow," she said. "Anyway, I may have to wait on that food. I still feel a bit lightheaded," and she chuckled slightly. "I probably got up too fast."
"I'll ask someone to bring a tray up here anyway so you can eat when it's more convenient for you."
"That would be wonderful."
He smiled, nodding once as she made her way over to the bed, this strange, awkward silence between them.
"Is the room to your satisfaction?"
"Yes. It's very beautiful."
"I'm glad you approve."
That quiet reigned for another few seconds or so as Hera took a seat on the edge of her bed. She glanced over in the direction of the Count to find him staring intently at her, an unreadable expression on his face. Memories of his little passionate speech just the night before slipped into her mind and her skin crawled as she reminisced on how he had claimed he wanted her and to what extent.
And here they were, finally alone – just the two of them.
It would be so easy for him to shut the door behind him and to make love to her right now. He must have known that. They had nothing holding them back. But the Count never made an advance, and Hera never questioned it.
"Are you sure everything is alright?" he asked her once more, breaking her from the spell the silence had cast on her.
She nodded her head as she looked down at the floor, noticing how he moved over to her out of the corner of her eye until he stood in front of her. She felt his cold fingers rest beneath her chin, pressing lightly so her gaze met his. He studied her face for a moment or two before leaning down and planting a soft, tender kiss on her lips.
"Then sleep," he whispered, pressing his hand against her shoulder, pushing her back onto the bed. She curled up under the covers, her warm gaze ever vigilant of him as he sat on the edge of the mattress, caressing her hair from her face.
"Sleep," he said once more, repeating the word over and over again in a soothing drone until Hera surrendered to unconsciousness.
When he was certain she asleep, he leaned over her and brushed his lips against her brow.
"I love you," he breathed inaudibly, the words mouthed against her skin. He kissed her once more, this time on the lips, before moving over to her neck and caressing his mark on her. "My love," he purred. "I will make you mine once more as soon as the week is out, I promise you. But you must be patient. Now is not the time. It's much too dangerous," and he curled a lock of her hair around one of his long fingers, kissing it tenderly. "Besides, I can only resist you for so much longer," he added with a smile. "My little spitfire…"
With one last brush of lips against skin, he then retreated from the room.
There was no way he'd get back to sleep now…
XLIII
A Fool for Love
Hera felt the light brush of cool, satin lips against her mouth as a deep, masculine voice whispered to her, the sound reminiscent of the deep, rumbling purr of a black panther.
"Hera? Hera… wake up," he was saying.
"Hmm…"
She could hear him chuckle and then she felt him move closer to her on the bed, his arms on either side of her as he leaned over. His scent overwhelmed her senses as she inhaled deep and it made her sigh again.
"Darling, it's nearly four in the afternoon. Don't you think you've slept enough?"
Hera began to open her eyes slowly as the light from the sun flooded her room. The Count's face was perched above hers, and though she longed to roll over and sink into the feather mattress, his eyes forbade it.
But what a face to wake up to.
"After all the misadventures I've had lately, I can never have enough sleep, Count," she replied, watching as he sat up, still seated at the edge of her bed.
"You sleep more than any mortal I've ever met," he said with a smile. "And although your excuse has a degree of validity to it, you must remember that I am a very, very selfish man and would request – no – demand your company for the rest of the day and this coming evening."
Hera groaned, just to spite him, and pulled the covers over her head.
"Like hell, you're selfish," she mumbled.
