Into The Shadows, page 72
He wanted to master Hera the way Hera had mastered this piano – and, even more – he wanted her to master him.
The Count had never had such a desire before, not with any woman, and as his brain began to replay the way he had surrendered control to her earlier in the evening, when he had let her ride him, deciding how fast and how deep and how hard – the experience had been oddly liberating for him, allowing him the luxury of losing himself in her.
Hera's song began to intensify, the rhythm building, growing, reminding him of the delicious friction their physical union had created and then he found himself wanting her again – in his bed or on this piano, he hardly cared. He needed to be in her, to be a part of her, one with her – and it was so much more than just a need for physical gratification.
He wanted to lose himself in her so he wouldn't be able to tell where he ended and she began.
Every moment she wasn't in his arms was a moment spent in private agony. His moment of failure the evening prior haunted him and though the vampire understood that though it would be better to come clean with Hera, to inform her of the situation - heaven forgive him, he was so afraid of losing her. That little voice in the back of his head had been struggling to rationalize his guilt away over the last twenty-four hours and with little success.
Count Dracula knew that Jane was right.
Hera had a right to know. But what would she do once he told her?
There was a rapidly growing insecurity in him that he was not accustomed to dealing with and it consistently shrank at the thought of this woman leaving him. He knew her superior sense of morality would insist that the babe she was carrying would threaten the very existence of humanity, that she would not risk the life of a hundred million souls all for the sake of some pawn in a game between demons and angels.
The truth of it was - despite the blissful domesticity they had been enjoying this past evening, if he was being honest with himself, the entire predicament still felt utterly hopeless.
In a way that was classically Dracula, the poor man was incapable of finding a single ray of hope amidst the ominous blackness that threatened to swallow him whole. Hera had always been his light in the darkness, and because of what he had done, he was terrified that no matter what decision he made, in the end, he'd lose a part of her somehow - whether it be her entirely or just that mortal aspect that he had come to adore so fervently. The mere suggestion of such a loss sent a wave of sadness over him and he reached out to touch her as if some unconscious part of him needed physical confirmation that she was still here at his side.
Hera stopped playing when Dracula suddenly rested his hand on her naked thigh, her warm eyes meeting the delicious chill of his glowing irises. She could tell he was hiding something, but what she couldn't even begin to imagine. She held his gaze with boldness, eyes searching as she reached up to brush a defiant strand of his hair from his face.
"Vlad, what is it?" she asked him with tenderness.
Dracula's heart simultaneously broke and swelled at her genuine concern.
"Come back to bed with me," he whispered, leaning his head forward so he could rest his brow against hers. "I need you."
He could not describe the way she looked at him in that moment, nor could he ever hope of articulating the way her gaze moved him so profoundly, but in that instant there was nothing Count Dracula loved more in the entire world than Hera Garret.
Who was this woman, he wondered silently to himself, and what had she done to him? Who was this siren, this goddess, this blessed angel from on high who made him feel so weak, so helpless, and yet so paradoxically powerful and unstoppable? He relished in every breath she took, in each rhythmic beating of her heart, in her every whimper and sigh as he leaned in to kiss her, and then touch her.
Their passions ignited shortly thereafter and with some difficulty, with some deliberation, the two lovers made it back to the bedroom.
When the Count made love to her that morning as the sun rose over the mountains, it was thorough, slow, and deep. She took every inch of him, never uttering a word of protest, even though he could see in her face the discomfort she felt at first, still growing accustomed to his girth, but her pleasure was what stirred him – her sounds of exquisite agony as they moved together in an age-old dance of feral eroticism, older than time itself, bodies moving with fluidity and an endless need.
He committed to memory every moan and gasp that left her lips, every breathless word she uttered, tracing them with his fingertips as he stared deep into her eyes, watching the sparks dance in her irises, the amber honey swirling around dilated pupils.
When she came undone beneath him that last time before the post-coital bliss set in, her fulfillment was so deep and so intense, it rippled through her for several long minutes and sent tears to leak from the corners of her eyes.
He continued to thrust inside of her, keeping a steady rhythm and being sure to hit the right spot every time so she could tumble over the edge over and over and over again. As she did, he drank from her neck, deep mouthfuls of warm blood overrun with delicious hormones that seemed to sweeten the taste.
And when the tension died and the exhaustion took over, they fell back asleep in each other's arms, Hera nestled in his embrace – where she belonged.
XLVII
Lie to Save
Her skin was so heavenly against his – soft, supple, and warm. Warm with a life that he dare not take from her. He couldn't imagine her any other way than how she was in this moment, sleeping soundly in his bed, her copper hair askew on his feather pillows, her body still and relaxed on his mattress, his linens hardly keeping her decent as he memorized her body in the dimming light of his room as the sun languidly dipped behind the horizon.
Dracula's fingertips had been softly tracing every contour, curve, and angle of her figure, particularly that of her barely protruding stomach, his child rapidly growing within her womb, making her hard-earned flat abdomen swell, but just barely. A sigh exited from his lips as his palm smoothed over her tummy and he felt his child respond within from the touch. His heightened senses could feel the tiny hand brush against the inside of her womb as if it knew he was there.
The man felt torn between a growing fatherly affection for the creature within his lover, and an underlying fear and hesitance at the understanding of what that babe was destined to become, of the very great evil it was inherently capable of.
But it was just an innocent child, wasn't it?
Not even the Count could fully answer that philosophical query, not when the devil's hand was involved in the child's conception, and so in an effort to assuage his guilt, he banished the worry from his mind. He would deal with that bridge when he got to it and not a moment sooner.
In an effort to distract himself, his eyes returned to the face of the slumbering human at his side and he sweetly caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers, smiling slightly when she unconsciously leaned into his touch. She felt warm against his body, a delicious mortal heat that he never wanted to live without.
Hera wasn't cold like his brides were.
Lust and strict obedience were not her motives.
It was humanly love and trust; something so weak and vulnerable, just like she was; and he loved her all the more for that vulnerability.
He was just about to rejoin her in that state of blissful sleep when a familiar presence caught his attention and he sat up immediately, eyes wide when he recognized whose presence that was.
"Aleera," he mouthed.
Quickly getting out of bed, he raced into the bathroom to grab his clothes, rapidly changing before reentering the bedroom, covering Hera up so she was more decent. He then exited from the room in absolute silence, racing down the hall before materializing to the second floor where he found his orange-haired mistress standing in the darkened corridor, nothing but silence passing between them as Aleera's expression went notably blank when she became aware of the scent that was oozing from him.
Aleera's eyes darkened in rage as the truth became evident.
The smell of not only her master's heat, but also that of the mortal – Hera – flooded her senses when he had appeared in the hall. Before she could react, he quickly grabbed her by the arm and steered her into his private study, shutting the door behind them. Aleera's pride finally kicked in when she noticed the steady beating of the human's heart and her amethyst colored eyes became enraged.
Her clawed hands reached for the exit of his study as she started to hiss wildly, eager to tear the slumbering mortal to pieces. But the Count was faster than she, and he pushed himself in front of the doorway, shoving Aleera away as he locked them in, trying to fend off his remaining bride.
"I'll kill her," she kept growling. "I'LL KILL HER!"
The Count grabbed hold of her wrists as his fangs lengthened and the sapphires in his sockets began to glow in a possessive anger.
"Aleera!" he shouted, but she suddenly took a good clean swipe for his face, her nails meeting the flesh of his cheek head on, four gory lacerations appearing on his pale skin and she used his moment of distraction to fly for the door.
Dracula let out an infuriated growl and he grabbed the woman by her hair, throwing her violently across the room and against the opposite wall, the impact leaving a nice crack that ran from the floor to the ceiling. Aleera was in a heap of pink and red on the ground for just a moment or two until she reared her fiery head up to look at her sire, tears running down her pallid cheeks.
A woman's tears had never really touched him before – especially Aleera's, as hers had always been forced, a ploy to manipulate. But ever since Dracula had opened himself up to Hera, even his own brides had been finding ways into his dead heart. Guilt stabbed at the useless organ like a merciless needle, thin but effective, twisting as Aleera spat out her truth-filled words.
"You send us out to do your bidding. You put us into harm's way. You charm us into obeying your every whim… just so you could fuck some pathetic mortal?!" she screamed, on her feet now as she stared him down, pointing an ugly finger into the direction of his bedchambers in which Hera peacefully slept. "She should mean nothing to you!" Aleera exclaimed, so furious, she was shaking. "And yet it is we, your faithful, devoted brides who are left out in the dark! You let some human whore warm your bed while you send us all out to die! Do we truly mean nothing to you? Did we ever mean anything to you? Velkan is dead and Verona has been destroyed because of your thoughtlessness, and instead of mourning your bride's destruction as you ought, you remain here with that red-headed tramp, you… you monster!"
She moved forward boldly, ready to strike him again, but he caught her small fists with ease, allowing her to weep into his chest as she fell to his feet, utterly hysterical.
"Why, master?" she wept, gripping his pants with her hands as she buried her face into his legs. "Why have you abandoned us?"
"I have not abandoned you, Aleera," he answered, very little emotion in his voice.
He couldn't even look at her.
"Then why does that slut warm your bed while we are away? You could have summoned us at any time."
Despite the temptation to wring Aleera's neck for speaking of Hera in such a fashion, Dracula was not about to confess the true reasoning behind the devout attentions he had been pouring on the human – then again, how much more harm could the truth inflict?
No, if Aleera knew the truth, there would be no stopping her.
She would not rest until Hera was dead, and he didn't have it in him to take the life of his remaining bride.
So he did what came naturally to him as the son of the devil –
He lied.
Sprinkling bits and pieces of truth along the way in an effort to appease her.
"She relieved me, Aleera," he said, and without the struggle he was truly feeling in his tightened chest.
Naturally, the woman didn't understand at first and he could see this in her expression. With as much charm and mildness as he could muster, he took her hands in his and led her to her feet before him.
"What do you mean?"
"She relieved me while you and Verona were away," he explained.
Aleera still didn't understand, but when the silence overtook her, something else caught her attention, and it wasn't the incessant beating of Hera's heart. It was that of another… softer… gentler. And just as strong.
It was the heartbeat of a child.
The bride's eyes widened in evident disbelief.
"She's pregnant," came the death-like whisper, her eyes filling with sudden understanding. "Your… your curse. You got her pregnant," and she sent a bewildered gaze up to her master. "You got that whore pregnant?!" she practically shrieked, but he silenced her immediately.
"Aleera, listen to me," he began, but she cut him off—something she had never dared do before.
"What's wrong with our children?" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down, despite the circumstances and the temptation to start yelling at him. He wanted to rebuke her for interrupting him, but her question took him off guard, so he let it slide. "I know they are born dead… but Van Helsing! He has the monster with him! And I kidnapped the princess! We could trade the princess for the monster! We don't need that bastard child! We can bring our own to life!"
"But what if something happens?" he suddenly snapped at her, growing impatient with her insolence. "What if the plan fails? What if the monster doesn't work? What if we bring all of our children to life, Aleera, and something happens to you or to me? They all die with us! And my entire dream, all of that hard work goes to hell! Don't you understand?" he nearly shouted, his anger getting the better of him as he pointed to the door. "Hera is the backup plan! She has always been the back-up plan!"
Aleera's mouth dropped when he said that and the atmosphere in the room changed completely.
"That 'bastard child,' as you call it, is the key to world domination, Aleera. The preservation of our kind, our race! That child with its beating heart is the most powerful vampire in existence, second only to me," and he jutted his fingers into his chest with passion. "My child, the one in her womb, when it matures and comes of age, will be immune to all things that our race detests. With one bite from that babe when it is grown, it can convert all vampires in existence, making them immune to sunlight, silver, crucifixes, stakes… all of it, Aleera! Nothing, not a single creature on this cursed earth will ever dare to threaten us again! Not even the Knights of the Holy Order will stand a chance. And you... you will be able to see the sun rise again! You will be able to walk in the light without fear! And every creature of the night born hereafter will be of that new and improved race! Don't you see?" he asked her, grabbing her by her arms now and shaking her slightly as if trying to get her to understand.
"I had to use Hera," he explained. "I knew from the beginning that I could persuade her onto our side, that I could make her willing. It worked out far better than I had ever hoped it to be," he whispered. "She's fallen in love with me, Aleera! Yes I took advantage of her, yes I had to push you and your sisters away, and yes I have had to lie and cheat and charm and deceive to be where we are standing now. But Aleera…we are so close to success. Just think of it..."
He gently turned her around so her back was to him and he snaked his arms around her waist, pulling her into his arms, his chin resting atop her shoulder, lips caressing her skin as he spoke sweet poison into her ear.
"After we have obtained the monster, our children will live. And in six days' time, Hera will give birth. After the child is born, she will die, and you, Aleera…" and he began to plant seductive kisses along the pale curve of her shoulder as he pulled down the left sleeve of her gown, exposing an ample amount of her well-endowed bosom, "… You will be my one and only queen," he purred in her ear, a twisted, malevolent smile on his charming lips.
"You were always my strongest and most loyal bride," he continued, kissing every inch of her shoulder as one of his hands cupped the exposed flesh of her breast and he squeezed it in his hand, making the woman croon. "You have twice the fire of Marishka and more devotion than Verona ever had. You have been a most faithful and pleasing companion, my love."
"So you just used her?" Aleera clarified, her breathing hitched as her master practically undressed her in the center of the room. He pulled her flush against him and she could feel his need pressing into her ass and she let out a wanton moan. "Oh master…"
"Yes Aleera, my pet," he purred darkly and he spun her around, pinning her back to the door, taking one of her breasts in his hand and lifting it up towards his mouth. "I used every… single… inch of her," and he took her nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue around it, seducing his own bride into his way of thinking, taking her trust and abusing it… using her as he used everyone else.
"She means nothing to me," he lied after removing his wet mouth from her breast, a sexed-up daze in his eyes. But it vanished almost immediately as he abruptly grabbed hold of her fiery hair and tugged it roughly, forcing her to look into his eyes. "But if you lay a single finger on her without my permission, I will destroy you without a second thought and I will let her live just to spite you. Do you understand?" he hissed with animosity.
Aleera nodded, following it up with a "yes, my lord" before the harshness in his face melted back into nothing but sadistic charm and he released her hair, taking a step back as if he was completely unmoved by her.
"Very good. Now then, I want you to find Van Helsing, and see if he will agree to an exchange of the monster for Anna Valerious." He then motioned with his eyes for her to leave. "Go."
She obeyed without question, fixing herself up just before she turned around and exited from the room, vanishing from his sight.
When Aleera was finally gone, Dracula exhaled loudly, rubbing the spot between his eyes out of habit before deciding to turn around and head back to bed. But when he finally took note of the rest of the room, he observed Jane hidden in a shadowed corner, rag in hand and the half-dusted bookshelf behind her.
