Dracula: Bound in Blood

24. Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

J onathan’s eyes fluttered open, his mind still hazy from sleep and the lingering effects of his passionate encounter with Dracula. He remained perfectly still, feigning slumber as he became aware of voices in the ballroom. The conversation between Dracula and another man—Andor, he heard him called—drifted to his ears in fragments, each word sending him more on edge.

“...your rules were that humans cannot know of our existence without being turned or killed, and yet you were going to allow that boy to return to London.”

Jonathan’s heart raced as he processed the implications of those words. Turned or killed. The stark reality of his situation crashed over him like a wave, washing away the romantic notions he’d been clinging to. He strained to hear more, catching bits and pieces of their heated exchange.

“...Van Helsing and his growing band of hunters...”

“...is this human worth risking everything we’ve built?”

As the confrontation between Dracula and Andor intensified, Jonathan’s mind whirled with questions and doubts. He had known, of course, that his relationship with Dracula was unconventional, even dangerous. But hearing it laid out so bluntly—that his very existence posed a threat to Dracula and his kind—shook him to his core.

When silence finally fell over the ballroom, Jonathan dared to open his eyes fully. He found himself alone, the vast room empty save for the lingering scent of Dracula and the unfamiliar vampyre. Slowly, he sat up, wincing at the soreness in his body—a bittersweet reminder of the passion he and Dracula had shared mere hours ago.

His shirt lay nearby, missing several buttons where Dracula had torn it open in his haste. Jonathan slipped it on, acutely aware of his near-nakedness. His pants, he discovered with dismay, were beyond salvation, torn to shreds in their frenzied lovemaking. The thought of wandering the castle in such a state of undress made him uncomfortable.

While he had grown accustomed to Dracula seeing him naked, the idea of encountering Vigo or, worse, this new vampyre Andor in such a vulnerable state filled him with dread.

Jonathan crept to the ballroom doors, pressing his ear against the cool wood. He could hear movement in the hallway beyond—Dracula’s voice, low and urgent, speaking to someone. Vigo, perhaps? He waited, until he heard the sound of retreating footsteps.

Taking a deep breath, Jonathan eased the door open a crack, peering out into the dimly lit corridor. He caught a glimpse of Dracula’s tall figure disappearing around a corner, heading towards the castle’s main entrance. Where was he going at this hour? Jonathan pushed the thought aside, focusing on getting back to his room without being seen.

He slipped out of the ballroom, bare feet silent on the cold stone floor. The castle seemed different now, more menacing. Shadows that had once held a mysterious allure now concealed potential threats. Every creak and groan of the ancient building set his nerves on edge.

As he reached the foot of the grand staircase, Jonathan heard Vigo’s unmistakable shuffling gait approaching. Panic gripped him as he looked frantically for a place to hide. At the last moment, he ducked behind a suit of armor, holding his breath as the old servant passed by, muttering to himself in a language Jonathan didn’t recognize.

Once Vigo had moved on, Jonathan made a dash for the stairs, taking them two at a time in his haste to reach the safety of his room. His mind raced with the fragments of conversation he’d overheard. What did it all mean? And what would become of him now that he knew the truth about Dracula and his world?

As he reached the landing, a flicker of movement caught his eye. For a moment, he thought he saw a figure standing at the far end of the hallway—a young man with striking features and a shock of white hair. But the apparition was gone when he blinked, leaving him to wonder if his imagination was playing tricks on him.

Jonathan hurried to his room, relief washing over him as he grasped the familiar handle. But as he pushed the door open, that relief turned to icy fear. There, lounging on his bed as if he belonged there, was the vampyre from the ballroom—Andor.

“Well, well,” Andor drawled, a predatory smile playing on his lips. “What have we here?”

Jonathan froze in the doorway, his mind screaming at him to run even as his body refused to move. Andor was breathtakingly beautiful, his features softer and more delicate than Dracula’s commanding presence. But there was a dangerous glint in his eyes that made Jonathan’s blood run cold.

“Such a clever boy,” Andor continued, rising from the bed with fluid grace. “Pretending to sleep while the grown-ups talked. I must say, I’m impressed. My father’s senses truly have dulled if he didn’t notice you were awake.”

Jonathan swallowed hard, finding his voice at last. “What do you want?” he demanded, trying to inject more bravado into his tone than he felt. “If you hurt me, Dracula will—“

“Kill me?” Andor finished, laughing. The sound was musical, almost enchanting, but with an undercurrent of cruelty that made Jonathan shiver. “Oh, little human, I have no intention of hurting you. Not physically, at least. No, I’m here to open your eyes to the truth.”

“What truth?” Jonathan asked, wary but unable to quell his curiosity.

Andor’s smile widened, revealing the tips of his fangs. “The truth about your position here, about what you mean to my father. You see, some of his children—my siblings, if you will—wish to usurp him, to take his throne. And yet, here he is, his guard lowered because of you.”

The vampyre moved closer, his movements too fast for Jonathan to track. Before he could react, Andor had him pinned against the wall, his cool fingers working open the buttons of Jonathan’s shirt.

“Stop!” Jonathan cried, struggling against Andor’s iron grip. “What are you doing!?”

Andor ignored his protests, pushing the shirt open to expose Jonathan’s torso. His eyes roved over the pale skin, searching for something. “Interesting,” he murmured. “The wound should still be visible, even with his blood.”

Jonathan’s hand flew to his stomach, remembering the injury he’d sustained during Van Helsing’s attack. He’d almost forgotten all about it. “How do you know about that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know many things, little human,” Andor replied, releasing Jonathan and stepping back. “I know that my father gave you his blood—far more than was necessary to heal your wounds. It’s created a bond between you, one that’s difficult to maintain with a mortal. It’s left him weakened, vulnerable.”

Jonathan’s mind reeled with this new information. He’d known, in a vague sense, that drinking Dracula’s blood had changed him somehow. But he hadn’t realized the extent of it, or the cost to Dracula himself.

“I... I didn’t know,” he stammered.

Andor’s laugh was sharp, cutting. “Of course you didn’t. How could you? You’re just a pawn in a game you can’t even begin to understand.”

The words stung, but Jonathan couldn’t deny the ring of truth in them. How much did he really know about Dracula, about this world he’d stumbled into?

“You look so much like him, you know,” Andor said, his tone suddenly wistful. “Like Béla. I never met him, of course, but I’ve seen the paintings. The resemblance is... uncanny.”

Jonathan’s heart skipped a beat. “I know about Béla,” he said, trying to sound confident. “Dracula told me—“

“Did he tell you about the others?” Andor interrupted, his eyes glittering with malice. “Did he tell you about the east wing of the castle?”

A cold dread settled in Jonathan’s stomach. “What about it?” Jonathan remembered that he was warned never to go there.

Andor’s smile was cruel now, all pretense of charm gone. “It’s filled with beautiful young men who resembled Dracula’s beloved Béla. They all thought they were special, just like you. They all believed they would be the one to finally claim Dracula’s heart, to become his eternal companion in this eternal paradise.”

Jonathan felt as though the floor was dropping out from beneath him. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head in denial. “You’re lying.” It wasn’t that Jonathan didn’t know there were others. But from what he understood, they were all...well, he didn’t really think about it. he didn’t know nor care where those other men were, or if they were alive or dead. ‘What does that say about me?’ he thought questioning his morals. Did all he care about was his own feelings? Did the others feel the same as him?

“Am I?” Andor challenged. “Ask him yourself, if you dare. But I warn you, don’t make the mistake of believing you’re any different until the change actually happens. If it happens.”

“The change?” Jonathan echoed, his voice hollow.

Andor rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Becoming a vampyre, you fool. Did you think my father would keep you as a pet forever? No, eventually he’ll have to decide—turn you or kill you. Those are the rules, after all.”

Jonathan’s mind was spinning, trying to reconcile this new information with everything he thought he knew about Dracula and their relationship. Had it all been a lie? Was he just another in a long line of Béla look-alikes, destined to be discarded when Dracula grew bored? He begged Dracula to take him, hell to even turn him. But did he love Dracula enough to spend an eternity with him or was he riding the highs of being at the center of this hidden world? Of being free to express his desires with he most beautiful man he had ever seen. Were all vampyres this beautiful?

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Andor’s expression softened slightly, almost to the point of pity. “Because, little human, someone needs to open your eyes. My father... he’s not the monster you might think he is, but he’s not the romantic hero you’ve built up in your mind either. He’s dangerous and unpredictable. And right now, you’re making him vulnerable in ways he can’t afford to be. If you wish to be undergone the transformation, then focus on that. The others didn’t and well, you can see for yourself the state of their mind.”

With that, Andor moved to the window, opening it with a flourish. The cool night air rushed in, carrying with it the scent of the pine forests beyond the castle walls. “Think about what I’ve said, Jonathan Harker,” he said, one foot already on the windowsill. “And remember, in our world, love is a luxury few can afford.”

Before Jonathan could respond, Andor was gone, leaving nothing but a flutter of curtains and a whirlwind of doubts in his wake.

Alone in his room, Jonathan sank to the floor, his back pressed against the cool stone wall. His mind raced with everything he’d learned; every certainty he’d held about his relationship with Dracula was now called into question.

The east wing was filled with other men who looked like Béla. There was the threat of being turned or killed, and his presence had a weakening effect on Dracula. It was all too much to process.