Und Alle Teufel Steigen Hinauf (2/2)

[fwibble]

“Really, Excellency, you should be more grateful.”

Black eyes, blazing with rage, turned on him. “Grateful?” he hissed. “What cause have I to be grateful?”

Sprawled on the couch, his right foot resting on his left knee, Vlad Draculea smiled at the Graf. “As I recall, Excellency, your well-being and new-found strength comes from me,” he drawled. “I would say that is reason enough.”

“You would damn me.”

Vlad unfurled a hand lazily. “I hardly forced you to study the black arts, Johannes,” he replied. “You chose that path yourself. It was your choice to accept the knowledge I gave you. I hardly forced you into it.”

“You were not called for,” the mortal man said. He was standing by the mantelpiece, silhouetted against the flames, his expression tense with anger. “I did not ask for your intercession.”

Draculea’s calm smile remained in place as he uncrossed his legs and rose sleekly to his feet. “But you reaped the benefits, didn’t you?” he observed quietly. “And I was generous, Excellency, but my generosity can only go so far. It has its price.”

He watched the pride stiffening the Graf’s broad shoulders, saw the distaste in the man’s eyes, and felt the smile twitch at his lips. The arrogant idiot really believed he would be able to win.

“You are no longer welcome here,” von Krolock finally said.

Several paces from him, his hands folded behind his back, Draculea neither moved nor spoke. Was it possible that he really had no idea what he would lose by giving up this alliance? If he did not, he would soon enough and that would be made all the more delightful, seeing that pride crushed to nothing.

Von Krolock turned on him. “You have tainted my house for long enough.” His voice was cold and hard. Vlad could see his cheek twitching. His mild smile seemed to be annoying the Graf even more, so he tilted his head, raising his eyebrows.

“You believe you can go on without me, Excellency?” he murmured. “When my strength feeds yours, and my blood runs in your veins, you truly believe you can go on without me?”

The Graf’s face went pale and his hands trembled at his sides at that reminder. That was the cause of this sudden show of spirit in the man who had been so obedient and had followed Draculea’s guidance, accepting his companionship and knowledge; the revelation that his wonderful charmed medicine was nothing more than the heart and life-blood of Draculea himself.

It still amused Vlad to think on how easily the Graf had accepted it, trusting his motherless brat and damning himself. The little cherub had been more useful than he had ever expected.

“I will do what I must,” he replied, but his voice shook. “I was strong before you poisoned me with your corruption, and I can be again.”

Vlad grinned, baring his teeth. “My poison saved you, von Krolock,” he said, taking a slow step forward until he was facing the man. “But if you want, I’ll go and take my… corruption with me.”

The surprise on the man’s face almost made Vlad laugh aloud. “And you will never return,” he added hastily, as if he had forgotten. “My son and I never want to see you here again.”

Smiling politely, Draculea crushed down the smirk that was tugging at his lips. “I will only return when you choose to call me,” he replied. He stepped closer and von Krolock tried to retreat, but his way was blocked by the fireplace. “And you will, Excellency.”

His lips curved up into something that wasn’t a smile. He lifted his hand and touched the Graf’s chest lightly, then moved suddenly and crushed his mouth brutally against von Krolock’s, the man clutching at him wildly before struggling away from him.

“Never!” he panted out, wiping his mouth in disgust.

Laughing, Vlad bowed elegantly, his hair falling loosely about his cheeks. “Good fortune to you, Excellency,” he purred. His eyes met those sickened black ones and he grinned. “Say goodnight to your son for me.”

Von Krolock snarled at his back as he turned, still laughing, and walked towards the door.

Two months, at most, and the man would be on his knees and begging.

Licking his bottom lip, Vlad chuckled.

It would definitely be worth the wait.

___________

“But he was better!”

“Sometimes, illness comes back, Herbert.” Anna tried to lift the young Master von Krolock up, but he squirmed free from her arms, staring at her with such accusation in his eyes, as if she had been the cause of Johannes’s relapse.

Backing away from her, he clung to the handle of his father’s door, his grey eyes wide and his face pale. “I don’t believe you,” he whispered. “Vati was playing with me last week before he went away. He wasn’t sick. He isn’t sick!”

Kneeling down, Anna reached out to the boy, who shied from her and closer to the door that Johannes had bidden her to lock on him. “Herbert, the travel has only tired your father out,” she said gently. “If we let him rest, I’m sure he will be fine in a day or two.”

Clinging on to the decorative handle of the door with both hands, Herbert peeked suspiciously at her from between his arms, his sleeves obscuring his face. “You promise he will get better?”

Anna hesitated.

It was true that her Master and lover had been well, but since his return from his brief journey, he seemed to have lost any semblance of the good health he had kept for months before. It was as if those wonderful, happy months had been imagined.

It was only a blessing that Herbert had been sound asleep on the night of his father’s return and had not seen Johannes borne, grey-faced and barely conscious, into the castle on a makeshift stretcher.

That had been two days since, and she had watched with despair as Johannes had tried to claw himself upright that he might assure his son that all was well, when he and she both knew it was anything but.

“Promise?” Herbert’s voice stirred her from her reverie and she tried to smile.

“I’m sure he will get better,” she lied warmly. “He is only tired.”

The child she had raised from infancy stared at her and she held out her hands in reassurance. Finally he stepped away from the door and let her lift him up into her arms, wrapping his own thin arms around her neck.

“If he doesn’t get better and come and see me soon, I will never ever talk to you again,” he muttered, glowering against her shoulder.

“I understand,” she replied with equal seriousness. “But now, you should sleep and let your father sleep as well.” He nodded gloomily against her shoulder and protested no further as she carried him back towards his own rooms.

Dressing him for bed, she brushed his fine, golden hair and let him trot towards the broad bed that took up a great part of one half of his room. Before he climbed up onto it, however, he reached under one of the pillows and pulled out a small pebble.

Staring at it seriously, he turned then held it out towards her. “I want you to give this to Vati,” he said. Anna stared at him in surprise and he proffered it. “It makes me lucky. I want Vati to have it to make him lucky too.”

Taking the small water-rounded pebble, Anna bit her lip. Though such superstitions meant little to her, if it reassured the child then she knew his father would appreciate the gesture and the sentiments behind it.

“I shall take it to him straight away,” she promised.

Herbert smiled at her, but it wasn’t the smile she remembered from the past few months, when he and his father had spent the spring days exploring the grounds of their home, watching as nature returned to bright and colourful life after the chill of winter.

It wasn’t even the timid smile he reserved for the Wallachian Lord who had been for a time a visitor in the castle. Over the autumn and winter months, Lord Draculea and Johannes had spent the bleak nights in Johannes’s study and only half a dozen weeks earlier had the man departed.

Anna had not spent a great deal of time in his presence, but after he had departed, Johannes had confided that the man was not as he seemed and that the knowledge of his true nature had come far too late.

Still, Herbert had respected him, and Johannes had admitted it was Draculea’s potent medicines that had rendered him well. A pity that he had departed now, taking those merciful medicines with him.

Under her careful gaze, Herbert climbed the miniature staircase to reach the top of his bed and crawled under the drawn-back covers. Letting her arrange the blankets, he lay back against the pillows and stared at the canopy of the bed until she reached to snuff out the candle.

“Fräulein Anna?”

She looked at him and found his grey eyes on her face. “Yes, Herbert?”

“Will you tell Vati that I miss him?” His voice was so small and quiet that she was reminded of how very young that serious-faced child truly was.

Stooping over him to kiss his brow, she nodded at once. “I will,” she whispered. “And as soon as he is well enough, I promise you shall be able to come in and see him and tell him so yourself.”

With a quiet sound, Herbert nodded and turned onto his side, pulling his blankets up to his chin. Anna watched him for a moment, then snuffed out the candle and made her way across the room, the small, cool pebble still nestled in her palm.

From the door, she murmured a brief goodnight then closed the door behind her.

As she made her way down the hall, she hoped against hope that she would open the door to Johannes’s chamber and find him standing waiting, ready to go to his son and assure the child that everything was all right.

Pulling the key from the ring on her belt, she unlocked the door and pushed it open, a whisper of air rippling around her. The room was warm. Johannes had bidden her to light a fire that morning, and it seemed to still be burning brightly, soft gold light flickering across the room.

The bed was empty, which made her heart leap with hope, and she stepped into the room, looking around.

“Anna?” The voice was little more than a rasp of breath from the direction of the mantle and she twisted her hands together as she approached the high-backed chair. An arm was visible, resting on the decorative side, but nothing more.

“Herbert is in bed,” she offered in quiet response. “He is worried about you.”

She saw the fingers twitch under the thick cuff of his night robe, a silent gesture that she was permitted to approach. She bit her lip as she neared, her fingers knotted so fast together that it was almost painful.

Rounding the chair, the sight of him was like a blow. Though he was upright and had moved under his own strength for the first time since his return, his face was drawn and grey-hued. His eyes were closed, deep shadows pooling under them, softened by the light of the flames, but dark none the less.

“No better?”

His proud head moved slowly, and she could hear the laboured wheeze of his breath over the quiet snap and hiss of the flames. By and by, his dark eyes opened and he looked up at her. “I need to rest,” he whispered hoarsely.

Without hesitation, she slid her hands beneath his arms and with a little effort drew him to his feet. In his handful of months of health, he had regained some of his lost weight, no longer skeletal, and it took greater strength for her to support him and guide him back towards his bed.

Her arms were shaking and her back protesting as she lowered him onto the covers and helped him lie back, but she made no protest. Better that only she tended him, lest his condition became common knowledge. He hated to be thought of as weak.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asked softly, smoothing his hair back from his cheek. At his weary nod, she hurried back to the other side of the room, taking up the small tray that had been placed on the table and returning with it.

With effort, he managed to take a little of the diluted wine and some of the now-cold food that had been left to him, in the belief he had strength enough to eat himself. It was barely enough to feed a half-starved child, but he gestured the rest away, closing his eyes and sinking heavily against his pillows.

“Tomorrow, just rest,” Anna whispered, placing the tray aside and taking his hand in hers, wishing she could somehow grant him some of her strength. “No more of this rising. Not until you are ready and stronger.”

“I should have listened to you this morning,” Johannes agreed faintly, forcing his eyes open, his lips twitching. He gazed at her, his brows drawing together. “Do I truly look so dreadful?”

Anna shook her head, but could not find the words at once. “Only very tired,” she replied, touching his cheek with her other hand. His skin was cool, clammy with chilly perspiration. “It was too soon to make such a journey, I think.”

Johannes’s expression was pained. “The journey would have made no difference,” he murmured. His eyes closed once more, as if it were a labour to keep them open. “I am as I was.” A shiver passed through him. “Before.”

He did not need to say anything further.

The Wallachian’s name was no longer spoken of, but his presence and his cure had returned Johannes to the strength they had known. Now, without it and without the foreign stranger’s presence, he was as he had been so many months earlier.

It was if the Wallachian’s medicine had never altered him, yet the memory of those happy months remained.

She coloured at the memory of the nights after Herbert had gone to sleep in his own bed, remembering Johannes’s touches and whispers. She remembered watching father and son laughing as one chased the other through the halls of the castle. She remembered sitting before the open fire in the middle of winter, repairing Herbert’s torn breeches while his father told him exciting stories of mystery and adventure.

To think such days and nights would never be possible again made her eyes prick with unwanted tears that she fought back.

It did not help her forget that if his condition only grew worse and he moved closer and closer to his end, Herbert would be left an orphaned infant Graf with none but his father’s distant and cold family to care for him. They would never let him remain in her care, even if they both pleaded for it.

“Perhaps we…” She hesitated, looking away from him. “The Wallachian…”

“No.” The quietly emphatic tone in his words made her flinch.

“Johannes, you… you could be strong once more.”

His eyes half-opened. “The price is too high,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”

Anna stroked his cheek tenderly, and though her voice shook, she was almost entirely in earnest when she whispered, “There is nothing to forgive.” To her distress, a tear broke free from her eyes, tangling on her lashes before splashing onto the hand she still clasped in her own.

Averting her face, she hastily plucked the pebble from the low bedside dresser where she had laid it moments earlier. Turning his hand over in hers, she laid the small, round stone in the middle of his palm.

“Herbert asked me to give you this,” she whispered. “It is…”

“His lucky pebble,” Johannes whispered, looking at the object in his hand. He looked dazed, his fingers closing around the stone. His eyes rose to her face and she hastily blinked back another tear.

“He misses you,” she managed to whisper, before her voice broke. Turning her back on him, she tried to regain control of her emotions, her shoulders trembling. One hand covered her face and she felt his fingertips brush her hip.

“Anna…”

“Rest,” she whispered, her voice as steady as she could make it. Rising, she smoothed her skirts, but didn’t turn to look at him, her fingers tangling in her skirt. “You need to rest more if you are to get any better.”

He made no further protest as she gathered up the dishes and the tray and hurried across the room towards the door. Only there did she look back at him. He was gazing at the pebble in his hand, the fingers of his other hand touching the small object.

“Good night,” she said softly, and saw him slowly nod before she pulled the door closed behind her and locked it.

Only then did she let the tears fall freely.

____________________

The chapel was cool.

Outside, warm sunlight was spreading across the land that was nearing harvest. The fields were golden and the sky was a cloudless blue, only marked here and there with pale smears of rainless cloud.

None of it meant anything to the Graf von Krolock, not any longer.

With his collapse of nearly a month earlier, his mortality had been tried and tested and found wanting. Only days of suffering had passed when he had taken up a quill in his shivering hand and written a desperate missive to the only one who had been able to help him.

He had not wanted to beg, but there had been no choice. His body was failing him, and his heart was growing weaker by the day. His son was not yet ready to be without both father and mother. No matter the price, he would not and could not let his child suffer another loss.

So, he had agreed to Lord Draculea’s terms.

In exchange for the saving damnation of the unnatural man’s blood, he would let the Wallachian use his gifts to his ends, taking Johannes’s skills with the darkest magics and his foresight and twisting them to his ends.

No reply had come, and part of Johannes had rejoiced, believing he had escaped the damnation he needed so desperately for his son’s sake. Yet, with every day that passed, every day that he saw Herbert grow, he could not bear the thought of missing the sight of his son in maturity.

Then, unexpectedly, a stranger had come to the castle, seeking him. The man was a pitiable ruin of a creature, a servant, broken and subservient. He had brought word that the Wallachian Lord would be arriving within two days.

Johannes had spent those days in the company of his beloved child and the woman who was not his wife, the two people for whom he knew he would do anything. For them, he knew he had to accept the Wallachian’s price. For them.

The afternoon had brought him to the chapel, though.

Tired out from a day of racing about the grounds, Herbert had curled sleepily, trustingly, in Anna’s arms and she had carried him up to his bedroom. Johannes had watched them go then slipped from the main halls of the castle.

Prayer seemed like a hopeless gesture now, desperate and futile, but even if his soul was damned, his son’s was still within the touch of God’s grace. Pleas to unseen ears for the protection of his child fell from his lips as evening came and the small building was darkened by twilight.

“I don’t think he’ll listen, Excellency.”

The familiar mocking voice made him stiffen. He tilted his head slightly to see the silhouette not quite standing in the open doorway. “I did not think you would return,” he said quietly, his voice rasping in his throat.

Draculea laughed softly. “I told you I would come when you chose to call me back, Johannes,” he said conversationally. There was an amused snort. “You aren’t looking well, you know.”

Struggling from his knees to his feet, Johannes turned to face the man, the creature, with whom his accord had been struck. “I care nothing for this weakness,” he said quietly. “I only wish to see my child grown.”

“Admirable,” Draculea replied, not moving from outside the chapel’s threshold. “He is a fine child.” Von Krolock could imagine the mocking smile. “I think he’ll bear watching, your little brat.”

Anger made von Krolock’s mind blaze with pain and he stumbled towards the Wallachian, his voice more growl than spoken. “You will not touch him,” he panted out, clutching an ornamental candelabra to support himself. “Never.”

Draculea smiled at him. “Only if you give me what I want, Excellency,” he said, inclining his head.

Terror and anguish flooded Johannes in that moment and he almost recoiled. Now that he was at the point of choice, he could not think to speak. To choose to damn himself, to never see Lise and Herbert after the end of days, in order to spare his child pain and solitude in a cruel mortal life…

His mind felt clouded, the choices somehow less clear now that he was facing the man who held his damnation in his black-gloved hands.

He stared at Draculea, uncertain, and saw the man’s nostrils flare.

“You will be dead within the month unless you take what I offer,” the Wallachian said with the air of a man discussing the colour of a shirt. “But I expect your family will raise your child with kindness when you are gone.” Green eyes gleamed and von Krolock wanted to strike out at him. “Wouldn’t they?”

They would never take Herbert in with kindness, he knew. Never. The boy had been given the most indulgent of upbringings and Johannes knew that his sister’s household, bound by rules and silence would break his child’s beautiful spirit.

Perhaps he had been too hasty. Perhaps, if he had his wishes dictated to another, then Herbert would be safely placed in the care of Anna and her family, those who had served him and his family faithfully for generations.

Perhaps there was a way to save his child from despair without damning himself and those around him.

Loathing in his eyes, he stared at Draculea. “I should not have summoned you.”

Draculea gazed back evenly, no anger visible on his face. His shoulders rose in an expressive shrug. “Perhaps not,” he murmured. “But I’m here and you wanted me here. Even if you deny it, you need me here.”

Von Krolock shook his head, if only to deny the man’s arrogance. “No. I will never need you,” he whispered, forcing himself forward and out into the twilight, pushing passed the other man.

A hand caught his arm in a steely grip when he staggered and almost fell. He looked up into eyes as green as poison. “Already, you prove yourself wrong, Excellency,” the Wallachian murmured, his lips curving sardonically.

Drawing himself up with all the pride he could muster, Johannes pulled his arm free of the man’s grasp and made his way towards the castle. Every step was a labour and his chest ached with the effort, but he made himself move.

Slowly, heavily, he finally reached his son’s room. If the Wallachian spoke the truth, he had no doubt that his body would give in sooner rather than later. Better to try to explain to his child now, while he still had strength to do so.

The room was quiet and dark. Only the palest of light from the moon filtered through the panels of the windows, casting a strange, eerie wash over half of the room. In the other half, lost in the shadows and darkness of thick curtains and blankets, there was a small hump visible in the middle of the vast bed.

Leaning heavily against the post of the bed, Johannes was hard-pressed not to smile at the sight of his son. A day of bird-chasing and nest-spotting had clearly had its effect on the boy. He had fashioned his blankets and sheets into a round nest in the centre of the bed, his pale head resting on his crossed arms on a lump of pillows and linens.

He looked so content, so peaceful, that Johannes sank to kneel at the foot of the bed to simply watch him.

A loose curl of the boy’s hair had fallen against his cheek and was quivering with every little breath. He had been given a quick bath, Johannes could tell. His hair was wavier than usual, as it always was after it had been washed.

Even so, had the boy been covered in mud and still wearing twigs and leaves in his hair, Johannes would have loved him regardless. Without his child, without the incentive to go on, he knew he would have failed and faded after Lise’s death. His son had been his salvation for so long. The boy was everything to him and he would do anything for him.

Anything but die a simple, mortal death.

What, he wondered, would Herbert do if he woke one morning soon to be told his father was dead? His child had been broken-hearted enough when he had learned Johannes was ill, but to lose a father…

Even though his own father had died when he was an adult, Johannes could still remember the void that was left. The library had seemed so much bigger, colder and emptier without the form of his father lazing before the fire. They had never been truly close, with Johannes’s love for travel and escaping his mother’s matchmaking attentions drawing them apart, but what time they had spent together had been some of the most significant interactions of his young life.

They had not been closer.

That was the difference. Von Krolock knew that his own son counted him as his best friend as well as his father, the one to whom he told all his secrets, and the one with whom he planned to spend forever.

His son was a hardy child with a brave heart and strength beyond his years, yes, but what child could survive the loss of friend, father and protector?

“Have you looked into his future, Excellency?” The mocking drawl from the doorway sent a repulsed shiver down his spine. “Look. See what will become of your child. See if your loss will mean as much as you believe.”

He had no need to turn to know that Draculea was smiling. He could hear the arrogant curl of the sensuous lips in every word.

“I cannot control that which I see,” he said quietly, shuddering at the thought of the most cursed of his gifts.

“Because you do not try,” Draculea replied. He heard the approaching footfalls and smelled the scent of wilderness and blood that hung on the Wallachian like an ill-fitting cloak. Broad hands came to rest on his shoulders. “Look, if you dare.”

Johannes shivered under those hands, hands that were so strong and cold. He looked to his son, and tried to see. The future was there, close before him, but he could never reach for it. It could only ever come to him. Pain blazed through his temples and he shook his head.

Draculea’s fingers tightened on his shoulders. “Not good enough, Excellency,” he murmured. “You’re not trying.” He felt the Wallachian’s lips close to his ear through the mantle of his hair. “I will tell you what I can see; an orphaned brat, taken in by his father’s generous friend, the Wallachian count, loved as… well...” There was a cruel chuckle. “Perhaps not a son. He is a very pretty child after all.”

Had he the strength, he would have struck the man down, rage rising like a tide through him. Agony exploded across his chest and he would have buckled to the floor if Draculea’s arms had not suddenly slipped around him, holding him fast.

Against his ear, he felt the smile. “Less than a month, I think, Excellency,” the man whispered as darkness clouded Johannes’s vision. One of the hands moved, pulling his head back, forcing him to look at his child. “See.”

In a mind blinded by pain, the vision that was not natural came easily, and Johannes gasped out at the sight of his child, half-grown, on the cusp of adulthood. Alive, then, still alive. And striking, beautiful, and…

With fading consciousness, his sight came into focus sharply and he saw the pain on Herbert’s face, the blood on his burst lip, his eyes squeezed shut against some manner of horror that had his body forced forwards. Johannes wanted to cry out when the grey eyes burst open, staring wildly, desperately at him, trusting and pleading.

With a choked sob, he jerked back against Draculea. The vision vanished as consciousness returned, his mind spinning, burnt by the images of his son in some manner of physical pain.

“Was that so hard, Excellency?” Draculea’s whisper was tainted with amusement.

Von Krolock wanted to shy from him, to fight him off, to throw the damned man from his home, away from himself, his child and the dark gifts that showed him that which no man was meant to see.

It was too late. His strength was gone and Draculea knew it also.

He tried to close his eyes, his mind, to the memory of that glimpse of the future. He could not dwell on it, not if he wished to find the strength in his soul to resist the man who was smiling so callously against his ear.

“I trust he was happy and well without you.”

Happy. Well.

Agonised grey eyes, bleeding lips, and desperate, pleading expression.

“He’s my son,” he whispered hopelessly.

What manner of father was he, if he allowed such a thing to happen? If he let his life slip away from him, when he knew he left his beloved child to an unknown and horrific fate, what manner of man was he? Bad enough to abandon the boy in his infancy, but he would have needed a heart graven from stone to ignore the knowledge that seared his mind like hot coals.

The hand that still held him upright, the fingers spread over his aching heart, patted his sternum lightly, a strangely companionable gesture. “You will always be his father,” Draculea said quietly against his ear. “For good or for bad.”

Von Krolock shuddered. For good, he knew his son would live until at least the edge of manhood. For bad…

“What do you want of me?” he whispered, closing his eyes. “What do you need that I can live long enough to see him grown?”

His hair was drawn back from his throat. He felt Draculea’s words against his skin, an icy whisper. “You know my price, Excellency,” he breathed, though his voice seemed twisted, more bestial than human with an undercurrent of a growl in it. Dangerous. Threatening. Terrifying. “Your service, unquestioned and unquestioning.”

Johannes felt his hands trembling by his sides. His heart was racing, every throbbing pulse agonising in his veins. His eyes, though, were on the slumbering for of his beautiful, innocent, defenceless son.

What could he do but accept? What could any father do in such circumstances?

Slowly, he brought up one shivering hand and tugged the crucifix from his throat. It had been hidden beneath his shirt, but now, he knew he had made his choice. The chain gave easily and he tossed it beneath the bed, out of sight, forgotten. Closing his eyes, he tensed his hands and nodded.

He felt the grin against his neck. “Your oath, Excellency?”

The words caught in his throat, every one forced from his lips, “I am in your service.”

Hands that seemed broader, stronger, than they had a moment earlier were suddenly tight on his arms. “Good.” There was nothing human in that sound. He was wrenched from the floor and cast into the moonlight, falling heavily onto his side.

Stifling a cry of pain, he lifted himself on one arm, only to freeze, his eyes widening in horrified understanding as Draculea stepped out of the shadows into the silver light. No man. No mortal.

Demonic and primal, the creature that wore Draculea’s grin approached, moonlight reflected off red-hued green eyes. The planes of its face rippled altered, from man to undeniable monster. Johannes shrank back against the floor, his heart erupting in pain of terror, unable to fight, move, think.

And it was over him, a clawed hand that looked more paw pinning him down. He felt the face against his throat and arched his head away in horrified despair. His breath caught, burned, in lungs that felt like they were bursting. No air to scream. No strength to fight.

“Good,” the creature that was Draculea snarled through its fangs. The sharp teeth were against his throat and he tried, hoped, wished desperately for a scream. Then thought of his son, broken by those teeth, the fangs that were scratching his flesh.

Shaking, he turned his face away and bared his throat to the monster.

And he heard the laughter in the last heartbeat before the pain.

_______________________

He needed to use his chamberpot.

He woke because of it and had tried to ignore it, snuggled in his nice cosy pile of blankets, but the bottom of his body wasn’t doing what he wanted. He didn’t want to get out from the warm covers. The bedroom was always cold.

Pulling the blankets over his head, he tried to ignore it, but he really, really needed to use his chamberpot. Fräulein Anna had told him not to drink so much milk before his bed time, but he had been thirsty and now, the milk wanted to get back out.

With a mumble of annoyance, he started wriggling out from under the bedding. A quick look told him that the candle on the windowsill had gone out, but there was still enough moonlight coming in the window to see where he was going.

Then he saw it.

It was a nightmare. He wasn’t really awake. It was a nightmare.

Shaking, he stared in horror at a monster that looked like a man with a wolf’s head biting and scratching at his Vati. Vati was lying still on the floor, like he was dead, but he wasn’t dead. His hands were trembling.

Herbert clutched at his blankets, shaking all over. He wanted to scream, to grab his little wooden sword and attack the monster and chase it away. He wanted to help Vati, to jump down from his big bed and save him. He wanted to wake up wake up WAKE UP.

One of the monster’s clawed hands grabbed the front of Vati’s shirt and ripped. The claws scratched his chest and the blood was purple in the moonlight. His head moved, but not much. His neck was all covered in blood too. Herbert saw his eyes were closed tight, like he was pretending it wasn’t happening.

Herbert tried to move, tried to make his hands pick up something to throw it at the big wolf-monster, tried to scream for Fräulein Anna to help, tried, tried, tried…

Around his legs, his blankets were warm and wet and his face was hot and wet with tears.

The wolf monster ran its nasty tongue up his Vati’s scratched chest then threw its head back. Dark spots splattered the walls and floor. It sounded like it was laughing, laughing like a monster, then its big ugly head bent down and Herbert heard his Vati cry out as sharp teeth bit his neck hard.

Herbert sobbed.

The monster’s head jerked up and eyes that flashed red looked at him. Herbert stared back at it, shaking with terror. It would eat him up now. Eat him up like it was eating Vati up. He saw it grinning like a man, its teeth all pink and sharp.

His lips were all shaky, but he made himself whisper, “Leave my Vati alone.”

The wolf-monster opened its great big mouth wide, like it was yawning, showing all its teeth and he whimpered, then screamed when that horrible mouth bit down on his Vati’s throat and Vati cried out suddenly and then was quiet.

Red eyes stared at him, and he saw the thick tongue licking his Vati’s torn neck. Its horrible mouth moved and it bit itself and its blood went all over Vati’s face, black and thick and slimy.

Vati’s mouth moved, maybe calling for Herbert to help him, but Herbert couldn’t hear him, couldn’t stop shaking. The not-hands were holding Vati and the wolf-monster’s body was rubbing against Vati’s, all the scratches and blood all over Vati’s skin.

Herbert was trembling with sobs as Vati went still. Not even his hands were shaking anymore. The wolf-monster made a strange noise and turned towards Herbert. It got off Vati, leaving him like he wasn’t important. Herbert stared at Vati, so still, covered in blood and bites and clawmarks. Tears were running down his face, but he couldn’t scream again, not with the wolf monster crawling towards him.

It leaned on the bed, all teeth and claws and blood-smelling breath, and Herbert tried to keep looking at Vati. Maybe it would go away. Maybe if he ignored it, he could wake up and it would be gone.

It growled and Herbert flinched, closing his eyes. He pulled his blanket up to his face and pressed his fists against his eyes. It laughed again then, and Herbert felt the wet, hot breath on him.

Then it was quiet.

Slowly, scared, he lowered the blanket from his face and opened his eyes. He was still shaking all over and his hands could hardly hold onto the damp blankets anymore.

But there was nothing there.

Vati was gone. There was no wolf-monster. The candle was lit in the window.

But the blankets were still wet, cold now, and if he closed his eyes tight he could still see the big teeth ripping up Vati’s neck. His eyes were sore and stingy and he covered his face with his hands.

A bad dream. If it was only a bad dream, he could forget it.

With a whimper, he crawled across the vast expanse of his bed and climbed shakily down his little staircase, pulling one of the dry blankets after him. The floor was cold and hard under his feet, but he didn’t care.

If it came back, he didn’t want it to find him. If it came back, he would hide until it went away.

Pulling up the bottom of the covers, he crawled under the bed. His hand pressed against something sharp and cold and he bit his lip. It was metal. Small fingers carefully picked it up. It felt like a cross.

Holding it tight, he crept to the top of the bed and tugged the blanket around him. It was cold and dusty under the bed, but he wrapped himself in the blanket and clung on the small cross.

He didn’t close his eyes, though.

_____________________________

Anna was concerned.

For the first time since his third year, Herbert had wet the bed. More than that, when she had entered his room to wake him, she had been startled to find the bed empty, and had rushed around the room until she heard a stifled sob from beneath the bed.

Kneeling, she had pulled aside the covers and seen his eyes staring at her with such terror that she had been unable to move for a moment. His face was chalk-white, his eyes ringed with shadows, and he looked like he had not slept.

Almost as soon as she had pulled the covers aside, though, he scrambled towards her, climbing into her lap and burying his face in her neck. He had been shaking so hard that his knees had given way and he sunk in her arms, clinging on her as if she might vanish.

In broken sentences, he had whispered about a monster eating his father, something brutal and horrific. She had held him warmly, stroking his hair and whispering words to comfort him until his shaking subsided.

She had no doubt about the cause of such nightmares. With his father growing sicker and weaker by the day, let alone the week, it wasn’t surprising that he was dreaming of nightmarish things happening to Johannes.

Her concern had only been compounded when Herbert had not fought her when she carried him to the bathroom. Divesting him of his stained nightshirt, she had been able to lift him into the tub without any struggles, and he had sat silently watching his toes through the water.

He had dressed in silence, occasionally sniffing, then looked up and quietly asked her if he could see his father. Anna had hesitated then said she would go and check that Johannes was awake.

Herbert had smiled a little then climbed up to sit on his window ledge. He had been holding a small crucifix from the moment she had found him, and it had been held between his small fingers as he settled in the sunlight that was ebbing into the room.

Frowning, she had left him and now, was walking the short distance to Johannes’s chambers. She reached out for the heavy door handle, but the door swung inwards before her and a figure stepped out, clad all in black. Beyond him, the room was dark, curtains stifling the daylight, and she exclaimed in surprise.

Then she recognised the man before her. It was the Wallachian.

Sinking into a hasty curtsey, she lowered her head. “Forgive me,” she said, her voice trembling with hope. “I did not expect you to be here.”

The man laughed. “Neither did I, if I am to be honest,” he replied, his loud, rough voice more reassuring than the whispers of physicians. “But his Excellency sent word to me and not a moment too soon.”

He pulled the door closed firmly behind him.

Anna glanced at the door, then at him. “Herbert would like to see his father, if he may,” she said carefully. “He had a bad dream and I think it would reassure him to see that his father is all right.”

Draculea gazed at her and she shifted uncertainly. “He is resting at the moment,” he replied after several minutes. “The child may see him this evening.” He smiled at her, but his eyes remained strangely cool. Still, manners dictated that she respond, so she bowed and smiled haltingly back at him. “Your faithfulness is impressive.”

Her cheeks coloured deeply and she lowered her eyes. “My family have served his Excellency’s family for generations.”

The dark green eyes remained on her. She lowered her brown eyes uncomfortably, his scrutiny intense and merciless. When she dared to raise them again, she saw a fleeting smile curve his lips, then he inclined his head.

“Tend the child then come to the library this evening to speak with his Excellency,” he said. “Sunset, I think would be fitting enough.”

“Herbert…”

“The child will see his father soon enough,” the man’s voice took on a harder edge and Anna knew the tone enough not to argue further. She bobbed in a hasty curtsey, eyes down. “The library, this evening.”

Yes, sir,” she murmured.

A gloved finger lifted her chin and she made herself look into those cold green eyes and forced down a shiver. “Good girl,” he said and he smiled that emotionless smile again. “Go.”

Obediently, she nodded and, though she wished she had nerve enough to walk from his cold eyes and smile, she fled.

_____________________

He had woken in blackness.

For a time, he had lain in silence, staring into nothing. His hands were folded on his breast and his chest rose and fell beneath them, though he could no longer feel the beat of his weak heart through his skin.

Perhaps his prayers had served their purpose and he had been healed.

Even as the thought arose, the quiet sound of grief and shame slipped from his throat.

His fingertips moved slowly against his chest. He could still feel the ridges where claws had torn his flesh, healed in part, but still palpable. The injuries and indignities lavished on the rest of his pitiful corpse did not bear thinking about.

Were he not bound for hell for his unnatural gifts, Draculea had assured his damnation by physical and perverted possession and demonic marking. His still heart, his clear mind, the whisper of hunger within him all spoke of something new, ancient and dark inside him.

“Really, Excellency.” From the blackness around him, the voice seemed to come out of nowhere and he flinched at the sound. “I give you what you ask for and all you can do is lie there and act as one dead.”

Johannes closed his eyes, willing himself deaf.

A chair scraped on the floor. The footsteps were almost silent, but he could hear every one of them. He feels the shift in the air, the movement as Draculea approached. He could taste the amusement.

A mouth pressed to his and he tried to shy from it, but Draculea’s hand had his throat, pinning him upon his bed. He felt the ma… monster’s mouth open over his, aggressive, savage, claiming, the penetration as brutal as Draculea’s assault had been on his body.

His hands leapt to push Draculea’s lips from his, yet somewhere in the midst of his rage, he felt Draculea’s other hand move on him. Rough, callous, merciless. His hands caught the vampire’s shoulders, clutching at him, desperate for something ineffable, some need, some hunger that he could not touch, intangible, wild.

He felt the laughter in the punishing kiss, felt the sheets covering his body torn away and baring him. Shame burned through him and he struggled, newfound strength coming more easily, but not enough, never enough.

Forced onto his belly, he felt sickened horror surge through him again as nails seemed to lengthen into claws at his hips. He had mercifully been close to unconsciousness the previous night - if it was only that - but the monster over him was not about to let him forget what he had accepted, what he had done.

Burying his face in his arms, in the linens, in anything that would hide him from the humiliation. Pain erupted through him at the casual invasion of his damned body.

A choked cry was torn from his throat, smothered by the bedding, but that was not enough for the monster. A hand twisted into his hair, pulling his head back until his neck arched to breaking point.

Brutal thrusts were sending pain screaming through him, and against his ear in hissed syncopation, Draculea whispered, “You gave yourself to me, Excellency. This was your choice. You are mine.”

Von Krolock tried to shake his head, but Draculea’s grip was too strong. He felt the hair tear, fresh pain, felt the sound of anguish in his throat and desperately tried to stifle it, a weakness. His fingers twisted and shook with tension in the blankets and he choked out, “Take what you want from me.”

Let him strip him of his powers, use them, use every gift and curse and do what he willed, then leave Johannes and his son to their quiet, comfortable existence.

“Of you?” Fangs scraped against his earlobe and he shuddered. A hand slipped down over his hip, between his thighs, and for a moment, there was almost tenderness in the touch. “Johannes, my dear fool of a sorcerer, I want you.”

Freezing, Johannes wanted to rise, scream in protest, deny it, refuse, but Draculea’s quiet chuckle against his ear and the scrape of those fangs against his scarred throat reminded him that he had given his oath, his promise.

Jerking, struggling hopelessly, uselessly, he was forced down hard upon the bed as Draculea took exactly what he willed from Johannes’s body. Rising, Draculea left him spilled there and looked down at him in derision.

“Fight if you like, Excellency,” he said, dressing with deliberate slowness. “But you paid my price. You can’t take it back now.”

Struggling onto his forearms, Johannes made himself look up. “I need not fight you,” he whispered. “I only need the strength to destroy that which you desire.” His hands shook as he forced himself upright. With effort he stood, proud and tall as he could. “I will never bow to you.”

Draculea’s brows rose as he drew his coat over his shoulders. “That’s a pity,” he said conversationally. “If it is of use, sunlight will kill you. Or if you have help, a stake to the heart or an axe to the neck.”

Von Krolock stared at him warily.

“Now, since you have stopped acting the corpse, I think I will…” Draculea smiled in an all too unpleasant way. “Go and tend to that pretty little lover of yours. Since you’ll be occupied with your own destruction, I’ll pass on your regards.”

Johannes swayed where he stood. Anna. And more importantly, Herbert. What was he to do with them, if his own intent was self-destructive? How best could he be sure they would be safe from the monster’s clutches with him gone? If she had only been Herbert’s mother, she could have taken him somewhere, safe and protected, but she was only a servant.

Draculea’s dark eyes gleamed and his lips twitched. “You have something to say about it, Excellency?”

A thought surfaced, a wild, desperate possibility that he could only hope would be enough. “I wish to see her,” he said quietly. Though his dignity had been stripped from him, he pulled it about him like a tattered cloak. What little pride he had left, he held to him to conceal the fear, the despair, the misery, the shame.

Within moments, he was walking alongside the demon in Draculea’s form. The man was criticising the tapestries that lined the hall, but Johannes listened to nothing that he said. Part of him wished he could be savouring the strength in his body, every step effortless and brisk, but his heart ached in a way it never had a mortal.

The library doors were open, awaiting them, and outside, through the glass, he could see the fading colours of a sunset. The sun would kill him. It bore thinking upon, a form of utter death that took little effort if his creator’s words were to be believed.

“Johannes!”

Decorum was forgotten, it seemed.

Anna was in his arms, holding him as strongly as she ever had, warm and soft, and he felt her laughing and sobbing as she trembled. She felt so much more alive than he could recall. Sweetness and strength seemed to ebb from her and he buried his face in her warm, fragrant hair.

Only then did she become aware of Draculea and pulled back bashfully. Johannes found himself watching the colour rising up her cheeks. She looked radiant. Never beautiful, this one, but she throbbed with vitality.

“Your pardon, mein Herr,” she mumbled, curtseying quickly.

Draculea made a lazy gesture, strolling passed her and flinging himself into one of the large chairs. He kicked a leg over the arm and smiled at von Krolock. “I believe you wished to talk to your… servant?”

Johannes wished he could strike the man down, but he had felt the strength and had seen the power that rippled beneath the veneer of his coarse mask. “If you will excuse us, Herr Draculea,” he said coolly, half-expecting the Wallachian to refuse.

The man rolled his eyes, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture.

Catching Anna by the arm, Johannes pulled her out into the hall, closing the door after him with more ferocity than he had intended. The wood splintered, but Anna’s eyes were on him, oblivious to this strange strength.

“You are well once more,” she whispered, her eyes bright with emotion.

Well. Such a mistake to think so.

He tried to smile. “Will you walk with me, Anna?” he asked softly, offering her his arm. “I have matters I need to talk with you about.”

Worry lined her face. Or shadowed it. Some nuance of her expression spoke of concern, yet he could not perceive which of her features had altered in any way. “Is there something wrong?”

He shook his head, embracing the lie. “I have had cause for thought,” he said with what he hoped looked more than simply a lift of his lips. “Come, it will still be warm in the grounds.”

Without argument, she took his arm and they descended through the castle. She spoke to him of things that had happened, of Herbert, of nightmares, but he found he could not listen. He was entranced by the warm, ruddy colour of her lips, the way her cheeks were flushed, the heat of her flesh against his arm through his clothing.

The moment they crossed the threshold into the evening, he froze on the spot. The coming night flooded senses so intensely it took his breath away. The scents, the sounds, the flavours in the air all seemed so much more intense, potent. Had he been walking blind, deaf and senseless for all these years?

“Johannes?”

Turning to look down at her, he drew a deep breath of the cooling air, the heat of day still lingering in the taste of it. And he smiled. Perhaps, this cursed existence would not be so terrible, if he had his son and this woman by his side.

Drawing her by the hand, away from Draculea and his malign influence, he led her towards the open meadow, where flowers and grass grew thick and fragrant. Above them, the stars were appearing in the deepening blue, and he drew her to sit with him and softly, he spoke to her.

The future would not be easy he knew and he told her so, yet he would not weaken nor grow ill as he had before. She had smiled at that, but the colour had drawn from her face when he suggested his desperate hope for Herbert’s protection. Struggling to rise, she had fought his grip on her wrist, shaking her head.

“I cannot, mein Herr!”

He pulled and she fell to her knees at his side and he caught her other wrist. Her heartbeat leapt and he felt something inside him respond, pulling her to him, her pulse thrumming beneath his fingers. Rapid, passionate, heated, afraid, living.

No. No!

Forcing himself to release her, he held up his hands, drawing a trembling breath, and made himself smile. “Anna, you know I care for you and I would have no other but you to raise and protect my son, should anything happen to me.”

Wide brown eyes stared at him as if he was mocking her. “But marriage, Excellency?” she whispered. “I am a servant and you are a Graf! It is improper.”

He lifted her hands to his lips, kissing her palms. He could feel the rapid flurry in her veins, felt his lips drawing back, his teeth touching her flesh. Then he remembered the fangs at his throat, the pain, the cause. His hands leapt from her.

“I care nothing for propriety any longer,” he whispered, his hands upon his thighs, his fingers biting into his flesh through his trousers, anything to stop him clutching at her to make her heat part of him, so powerful, so strong. “I have come too close to death to care for such trivial worries.”

One of those searingly warm hands touched his cheek softly and he drew a sharp breath, his eyes closing. “You are in earnest?” she whispered. Her voice shook with amazement and wonder.

Clasping her hand fervently to his lips, he nodded, closing his eyes at the heat of the blood rushing so close beneath the surface. He drew a shivering breath then looked to her face, forcing his lips from that palm and the heat. His teeth were clenched together and he forced himself to ignore it. Ignore the thought of it.

“Marry me, Anna,” he said softly. “Become my wife and mother to my son.”

For a dozen of her rapid heartbeats, he expected her to refuse, to flee.

Then she smiled and brought her warm, sweet lips against his. That warmth was enough he told himself, tasting her loving mouth and touching her soft, shapely body and together they sank into the wind-kissed grass.

________________________

Fräulein Anna had been gone for a long time.

She had told him he would be able to see Vati in a little while, but she had not come back and Herbert wanted to see his Vati. He had even made Fräulein Anna put him in his best clothes and brush his hair all nicely.

A little while had become a big while and it kept getting bigger and bigger.

Finally, he climbed down from his window seat where he had been playing with a ball and made his way to the door. Pulling it open, he peeked out into the hall, but he couldn’t see Fräulein Anna anywhere.

Frowning, he trotted out into the empty hall.

She had said she was going to see Vati in the library, so he would go and find Vati if Vati was too tired to come and find him. After all, Vati was tired an awful lot and he might be stuck in his seat again.

If he was in the library, though, it meant he was all alive and better and not eaten by a wolf-monster, which made Herbert feel better.

He carefully climbed up the broad staircase that led to the library, clutching the banister with one hand, each stair taking two steps for his small legs. He knew one day he would be able to run up them, but now, they were still so big.

The doors of the library were still a little bit open and he hurried towards them. The gap was wide enough for him to look through with one eye, but he couldn’t see Vati anywhere in the room.

With all the strength in his arms, he grabbed one of the handles and pulled the door wider. Squeezing through the gap, he looked around. There was a fire in the fireplace and he saw a shadow at one of the windows.

He had hurried halfway across the room when the man at the window turned.

Herr Draculea smiled at him. “Ah, little cherub,” he said, squatting down. “You are looking for your father?”

Herbert bit his bottom lip and tugged uncertainly at the front of his shirt. “Fräulein Anna said he was here,” he mumbled. Herr Draculea scared him a little bit with his magic, and he had made Vati better before so Herbert wanted to be nice to him. It was rude to just ask where his Vati was and leave a guest on his own.

Herr Draculea laughed and straightened up. “He was here,” he said, then held out a hand. “And you can see him from here now.”

Shyly, Herbert crossed the room and took his hand. It was still cold, even though it was a warm day. “Where?” he whispered.

Like he was part of a magic trick, Herbert was swept up into Herr Draculea’s big, strong arms, even though Herr Draculea didn’t move. Sitting on Draculea’s hip, he clutched at the brocade decorating Herr Draculea’s shirt.

“There,” Herr Draculea replied in as soft a whisper.

He pointed out into the grounds and Herbert leaned forward in his arms then laughed in delight, clapping his hands together. Vati was kneeling in the grass. He was holding Fräulein Anna in his arms. She looked like she was sleeping, and Herbert expected that was because she had been tired looking after both him and Vati for so long.

And under his amazed eyes, Vati stood up! He stood up, all big and strong, and he picked up Fräulein Anna in his arms. She must have been very sleepy, because she didn’t even move then.

Herbert turned joyful eyes to Herr Draculea, who was watching and smiling. “He is better!” He threw his arms around Herr Draculea’s neck and hugged him. “You made him better, Herr Draculea!”

“Forever,” Herr Draculea said. He sounded as happy about it as Herbert felt.

Herbert beamed happily. His Vati was better. Everything would be all right now.