AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Dracula bit his lip until blood formed, the sharp pain helping to stave off his overwhelming desire to take Jonathan, to ravish him then and there. The Count had to remind himself that this man merely bore his beloved’s striking visage. It might not truly be him reincarnated, no matter how desperately Dracula wished it to be so.
Memories flooded the Count’s mind - of that demon’s promise on a blood-soaked battlefield, of centuries spent searching for a face, a soul he had thought lost forever. How many times had he been disappointed? How many young men, bearing some resemblance to his Béla, had he lured to this castle, only to discover they were mere shadows of his lost love?
Dracula’s thoughts turned dark. He was sure that this young man, just like the others, would meet his end within these walls. Every man who bore even a passing resemblance to Béla was brought here, tested to see if his love’s soul resided within. And when it inevitably proved not to be so, Dracula would drain them, granting them an easy death. Those foolish enough to insult him found a far worse fate - becoming fodder for his “children.”
And the ones he liked...well...he didn't want to think of the fate that befell them.
Yet, looking at Jonathan, Dracula felt a flicker of something he had thought long extinguished - hope. This one was different.The resemblance was uncanny, more perfect than any he had seen before. Could it be possible that his search would finally end after all this time?
Oblivious to the tumultuous thoughts racing through the Count’s mind, Jonathan shyly turned away from Dracula’s penetrating gaze. He was clearly affected by the aristocrat’s intense presence, a fact that did not go unnoticed by his host.
“You’ve had a trying journey, no doubt,” The Count observed, his deep, richly accented baritone reverberating through Jonathan’s very bones. “Please, allow me to ensure that you will want for nothing within these walls.”
As he spoke, Dracula’s gaze dropped briefly to Jonathan’s lips, causing the solicitor to subconsciously wet them with a nervous dart of his tongue. An infinitesimal smirk played across the Count’s features - he was distinctly aware of the desirous effect he was having on his guest.
Jonathan struggled to form coherent thoughts. Something about the Count both thrilled and terrified him. It was as if Dracula’s presence awoke something deep within him, primal and hungry, that he had long kept buried.
‘Get ahold of yourself, Harker,’ Jonathan chided himself internally. ‘You’re here on business, not to moon over your client like some lovesick schoolboy.’ Yet even as he thought this, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mesmerizing figure before him.
Dracula extended a hand to Jonathan, his movements almost hypnotic. “I must confess, I’ve become quite accomplished at making my guests... comfortable.” The loaded statement hung heavy between them, its suggestive undertones raising the hairs on Jonathan’s neck.
For a moment, time stood still. Jonathan was on the precipice of something monumental, though he couldn’t have said what. Every instinct screamed at him to flee this place and never look back. Yet something deeper, more primal, urged him forward.
As Jonathan reached out to take the Count’s offered hand, a wolf howled in the distance, echoing through the castle’s vast halls. The moment shattered, and Jonathan pulled back, suddenly aware of how close he had come to... what, exactly?
Dracula’s expression flickered for a moment - disappointment? Anger? - before settling back into a mask of aristocratic politeness. “Come,” he said, gesturing towards a dimly lit corridor. “You must be famished after your journey. I’ve had a light supper prepared in the library.”
As they walked, Jonathan couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being tested, though he couldn’t say whether he had passed or failed. The Count’s presence loomed large beside him, a palpable force that seemed to draw him in even as it repelled him.
For his part, Dracula was lost in thought. This Jonathan Harker was proving to be more intriguing than he had anticipated. There was a fire in the young man, carefully banked but unmistakable. It reminded him so much of his Béla that it was almost painful.
As they entered the library, flickering firelight cast dancing shadows across the walls. Jonathan gasped at the sheer number of books lining the shelves—more volumes than he had ever seen in one place outside of the great universities.
Dracula smiled, pleased by his guest’s reaction. “Knowledge is power, Mr. Harker,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “And I have had a very long time to accumulate both.”
Jonathan turned to face his host, a question forming on his lips. But as he met Dracula’s intense gaze, the words died in his throat. There was hunger in those eyes, a desire far beyond the physical realm.
As Dracula guided him to a seat at the table, his hand lingering perhaps a moment too long on Jonathan’s lower back, the young solicitor couldn’t help but wonder what he had gotten into. More troublingly, why was a part of him thrilled by the prospect?
The library door closed behind them with a soft click, sealing them in together. Outside, the wolves continued their mournful song, a fitting accompaniment to the dangerous dance about to begin.
Chapter Eight
The library of Castle Dracula was a vast, cavernous room. Its walls were lined with shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, each laden with leather-bound tomes that spoke of centuries of accumulated knowledge. The air was heavy with the scent of old parchment and wood smoke from the crackling fire that cast dancing shadows across the room.
Jonathan Harker sat at a large, ornately carved table, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen. The young solicitor couldn’t help but feel dwarfed by his surroundings, a feeling that was only intensified by the looming presence of Count Dracula standing nearby.
The silence was broken by the soft padding of footsteps. Vigo, the Count’s servant, entered the room bearing a silver platter laden with an assortment of dishes. The servant’s movementswere fluid and silent, almost ghostlike, as he set the platter on the table before Jonathan. Vigo retreated to the shadows without a word, leaving Jonathan alone with his enigmatic host.
Jonathan’s stomach growled at the sight of the food. It had been days since his last proper meal. Yet, as he looked up at the Count, he couldn’t help but wonder if his host would be joining him.
“This looks delicious,” Jonathan ventured, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the cavernous room. “Will you not sit and eat with me, Count Dracula?”
A small, enigmatic smile played across Dracula’s lips. “I’m afraid I’ve alreadydinedthis evening, Mr. Harker. Please enjoy. It’s all for you.”
Jonathan nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. He had hoped that sharing a meal might help break the ice between them, perhaps allowing him to get a better read on his mysterious client. With a mental shrug, he picked up his fork and knife, ready to tuck into the sumptuous feast before him.
As he began to cut into a piece of roasted meat, the knife slipped, nicking his finger. Jonathan let out a small gasp of surprise, dropping the silverware with a clatter.
