Chapter Fourteen

A low growl of displeasure travelled up the length of Agatha's spine, its journey terminating with a noisy puff of air against her ear that made her pause. Again. The endlessness of eternity stretched out before her but she was beginning to suspect that it would still not be enough time to finish reading her book. The first interruption had come at the kitchen table when, barely a few pages in, Dracula had urged her to feed, pushing the blood filled glass closer to her. She'd taken a quick sip - even when she'd been mortal her curiosity had often subdued her hunger and she'd spend hours in her workshop scribbling away in her notebook rather than joining her sisters for a meal - and returned to the novel that did appear to be written by Mina Murray. After consuming another page of the book he had interrupted again, bemoaning that he had 'slaved away in the kitchen preparing their food only for her to throw it back in his face'. The humour in his voice and then concern in his eyes had stopped her from throwing the book at his face. Instead, she had knocked back the contents of her glass in one large gulp, taking no time to savour the taste and then, book in hand, had headed towards the couch to absorb her gift.

With a soft sigh, Agatha closed the book and resigned herself to finishing it some other time. Not only had Dracula followed her from the kitchen, he had also talked her into reading the novel out loud - which had necessitated starting from the beginning again - whilst sitting on his lap. During the first few chapters of the book she'd had to pause regularly when his hands had strayed beneath the shirt she had stolen from him and his lips had brushed against her neck. There was no doubt in her mind that the opportunity to touch her had been his motivation for suggesting such an intimate seating arrangement but there was also no doubt in her mind that it had also been the same reason she had acquiesced. She'd been starved of even the most innocent of touches for so long that she was going to embrace every opportunity now. And she had enjoyed the feel of his arms around her, the way his hands burned against even her shirt-covered skin and how his voice rumbled lowly against her ear in complaint when she thwarted his advances.

Without relinquishing her position, but with an inkling as to what had caused his consternation, Agatha could not resist poking the beast by asking innocently, "Are you not enjoying the book?"

The scowl on Dracula's lips was audible as he exclaimed, a little petulantly, "It is completely inaccurate."

Thus far, the novel had been a faithful re-telling of the account Jonathan Harker had given of his time at Castle Dracula and as Agatha had found the young man to be an honest, if at times reluctant, narrator there was little merit to Count Dracula's statement. A young solicitor being lured to foreign lands at the behest of a mysterious Count who avoided daylight, recoiled at the sight of the cross and kept women locked up in the tower, feeding them with the blood of a stolen baby, were all crimes that Dracula had committed. The only inaccuracies within the novel were those Dracula himself had believed to be true. However, it was the description of the eponymous Count that Agatha suspected was responsible for his displeasure. She poked a little further, "Which part?"

"For a start, I do not have hairy palms," Dracula groused, seemingly annoyed enough to relinquish his hold on Agatha and wave his hands in front of her as evidence.

Agatha allowed herself a wide grin of satisfaction when her suspicion was confirmed and slowly set the book to one side. With his hold on her currently loosened, she shifted in his lap and using Dracula's shoulders for leverage, positioned herself so that she was now straddling him. His hands immediately reached for her again, wrapping themselves around her waist and whilst he was still wearing the frown she had heard in his voice, she had not missed how the corners of his mouth had twitched upwards as she'd moved about his lap. The response made her pause for a long moment, trying to ascertain just how upset he really was.

"Mina did paint you in an unflattering light," Agatha eventually agreed as he only continued to pout. After killing Jonathan and then wearing her fiancé's face to deceive Mina, the opportunity to exact some kind of vengeance - even if it was simply making the Count physically unappealing - had not come as much of a surprise. She suspected that the novel would also have a very different ending; one wherein the hero lived, was reunited with his love and the villain had been slain. Nonetheless, she was proud of Mina; at the convent, after Jonathan had seemingly killed himself but before the worst horrors of the night had unfolded, they had both vowed to stop Dracula and the younger woman had kept her word. Whilst Agatha had also managed to keep that same vow, she wasn't sure that Mina would approve of her current methods. Or maybe she would; Mina Murray, more than most, knew about the strength of love.

"Mmm," was all Dracula offered in response, possibly because it allowed him to maintain the thin line that was residing on his mouth.

With another soft sigh, Agatha set herself the task of soothing his apparently bruised ego because spending what remained of the day with a brooding vampire did not appear anywhere on her to-do list; a repeat performance of their pre-lunch encounter, however, was near the top. "You are quite hairy in some places," she began, moving a hand to his chest and trailing her fingers through the hair that resided there, certain that she would never tire of touching him.

"But not my palms," Dracula countered, before slowly running the aforementioned - and distinctly not hairy - palms along the outside of her thighs. When he reached the juncture where her legs met her hips, his hands moved across to the inside of her thighs, his mouth twitching again when Agatha gasped in response at the press of his thumbs against her more sensitive flesh.

Her skin continued to tingle rather delightfully as his hands moved slowly down her legs but Dracula was still wearing a small frown and she was still quietly debating the depth of his irritation. "If it's any comfort, I think you are very handsome," she offered, opting for appeasement despite not coming to any conclusions about his motives.

Dracula's lips twitched upwards again in response and when she grazed her thumbnail over his nipple another part of his anatomy - perfectly visible as he had shown no interest in redressing - made a similar movement. "It is a start," he agreed, continuing to wrestle with his grin even as his hands moved back up her legs, suggesting another way that Agatha could bring him comfort.

Whilst there probably was some truth to his displeasure, Agatha now felt certain that voicing it had been nothing more than a ruse to distract her from the book again. Removing her hand from his chest, she mustered up a frown of her own as she stilled his advances, despite that to-do list and his position on it. "But you are still a monster. All the people you murdered, all those poor women you claimed as your brides, violating them over and over again," she chastised and whilst his smile remained, seemingly unmoved by her words, his grasp loosened and she seized the moment to slip from his lap.

Dracula made no attempt to restrain his bride though he did grumble softly at the loss of her body against his own. When Agatha moved no further than the seat beside him, picking up the book to take its place, he slowly angled his body towards her, one arm stretching along the back of the couch and a small, knowing, smile settling on his mouth. "I did not violate my brides, Agatha," he offered, when she continued to focus on the book rather than him.

There was a hint of amusement in his voice that was as confusing as his denial. When she'd first heard of the women that Jonathan Harker had encountered in Dracula's castle and the reason they were being held there, Agatha had been both appalled and intrigued. She had assumed that vampires could not procreate sexually - there could be no spark of life in the un-dead - so the suggestion that Count Dracula was pursuing that avenue had piqued her curiosity back at the convent. There had been little opportunity to explore the subject further but Dracula's denial now had re-ignited her interest.

It was possible that they had different ideas as to the definition of 'violate' - what occurred in the dreams he gave his victims as he fed was hardly consensual, despite fulfilling their desires - but his delight in correcting her suggested that there was something she was missing. And that he was enjoying her ignorance immensely. Abandoning the vague attempt to locate her place in the book she discarded the novel once more and turned her head towards him, "You were trying to reproduce. That was the purpose, was it not?"

"It was," Dracula agreed, his dark eyes searching her own. His smile faded somewhat as he added on, with what seemed like disappointment, "But most of my brides were half mad, Agatha. They were not the ideal stock for such purposes."

Agatha found his choice of words as abhorrent as his reasoning but she was also relieved to discover that he had not taken such liberties with the women he had claimed as his brides. She had no reason to doubt his words; he had quite happily pled guilty to all his other crimes but his statement had held a clause that she needed to clarify. "And the poor souls who were of sound mind?"

"They, like all of my brides, did not menstruate, which does seem practical given the blood situation but not at all helpful if one is trying to reproduce sexually," he replied, his gaze still locked with Agatha's. When she failed to respond he re-iterated the point, leaving her in no doubt of what had - or had not - happened, "So no, I did not violate them either."

"Then vampires are sterile?"

"That was my conclusion, yes," Dracula agreed, a smile tugging at his mouth again. "Why do you think I pursued Jonny all that way? There could have been no children but he could have provided a bit of company."

Silently rebuking herself for not making that connection, Agatha slowly swivelled her body towards his as she contemplated all she had just learnt. Dracula had confirmed her initial theory - that vampires could only reproduce by infecting the living - but there was something that didn't quite fit. The words tumbled excitedly from her mouth, "But, earlier, you ejaculated."

"Oh, I do love you, Agatha Van Helsing. Your directness, your curiosity, your intelligence," he smiled, reaching across the small distance between them with his free hand and running his fingers along the thigh that was closest to him. "And the noise you make when I do this."

Agatha tried to mute her response to his touch but was too flustered by his declaration of love to succeed. He had never said those words out loud before - nor had she - but she had felt them when he'd drank poisoned blood to spare her pain, had heard them when he'd vowed to change his ways if she stayed with him and they had influenced every kiss and caress that had constituted their love-making. Her small inhalation did not go unnoticed by Dracula and she reached for his hand before he could divert the conversation further, stilling his progression up her leg. "You're trying to change the subject, the same way you avoided talking about what made you frown when you checked your phone."

"Frank is used to waiting," Dracula replied, unfazed by her response to his advances. "Though perhaps I should return his call and ask him to acquire a microscope. I'll happily provide you with another sample for further investigation but I suspect there'll be nothing to find. Immortality does rather negate the need to reproduce."

Deciding to circle back to what Frank wanted some other time, she pursued the sad sort of smile that had followed his last sentence instead. She knew that he'd fathered children as a mortal but as a prince producing a male heir had been expected and as a warlord having sons would have been seen as a sign of his masculinity. As a vampire neither of those reasons applied yet Dracula had still pursued the idea of fathering children. "But perhaps not the desire to produce offspring, I think."

"No," Dracula agreed, adding on a small smile that suggested he was impressed that Agatha had connected all the dots. However, he did not elaborate further, choosing instead to throw the question back to her, "Did you not want children, Agatha?"

"I was a nun."

Smiling wider, he used her own words against her, "That would not extinguish your desire to produce offspring, I think."

For a moment her usual quick wit eluded her. She had accepted that she'd be forgoing children of her own if she followed her calling and for many years had not regretted that decision. As her faith had dwindled she had begun to feel a pang of regret for the life she had not lived but whilst the church had demanded she forego all Earthly pleasures, it had not counted the greatest delight of all amongst them and she had channelled those feelings of loss - of both faith and that other existence - into her research. Mother Superior had frowned upon the amount of time Agatha had spent studying and the establishment of a workshop where she could experiment without being disturbed but had not stood in her way.

In truth, the church had given her the opportunity to pursue an interest that she might otherwise have had to relinquish. There were few men in the nineteenth century who would have been as understanding as Mother Superior and if she had been lucky enough to find and then fall in love with such a forward thinking mind, she would still have had a family to consider. Choosing that life would likely have meant never meeting Count Dracula, a notion that filled her with sadness and for more than one reason.

Slackening her grasp on his hand, she rubbed her thumb over his skin lightly as she considered her response. Dracula's quiet patience, alongside his earlier admission of love, urged her to be just as truthful with him but the whole truth was a little much for her. "My calling was stronger than any other desire and, I think, that was for good reason. I could not have pursued you if I had chosen another life. You would have boarded the Demeter, killed everyone on board and then feasted your way through England."

"Or perhaps you would have raised a brood of vampire-hunting Van Helsings, one of whom would have had no qualms about plunging a stake through my heart before I got anywhere near that ship," Dracula smiled, his words as warm as the curve of his mouth.

"Perhaps," Agatha agreed, and that urge to be completely truthful with him rose within her once again. However, she couldn't quite find the courage to return his declaration and plumped for a version of it that she hoped conveyed at least some of her feelings for him, "But if that's the case, then the church really was the right decision."

And the way he smiled at her in response led her to believe that he'd understood completely.