Chapter Eight

Sprawled across the couch, his legs dangling over one arm and his head resting on the other, Dracula stared up at the ceiling and tracked the movements on the floor above, a small smile on his lips. When he'd woken up at the cottage only to find Frank at his side, the lawyer's face a battleground of relief and concern, he'd thought that he'd lost Agatha for a third time. He'd been halfway through a demand to know exactly what had happened when an attempt to stand had resulted in dizziness, forcing him to sit straight back down. Frank's comprehensive account of all that had occurred had lessened that ignominy and given him enough reason to believe that letting Agatha drink his blood had worked. The elation that had ensued had been enough to carry him out into the garden, persevering even when she'd not seemed quite as happy to see him.

On the first floor, her movements began to track towards the stairs and he swung his legs off the arm, wrenching himself into a sitting position. Sleeping on a bed of native soil might have been just another of his foibles but, right then, he was sure that it would have been more effective than the couch. A dull weariness still remained in his bones but he did not want Agatha to know. She already knew about the fear and shame that had compelled him to construct an elaborate web of rules simply in order to exist and, mere hours ago, sitting beside her on the grass, he had offered her what remained of his shrivelled and blackened heart. It seemed prudent to retain at least some semblance of dignity.

When Agatha finally entered the room every part of his body rallied against the tiredness but it was his mouth that had the most success, a grin tugging at his lips. His hastily constructed plan to rescue her from the Harker Foundation, though successful, had not been without flaws. It'd been a surprise to see Agatha still wearing her habit, complete with bloodstains, but it was only when Frank had been dismissed, and she had expressed a desire to make use of the large tub in the bathroom, that he'd realised there was at least one thing he had neglected to consider.

"You were right, Agatha," he greeted, letting his eyes roam up and down her body. Initially, he had suggested that she could just forego clothes entirely: he had no objection to her walking around naked. That comment had earned him a scowl, as had his offer to wash her back, before she'd begun rummaging through his own belongings. As Frank had done all of his packing the lawyer must have anticipated this problem as Dracula's exercise gear had been included. It swamped Agatha's smaller frame but the sight of her in his clothes was strangely appealing. "This is much better."

Agatha studied him closely, her hands rubbing self-consciously at the bare arms that his t-shirt left exposed. However, the garment was long enough to cover the drawstring waist that was resting against her hips rather than her slim waist. A small frown settled on her lips as she met his gaze, "But you are not."

"You're concerned about me."

"I'm concerned you'll use it as an excuse in two weeks' time," she refuted, her frown straightening into a determined line.

The grin on his face remained despite her denial; her actions since drinking his blood proved that she did care about him. More than that, she had agreed to stay with him for a short while. He would feel bad about using her desire to save everyone to bind her to him if he wasn't so sure that it was what she wanted, too; his promise to refrain from biting mortals if she remained simply gave her a nobler reason to do so. She could have left at any point since he'd blacked out; Frank was more of a yapping Yorkshire Terrier than a growling Hound of Hell and would not have been able to prevent her departure. And she certainly could have driven a stake through his heart if she'd so wished.

He wasn't arrogant, or even naïve, enough to believe that meant she loved him but he was sure that she still desired him. He had tasted it in her blood on the Demeter but, back then, her desire to understand him had been stronger so they had played chess instead. That rich vein of wickedness had remained even after she'd discovered the shameful truth about him and he had mined it to create a dream world that had satisfied them both. However, in the real world it would not be so easy to tempt her into sin, though he would certainly try. "I won't be the one needing excuses. And I can assure you that I'm in full working order," he offered suggestively, patting the empty space beside him. "You can try me out if you'd like?"

Agatha pointedly ignored the invitation, choosing instead to take the armchair that was placed opposite him, the long coffee table between the chairs acting as a further barrier. She sat back in the chair, her arms resting on its sides and sent him a look of disapproval, "Are you just going to flirt outrageously the whole time?"

"Yes," he grinned, delighted by her response.

"That does not seem a productive use of our time together."

Accepting that she had made a valid point, Dracula edged forwards on the couch, bringing himself a little closer to her. "There are plenty of other things that we could do to pass the time, Agatha," he murmured lowly, enjoying the sight of her shifting nervously in her seat. "There are some books here; all dreadfully modern, I'm afraid but perhaps you'd like me to read to you? You were so enjoying the last story."

"Not as much as you were enjoying the sound of your own voice," she threw back.

With Frank despatched back to London to source more blood supplies and check on the Harker Foundation's movements, and Agatha upstairs acquainting herself with twenty-first century plumbing and the toiletries provided by the cottage owners, he'd taken the opportunity to familiarise himself with the ground floor of the cottage. Along with the dreadful selection on the bookshelf there were various DVDs, a pile of board games and a very poor internet connection for guests to use; whilst he could suggest that they go online and order more suitable attire for Agatha he was still rather enjoying the sight of her wearing his clothes. "How about a game, then?"

A spark began to emerge in her eyes, though it did not quite reach her mouth, as she enquired, "Is there a chess set?"

"How sentimental of you, Agatha."

"It's not sentiment," she denied, her eyes fixed on his. "You cheated the last time we played."

"I did not cheat," he said firmly before reaching under the coffee table, to the shelf that was fixed below it, where he had spied the chess set during his earlier reconnaissance. It lay at the bottom, sadly neglected in favour of other, more modern, diversions; he had inspected one of the games that lay on top of the pile and whilst he did not think that he would enjoy trying to contort his body to place certain parts on coloured circles, he would definitely enjoy teasing Agatha about trying it out. Placing the chess set, which folded out to make the board itself whilst the pieces were secured in its hold, onto the table he decided to continue defending his tactics during their previous game instead, "I distracted you."

The spark in her eyes almost made it to her lips in response. "Is there much of a difference?"

Unfolding the box, he let the game pieces scatter onto the table's surface before placing the opened board back down. Meeting her gaze again, he grinned widely at her, "You tell me, Agatha; it's a tactic you employed to blow up the Demeter."

"Not the winning move I'd hoped it would be," she admitted, ignoring the suggestion that she, too, had cheated.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I lost an entire century and you made it to the other side; a second queen," Dracula countered, continuing to ignore the chess pieces in favour of focussing his attention solely on her. This was perfect; she was perfect. He only ever had three brides at a time and Agatha was, in a sense, three brides in one body: the defiant nun who had sent him to the dark depths of the sea; the spirit who had inhabited her descendant's body to bring him back into the light; and a vampire who seemed to fall somewhere between those two extremes. "A third queen, really, and victory is within your grasp, Agatha," he said softly.

Eyes still sparkling, clearly understanding the nuance of every word he'd just uttered, Agatha sat forward, the beginnings of a small smile on her lips, "The third time is the charm, isn't that what they say?"

"It is. And you are quite the charm: my perfect bride."

For a long moment he thought that she was going to admonish him for the possessive nature of his remark but it wasn't a rebuke that eventually left her mouth. "Your only bride," she corrected, her tone making it clear that it was an order and not a suggestion.

"Of course," he agreed easily because he had meant what he'd said; she was the bride that he had spent centuries searching for and he had no need for any other. And because the determined set of her chin reminded him of the night they'd met at the convent gates when, emboldened by the verification of her research, she had taken great pleasure in provoking and challenging him, almost as much as she had enjoyed leading him back and forth along the entryway with just the lure of her blood, like a ring piercing a beast's snout. "It'll just be you and I. Forever."

Agatha swallowed hard but held his gaze and, perhaps realising just how much power she now had over him, added on another condition, "And there will be no boxes."

"You will not be restrained in any way," he promised. Agatha was a force of nature that should never be constrained but a smile settled on his lips as he quietly entertained thoughts of her restraining him instead.

"If you can honour your words and we're no longer trying to kill each other," Agatha began slowly, the uncertainty in her voice disrupting Dracula from his risqué thoughts. She picked up a pawn of each colour before meeting his eyes again, "What on earth would we do with eternity?"

Dracula held her gaze, scrutinising her closely for the first time since she'd sat down. There was an 'if' in her question but it did not detract from the fact that she seemed to be openly considering a future beyond the next two weeks. And the 'if' was one that he was certain he could overcome; the cottage was isolated, the nearest neighbours miles away, meaning the temptation to bite necks would be minimal. He would survive on processed and packaged food for the rest of eternity if it meant he could have her.

Agatha, on the other hand, was a delicious bundle of temptation that might prove harder to resist but he would wait for her to come to him. Whether it took two weeks, two years or two decades; they had all the time in the world but he wanted, needed, it to be her decision. And though he would not force her, he would continue teasing her, "I think you know exactly how I'd like to spend eternity with you."

"Other than…" she searched for the right words, fiddling with one of the pawns in her hand as she considered the end of the sentence. "That."

"We could do anything or nothing at all, and everything in between," he offered, amused by her inability to say the words out loud but pleased that she was not dismissing the possibility completely. It didn't have to be a sin, after all; it was just more fun if it was. "I don't mind, Agatha, as long as you are by my side."

Agatha considered his words for a few moments before tucking both hands behind her back, enclosing the chess pieces in her fists before returning them, palms facing down, in front of her. She held them out to Dracula, indicating that he should choose one, before smiling widely at him, "I am going to enjoy making you regret that statement."

He had longed to see her smile at him that way again for so long that if he had required respiration she would have just stolen his breath away. Her accompanying words, and the possibilities they held, only heightened his reaction. Letting the grin that was desperate to break free settle on his own lips, he reached over the table and took her left hand in his, rubbing his thumb softly over her fingers, just below the knuckles, taking care to linger over the third one.

The contact dimmed her smile just a little but she did not flinch or attempt to pull her hand away from his touch and he gently turned her hand over. Uncurling her fingers, he made sure to brush his own across her palm as he retrieved the chess piece that lay within it, revelling in her very visible reaction to the brief connection.

"So am I."