Chapter Twelve
The smile on her lips grew even though Agatha was now certain that she was going to Hell. Engaging in sexual intercourse with a monster who had committed numerous heinous acts wasn't the sole reason she had drawn that conclusion but it was the final nail in her coffin, metaphorically speaking. The first, and most of the nails that had followed thereafter, had been hammered home by an insatiable curiosity that had led her down increasingly darker paths. That trajectory had brought about the slaughter of her sisters, a brush with suicide that was possibly still too close to call, her own transformation - one she had accepted with little protest - into a vampire, and now, finally, into Dracula's embrace. But laying beside him, their lower limbs entwined and sunlight caressing parts of her body that had never before felt its touch, the fiery depths that awaited both herself and Dracula felt as distant as the sun itself.
It was a surprise to realise that she did not care; her previous dalliances in this area had involved only herself and a sense of shame but she felt no remorse over this morning's events. She had made other, similar, discoveries, too, like how good it had felt to have Dracula's body on hers and still connected in the most carnal way. She had a vague recollection of hearing, perhaps even reading in someone's blood, about such a phenomenon but she had not truly understood the sensation until today: the weight of a lover. Rather than feeling uncomfortable or trapped as she had imagined, she'd felt a bond with Dracula that transcended the physical - though she had been reluctant to let go of that particular connection. His assurance that he would not leave the bed had been the only reason she'd relinquished her hold on him.
With one hand tucked between the pillow and her cheek, she slid the other up to Dracula's jaw, smiling wider when he leaned into her palm. The response was more reminiscent of a contented kitty than the snarling wolf she had first encountered but he had already proven himself to be more than a mere beast. Their love-making had been slow and tender, his kisses and caresses gentle; she had never felt so cherished in her entire life. Nor had she ever encountered such pleasure before. His lips against her skin, the hairs on his chest tickling her breasts, the pressure against her clitoris and the stretch of him inside her had combined to bring about a climax she had never come close to producing by her own means.
Dracula's hand, which had been tracing random patterns along her side, from her thigh to her ribs and then down her spine and over her backside to begin the journey once more, suddenly detoured up her back and along her neck. His thumb gently traced one half of the broad smile that was still occupying her mouth before cupping her cheek in his own palm, mirroring her actions and asking softly, "Does this mean that reality lived up to the dream?"
The sincerity of his question compelled her to give him an honest answer in response and the truth was that reality had surpassed the dream in so many ways. Not only had there been time to savour the anticipation - and that included the previous two weeks as well as this morning - but there was still an eternity left to dwell in the afterglow. Their dream had been just as pleasurable but it had also been unexpected, truncated and overshadowed by impending death. "At the risk of inflating your ego-"
"My huge ego," he corrected with a grin.
Trying not to smirk, Agatha slid her hand down to his chest, her fingertips resting on his collarbone. Penis size was not something of which she could claim much experience; there was data available - the depth and breadth of information that was now so easily accessible amazed her - but statistics concerning length and girth meant little in theory. In practise, she could firmly state that Dracula had felt perfect inside her. She could still feel him inside her now. "This is better than our dream," she concluded, ignoring the interruption completely.
"Because you're not dying," he offered after a moment's consideration, revealing his own reasons for preferring this version of events as his hand moved from her face to resume its previous exploration of any part of her body that was within reach.
"Because you're not in pain," she corrected and his hand stilled, confirming her theory. She had not seen it at the time, or during any of the occasions that she had re-lived their dream encounter in the previous two weeks, but given his responses today it seemed obvious now that he had taken no pleasure from their imaginary union. He had even told her that drinking her cancerous blood had been unpleasant but she still had not made the connection. If she had, she'd probably have given in to her desires long before today. And now that she did know, she was falling even harder for Dracula.
With his hand remaining on her hip, Dracula began to trace smaller patterns with his fingertips. "It was less painful than losing you," he whispered.
His confession hit her hard, as if her descent had finally ended with her landing face down on concrete and yet it shouldn't have come as such a surprise because Dracula had made his feelings for her quite clear. Feelings that had changed so markedly she struggled to comprehend how he had gone from, 'you'll be part of me', via 'I'm going to miss you', to 'after all this time, did you think I'd let it hurt?'.
Drinking Dracula's blood had provided little insight into his thoughts or actions during the few months they'd been separated but the dating apps she had found on his phone suggested that he'd spent the time feasting on pretty young things in London whilst eating Lucy into a slow death. She wondered if he had even thought of her at all before she'd turned up at his apartment in Zoe's body.
"It does not seem so very long ago that you were prepared to sacrifice me to cover up your own crimes," she said softly, her fingertips tracing a path of their own along his collarbone, as if the action could take some of the sting out of her words and brighten the small frown that was settling on her lips.
"Not so very long ago I was a fool who couldn't see that the greatest treasure of all was right there in front of me; clever, brave, determined and gleefully throwing my own words back in my face as you talked your way out of a lynching and into command of the ship," Dracula smiled, unperturbed by the accusation that lay within her words. "You were magnificent that night, Agatha."
"You seem to have forgotten that I was only determined to kill you," Agatha rebutted, her fingers stilling their movement. "I proceeded to set you on fire and blow up the ship."
"Mmm," Dracula agreed with a wide grin. "The foreplay was rather exciting."
Mouth curving into a smile despite her best efforts to resist, Agatha had to concede - silently - that it had been exciting. Almost every moment she'd spent with him had been that way, the only exception being the morning she had finally understood the rules of the beast. There had been some satisfaction from solving that particular puzzle, and she had taken some pleasure from watching Dracula step into the sunlight for the first time in centuries, but it had been a hollow victory for her and defeat for him. Not even he could think that having his shame exposed so methodically could be in any way exciting.
Frowning again at the memory she had acquired from drinking his blood, she pressed the issue a little further in the hopes of understanding how they had arrived at this point. "I shone a light on all the lies you'd been hiding behind. It was I who tore your world to pieces."
"You gave me back the sunlight."
"And now you can go anywhere and do anything that you please but instead you're here with me, making compromises that you would have instantly dismissed not too long ago."
"Of course I am," Dracula replied with a hint of frustration. His fingers gripped her hip as firmly as his words held her attention, "Agatha, you are my sunlight. Without you my existence remained dark no matter how brightly the sun shone. I want to be wherever you are. Is that really so difficult to believe?"
"I do believe you," she quickly reassured him though hearing it confirmed again, and with such earnestness, was certainly no hardship. "I just struggle to understand why."
"Agatha, I literally kicked the barrel from under your feet and denied you eternal rest, amongst other things," Dracula sighed though all traces of his frustration had disappeared. "The only part of us that is difficult to understand is why you're not still trying to kill me."
Once again, she had to concede that Dracula was right. She'd been so focussed on his feelings and motivations that she had ignored her own when they were just as unfathomable. Two weeks ago she had woken up inside the Jonathan Harker Foundation cursing Dracula's name and vehemently rejecting any suggestion that she was his bride. Now she was sharing her bed with him and quietly plotting out their future. Her faith in them was as strong as anything she'd had as a mortal and he seemed just as certain, though lack of confidence was not something that could ever be ascribed to Count Dracula.
"Perhaps I haven't understood you yet. Not completely," she replied and whilst it was not the complete truth - that really would inflate his ego - it wasn't a lie, either. She had unpicked the truth about the rules of the beast but there so much more that she did not know about him, both as a man and a vampire.
"Then I shall endeavour to remain intriguing for the rest of eternity," Dracula replied with a smile, taking her less effusive response both in his stride and as a challenge as his hand gently began to explore her body once more.
Smiling in response, she slipped her own hand back up to Dracula's face and traced his jaw with her fingers before leaning in for a kiss. Now that she had touched him, had allowed herself to do something she had been thinking about for the past two weeks - and perhaps, if she was being honest, since he had paraded his naked form outside the convent gates, slimy with wolf entrails and yet no less tempting for it - she doubted that she'd be able to ever stop. And Dracula seemed to have no objections.
Until recently, she had never contemplated how lonely he must have been all those centuries; unique amongst his own kind, destined to lose any mortal that came too close to either his own addiction or time itself, and despised, quite deservedly, by all once his true nature was known. Initially, she had dismissed his assertion that he'd placed himself amongst the passengers of the Demeter because he liked their company as much as he liked their blood, as nothing more than a means to an end but she knew that wasn't entirely true.
Dracula had enjoyed her company when he had been drinking her blood and trying to frame her for murder but he had also revelled in the time they had spent together recently, whether they were playing chess or discussing literary classics or ripping to shreds the numerous vampire movies that permeated popular culture. But so had she.
Until recently, she too had led an almost solitary existence; she'd never felt that she truly belonged anywhere, not even at the convent, and her pursuit of all things dark and evil had either marked her out as different or left her with little time for those brave souls that weren't afraid to associate with her. At least her solitude had lasted only decades; his had endured for centuries.
Despite all of that, or perhaps because of it, Dracula had a zest for both life and humanity that rivalled that of any mortal and it only drew her ever closer towards him. She wasn't entirely naive; he would slip up at some point but there was a good chance that she might, too. Tucked away from the temptation of blood, a substitute to hand, it was easy to keep his promise not to harm mortals but that was neither desirable or sustainable, for either of them. There was an entire world out there, continents she had never stepped foot upon and countries that had not even existed when she had been alive. And they had all the time in the world to explore them.
When her hand began to move back down his body, Dracula caught her hand in his own before it could go further than his belly and gently broke their kiss. "If you wish to have your way with me, I will need to feed first," he whispered against her lips. "Are you hungry? Other than for me, that is?"
A grin that matched his own settled on her mouth. After expending so much energy this morning the need for sustenance wasn't a surprise but she was intrigued by Dracula's phrasing. She had been too wrapped up in pleasure to interrogate every response he had coaxed from her body but she was sure that they had both snatched breaths at various points and she'd had the vague impression of blood running through her veins; Dracula's certainly must have been. Perhaps they should indulge both hungers, for scientific purposes. "I could nibble."
"Then I will fix us a late lunch," he smiled, as if warming up some blood and picking out the appropriate glassware constituted high cuisine.
Dracula pressed a deeper kiss to her mouth, his hand roaming higher to caress her breast, as he untangled his legs from hers. It was a sneaky manoeuvre though understandable given her earlier reluctance to relinquish her hold on him. However, her dismay at the increasing distance between them was offset by the view. Propping herself up on one elbow, her eyes ran appreciatively over his broad shoulders and down his back, faint marks that she was responsible for visible on his skin. Further down lay the dimples above his backside that, in the right light, formed the outline of a heart; it was not an anatomically correct representation but the shape was deeply entrenched in humanity's consciousness and she smirked at the irony of the marking on such a man as Dracula.
"Agatha Van Helsing, are you checking out my arse?"
Startled from her observations, she drew her eyes up his back to find a grinning Dracula standing in the doorway to the bedroom, his head turned to glance over one shoulder at her. He seemed incredibly pleased that he was both the object of her desire and had caught her out indulging in such behaviour.
Shrugging one shoulder, Agatha could only reply with an honest, "Yes."