Chapter Sixteen
As the footsteps closed in from several directions, Dracula regretfully let his gaze fall away from Agatha and the young man she had insisted upon meeting. There were other, more pleasurable, ways to spend an afternoon but he had promised to follow her lead and reneging on his word might just put a stop to those more enjoyable activities. It was a risk he hadn't been willing to take because Agatha had awakened a desire within him that had lain dormant for centuries. Initially, his days as a vampire had been drenched in both blood and sex but once he'd mastered the art of making his prey dream, the perception of pleasure - or pain - still seasoning the flavour, there'd been no need to bother with the physical aspect. His hunger for blood and the expediency of the dream world had won out. But the first taste of Agatha's lips had left him craving more and despite her jabs about his lack of self-control, his hitherto celibate bride was just as enthusiastic about exploring the pleasures of the flesh. They'd spent the better part of a week doing just that until Frank had ruined all their fun.
Uncrossing his legs, he sat a little straighter on the wooden bench and silently watched the largest of the men draw closer. When Frank had informed them that Jack Seward had been making quite a nuisance of himself, Dracula had known that Agatha would want to help. Becoming a vampire had not changed her in that way; just a few nights before his lawyer had descended upon them they had snuck into a churchyard in the wee hours of the morning to dis-inter and destroy an un-dead - a deed that had been more palatable than today's venture. Whilst he did not share her sympathy for the young man there'd been absolutely no possibility of letting Agatha come alone, despite her suggestion that the presence of Lucy's killer might not be a welcome one. Arguing that Jack Seward had actually been the one to drive a stake through Lucy's heart had made his bride frown with disappointment, a sight that had wrought more damage to his own heart than a stake ever could. In recompense, he'd agreed to keep a discreet distance, something for which he was now grateful as it appeared that he was still the Harker Foundation's primary target.
He had noted the group of mourners - all male, all of a similar build - when he'd first settled down on the bench and had been neither surprised nor unduly worried. Whilst Agatha had argued otherwise, he'd suspected that Jack Seward was working with the Harker Foundation but as the Foundation had proven to be rather ineffective, it had been a moot point. Even if they were bold enough to try something in a public space, and in broad daylight, he could out-match them easily. The larger man seemed to be in charge, stopping the others from advancing further with a hand gesture even as he continued his own approach and Dracula smirked at the man's audacity.
The lead mercenary's fearlessness brought him as far as the grass edge, leaving the width of the path between himself and the Count. His tone was just as bold as he greeted the vampire, "Count Dracula."
Removing his sunglasses, Dracula made a show of carefully tucking the item away before meeting the other man's gaze. The steady thump of the mercenary's pulse matched the calm exterior but at least one of the others was feeling a little excited and now so was Dracula. He had promised Agatha he would not kill a mortal unless it was a life or death situation but that did not exclude him from beating the shit out of someone under different circumstances. Pasting on a wide smile he nonchalantly asked, "Can I help you, gentlemen?"
"If you would come with us, Bloxham would like to speak with you."
"I think perhaps not," he replied before letting his gaze sweep around the cemetery. There was no sign of the small blonde woman in charge of the Harker Foundation but he supposed that after two extremely close encounters with him she had learnt to keep her distance, content instead to send out her minions to do the more dangerous work. But those minions, although holding the positions that would give them an advantage if he was merely a mortal, appeared to be unarmed: it was not going to be a fair fight. Meeting the man's gaze again, he added on, "I don't care for Bloxham's company."
Unperturbed by the response, the mercenary in charge pushed the invitation a little further, his voice brimming with confidence and the hint of a menacing undertone, "If you refuse to come with us then our orders are to take the female instead and I'll enjoy her company more than yours. We all will."
The threat against Agatha had to be an empty one - the Harker Foundation had been willing to destroy his finest bride the last time Dracula had crossed swords with them - but his eyes still flickered briefly to her location to ascertain her safety. Relieved to find her still talking to Jack Seward, the two of them seemingly unaware of anything else right then, he focussed his gaze back on the man whose threat had somewhat soured his good mood. Despite his promise to Agatha, he decided that he was going to kill this one. "You'll have to go through me to get to Agatha," he warned.
"I was hoping you would say that."
A combination of anger and amusement had him on his feet and stepping towards the other man. Height-wise, Dracula had the edge but was no match for the muscles that bulged against the other man's suit. That particular difference was of no concern - he was stronger and damn near indestructible - but he still opened his arms, widening his own appearance, as he growled out a low challenge to the other man: "Come on then!"
To his surprise, rather than launching himself forward to attack the mercenary stepped back, retrieving a small aerosol can from his inside pocket. A bark of laughter rumbled its way out of Dracula's chest when he realised that the man was wielding a can of pepper spray; as a means of self defence, or as a tool of law enforcement, it was a highly effective weapon but only when it was used against mortals. It would not harm him even if the Jonathan Harker Foundation had switched out the pepper for garlic. However, when the first burst of liquid hit his face, covering his eyes and running down to his mouth, he had to concede that he might have underestimated the Harker Foundation.
The canister was filled with blood and whilst it turned his eyes red it was not through excitement; instead, they immediately prickled with discomfort and his vision blurred. The drops that had made it inside his mouth tasted foul and he quickly spat them out, before wiping at his eyes and then lunging towards his attacker. One hand reached for the canister, managing to prevent more of its contents from hitting his face as he advanced and then stopping the flow completely as he crushed both it and the man's hand within his own, whilst the other hand sought out the mercenary's neck, holding on tightly as a hand began to claw desperately at his grip. With great delight, he ran his thumb nail across the breadth of the man's throat, relishing the sight of a satisfyingly neat red line marking the skin in its wake, and then relinquishing his hold on the mercenary's neck.
In response, the mercenary released his own grip on the canister - leaving Dracula holding on to the weapon - to reach futilely for his neck with both hands, the blood continuing to pulse its way through his fingers despite the desperate attempt to cling on to life. The fresh blood sang out to him like a siren call, his eyes reddening further and fangs extending in response, but he did not pause to feast; having seen their leader fail, the others had begun to advance and he needed to act quickly. Besides, all that time and energy spent on strengthening the body rather than the mind would have made for quite an unpleasant meal. Locating the nearest incoming assailant, he headed in that direction leaving the first mercenary to fall to the ground behind him, blood still oozing between his now slack hands.
Another spray of contaminated blood landed squarely in his face as he rushed towards the second mercenary but Dracula kept his mouth closed this time. He had enough speed and strength to send them both to the ground, crashing down on the grass of one unmarked grave but close to the headstone of another. His eyes stung again, and his vision blurred once more, but he had enough sight to hold down the hand of his opponent - the contents of the canister still spluttering out - and then rise to his knees. Using his now elevated position he began to rain down blows on the other man's head with the base of the can that had been gifted to him by the first mercenary until the struggling beneath him ceased. As he wiped at his eyes again, he could detect the faint pulse of the man beneath him but decided that unconscious was a sufficient state for now.
He almost regretted that decision when he got back on to his feet only to be hit by a wave of dizziness. The minimal amount of blood that had entered his system through his eyes, and even perhaps his nose, was having a disproportionate effect on him but in the midst of battle there was little time to consider that further. A third man, twisting his way through the graves, was quickly approaching and he could hear the other two mercenaries closing in. Finding himself running out of both energy and options he sprayed what remained in the canister at the third mercenary; the blood was unlikely to weaken a mortal the way that it had sapped Dracula's strength but it should still have a similar blinding effect. His theory proved to be correct when the mercenary began to rub furiously at his eyes in response but still succeeded in hitting Dracula with the contents of his own canister.
Moving with less speed now, Dracula discarded the empty canister and, managing to avoid the stream of poison that was still wildly filling the air, punched the other man in the throat, eliciting a choke of surprise. A few more punches to the head had his assailant falling to the ground, his weapon rolling out of his hand as he hit the grass, but all that effort had taken its toll. Every punch had stolen yet more energy from him and there were still two more Foundation heavies approaching his position. He was going to have to be more ruthless with those that remained: Agatha would surely understand that it was necessary.
Another spray of blood landed on his face as he roared towards the fourth man, sending them both crashing to the ground but this time there was less finesse to the move and he ended up taking the man down by the waist rather than the chest. Quickly rubbing at his eyes again, it took a few moments for Dracula's vision to clear enough for him to clarify why the assailant had suddenly gone quiet: his head had struck the marble edging of a nearby grave, knocking the man out cold.
Every cell in Dracula's body now screamed for rest but there was one more mercenary at large and he needed to continue, even if it cost him everything he had. Rising to his hands and knees, struggling against the fatigue that was suffusing his body, he began to move away from the prone body on the ground and towards the final mercenary, who was now spraying yet more contaminated blood at him. But he was too late.
The last man crumpled to the ground in front of him, weapon still clasped in his hand but no longer spurting out the vile liquid from within, and Dracula wiped at his eyes with one weary hand. When his vision cleared he was greeted by the sight of a determined looking Agatha, heavy duty memorial pot gripped in both of her hands and the final mercenary at her feet. In that moment, he was certain that he had never seen a more magnificent sight in all of his existence.
Throwing the weighty pot to one side, Agatha quickly closed the small gap between herself and Dracula before dropping to her knees beside him. One hand reached cautiously out to him, landing on his shoulder as her eyes searched the length of his face and back again, taking in the smears of blood before settling on his bloodshot eyes. Her own gaze was filled with concern as she softly prompted, "Vlad?"
"Agatha," he smiled with relief, fangs retracting. He felt as battered as his sunglasses no doubt now were but carefully manoeuvred his body so that he could sit back on his knees and meet her gaze directly, finding only lingering concern in her eyes. "You really do love me," he grinned.
A small smile chased away some of her concern as she shuffled closer towards him, her hand reaching out once more and this time landing on his face. Cupping his jaw, her thumb brushed against a smear of blood and a fresh frown settled on her brow, "What is this?"
"It tasted like cancer," Dracula answered, unfazed by her avoidance of his previous statement because she had not denied it. Whilst she had never said the words directly, either, he had heard the sentiment half buried in another confession that had edged around those feelings; he had felt it in each kiss and every touch she had bestowed upon him; and he'd seen it in her eyes during unguarded moments, most recently that morning when she'd woken in his arms. It was quite a wondrous thing to be loved by Agatha Van Helsing.
Her hand slipped away from his face so that she could take a tentative sniff at the substance that had been captured on her thumb and he smiled fondly at the sight. The foul flavour was still lingering in his mouth - he would have stolen a kiss from her otherwise - but despite his close encounter with the contents of the weapon he was just as curious as she was to learn more about the concoction. The canister from the last mercenary he had felled was nearby and Dracula cautiously reached for it, then held the item out to a still deeply intrigued Agatha who had moved on to rubbing the small sample of blood between her thumb and fore finger. "But whatever is inside this, it's far more potent than anything I have encountered previously," he warned as she took the improvised weapon from him.
"Ingenious," Agatha murmured, her eyes focussed on the weapon as she rotated it in her hand.
"I'm mortally wounded and you're praising my enemy's ingenuity?"
"You're not mortal," Agatha corrected, dropping her hand, and its contents, to her knee and focussing her gaze on him. "And you were adamant that the Harker Foundation was not worthy of such a title."
"Perhaps I have underestimated Bloxham's desire to get her hands on me," Dracula conceded with a frown. The Harker Foundation had gone to great lengths to lure him out into the open, even roping in Lucy's lovelorn admirer though he supposed that it would not have been too difficult to persuade Jack Seward to play a part in their trap. The young man was obviously still holding a grudge over Lucy which Dracula found to be quite unreasonable: Lucy had known exactly what she was getting involved in when she'd kept meeting up with a vampire - had embraced it all with open arms because, for her, eternal life had equalled eternal beauty - even if she had not been smart enough to heed the warning about cremation. Besides, the only person Lucy Westenra had ever loved was herself; he'd done Jack Seward a favour by setting him free of his obsession with a woman who had felt little for the doctor in return.
However, the Harker Foundation's choice of target did suggest that they were not quite the formidable opponent they obviously wanted to be. Agatha might be a fledgling vampire but she had more potential than all of his other brides combined; if she was more open to mastering abilities other than reading blood she might even equal him. Her innate goodness and strong self-control would make her a less dangerous captive, too. However, the advances in weaponry and sheer doggedness meant that something needed to be done about the Harker Foundation. "It is all rather flattering," he added on, reaching out and taking Agatha's empty hand in one of his own. "But I think we ought to make it clear to her that I belong only to you."
Tucking the canister into her coat pocket, Agatha used her newly-free hand to reach for Dracula again, her fingers brushing his hair away from his brow as she squeezed his hand with her other. "You must be quite unwell if you're admitting that you were wrong," she said softly, her small smile doing little to hide the concern that was colouring the rest of her features.
"Mmm," he agreed, finding her gentle touch a soothing balm for his spirit; his flesh might require something more substantial in order to recover. "But I was right about Dr Seward working with the Harker Foundation."
"He is not," Agatha disagreed quickly but her voice lacked the certainty needed to convince either of them completely. Frowning slightly, her hand drifted down to his shoulder once more as she enquired gently, "Do you think that you can stand?"
"Of course," Dracula answered firmly but he really wasn't sure if he could get to his feet again without her assistance. Agatha's expression suggested that she, too, was doubtful. Stalling for a little more time, he quickly followed up with, "But I am quite comfortable here. The sun is out, the smell of victory is in the air and you're here with me."
The frown that had marked her face softened a little as she spoke, "I'm going to have to carry you again, aren't I?"
It should have been an embarrassing proposition - he was a five hundred year old warlord and Agatha was so slight that he could wrap his arms around her twice - but instead it almost made his decrepit old heart beat again. There was definitely something warm and heavy in his chest right then and it was all her doing; he was absolutely and ridiculously in love with her. And he'd never felt more certain that she felt the same way.
That blissful thought and any attempt at a response were curtailed when movement nearby caught his attention: Jack Seward was crouched beside the assailant that Agatha had felled, quietly relieving the mercenary of his weapon. Moving as quickly as he could manage, Dracula placed himself in front of Agatha, his eyes remaining on the young man as he said lowly, "You need to leave without me, Agatha. Dr Seward and I have some unfinished business."