Chapter Eighteen

When Dracula had made plans to relocate to England he had purchased a manor house that, once refurbished, would have been befitting of his status as a Count; Carfax Abbey would have allowed him to circulate amongst the higher classes with ease but was also close enough to London that he'd be able to trawl the slums when he craved a different sort of flavour. He had learnt from experience that a varied diet was a must, even in the new world that had promised so many varied delights. However, during the century that he'd spent at the bottom of the sea humanity had made many advances - both socially and technologically - and whilst the house in Essex was still in his ownership thanks to a succession of creative lawyers, it had no longer suited his needs. Instead he had taken up residence in the penthouse suite of a building that towered over the heart of a city that offered a plethora of activity long into the night. The large rooms and high ceilings had reminded him of the castle that had been his home for centuries but it held other delights, too, one of which was the large bathtub which he was now considering to be the standout feature.

Agatha's thumb swiped at the edge of his jaw a couple of times before she released him and reached for the soap. There had been an attempt to clean off the poisoned blood that had stained his face during the car journey from the cemetery to the apartment. Frank kept a supply of wet wipes in the glove box and she had removed as much of the blood as possible, her gaze as gentle as her touch, but it was also in his hair and on his clothes; a packet of damp tissues was never going to suffice. As determined as Agatha to rid himself of the tainted blood that had weakened his entire body, Dracula had ordered the lawyer to take them to the London apartment. There'd been no signs that the Harker Foundation were following the car but if they had been tracked back to the apartment then the number of other residents in the building should be enough to ward off another attack.

It probably would have been more efficient to use the shower to clean off the blood but he was old-fashioned and preferred the luxuriousness of the bathtub, especially when Agatha had ushered him into the spacious bathroom intent on finishing the job she had started in the car. However, the thoughts he'd nurtured about doing other things in the bathtub with her - their previous address had only a small basic tub/shower combination that did not inspire anything other than ablutions - had taken a hit when she'd stripped him, ordered him into the bath but then made no move to join him. The tender ministrations as she'd washed his hair, her nails scraping deliciously through his scalp, had gone some way to making amends. And re-igniting those thoughts despite the lingering effects of the now gone blood.

"I should have let you bathe me the night we met; this is so much more enjoyable than the well," he said, offering her a smile when her eyes gravitated towards his own even as her hands continued to lather up his shoulders.

"The well?" Agatha paused, her nose scrunching up a little at the thought of Dracula contaminating the nearest source of drinkable water. After a beat she continued her task, one hand holding his chest whilst the other skated across his back. Her gaze was firmly on his body as she added on, "I'd assumed you'd made the wolf pack lick you clean."

The small quirk of her lips that followed her suggestion had him grinning widely. As satisfying as it had been to see her so worried about his well-being, he much preferred when she teased him. "I am more than a beast, Agatha," he reminded her.

She slowly rinsed off his back by dragging handfuls of water across his skin before resting her hand on the side of the bathtub. The other remained on his chest as she met his eyes again, "So you keep insisting. Now, sit back." When Dracula complied quickly, Agatha smiled triumphantly at her obedient beast, "Good boy."

Smiling in response, Dracula figured that it was worth ceding that particular argument just to see her smile like that. Now that he was resting against the back of the tub, he was missing the touch of her hands but he consoled himself thinking about all the other parts of Agatha Van Helsing that could be touching his body. The bathtub was large enough to accommodate his frame, supporting his earlier theory that there would be ample room for both of them. She would certainly be more comfortable in the tub rather than kneeling beside it; he would certainly make her more comfortable if she got in with him. "This would be easier if you got in the bath with me."

"You just want me to take off all my clothes," Agatha replied, adjusting her position beside the bathtub so that she could continue tending to Dracula. Retrieving the bar of soap again she began to slowly lather up his chest.

There was no blood present anywhere on his torso but he was not going to protest her thorough approach; not when her hands were moving so tenderly over his skin and her eyes were covering the same ground with a similar devotion. "That would be a start," he agreed.

Stilling her hand, Agatha tapped her fingers against him instead, her eyes as gentle as her touch as she chided him, "You're insatiable."

"You're irresistible."

Agatha kept her eyes fixed warmly on his as she slowly trailed her hand down his abdomen, eventually dipping below the water. Grasping him in her hand, she stroked several times before releasing him and remarking softly, "The spirit might be willing but I believe the flesh needs more time to recover."

Despite centuries of indifferent celibacy, Dracula glanced down at his flaccid dick with a frown. The blood he had consumed before stepping into the bath had taken the edge off his weariness but had sadly not reached every part of him - and he had so been enjoying the physical intimacy with Agatha that had consumed most of his time recently. Adding it to the growing list of reasons to destroy the Harker Foundation, he set his gaze back on his bride. Her face was coloured with understanding but he was undeterred; he could still pleasure Agatha.

The night they had met she had taken great delight in taunting him with her own blood; she had held her slashed palm over his mouth, watching intently as his tongue had poked out to try and catch a precious drop from her finger only for her to retract her hand at the last second and deny him. When she had finally allowed him a taste of her it had been as she'd run her bloodied blade over his tongue, daring to step closer to him than anyone ever had before and exciting him to the same extent. Those few short minutes at the convent gates had excited her, too and he'd tasted the wicked thoughts they'd inspired whilst on board the Demeter. He hadn't hesitated to turn those desires into reality once Agatha had finally decided to claim him as her own and he'd been delighted to discover that she tasted just as exquisite as her blood.

"My tongue is both willing and able," he suggested, adding on a grin when Agatha hesitated.

"You need to get some rest," Agatha replied eventually, her tone firm but the small smile on her lips was leaning towards rueful. She removed her hand from the bathtub and reached for a nearby towel, signalling that bath-time was over.

Still undeterred, Dracula reached for the edge of the bath with both hands and propelled himself back into a sitting position, twisting his torso so that he could face her. "The bed here is huge, Agatha. There's plenty of room for us both," he persevered, because the pursuit of Agatha was half the fun and he'd still consider it a victory if she agreed to just lay down beside him. He'd spent too many centuries sleeping alone.

"Yes, I noticed," she said as she dried off her hands on the fluffy blood red towel. "I also noticed that it's a bed of dirt."

There was an unspoken question in her words and it wasn't how he had managed to import soil from the homeland; it was just as well because he had delegated that particular task to Frank and had then ignored the lawyer's enthusiastic explanation when it had been offered. But as to why the soil had remained after she had debunked all of his foibles was a little embarrassing. For over a week he had not moved from the table, holding on to Zoe's body in the hope that Agatha would return to him again, when he should have been looking for her in the sea.

It was an oversight that bothered him given the lengths he'd gone to in order to secure Jonathan Harker and his own retrieval from the wreck of the Demeter. However, he took consolation in the fact that Agatha was not like his previous brides who were all so unguarded, their minds nothing more than books whose pages he could flick through on a whim; there was a strength in Agatha that belied both her stature and profession. Facing a future without her, he had found some comfort in continuing to sleep on a bed of dirt if only because he could almost hear her voice mocking him for it.

"Frank's housekeeping is a little lacking," Dracula replied but then decided on honesty because Agatha already knew the truth. "But I must confess that just the thought of sleeping on home soil again is making me feel better."

"The mind is an amazing organ," Agatha offered after a moment of consideration. "Especially yours."

"I am amazing in every way, my love," he grinned, leaning forward to rest his arms on the edge of the tub.

Agatha threw the towel at Dracula, hitting him in the face though the contact was harmless, especially in comparison to earlier events in the cemetery. She waited until he had grabbed the towel with both hands and moved it out of the way before speaking; "I am going to talk to Frank. You are going to get some sleep."

Grinning again, Dracula scrubbed the towel across his face and then roughly swiped it through his hair. He had forgotten that Frank was still in the apartment though the knowledge would not have dampened his ardour. The lawyer would likely be equally unperturbed, perfectly content to wait and fill in the time by scribbling away in a notebook until he was needed. His ability to influence mortals was rather useful though Agatha had expressed concern about the long-term effect it was having on Frank. She'd also refused to even contemplate trying out the skill for herself which was probably for the best; she had swayed Jack Seward with just her words in the cemetery and Dracula was already completely in her thrall.

Throwing the towel to the floor, he gripped the edge of the bathtub and leaned towards Agatha. He'd intended to steal a kiss from her but there'd been no need for thievery; she happily closed the gap between them, claiming his lips instead and leaving him wanting more when she quickly retreated. "I do like it when you boss me around," he smiled, still leaning on the edge of the tub.

"Yes, I am aware of that," she replied. "You enjoyed being treated like the dog you are at the convent gates, did you not?"

"Almost as much as you enjoyed treating me like a dog," he agreed, sharing her smile. That smile grew wider when she did not deny his words.

Agatha raised one hand, her smile easing into solemnity and cupped his jaw gently. Her thumb brushed against his cheek, her eyes just as gentle as they gazed at his. "I really do love you," she whispered, finally confirming the notion Dracula had presented back at the cemetery.

The admission was as unexpected as the well of tears that gathered in his eyes at her words. She'd dodged the subject just a short while ago when he'd brought it up and had repeated that action when Jack Seward had made it sound as though Agatha should be ashamed of her feelings. Dracula had been certain that she loved him, had even enjoyed teasing her about her feelings when she continued to remain silent, but to hear her say the words out loud was entirely different to knowing. It had been many centuries since anybody had told him that they loved him but it had never felt like this when they had; perhaps that was because he had never really loved anyone until her.

A lone tear escaped his grasp, trailing a path down his freshly dried cheek and eliciting a tender smile from Agatha. "The poisoned blood must still be stinging my eyes," he offered in defence, swallowing back more of them.

"Of course," Agatha agreed softly, her hand moving slightly so that she could brush away the single tear that had escaped.

"And I love you," Dracula smiled, the words slipping from his tongue with ease and sincerity. Agatha wasn't just his bride; she was his lover, his protector, his partner, his equal in almost every way. And, perhaps most importantly, he trusted her completely. She deserved everything that she desired and he would spend the rest of eternity fulfilling every one of her wishes if she let him. Maybe even if she refused.

All he wanted - all he needed - in return was her.