A/N: I apologise to my readers for this chapter arriving a few hours after midnight.
Chapter 4: Verona
Naples, 1566
Verona di Rocco stood straight-backed, awaiting the visitor. With the house's main door open, she saw him dismounting his horse then looking at the house's exterior. His brown beard was neatly trimmed, eyes slightly small. He wore black, white and gold jerkin and trunks.
"It seems this man's old blood has made sure to retain some of his ancestors' beauty," Verona's black-haired elder brother, Raphael, murmured in her ear beside her. Verona and her waist-length haired mother looked at him disapprovingly from either side. The visitor, and Verona's father – a wide man with neat silver hair, clothing in the family coat of arms' green colour – passed over the threshold into the front hall.
"I announce the arrival of the Most Excellent Grandes Gustavo de Altamira," Verona's father boomed at the front door, before the other man entered. Verona's other brother, a three-foot boy with finely-cut blonde hair, quickly sidestepped out from behind Mother's back, taking his place beside her. "Most Excellent Lord, might I introduce my wife Tazia-" Grandes Gustavo removed his feathered hat, revealing neatly-trimmed short hair; "-my eldest son Raphael, my youngest son Rinaldo, and my daughter Verona."
"I am honoured to be a guest in your house," Gustavo said, dipping into a bow. He proceeded to Verona's mother first, taking her hand and kissing it while slightly bowing. Then he moved towards Verona. She wore a green dress with gold-embroidered sleeves and a collar that curved outward from her neck, and wore a thin ruff high on her neck. Her dark-brown hair was partly pulled into a pearl-decorated bun at the back of her head, making what hair flowed down her back thinner than it would have been had she been in nightwear. The man kissed Verona's hand more slowly but very-gently, almost formally. Verona was impressed with his restraint. "I am moved beyond words to meet you at last," he said.
"I hope we both may live up to each-other's merits," Verona said calmly, smiling. Gustavo looked surprised at hearing her accent, a mix of native Italian and Eastern European hints.
"It is approaching dinnertime," Verona's father said in a tone that signified they were to move. "You must be exhausted after your long voyage, Most Excellent Lord. Let us dine."
The family and their guest proceeded to the dining hall, where Verona and Gustavo were expected to begin interacting while Verona's family watched.
"How many years old are you, my lady?" Gustavo asked while everyone was washing their hands.
"I shall be twenty-seven in December," Verona replied calmly. "What is your time and place of birth, Most Excellent Lord?"
"The January of 1535, my family's estate near Valdecarzana," he replied fluidly. "It is where I lived the first seven years of my boyhood. The horses bred there are said to be among the fastest in the north of Spain. I and my brothers occasionally partook in races using these beasts, and only the youngest one of us ever lost a race."
"Please let me hear more about your estate's horses," Verona said softly, smiling in interest while her eyes remained cool. For a few minutes, they continued talking about horse-racing before Gustavo changed the topic.
"I mean no offence, my lady, but I have noticed your accent is not simply regional," Gustavo said.
"It is not," Verona said, meeting his gaze unfazed. "I was schooled at a convent governed by my godfather's sister, in Moldova. My godfather was a court musician."
"Did you ever accompany him to the court?" Gustavo asked. Before Verona could reply, the staff quickly entered with the starter's meal, placing plates in front of the table's occupants. The pair's conversation was suspended, then resumed after the starters. Verona's father and mother watched with wary, scrutinising eyes despite their faith in her, and Verona paid their scrutinising no heed – paying it heed would be letting them down.
"How many individual estates does your family own?" Gustavo asked.
"Twelve, including this one in the city," Verona replied. "I am pleased to say we haven't lost much property to the depression. What of you, Most Excellent Lord? I've been told your family altogether owns eighteen estates across northern Spain."
"Yes, though two of them haven't been lived in since my father was a child," Gustavo murmured. "Are many of your estates located on the coast?"
"Six of them are," Verona replied, sounding almost nonchalant. "The others are inland, and most of them are closer to the east coast than the west. Our largest land is in Tuscany, consisting of fifteen miles. The second-largest land is twenty miles south of Rome, and consists of twelve miles." Verona mentioned those two lands because she knew Gustavo's family were interested in gaining land at those locations.
"Tell me of your land in Tuscany - what is it like?" Gustavo asked.
"In the summer's afternoon, if the weather is dry, the hills and groves are pure-green, the grass rippling like the sea in the wind," Verona replied. "If there are few or no clouds when the sun sets, the grass turns copper, and the sky turns orange like polished bronze. In the winter, the season's weather and cold are mild, and only a light dusting of snow covers the land." They continued discussing the Tuscany property, then the House of Rocco's other properties – the lands' sizes, how long the family had had ownership, how they'd seized these lands and how the lands were maintained. Verona enquired about Gustavo's family's lands and how they'd gained ownership, quietly gleaning knowledge of those lands' size and resources. They also discussed lands both families had recently lost in the depression. Simultaneously, Verona and Gustavo discussed less strategic topics, such as simple matters of history and personal opinion concerning the French invasions at the century's start – Verona did not want a husband of poor character, she wanted one who would, besides making a fruitful marriage-match, also make for a stable one. In the personal arena, Verona discovered Gustavo shared many of hers and her father's beliefs regarding individuals leaving the classes they were born into – specifically how it affected old noble bloodlines' preservation and continuation – and they shared a moderate few personal interests. They continued talking for nearly two hours before dessert arrived.
"The meal and afters are finished," Verona's father said gruffly once the last spoon had been put down. He stood up. "Everyone is excused from the table."
"This has been a pleasant and thrilling dinner, full of the most interesting talk," Gustavo said as everyone stood up. Verona's father's face remained stoic, but Verona thought she saw the slight shift in his facial features indicating his anxiety. "And with a pleasantly-full stomach, I am virtue-bound to exercise my renewed strength. But first-" Looking at Verona, Gustavo took both her hands in his. "-I must ask the fair lady Verona-" He quickly and fluidly got on one knee, still holding eye contact and holding both her hands. "-will she give me her hand in marriage?" Looking at him with composure though her eyes were slightly wide, Verona quickly mentally chewed over all she'd learned about Gustavo. She gave the slightest sidelong glance at her father – his stoic, approving smile indicated what he wanted, and it was enough to finalise her decision.
"I shall," Verona said, smiling coolly. She gripped Gustavo's hands slightly tighter, almost like a mother comforting a child. Gustavo immediately rose and glanced over at Verona's father.
"And will you, Marquis di Rocco, grant me permission to wed your daughter the lady Verona?" Gustavo asked calmly, almost airily with a sense of drama.
"I shall," Verona heard her father say – his voice was relatively calm, but the subtlest undertones indicated his restrained emotion. Gustavo smiled slowly at the man. Shifting his gaze, he granted Verona the smiling look, then broke eye contact, calmly removing a diamond ring from his pouch. He held Verona's arm up, and slipped the ring on her third finger. Verona looked at the ring, momentarily admiring its sparkle and the silver band's intricate detail – it was an impressive piece, certainly above average even for a marquis' family. She met Gustavo's eyes, and smiled coolly but beautifully.
"If I may, I discreetly hope to explore more of your estate during the afternoon," Gustavo said to Verona's parents. Then, addressing her directly: "Would you be so kind as to guide me?"
"I would be happy to," Verona said warmly. She glanced at her father, who nodded in approval, then promptly led Gustavo from the hall before her family exited.
Gustavo's exploration of the house took up the afternoon. In early evening, he stopped to admire the second floor's view, Verona staying with him. He remained there for over an hour before they proceeded downstairs again, so Gustavo could talk more civilly with Verona's mother and brothers, getting to know them. Verona's mother constantly smiled when talking to Gustavo, seeming very eager to have his attention and talk with him.
"I hope you have been taught the proper mannerisms with which to behave at a lavish wedding," Gustavo said, smiling at Rinaldo, who was sitting next to his mother at the armchair's end.
"I have attended two other families' weddings in my eight years of life so far, Most Excellent Lord," Rinaldo replied. Verona, sitting beside her father on a third armchair, smiled slightly at how her younger brother held himself with his straight back and neutral face, and his defensive response, despite his quietness and expression showing he didn't want to be interacting with Gustavo.
"That is good, very good," Gustavo said, still smiling.
"You have my utmost blessings and confidence that your marriage may be fruitful, Most Excellent Lord," Raphael said, sitting on the other end of Gustavo's armchair with legs crossed. "It would be an embarrassment if a family as intelligent as ours invested in this wedding and nought came out of it." Gustavo just gave a sidelong glance, smile fading slightly.
"Of course, we must discuss the details of the wedding while you are here, and we must discuss them with your family," Verona's father said.
"Of course," Gustavo said, looking at him. "If I may say so, Lord di Rocco, my mother and father are most anxious to receive you and your family at their estate near Langreo."
"I have never visited the north of Spain and would be happy to visit," Raphael said. "I wish to see how its standards of beauty compare to those of Spain in general." Gustavo again looked slightly disapproving. Verona's father glared at Raphael.
"We would be honoured to be your family's guests, but would be more honoured to have them as our guests in our country," Verona's father said.
"I suppose that can also be arranged," Gustavo said, sounding uncertain.
"It will have to be an appropriately-lavish marriage to be sure," Raphael said, sounding genuine. Looking at Verona: "In addition to the unification of two respectable bloodlines, we must celebrate the bringing together of a beautiful man and woman, who may breed beautiful children." Verona glared coolly, and Gustavo looked close to scowling, while Verona's parents glared much more openly.
"That is enough from you, Raphael," their father barked rather firmly, in the way Verona knew to be his children's last warning before he expelled one of them from the room. "Most Excellent Lord, we must discuss an appropriate location for the wedding, whether in Italy or in Spain." Raphael didn't speak out rudely again afterwards.
Verona's parents eagerly continued talking with Gustavo until the late evening, when the evening meal was had. Immediately after Verona's father excused everyone, Verona left for her evening walk along the seaside promenade. Gustavo said he would stay with her father to discuss the wedding. Verona exchanged her green dress for a casual, dark-pink dress with long-sleeved white undergarments, and she let more of her hair down though she still held some of it up in a bun. She was accompanied by a burly bodyguard, as she always was when walking without her father or Raphael. She walked a quarter of the promenade's full length, from one corner at which the land curved to another, then halted her walk to watch the sun fully dip over the sea. It was always beautiful to watch the sun become a golden coin, turning the sky and rippling sea orange. Verona would usually return home before it got dark, but this evening she stayed where she was while the sun dipped lower beyond the horizon – crime was currently very low in this part of the city, she had a strong bodyguard, and it had been a long time since she'd simply listened to the sea while thinking.
"I've heard many speak highly of a sunset seen from this city." The eastern-accented voice spoke when the sky was twilight-blue. Surprised, Verona looked to her right, the voice sounding like it had come from feet away. Her bodyguard also looked. A man was standing beside her who hadn't been standing there some minutes before, looking seaward with an oddly bitter expression. He had a thin face, framed on either side by black hair strands. He wore a furry hat with a large, grey feather on top, the hat hiding most of his hair. He also wore a long, fur-lined traveller's cloak with sleeves that his arms weren't occupying. Under the cloak was a sealed, short coat with intricate patterns sown in, and he wore boots that nearly reached his knees. Almost all his clothing apart from the feather and dark-brown furs were night-black. The man slowly turned his head, smiling thinly at Verona.
"Who are you, fair stranger?" she asked coolly, looking the man over. He turned his full body towards her.
"Count Vladislaus Dragulia, of Transylvania," he said, voice earnest-sounding. He took Verona's hand and kissed the back, unblinking blue eyes holding her gaze the entire time. He took longer to remove his lips than Verona was comfortable with, and she nearly scowled. "Who are you, fair stranger?" he asked, releasing her hand, which she all but pulled back to her torso.
"Verona. Of the kingdom we are currently in." She turned back to the horizon, wanting the Count to take the message and wanting to be free of his unsettling gaze.
"Just Verona?" the Count all but purred, slowly stepping towards her. Her bodyguard stepped forward, and the Count halted but barely glanced at his face. "I cannot believe someone so beautiful, in such a noble country and with such eloquent dress, has no title."
"I did not say it was just Verona," she said, looking out of her eye's corner. "I simply do not see any reason to divulge information about my family to you." A pause passed, in which she was aware of the Count slowly turning on his heel back to the horizon, but still looking out of his eye's corner at her. For some reason, his gaze made her feel uncomfortable in her own skin.
"Do you wish this stranger removed from your presence?" the bodyguard whispered calmly, leaning towards her. Verona had one second to quickly chew it over – not knowing why she didn't decide immediately – before Count Dragulia spoke again.
"I detect some of my native region's accent in your voice," he said. "Moldovan if I'm not mistaken. You have lived there?"
"I shall remove him if you wish."
"It is alright, Leon," Verona suddenly said. Still not looking at the Count, she said: "I spent much of my childhood in Moldova. I cannot say I ever heard your name there."
"No, you wouldn't have," Count Dragulia chuckled, grinning. "It's very obscure." He turned his body to fully face her. "I am not familiar with this country, having visited it few times in the past. And it is wise for a traveller in lands he does not know to have a friend to teach him." He smiled pleasantly without showing his teeth. "Can we be friends, Verona?" Verona looked directly at him despite his eyes' effect, her face cold.
"I think you would have been wiser if you had had a friend who does know Naples accompany you here," Verona said. "My father has always said it is unwise to trust strangers in foreign lands quickly. They could be dangerous people." Verona turned heel and started walking away.
"Unwise to trust strangers…" Count Dragulia echoed when a farewell was on the tip of Verona's tongue, ready to be thrown over her shoulder. She stopped but didn't look back. "I couldn't agree more. But I like meeting dangerous people. They make life much more entertaining. Do you like dangerous people, Verona?" Verona's thin eyebrows furrowed slightly, not liking his undertone. She fully turned heel, hands clasped in front of her, eyebrows raised almost-disdainfully.
"I have met people who are dangerous by the authority they wield and how they have used it," Verona said with soft haughtiness. "I cannot say I enjoy being in the company of many such people at all."
"I can show you a different kind of dangerous person," Count Dragulia murmured, slowly stalking forward. Verona felt uncomfortable at the way his eyes bored her, then disgusted when she thought what that could indicate, the nakedness of the Count's gaze only revolting her further.
"May my future husband also see this dangerous person?" Verona murmured coolly, raising her arm to show her engagement ring. Count Dragulia halted.
"Perhaps so, for one brief moment," he murmured, voice almost dipping into a growl at the end. Raising his head and almost peering down his noise, the Count grinned, posture arrogantly relaxed. "Perhaps you and your suitor can even see such a dangerous person at the same place, in the same night." Then the Count brought his hands together above his waist, posture instantly dignified again. "But until someone has firmly decided if they want such a thing, for now-"
"I shall bid you goodnight, Count," Verona cut him off curtly. She bowed her head very-quickly, then turned heel and started walking away without looking back. Her bodyguard followed after a moment. Verona walked twenty, thirty, forty paces, but always got the unsettling sensation that there was something on her back threatening to bore into her skin. Looking back, she saw the Count staring after her, alone on the promenade. His clothes made him look like a thick shadow in the fading light.
After returning home and finding Gustavo had already retired, Verona wasn't be able to wholly shake off the Count's disturbing eyes, or his voice that had been close to growling, until after she retired to sleep.
There was no sign of anything coming beyond a vast, bat-like shadow, so thin it could've been a small cloud; passing over the hills that lay beyond the city. One minute, light was flickering in the lonely peasant house's windows, the next minute the light was gone.
Visible in moonlight pouring through the window, two bodies lay on the earthy floor, blood pooling from slashed throats. A black figure stepped over the bodies, boot-steps the only sound in the house, then stopped. Blood dripped from one hand's fingernails. Count Dracula looked around the bare one-room house, blue eyes slightly wide. It was perfect. Remote, and though time had removed all visual evidence, Dracula sensed something like both a stain on the soil and a cloud polluting the air. It was evidence this land had experienced terrible bloodshed in the past, which was what he needed.
If Dracula breathed, it would've been slightly laboured. He liked to think he was devoid of fear, that it was beneath him and for the weak – which to him meant all the living – but there was one he feared. Dracula hadn't spoken to him in a hundred years, had no reason to. But thoughts of that woman, Verona, plagued him ceaselessly, had done so since he'd spied her from the rooftops near the promenade. He'd emerged from his resting place immediately after waking, and if he'd emerged later, he might not have seen her. He remembered her dress, pink as a skinned body, her smooth dark hair, and her posture. Dracula had felt such passion for another only once before. He knew what was stirring in his dead heart, and one thing was certain – she had to be his. The question was; how was he to accomplish that. Anyone Dracula bit who didn't die quickly were cursed to become like him, with a portion of the same powers he had; but they were shades of their former selves. Dracula wanted a consort, not a puppet. Dark sorcery was an option, but it had a nasty way of twisting those whose life it extended, in ways beyond the sorcerer's control. So Dracula would contact the one dark being who could give him a solution if there was any to be given. He tilted his head upwards but not skyward. He held his bloody-nailed hand out, arm horizontally even.
"Come to me," Dracula growled lowly. "I beg your audience. COME TO ME!" He yelled the last sentence so loudly the walls could have shaken. A few moments passed. Dracula thought the moonlight was waning and the air going still. He didn't sense the silhouette in the corner behind him.
"Why do you call me now, my son?" the figure asked, voice sounding royal yet decrepit. Dracula wheeled around. A moment passed before the silhouette stalked forward, moving with a slight limp, the clunk of a cane accompanying his footsteps. Bright-yellow irises flashed as the figure stepped through a moonbeam, the moonlight momentarily highlighting silvery hair that was tied in a ponytail.
"Lucifer," Dracula said, voice a non-hostile growl. The silhouette stopped six feet away from Dracula.
"Must I repeat my question?" the figure murmured with a slight dark undertone.
"You need not," Dracula replied. "I owe many of my gifts to you, and I now beg your counsel on how best to satisfy my newest desire." A moment passed, then the silhouette tsk-tsk'd.
"Had it not been a century since you last needed my help, I would be none too pleased at having to teach you to flex your muscles," the Devil said. Then he straightened. "What is it you want?"
"I am the son of the Devil, possessing power greater than any other creature of darkness has walked the Earth with in more than a thousand years," Dracula proclaimed proudly. "But there is a woman whose face distracts me, who my musings wander towards ceaselessly. It has been a century since I've felt such desire! She must. Be mine!" A pause followed. The Devil made a growling hum, turning his body and beginning to pace away, cane clunking.
"I would've thought this emotion would be gone from your heart," the Devil murmured thoughtfully, stopping short of the moon-beam; Dracula detected the slightest disgusted undertone. The vampire count momentarily dreaded what would happen if the Devil was displeased. His second life and powers were a gift to him, but he was a creature of darkness and that put him at the Devil's proverbial mercy. "Do not fret, my son. I shall tell you how to bring this woman into your fold." The Devil shifted his body halfway, head's side facing Dracula. Dracula narrowed his eyes intently, listening.
"She can be made undead with more power than your other servants," the Devil said, tone callous-sounding but dark. "To make her your bride, certain conditions must be met. All but a fraction if not all of her connections to this world - the people she loves – must be severed before she dies. You shall drink her blood, and she shall receive yours. She will sleep in the grave, and when she rises, she will be yours – and yours alone." Dracula's blue eyes widened slightly, mouth tightly shut. He looked away, gaze seemingly dragging along the floor. Slowly, he smiled, then grinned. Eyes tracking upwards, a dark cackle burst forth from his mouth, sounding half-melodious, half-like a demon in Hell had unleashed it in the empty house.
Apart from walking Gustavo around Naples – always in her parents' company of course – the four days following Verona's engagement were relatively quiet. Verona talked with her parents and Gustavo about wedding plans they were drawing up. They would be wed at Verona's family's villa east of Cassino; which they would leave for in two weeks. Four weeks from the present, Gustavo's family would arrive to meet Verona before the wedding was allowed.
When matters of state or visits by other nobles – congratulating Verona and her father – weren't occurring, Verona spent free time further bonding with Gustavo – whether by talking or by walking him through more parts of Naples. During a lengthy early evening talk, while descending the stairs towards the house's front hall, the pair were promptly informed Verona's father would be entertaining a guest in the evening. Verona was surprised at the short notice, and ever-so-slightly unimpressed by how easily-entertained Gustavo was at the oddity. Two hours before the time the meal usually started, Verona donned an emerald-green and blue dress, similar to the one she'd worn when she'd met Gustavo. It also had a pointed collar, and she wore a high ruff with it. Verona next saw Gustavo when they were moving towards the dining hall for the meal – he wore a stylish black jerkin with gold-and-black trunks, colours Verona knew he liked wearing. They were surprised and slightly annoyed to be informed the evening meal had been suspended by two hours – surprised in Verona's case because her mother was very strict about meals in her household occurring at the proper times. She and Gustavo spent another two hours talking in the upstairs room with the view Gustavo admired, partly discussing the mysterious guest, while evening turned to early night.
"Most Excellent Lord, my Lady," an elderly servant said, entering through the room's door. He addressed Verona: "Your father's guest has arrived, and supper will begin shortly." He promptly left. Verona and Gustavo turned heel and walked out after him.
Proceeding to the living area, Verona saw the rest of her family were there, but was unpleasantly surprised to see Count Dragulia, sitting cross-legged on the armchair opposite her father. He was wearing the same dark clothing, barring his coat and hat. She saw his hair was surprisingly long, all of it but the stray strands tied in an eastern-looking bun at the top of his head.
"My daughter Verona, and her husband-to-be," Verona's father said, gesturing to them while smiling. Count Dragulia's eyes instantly found Verona.
"Grandes Gustavo de Altamira," Gustavo introduced himself. The Count rose.
"Count Vladislaus Dragulia of Transylvania," he said, giving a small bow of his head before looking at Verona again.
"Lady Verona." He sounded surprised, but Verona thought his tone wasn't entirely honest. "What an unexpected surprise this is."
"I share the sentiment," Verona said coolly, not smiling at all. She promptly moved to take a seat in an armchair across from the Count, Gustavo following.
"You've met my daughter previously?" Verona's father enquired. Verona was aware of Gustavo glancing at her but momentarily ignored it.
"Only briefly," the Count said. "We had some conversation on the promenade some nights ago." He looked at her. "I did not know you were the Marquis di Rocco's daughter."
"I was not aware you and my father were acquainted, Count," Verona said, smiling civilly while her eyes were cool.
"We met two nights ago, at the baron's daughter's birthday celebration," Verona's father said, sounding like this was a rare trouble-free moment. "We discussed Naples' past dealings with the French and shared concerns about children and courtship, and the Count and I agreed we should meet to discuss international relations." While he spoke, the Count was smiling thinly at Verona, whose eyes were ice-cold – internally, she was outraged the Count would behave in her family's house like he had on the promenade.
"If I'd known who you were before tonight, I would have made sure my arrival was quite dramatic," the Count murmured, smiling.
"Your appearance as it were was dramatic enough," Verona said with slight curtness, aware of Gustavo's eyes shifting between her and the Count.
"He is a most fascinating man, wouldn't you agree?" Tazia chirped. Verona looked at her in slight puzzlement – her mother had never behaved so childishly before, openly frowning on such behaviour. Looking at Count Dragulia, she said, "You must tell us more of your family's history involving the Ottoman wars."
"My beloved wife, enough," Verona's father said. Addressing everyone, he said: "Come, let us eat before the hour grows late." Verona looked at her father, surprised verging on disconcerted, as they all rose. They entered the dining hall and took their seats around the table, starters being put before everyone which they tucked into.
"If I may speak while everyone eats, Marquis, you said much of your cousins' income is based on trading across the Adriatic Sea?" Count Dragulia said, looking at Verona's father. Over the following hour, Verona's father and Count Dragulia discussed relations between the Italian states and Eastern Europe, the Turkish problem, and alliances. Raphael and Tazia agreed with seemingly everything the Count argued, they and Verona's father digging into their food with smiles on their faces. Verona saw Rinaldo alone looking slightly puzzled at their mother twice, when she agreed with an argument she might normally openly object to. Sat next to Gustavo, Verona and her fiancé each kept to themselves when not spoken to. Sitting directly across the table from her, Verona saw Count Dragulia glance at her every few minutes, going for several brief periods without touching his food. The naked dark look in his eyes infuriated her, though not nearly as much as her family's clueless disposition did. She saw Gustavo look at the Count icily at one point, having possibly noticed his behaviour, while her parents and elder brother seemed oblivious. Verona's shock at her family's behaviour began turning to suspicion, thinking something was unnaturally off. Then beyond that, she began thinking the Count had something to do with it – save that he'd only arrived before the evening meal began. Verona inwardly thought she'd be happy when Count Dragulia left. The Count and her father continued talking after finishing dessert, without anyone leaving the table.
"As the hour grows late, I must now take my leave, lest I keep everyone awake too late," the Count said shortly before eleven o'clock.
"We wouldn't be adequate hosts if we didn't see you to the door ourselves, Count," Raphael said, already rising. The Count smiled and nodded at them.
"You are most generous," he said. Eyes cold, Verona rose with Gustavo and her parents.
Indeed, they all saw him back to the front door, the doorman opening the main door and letting moonlight spill in. The butler brought the Count his cloak and hat. He re-donned his cloak first, hat under his arm. He said a quick, quiet personal goodbye to everyone, but Verona thought his eyes were slightly colder when he reached Gustavo. He came to her penultimately. He stood directly in front of her, nose barely a foot from hers, icy eyes holding her gaze. Verona was barely aware of how much his eyes were drawing hers in with some strange power.
"I hope we may see each-other again," Count Dragulia murmured so quietly Verona thought no-one but Gustavo beside her would have heard. Then he kissed her hand, long and slow, still holding her eyes.
"Not too soon for my liking, I hope," Verona said icily. Removing his lips, the Count smiled at her outrageously. Then he went to her father.
"I hope we may have your company again soon, Count," Marquis di Rocco said, smiling.
"I'm sure you will, quite soon," the Count murmured. At his low tone, Verona's eyebrows lowered slightly. "Until such time, I bid you a good evening." Verona thought she felt his blue eyes pass over her as he was turning on his heel, before he re-donned his hat and strode out the doors. When the doors closed moments later, Verona thought a chill she hadn't noticed had left the air.
Verona and Gustavo didn't stay up long before retiring. Verona's sleep was not restful. She dreamed of her room's balcony doors swinging open, as she watched on the bed. Her eyes were open but her body refused to move. She saw a shadow creeping along the floor in the moonlight before its owner entered – Count Dragulia, missing his cloak and hat. He loomed over her bed; no breath, heat or any indication of a man's presence emanated from him. Verona didn't have a concept of how much time passed with him standing, staring down at her; she just thought a significant length passed, before he slowly leaned closer. His face approached her neck, lips touching it. At this point, Verona felt outrage, then fear, mind futilely trying to will her body to move, to push him away. Whilst a tiny, deep part she'd never admit to while alive felt slightly excited. She felt a cold, prickling feeling on her neck. She remembered nothing of the time that passed after that and before the morning.
During breakfast, Verona had little appetite. She ate, but somehow no mouthful was filling. Her muscles ached slightly when she moved, and the sunlight pouring through the dining hall's windows hurt her skin, to the point she might have moved to another chair to be out of the sun.
"Lady Verona, are you well?" Gustavo, sitting next to her, asked while her family ate.
"I've been feeling unwell all morning," Verona said. "I hope it will pass."
"I have had some home tutelage about physical afflictions, I may be able to see what ails you," Gustavo offered.
"Most Excellent Lord, there is no need," she said reassuringly, looking at him. Something away from her eyeline seemed to catch his gaze.
"There is something on your neck," he murmured, brows furrowed.
"What is it?" Verona asked, raising a hand but stopping it short of touching her neck.
"Is something the matter?" Verona's father asked sternly, like he'd only just noticed something wrong.
"It may be nothing of any relevance, Marquis di Rocco," Gustavo murmured. "Verona, may I see?"
"Yes," she said, brushing her half-tied hair back from her neck. Gustavo slowly moved two hands towards her neck.
"Tell me if this hurts," he said. Verona hissed a slight intake of air, momentarily feeling like there were traces of crushed ice inside her neck, but she barely felt his fingers' pressure on her skin.
"It's slightly discomforting," she said calmly, almost nonchalantly.
"There are two small wounds on your neck," Gustavo murmured, sounding puzzled. "I think you may have been bitten by some pest." Verona's eyebrows lowered – she didn't remember encountering a bat or rat in any way recently, which made her think it could only have happened by an insect-bite or while she'd been sleeping.
Verona was frustrated that her family's ailment of the mind seemingly hadn't vanished overnight – they continued their daily duties normally, but when Count Dragulia was mentioned, they spoke with nothing but near-trancelike fondness for him and how pleasant his company was.
"Do you not think some of the Count's opinions expressed at the dining table were debatable?" Verona asked her father at one point when they were walking together. Verona wore a wide-brimmed hat with her hair in a bun, to keep the sun from her face.
"No, I daren't say so," her father said, voice dark. Verona thought his stern face suddenly seemed clear and outraged. She lowered her eyes and said nothing more about it.
"Do you not think Count Dragulia received too much charity the previous evening?" Verona asked her mother later.
"Absolutely not!" her mother all but snapped, seeming clear and outraged.
"Do Mother and Father seem different to you?" Rinaldo asked Verona once when they were walking to dinner together.
"Yes," Verona murmured, eyebrows low. "It is hard to miss." Though Verona and Gustavo spoke little of Count Dragulia, Gustavo at one point brought him up while they walked the house's hallways.
"Never have I known any nobleman higher than peasantry to be so lecherous, with the way he was looking at you!" Gustavo squawked. Verona, momentarily wincing as she passed through a window's sunbeam, silently agreed. "It makes one almost wonder if he really is a man with any lands, and not some gypsy or vagabond posing as a man of greater stature…"
Verona's ailment didn't lessen as the day went on – if anything, she felt slightly worse during the evening meal than she had in the morning, food still not satisfying her, her body aching and hurting more. But after sunset, Verona's aches lessened to a point where she felt nearly well, if slightly weak.
The next day was the day Verona's family and fiancé left for the villa. When Verona woke, her ailment was wholly back and again slightly worse. Her father refused to let this delay their journey, but agreed that Verona should be examined by a physician first thing when they arrived. Neither Verona nor Gustavo argued. They departed in the early afternoon – Verona was grateful then that the sky was clouded, letting her remove her hat. The journey took nearly a day and a half. Verona heavily clad herself in travelling cloaks against the summer sun, at the price of making the heat more irritating. She thought near the journey's end her sickness was certainly worsening. The family arrived at the villa – a two-storey stone house surrounded by half an acre of fields – just before nightfall. Gustavo wanted to get Verona to bed at once, but she insisted on staying up some hours longer, to address state affairs while she felt slightly well. To Verona's despair, her parents and Raphael acted surprised and concerned when told about her progressing sickness, but seemed to lose focus on it in minutes.
The physician, on business, was delayed from reaching the villa. Two days after arriving, in the afternoon, a local priest visited Verona in her dimly-lit bedroom. He invoked the power of prayer to heal her while she lay there, then made the sign of the cross above her. For some reason, Verona thought the prayer made her feel slightly worse for several hours, like whatever fever ailed her were stung and angered by the blessing. Five days after arriving at the villa, the physician had arrived.
"What causes her ailment?" Gustavo asked the thin man, who was packing his tools away. Verona, sat up in her bed and clad only in a chemise, looked at the man for an answer. She could barely see the physician's face or more than half of Gustavo's, with so little afternoon sunlight penetrating her room's curtains, casting the room in dim-orange.
"The only ailment I've ever heard of which can cause these symptoms is the bite of the nosferatu," the Eastern European physician said.
"What is that?" Gustavo asked. Verona groaned and put a hand over her eyes that she'd received a superstitious physician.
"The bite of the undead," the physician said matter-of-factly, standing up. "It dooms mortal men to rise from the grave as creatures of the night. The only cures I have heard which may stop its progression are the power of prayer, holy wafers and blessings by a priest. Otherwise, I fear the lady is doomed to become undead." A pause followed, in which the air seemed slightly still, before Gustavo spoke.
"Leave us," he said curtly, glaring at the physician. Verona hadn't seen him reigning his temper so before. The physician obeyed, promptly walking out and closing the door. A heavy silence hung in the gloom.
"A fool," Gustavo hissed bitterly, back straight, not looking at Verona while angry. "I will see to it you receive a physician worthy of his occupation as soon as possible."
"I thank you for that, Most Excellent Lord," Verona said. Her eyes were rimmed and her lids heavy. The last couple of nights, Verona had found she was constantly feeling awake at night and sleepy in the day.
"A letter sent ahead of my family arrived today," Gustavo said, his composure fully regained, looking at her.
"What have they said?" Verona enquired, sounding calm.
"They will be setting out for this place three days from now, and expect to arrive within three weeks," Gustavo said. Verona looked at the floor, hoping her sickness would be gone within that time lest Gustavo's family refuse to permit him marrying an ill woman.
"As I said, I will see to it you receive a better physician as soon as possible," Gustavo said stoically, seeing her face.
Gustavo poured over papers – the House of Rocco's recordings of physicians, and old letters from other nobles addressing physicians – late into the night, the study room lit only by a few candles' light. He put his thumb and index finger to his mouth in contemplation. There were many physicians – western physicians, which he wanted after the unfortunate previous choice – listed, but he wanted to locate the best of them all before finalising his choice. It wasn't helped by the fact the Marquess di Rocco had granted him permission to use the study and read through the papers and letters, but had struggled like an old man to focus on the problem with his daughter. Gustavo, partly in spite of being a Catholic, did not believe any power but God's could have any hold on the Earth, yet he still thought the other family-members' affliction seemed unnatural. Were he not concerned about offending the family and putting the marriage-match at risk, he'd have considered hiring a physician to tend to them, or at least addressing his concerns about their fitness of mind to other nobles. If every family-member but the boy were so severely afflicted, perhaps he should consider breaking off the-
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
Gustavo's head shot up – banging on the villa's front door near the study. It repeated after a brief pause.
"My lords, my ladies! Help!" Gustavo heard a voice yell. Puzzled, he left the study desk and proceeded out through two rooms to the front corridor, a candle in hand. The banging repeated, awful to Gustavo's ears this close.
"My lords, please help!" Hesitating for a second, Gustavo reaching forward without stepping closer than was needed, and opened the door. In the candlelight, he saw an elderly man with filthy skin and beard, wearing a single piece of grey cloth, almost stumble halfway-inside.
"Oh, kind lord!" the man cried loudly, looking distressed. He collapsed to his knees, clasping his hands together. "Please help! There has been an awful accident outside, my friend is injured! He needs treatment!"
"Bring him in, I shall see if anything can be done for him," Gustavo said, while scrutinising the man and bringing the candle's flame closer. The man's eyes, which Gustavo thought looked slightly glassy, reflected the flame.
"Thank you for your charity." Gustavo looked up, seeing Count Dragulia step into view from beyond the doorway. Gustavo's eyes widened, a second before the Count, with one swift bat of his arm, twisted Gustavo's head half the entire way round on his shoulders.
Minutes after the banging, Verona heard crashing noises downstairs, making her look at her near-dark room's closed door. Concern welled in her, having never known such a disturbance to occur in any of her family's houses before. She briefly wondered if one of the field-workers had gone mad. The crashing continued in intervals, with relapses lasting seven seconds or less. Remembering her family, and unsure if they were in the middle of the crashing, Verona hurriedly slid out of bed and rushed to the door in her white chemise and petticoat.
When she opened the door, a candle in hand, the crashing sounded even louder in the upstairs corridor. She didn't hear voices or screaming, and when she wondered why her family weren't responding, concern immediately welled in her. She slowly advanced down the corridor, grabbing an old sword off the wall. She didn't know how to wield it, and her father would disapprove of seeing her carry a man's weapon, but she hoped the sight of someone holding a sword would deter a malevolent intruder.
Creeping down the steps towards the front hall, Verona heard wood shattering and objects slamming, all from in the open doorway left of the stairs' bottom – the study room. She thought she saw candle-light flickering inside. The front hall was slightly cool with the breeze entering through the open front door. Verona didn't see the body in the shadows to her right. Covering her candle's flame behind the sword's flat side, Verona slowly crept to the bottom, then towards the door. She leaned her head far enough forward that one eye could see into the room, her breath stopping at the sight. There was a small fire on the study's floor, from a stray candle touching a pile of papers. In its light, she saw two figures – one was her father, limp and shaking but forced to stand off the floor. The figure holding him was as black as a moonless night, hair tied in an eastern-looking bun, face buried in her father's neck-shoulder area.
"What is this noise?!" Verona's mind refused to respond for a moment, then its screaming got through to her body and she spun – her mother was descending the steps in her nightwear. She looked confused. "Verona?" Remembering the threat, Verona spun to face the study door – and stared into Count Dragulia's largely-shadowed face, a foot from hers, smiling pleasantly despite the blood reflecting candlelight below his lip.
"Good evening, Verona," he said charmingly, wiping the blood away with one hand. Verona stared in horror for one second. Then she turned to run upstairs – she froze, seeing the Count's face looming over her mother's shoulder on the steps, hands on her mother's neck. He twisted her head, Verona hearing a sickening crack just before her mother's body fell, forcing Verona to stumble back two steps.
"You seem uneasy, my lady." The Count's voice was behind Verona's back, making her spin – he was standing behind her again, almost like he hadn't moved from there at all. Eyes remaining fixed on him, Verona slowly backed upstairs around her mother's body, candle in one hand and sword in the other. Count Dragulia kept pace with every step, ice-like eyes boring. Realising he was unthreatened, Verona raised the sword and swung it with a shrill cry – the Count's hand caught the blade, blood oozing out as he chuckled blackly. He tore the sword from Verona, then let it clatter to the stairs, wide eyes on her. Still backing upstairs, Verona grabbed the next thing that came to mind – a crucifix on the wall. The second she held it out, the Count grabbed it. The wood instantly sprouted flames, and the Count screamed a sound Verona thought only a monster directly from Hell could make.
"What's happening?" Verona vaguely heard Rinaldo's voice behind her, eyes remaining on the screaming Count initially. As the crucifix crumbled to ash, Verona turned and sprinted three-steps-at-a-time upstairs.
"Go, RUN!" she yelled, pushing Rinaldo upstairs in front of her, candle falling.
"What's happening?" They ran to the third room down the corridor. Practically pushing Rinaldo inside, Verona shut the door behind herself, almost-immediately putting a wall-mounted crucifix on the door. Verona slowly backed into the moonlit room, eyes never leaving the closed door like the Count would break it down at any moment. She made the sign of the cross, whispering Latin prayers so quietly they were barely articulated breaths. Rinaldo abruptly screamed. Turning, Verona stared in horror at Raphael's body, lying on the floor between the bed and window, head twisted unnaturally far. A loud bang made Rinaldo's scream cut, brother and sister looking at the door – the crucifix on it swung left and right on its suspension point with the blow. Grabbing Rinaldo's hand, Verona backed closer to the window as another bang followed. She repeated the sign of the cross in the pause that followed. After four seconds of silence, a shadow that hadn't been there a second ago suddenly blocked half the moonlight, before the window shattered. Verona and Rinaldo staggered away, Rinaldo screaming as the Count climbed through the hole.
Rinaldo clung to Verona's chemise while she wrapped her arms around him, staggering back towards the door. They both started hurriedly murmuring prayers. Count Dragulia growled, wincing like the sound were an assault to his ears, but advanced towards them. The moment Verona turned to run with Rinaldo, the Count tore Rinaldo from her grasp. Verona wheeled around, seeing Count Dragulia hold the screaming boy off the floor one-handed. Verona looked back at the door one second, then ran and grabbed the crucifix.
"Release him!" she shrieked furiously, holding the crucifix at arm's length. The Count made an ungodly scream, irises glowing pale-blue, teeth changing. He backed away two steps. "Release hi-!" He lunged his head, burying his face in Rinaldo's neck. The boy screamed, the sound dying in four seconds. Verona stared in utter horror, while Count Dragulia almost-instantly dropped the body. Before Verona could think to react, the Count whacked the crucifix out of her hands – hitting the skirting board, it glowed red before a lone flame appeared on its wood. The Count grabbed Verona's neck before she could start praying. He leaned so close their noses could have touched.
"It is me, my dear," Count Dragulia all but whispered, a pleasant smile spreading on his face. His grip was like stone, making Verona almost gag and gasp for air. She had the instinct to hit and kick at him, but didn't think it would do her any good, and she felt like a bit of the fight had gone out of her. After a moment, the Count eased his grip.
"What… are you?!" Verona forced the grief-choked words out. Count Dragulia smiled charmingly.
"I have had many names over more than one lifetime," the Count said, running his free hand through Verona's flowing, untied hair. She closed her eyes, wanting to groan and cringe away from the abominable touch. "King of the Night, son of the Devil. Do you not see me?" He sounded imploring, and Verona opened her eyes. His voice dipped into a husky growl: "I am gifted with eternal life, feeding on the blood of others, but cursed to only walk strong in the night." Verona's eyes widened, recognising the characteristics of the vampire. Count Dragulia grinned and chuckled wickedly. The Count's throat-grip eased, then disappeared, fingertips drifting downwards, nails gently grazing her skin, until they were just above her breasts. Verona slowly backed away, only getting two steps before his voice stilled her.
"Do not fear me, beautiful maiden," Count Dragulia murmured huskily. He reached and stroked his fingers' backs along Verona's jawline, cool touch as soft as a feather. "I shall not hurt you."
"What do you want of me?" Verona asked, trying and failing to keep the fear out of her voice. Withdrawing his fingers, Count Dragulia chuckled again, sounding almost mirthful.
"I have been alone for so long, watching a century pass me by while I remain constant, with no end to time's infinite expanse in sight," Count Dragulia said. "Not in a hundred years have I met someone who I would want to share this eternal existence with. Until now." Verona's eyes widened, remembering the stories that the undead's victims became like them. "Does the prospect not tempt you?" Verona's mind was lulled for one second, before her lifelong lessons about the life that awaited the faithful after death broke through the temptation. She turned and sprinted for the door, but didn't get two steps before the Count grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
"You are strong, Verona," he said. He pulled so suddenly she was all but thrown against his chest; he then seized her by either arm, but didn't grip her tightly. "Strong and beautiful." He ran two fingers upwards through her hair. Verona wanted to cringe away from the contact like it were corruption incarnate. "But it doesn't matter whether or not you want this. My power has already taken root in you." Verona's eyes widened.
"What?!" she exclaimed, voice hoarse. The Count released her, and she immediately spun around, putting a foot between them. Count Dragulia raised an eyebrow like an enthusiastic tutor expecting an answer. Verona thought of her sickness, when it had started, and her dream of Count Dragulia the night before. Her hand went to the side of her neck where the two puncture-wounds were. "I am truly sorry I made our second meeting so displeasing by interfering with your supper. But I needed invitation to reach you, when you slept." He leaned close, nose's tip almost touching hers. "Yes, you will soon be like me. Being killed will only make that fate come to you sooner." A long pause passed before Verona spoke again, tears stinging her eyes.
"Then why am I still not dead?" Verona asked, voice cracked.
"I wanted to tell you what your fate would be, before I made you mine," Count Dragulia said, tone devoid of mockery. His fingers slowly went to her left cheek, caressing her face below her eye like it were the smoothest, most fragile thing in the world.
"Does it… matter that I do not want to be yours?" Verona asked, looking the Count in the eye. A pause followed.
"No," the Count murmured matter-of-factly, face calm. "You will be my bride. Now and for all eternity." Verona's eyes widened as the Count's face changed, a monstrous hissing-noise coming from him. Her mouth opened wide and she let the scream out in full as the black-clad figure advanced towards her.
A/N: So that's Verona's backstory. You might or might not have noticed, I wanted Dracula's interactions with her to be a bit more emotionally-intense than with his other brides since she'd his first, and I wanted to use and stay true to the novelisation's idea she's his favourite.
Please review and tell me what you think – I want to hear your thoughts. :)