!Warning: M (16+)-rated themes: Sexual content.
- XIV -
Into The Unknown
Lucy looked up at her servant with tear filled eyes, her entire body quivering, shaken by emotions she had suppressed for so long. All the days, weeks, and months she had forced herself to remain calm in every situation possible, to keep her mind cool and focussed under all circumstances, to be the perfect lady, the confident noblewoman to everyone she encountered, the strong, steadfast mistress to Richard. At this very moment, however, she realised she had failed – failed in teaching him how to hide his nature, failed in keeping him under control, in saving him from Dracula's sway, in saving him from the consequences of acting out his own primal urges.
And now, as she was devastated, in her weakest state, he seemed to have discovered his own guilt, offering to spare her any more grief by leaving the mansion, leaving her behind. She felt a painful stab in her chest at the thought of him stepping through the door to never return, the darkest shadow of black despair rising within her at the mere foreboding of being alone again. What would she do without him? What would he become without her?
"No," Lucy whispered, her voice hoarse, in stark contrast to its usual tone. "No, my dear boy, my dear Richard, I do not want you to leave."
He stared at her for a long moment, pale blue eyes wide under long blond lashes, brows knitted, hands on her upper arms trembling, before she found herself drawn into a tight embrace. Wordlessly, he pressed her against his chest, heaving with shuddering breaths, as the perception of his relief, hope and unconditional love descended on her mind, not like a surge, but like a gentle snow flurry, engulfing them, hiding them from the prying eyes of the world. Lucy hesitated at first, but then embraced him as well, running her shaky hands along his back, while she listened to his racing pulse, to the hammering of his heart – that heart which beat only for her.
They had been standing there in silence for a long while, in each other's arms, in shared emotions, when Lucy finally regained at least a grain of her usual composure. The closeness to him, in both body and soul had calmed her to some extent, the sincerity of his love for her had eased her pain, soothed the uproar of feelings in her chest. With her mind finally at ease again, still listening to Richard's pulse, something more physical now rose within her. Taking in his bittersweet scent, a certain appetite for her servant's blood caused the lady in white to let her hands wander up his chest and, licking her lips, she looked him deep in his surprised pale blue eyes.
"Bend down for me, my boy, will you?" she spoke under her breath, her bell-like voice almost back to its usual sweetness.
Still mesmerised, caught in the haze of their emotional connection, Renfield couldn't help but obey, and in slow, uncoordinated motions he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his throat to his Mistress's thirsting mouth, to the pleasurable pain of her crimson kiss. A delightful shiver ran down his spine when she elegantly snaked her arms around his humbly bent neck and his eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of her cool lips against his vulnerable flesh.
Lucy did not hesitate long, gently but determinedly letting her sharp fangs penetrate the soft, translucent skin, savouring every drop of copper flavoured life that her servant so willingly gave to her. Both all his abysmal misery and all his elated affection she could taste in his blood just as she could perceive them from his mind, their bond strengthening, tightening with every mouthful she drank. Engulfed in their cloud of unity, undisturbed by anyone else's presence, she could feel that he was truly hers now, and she knew that finally, she would be able to guide him. She would be able to control him!
After finishing his daily rounds, Dr Jekyll had returned to his laboratory, had taken notes on his patients' current condition, then packed his belongings and ascended the stairs to the main gate. The afternoon sun almost blinded him, and he gritted his teeth at the bright light. In the last days there had not been a single cloud in the sky, no trace of rain, not to mention a storm. At the thought of the huge amount of electric energy Victor would need to revive that Fenton boy, the massive amperage and voltage only lightning could provide, Henry could have cursed that clear, blue firmament!
"Clockin' off early today, Doctor?" the janitor asked as he passed the reception.
The chemist only grumpily mumbled something unintelligible at that.
"Enjoy the nice weather, then!" the old man gaily added.
"Don't you dare taunt me, you senile dodderer!" Henry hissed at him, before exiting Bethlem Royal Hospital with long, vigorous strides.
While he watched the dirty London streets go by the cab window, illuminated by golden rays, his fingers involuntarily wandered into the pocket of his coat, playing with the phial of green liquid he kept carrying around since the day he had synthesised it. Its full effect was still unknown to him.
In the land of beautiful silence the winds are laid,
And life grows quietly one in the cloudy shade.
I will not waken the passion that sleeps in the heart,
For the winds that blew us together may blow us apart.
Fear not the stillness; for doubt and despair shall cease
With the gentle voices guiding us into peace.
Our dreams will change as they pass through the gates of gold,
And Quiet, the tender shepherd, shall keep the fold.
– G. W. Russell
When he entered the abandoned study to continue with his work of tidying up, he again noticed the complete silence that had descended upon his mind. In a very long time, he had not felt such a profound, undisturbed peace. All obstacles overcome, all trouble forgotten, all sins forgiven, closer to the woman he loved and the life he dreamed of than ever before. In calm, controlled motions Renfield sat down at the late lord's desk and began sorting old files and folders.
A ray of winter sunlight leaked in through the window, warming his back, illuminating the yellowed papers in a faint tone of gold. Gold. This very colour evoked an association with a certain treasure buried mere inches away in a drawer – Arthur Holmwood's diary.
On the one hand, Richard had sworn to himself not to stick his nose into his Lady's past, not to snoop for "smutty, explicit details", as Dracula had put it. On the other hand, since her emotional breakdown he knew that the sweet, calm noblewoman was only one side of her character, that Lucy was so much more than the stern mistress – and he craved to discover those hidden traits of hers. He desired to dive into the unknown depths of her personality, he wanted to understand her every facet, comprehend her mind on all its complex levels. And how could he learn more about her than by reading her husband's notes?
His slender fingers determinedly closed around the ornate drawer handle and with a smooth movement he brought the forbidden scripture's secret hideout to light. Grains of dust tumbled in the stripe of gold that fell unto the equally nobly coloured letters on the leather book cover. For a long moment he fixated the diary with narrowed eyes, then eventually reached for it, retrieved it from the drawer, put it on the desk in front of him – and opened it.
Diary of Arthur Holmwood, Lord Godalming
16 September
Oh, what a lucky day! What a lucky man I am! She said yes, finally she said yes, my beloved Lucy! How often have I thrown glances at her angelic face and how often has she shyly looked away? How often have I tried conversing with her at the ball and she withdrew from me, mingling with the crowd, laughing that sweet giggle of hers? All just acted, all just a play! She loves me as I love her, and we will get married within two months' time.
19 September
Lucy and I took a walk through Hampstead Heath, arms linked, her voice the sweetest melody in my ear, rivalling the songbirds above us. We made truly marvellous plans for our wedding, discussing on locations, guests and clothing – how radiantly beautiful she will be in white! All eyes will be on my beloved bride and every man will envy me to be the one to take her home. I did not dare inviting her tonight, however, for as a gentleman I will be patient until the day of our marriage – that is November 20th.
Renfield gritted his teeth while reading the first diary entries. He definitely counted himself to those men who envied Arthur Holmwood! How he loathed the late lord for every happy moment he had spent with Lucy! How he wished to choke the life out of his aristocratic body for musing about his Mistress in those florid, rosy words! Unfortunately, Holmwood had no breath he could bereave him of, no heartbeat he could put a stop to, not anymore. Furrowing his brow, Richard stared at the twirly writing in utter consternation. He was jealous of a dead man! How pathetic!
Dr Frankenstein was pacing his decrepit flat, here and there stopping to sort his instruments or leaf through his notes, not knowing what to do with himself and his time – the time he had to wait for more favourable weather. It seemed like the bright sunshine was mocking him, like mother nature was showing him his place, showing him that despite his achievement of conquering death he still had no control over her.
How desperately he wished he could help his dear friend, his only companion! Every time he had seen him struggling with himself over that dreadful memory loss, every time Henry had lost his temper, when all the frustration of his past had returned, torturing his restless mind with impotent anger – it had been like stabs to Victor's heart.
The physician also craved to find out more about these night creatures, which apparently were capable of deranging a man's psyche, disturbing his perception to such an extent that he had to fear for his sanity. There was still so much unknown to him about them! But his hands were tied as long as there was no electricity to revive his study subject!
Fidgeting with a scalpel, Frankenstein scrutinised the dead vampire boy on his operating table. How could he have lain in the ground for so long and still appear untouched? How was it possible that after days of being exposed to the warmth of the room, he still did not show any signs of decay? Why did no tissue sample of his differ from any mortal man's? Why was his blood not...
"Ah!" Victor exclaimed at the sensation of a sudden bolt of pain running through his hand.
Gazing down, he noticed that he had been absentminded enough to cut his own thumb on the sharp blade of the scalpel and that a broad rivulet of blood was now trickling down his palm. Before he could find a piece of cloth to wrap around the laceration, large crimson drops were already dripping from his fingers, falling onto the body on the table, staining the boy's translucent skin, bedewing his porcelain face.
Cursing himself for his carelessness, Frankenstein withdrew to the sink, washing his hands with icy water, disinfecting the wound with alcohol, then examining it thoroughly. He would not need any stitches, but would not be able to work on anything requiring precise coordination for some days either. He could have gone up the wall at this stupid accident, at the whole situation! Frustratedly, he tended to the cut, stopping the bleeding, bandaging it with skilled movements, then turned around to clean up the mess he had made on the operating table.
A golden ray fell through the dirty rooflight, illuminating the midsection of the body where Fenton's spidery hands flaccidly lay on the cold steel tabletop. Flaccidly? Wait, no! Victor's eyes widened in shock. What the hell was that? Hadn't there just been a subtle motion? Had his fingers just twitched?!
Arthur Holmwood's diary
September 23rd
Lucy is feeling unwell today. Her mother suspects a fever, something contagious maybe and so, unfortunately, I cannot see her. I dream of my darling instead – and count the days until we finally will be united. Oh, my sweet Lucy, how I long to be with you...
"Richard, what are you reading?"
Renfield flinched at the bell-like sound of his Mistress's voice, who had entered her late husband's study noiselessly, without knocking.
"Me? Nothing! Nothing important!" he babbled, hurrying to shove Arthur Holmwood's diary between the piles of papers and files on the desk. "I try to sort all those folders, but it is quite an amount of work, yes, quite an amount it is..."
With a few elegant steps Lady Godalming walked around the desk, throwing the dusty paperwork a scrutinising glance, before stopping at his chair.
"Maybe you should pause this dry business for a while," she suggested, a sweet smile on her crimson lips.
Blinking, Richard looked up at her. "Not necessary, Milady, not necessary. If I spend the night working, I can be done by tomorrow."
"But you do not have to finish this until tomorrow, my dear," Lucy said, amused by his eagerness to impress her with his work pace. "How about a little distraction?"
With that, she came closer, and then did something completely unexpected: In a fluid motion and with a rustle of her flowing, silky white dress, she sat down on his lap. Renfield's eyes widened in shock at this sudden approach, and his pulse instantly accelerated. His nails dug into the upholstered armrests, as Lucy leaned in to him even more, a loose strand of her fiery hair now touching his forehead.
"Mistress..." he whispered hoarsely. "what are you doing?"
"Is this not what you want, my love?" she cooed, her tone like honey, the expression on her fair face soft, cerulean eyes half-lidded. "Is this not what you have been fantasising about for so long?"
When she removed his glasses and ran a hand through his hair, her touch cool and feathery light, he could feel himself reacting in a most unchaste way. Meeting her glowing gaze, he beheld her sweet smile broadening into a knowing grin and thereupon had to swallow the lump in his parched throat.
"What a naughty boy you are," Lucy drawled, before she brought her lips down on his in a hot, passionate kiss.
Although still in a state of shock and utterly bereft of breath, he soon gave in to her passion, craning his neck, his hands leaving the comfortable armrests to wander up her sides. An animalistic sound, both pained cry and moan of pleasure, rose in his throat as his Mistress bit his lower lip, drawing blood. She, however, silenced him with her mouth covering his entirely, savouring every drop of red that effervesced from the laceration. Her lips and tongue and teeth made his head spin with exhilaration, the salty, bitter taste of his own life, however, did not please him – it rather aroused his thirst for Lucy's sweet nectar, the delicious, rich, ruby liquid in those vulnerable veins beneath her porcelain skin.
And so, he broke their kiss, panting, then seized her slender shoulders and spun her around on his lap, causing her to utter a surprised yelp. Her spine against his chest now, he started unfastening the sheer endless row of buttons at the back of her snowy white dress, the fine fabric running through his skilled fingers like milk, while he deeply inhaled her wonderful scent. She let her head fall back to his shoulder as he brushed the silk from hers, eventually exposing the tender flesh beneath.
Richard did not hesitate to make his mouth meet her soft skin, kissing and licking his way up over her dorsals, leaving a crimson trail of his own lifeblood. A shiver ran down his Lady's spine at the sensation, inducing him to tremble with her and their eyes fluttered shut as his hands travelled up her front and found the clasps of her corset. His heavy breaths in her ear, her pulse quickened, her hammering heartbeats becoming perceptible in every fibre of her body, while he fully concentratedly worked on the restrictive piece of clothing, until after an excruciatingly long moment, he was finally able to free her chest. Lucy moaned aloud in relief, when he seized her bare breasts, and she reached for his head, forcing his lips to meet her neck.
"Bite me, boy!" she demanded in a throaty tone, so unlike her usual melodic voice.
The heaving of her chest in his arms and the racing of her pulse beneath his tongue brought all his senses to tense up to the edge of bursting, and for a brief moment Richard thought he would lose his mind in a wild maelstrom of the most intense sensations, then, however, his primal instincts returned to him and he obeyed – with a guttural growl he buried his fangs in her sweet flesh.
Pressing his beloved Lucy close to him, caressing her perfect breasts, savouring her heavenly nectar, listening to the tiny moans and hoarse hisses that escaped her crimson lips with every mouthful he drank, he completely lost track of time. The myriads of flavours, the energy of so many lives, all her power within his grasp, flowing into him, through him... Then, suddenly, he was ripped from his trance-like state, as she withdrew from his embrace and turned around again, facing him.
"I think you have drunken enough, darling," Lucy said in a patronising tone, while she seized his bloodied chin and thus forced him to meet her burning blue gaze.
At first, he feared she would reprimand him for losing control over his senses, for letting himself be consumed by the consumption of her life, but soon her beautiful lips curled into a wicked smile.
"Now that your thirst is satisfied, let us tend to your other needs..." she purred, letting go of his chin to run her hands down his chest, staining his neat white shirt and brocade waistcoat with their blood.
Holding his breath, he could not believe his eyes when he watched her unbuttoning his trousers, he did not trust his own perception as he felt her cool hands touching him, he thought his mind was playing a trick on him when she raised her skirts, then her hips and lowered herself...
"Richard! I asked what you are reading," the displeased tone in Lady Godalming's voice startled him to such an extent that he almost knocked over the inkstand on the late lord's desk.
His Mistress was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, and of course fully clothed. As always, those pleasurable moments had been nothing but a fantasy...
"Ah!" he exclaimed hoarsely, both utterly shocked and still aroused. "Nothing! Nothing important!"
Lucy raised an eyebrow at this. "But it seemed to be rather fascinating, as absentminded as you were..."
"No, Mistress," Renfield vigorously shook his head. "Only a little... distracting..."