Page 45 of Dracula: Bound in Blood
But Van Helsing was ready. As Dracula descended upon him, the hunter moved with inhuman agility, dodging the massive claws and retaliating with his blessed weapons. It was as if he could anticipate Dracula’s every move, matching the vampyre’s supernatural abilities with his own inexplicable skills.
Andor watched the battle with growing confusion and suspicion. How was this possible? Van Helsing was just a man, wasn’t he?As he scanned the room, searching for an explanation, his eyes fell upon a familiar figure slipping away amidst the chaos.
Vigo.
In that moment, everything clicked into place. Somehow, Vigo had been helping Van Helsing, he must have fed the Hunter Dracula’s blood!
Without a second thought, Andor took off in pursuit of his former lover. They disappeared into the smoky halls of the castle, leaving the main battle behind.
The fight between Dracula and Van Helsing was like nothing the hunters had ever seen. The massive bat-creature that was Dracula seemed to fill the entire hall, his wings creating gusts of wind that fanned the flames spreading through the castle. Van Helsing darted and weaved, his movements a blur as he struck at Dracula with his silver-tipped weapons.
But for all his newfound abilities, Van Helsing was still human at his core. As the battle raged on, he began to tire, his movements slowing ever so slightly. Dracula, driven by rage and fear for Jonathan, pressed his advantage.
With a mighty sweep of his wing, Dracula sent Van Helsing crashing into a wall. The hunter slumped to the ground, dazed but still conscious. Dracula loomed over him, ready to deliver the final blow.
“Retreat!” Van Helsing bellowed, his voice hoarse but commanding. “Fall back, all of you!”
The remaining hunters didn’t need to be told twice. They broke away from their individual fights, supporting their wounded comrades as they made for the exit and leaving the dead behind. Dracula watched them go, every fiber of his being screaming to pursue, to end this threat once and for all.
But a weak groan from behind him stayed his hand. Jonathan.
In an instant, Dracula’s form shifted back to his human appearance, strong and naked and caked in gore. He rushed to Jonathan’s side, gently turning the young man over. The wound on Jonathan’s back was deep, blood seeping through his torn shirt at an alarming rate.
“Jonathan,” Dracula whispered, cradling the young man’s face in his hands. “Stay with me. Don’t close your eyes.”
Jonathan’s eyelids fluttered, his gaze unfocused. “Dracula,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the flames. “You’re... alright...”
Dracula felt a surge of emotion unlike anything he had experienced in centuries. This beautiful, fragile human had been worried about him, even as he lay bleeding on the cold stone floor.
But now, Dracula faced an impossible choice. Jonathan was losing blood rapidly. Without intervention, he would die. Dracula could save him, but at what cost?
If he gave Jonathan his blood now, it would be the third time. The change would begin, irreversibly setting Jonathan on the path to becoming a vampyre. But there was no guarantee it would work. The memories of his past failures, the twisted creatures locked away in the East Wing, haunted him. His eternal mistakes, creatures created out of loneliness and desperation. He hadn’t loved them, he knew they only used him for the gift, but at the time he was chasing a past obsession, and addiction he had been slowly but surely kicking with time. Now, things were different, he couldn’t bring himself to toy with this young man’s life so callously. Could he risk subjecting Jonathan to that fate?
Time seemed to slow as Dracula weighed his options. He could hear Jonathan’s heartbeat growing weaker with each passing second. The fire was spreading, the heat becoming unbearable even for him. They needed to leave, now.
With a heavy heart, Dracula made his decision. He couldn’t risk it – couldn’t bear the thought of Jonathan becoming one of those pitiful, malformed creatures. Better to try and save him as a human than condemn him to an eternity of suffering.
In one fluid motion, Dracula scooped Jonathan into his arms. The young man’s head lolled against his chest, his breathing shallow and labored. With a last look at the burning ruin of his ancestral home, Dracula made for the exit.
The cool night air hit them like a physical force as they emerged from the inferno. Dracula didn’t stop, using his supernatural speed to put distance between them and the burning castle. Behind them, the structure that had stood for centuries began to collapse, flames reaching toward the sky like grasping fingers.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As they fled into the night, the fate of the others remained unknown, but Dracula pushed these thoughts aside, focusing solely on the precious burden in his arms. Jonathan’s life hung by a thread, and every second counted. They needed shelter, somewhere safe where he could tend to Jonathan’s wounds and plan their next move.
The Transylvanian landscape flew by in a blur as Dracula flew across the sky. As the first hints of dawn began to lighten the eastern sky, Dracula knew he was running out of time.
Finally, as the sky began to turn from inky black to a deep purple, Dracula spotted what he was looking for – a small,abandoned church nestled in a grove of ancient trees. It was risky – consecrated ground could be dangerous for him – but it was their best option for shelter.
Approaching the dilapidated building, Dracula felt the familiar prickle of discomfort that came with holy ground. But his concern for Jonathan overrode any personal discomfort. He kicked in the rotting wooden door and carried Jonathan inside.
The interior of the church was musty and thick with dust. Cobwebs hung from the rafters, and the few remaining pews were covered in a thick layer of grime. But it was dry and, more importantly, defensible. Dracula gently laid Jonathan down on the altar, the irony of the situation not lost on him.
As he examined Jonathan’s wound more closely, Dracula’s keen hearing picked up the sound of another Vampyre approaching. His entire body tensed, ready for another fight. But as the creature drew nearer, he recognized a familiar scent in the wind.
Andor.
Moments later, the younger Vampyre burst through the door, supporting a semi-conscious Vigo. Both looked worse for wear, with torn clothing and various cuts and bruises.