Reckoning (3 page)

He paused to gaze around the room at rapt faces, hungry for more rousing words. A smile stretched across his fangs. “Rosemary’s daughter shall continue the bloodline, uniting both branches of our family tree.”

Across the room, Rosemary gasped. She ran toward Father.

“No! No, please,” she begged. “Not my daughter!”

Quick as a flash, Mother crossed the room. She held Rosemary back, laughing cruelly. “You little fool, the moment you came here, both of your children belonged to the house of Dracul.”

“Father?” I asked, fixing him with a questioning gaze.

“My son,” he said, clasping my shoulder. “You have a half brother—Rosemary’s son, John Shaw. In the fullness of time, he shall be your brother in arms—and his sister, Lily, shall be your bride.”

He turned once more to address the room. “And when that time comes, Quincey shall claim her!” he thundered. “To sire a new and stronger bloodline!”

Journal of
Captain Quincey Harker

N
ORTHERN
F
RANCE

28TH
J
UNE 1916

How Father would love these killing fields! What a war this is—with prey sitting helpless, only yards away, herded together in trenches like cattle in an abattoir. I have only to wait for darkness and to follow the scent of fear.

I raided the enemy lines alone again last night. What joy it is to slip into the trench, sword drawn, and spray the walls with blood. My uniform was sodden with it. Its iron tang filled the air, stronger even than cordite from the shelling.

Rumour of my hunger must now be rife in the German trenches, for the smell of fear that lingers on my victims seems deep-seated in a way it never used to be—as if they have long dreaded my coming, standing guard, staring into the shadows of no-man’s-land, knowing I may be on my way. . . .

This place will provide a splendid testing ground for John. I have arranged for him to join me here—though he, of course, knows nothing of my involvement in his posting. I am relishing the prospect of meeting my half brother at last. I shall take great pleasure in introducing him to the bloodlust that lies dormant within him, to guiding him toward his destiny.

Though I feel the old languor that follows a feast, I have changed into a clean uniform. I must make my inspection of the men before I sleep—and should now hurry, as dawn is fast approaching. . . .

T
HE
A
RMY AND
N
AVY
C
LUB
36–39
P
ALL
M
ALL
, L
ONDON
24TH
S
EPTEMBER 1916

I met my future wife today.

Lily came to John’s bedside at the sanatorium while I was there. I must admit I was not prepared for her quiet charm, her cloud of dark curls, the flushes of rose in her cheeks, the serene blue of her eyes. Her features are no match for the exquisite splendour of Rebecca’s, of course. But sweet and affecting nonetheless.

There is an air of such innocence about Lily. Looking down into her open, trusting face, I saw immediately that her heart will be oh so easy to capture.

She politely invited me to stay at Carfax Hall—but her clear gaze shone with a more intimate invitation, one that she herself almost certainly had no awareness she was making. I suppose it simplifies the affair—though a part of me yearns for more challenge.

Perhaps that is where the pleasure is to be found . . . in bringing out the wanton in one so pure. Yes, that indeed might be fun.

And so I have arranged to move my belongings to Carfax Hall tomorrow. It should be easy to lure Lily to Transylvania in plenty of time for the Saint Andrew’s Eve feast. And where she goes, her loving brother, John, is bound to follow . . .

John—what a disappointment he has been. I expected to feel a kinship for him from the moment we met, but he has proved weak-willed, easily influenced, and ineffectual.

Father will no doubt be displeased at their first meeting. But perhaps once he is at the castle, John will discover and embrace his true nature.

C
ARFAX
H
ALL
14TH
O
CTOBER 1916

This evening’s dinner was one of enforced formality, as Lily had invited the very proper Miss Mary Seward to join us.

The name Seward at first sounded familiar to me. I
thought perhaps she was one of our kind, but that thought was entirely misguided.

Miss Seward is nursing John in the sanatorium—and she is transparent in her disapproval of me.

When our visitor had left, I could not resist defying her by playfully pulling Lily into my arms. She responded with such abandon, however, that I would have bitten the silly girl then and there but for my promise to Father that I would wait for Saint Andrew’s Eve and our wedding night.

It took some strength of will to leave Lily at her bedroom door. I confess I am finding this part of Father’s plan harder than I expected. Lily’s innocent, trembling ardour, her open adoration—they fire such desire in me. . . . But I shall adhere to Father’s wishes.

As I walked away, I was more relieved than surprised to find Dora, the maid, loitering in the darkened hallway in the erroneous belief that she couldn’t be seen. The girl had been flirting with me since I arrived here, sending me little sideways glances when she brought fresh towels to my room, brushing against me when she bent to serve me at dinner. Her voice had a rough twang, but her face was pretty enough. “Were you spying on us, Dora?” I challenged her softly.

She started like a surprised cat and crept out from the shadows. “N-no, sir!” she gasped.

I scented fear on her, and it only served to stoke the
hunger that Lily had already aroused in me. I walked slowly toward her, and all the while she gazed down at the floor, clearly abashed at being caught. “Oh, I think you were,” I said. “Do you often spy on your mistress and me?”

“Course not, sir!” she cried, twisting her hands together.

“Come now, Dora,” I chided. “Why else would you be hiding here in the shadows at such a late hour?”

“I was takin’ laundry to the airin’ cupboard before I retired for the night,” she mumbled.

“And where is this airing cupboard?” I pressed.

Dora glanced guiltily over her shoulder, back down the corridor.

“Nowhere near Miss Lily’s room,” I said, enjoying her discomfort. “So you tell falsehoods as well as spy on your employer?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Dora replied. “It’s just that Miss Lily, she seems so diff’rent since you’ve been ’ere. An’ I wondered . . .”

I lifted her chin with gentle fingers. Her skin was soft and warm. “You wondered what it was that had changed her,” I finished for her. “Would you like me to show you?”

She looked up at me then. “Whatever do you mean, sir?” she asked. She pretended to be shocked—but there was a bold challenge in her gaze.

I pulled her to me. “Lily’s mentioned your flirtatious ways,” I murmured, and bent to kiss her. She opened her mouth to me immediately. I felt my eyes begin to burn, so
kept them half closed. “Where is your room?” I murmured. “I shall see you safely there.”

“That’s kind, sir—I’ll show you,” Dora said with a triumphant little smile.

She led me back along the hall and up a narrow flight of stairs that led to the attic rooms. “This is mine,” she announced proudly, stopping outside a white-painted door. She turned the handle and entered.

I followed her in. Moonlight shone through the room’s tiny dormer window. The room was sparsely furnished with a narrow iron bedstead and a plain wardrobe and bedside table. The only splash of frivolity was a gaudily-feathered straw hat on a hook beside the wardrobe.

Dora hurried to the bedside table and lit the candle placed there. The bare walls flickered with its weak light. She blew out the match and sat down on the bed.

“Much more cosy . . .” I murmured, sitting down next to her. I ran a finger along the nape of her neck, feeling her shiver with anticipation, and then trailed it down her bosom, over her waist, and down to the hem of her skirt. The petticoats beneath felt cool and crisp.

She leaned into me, and I felt her soft, rounded form heave against me.

But even as I laid her down on the bed, I found that my mind, irritatingly, was filled with Lily. How I wished it were Lily with me, letting out tiny moans of pleasure. With a
growl that came from deep within, I gripped Dora’s throat in my teeth and penetrated the soft, pulsing flesh.

She stiffened and gasped, now staring up into my face—her own a mask of terror as she looked into my blazing eyes. Then her sweet blood flooded into my mouth, and her expression began to change again—this time to one of wonder. She clasped me to her and held me that way until I was sated.

I shall take Dora again when my desire for Lily grows unendurable, for I am determined to preserve Lily’s innocence until the time is right.

But being with Dora—being with anyone but Lily now, I suspect—is like slaking my thirst with cheap beer when I crave a champagne that will sparkle on my tongue and send me heady with joy. . . .

15TH
O
CTOBER 1916

I did not think Dora such a weakling. The silly girl fainted while serving breakfast this morning. Lily was quite concerned about her. She sent her back to bed and called in the doctor, who said she might be anaemic. I must have drawn more blood than I thought.

Dora later emerged, insisting she should serve us at dinner—even though it was supposed to be her night off—to
make up for not working during the day, she said. Antanasia just shrugged, clearly prepared to let her get on with it.

But Lily protested. “Dora, you still look so pale and drawn. I do hope that you are not worried you might lose your position. Of course you won’t!”

I do find myself shockingly moved by Lily’s tenderness of spirit. After all I have seen and done in my life, to be affected so is surely ridiculous?

Despite Lily’s reassurances, Dora remained reluctant to leave us. “I’m feelin’ quite recovered, honest, Miss Lily,” she insisted. “I’m ’appy to wait on you an’ Mr. Harker.” Her gaze drifted desperately toward me as she spoke.

“Go back to bed, Dora,” I commanded, fearing she might betray her desire to Lily with such indiscreet glances. “We don’t want you fainting again.”

“Very well, sir, I shall . . .” she replied. She shot me a hopeful smile, her eyes glittering invitingly. The girl’s imprudence sent a bolt of rage stabbing through my chest. I frowned at her then—and glanced at Lily, hoping she had not sensed the meaning in Dora’s tone.

But Lily was still smiling sweetly at Dora, unheeding of Dora’s betrayal. “Good,” she said. “Rest is what you need, Dora.”

As Dora left the room, I fought the urge to sigh out loud with relief. “Dear Lily,” I murmured softly, placing my hand over hers.

When it was time to retire for the night, I left Lily with the most innocent of kisses and then went straight to Dora’s room.

She was not there, and neither were her coat and hat. Fortunately, she had made it easy for me to preserve appearances.

I quickly cleared out her drawers and wardrobe, packing her few things into a suitcase that I concealed temporarily beneath my bed. And then I slipped out of the house and down the drive in search of her.

I spied her through the window of the local public house, leaning against the bar and drinking with another woman I supposed to be her sister. She had the same wide mouth and turned-up nose.

It was past closing time—I knew I wouldn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later the two women, along with the other malingerers, were ejected by the landlord.

With a raucous laugh, the sister thrust an arm through one of the men’s and they began to walk back toward the village. I watched as Dora turned and began to make her way alone back toward Carfax Hall.

Silently I caught up with her. “I’ve been looking for you,” I murmured, falling into step alongside her.

She turned around in fright, her face then alighting in pleasure as she recognised me. “Oh . . . Mr. Harker! I thought I’d slip out for a few glasses of stout. I’m told it builds the
blood,” she slurred sheepishly. “And there I was, fearing you’d done with me, the way you frowned at me when I turned out to serve dinner.”

“Oh no, Dora,” I replied smoothly. “I’m not done with you at all.”

“Let’s walk back along the riverbank, then,” she suggested, boldly tucking her arm through mine. “It’s nice and secluded.”

“Sounds perfect,” I responded.

It seemed a shame not to take what was being offered. And it was pleasant enough, feeding on Dora there at the water’s edge, moonlight rippling through the trees. When I felt her pulse begin to flutter and grow faint, I withdrew—though she begged deliriously for me to continue. I had no intention of draining her, however; I did not want the likes of her brought over to the darkness.

I plunged her head beneath the river’s shimmering surface and held it there until her frantic struggles ceased. I left her there, in a manner of death befitting one so low.

If I had kept her alive, she could have satisfied my appetite for many a night to come. But she had become a liability. Her lack of discretion could have jeopardised everything.

How will I now resist Lily without any outlet for my desire? As I write, I imagine her, gently breathing in her warm bed, her dark curls strewn across her pillow. . . .

21ST
O
CTOBER 1916

John came home from the sanatorium yesterday to complete his recovery at Carfax Hall. And now that wretched Seward girl has begun to visit him here! She was bothersome enough when she came here to visit Lily—making her disapproval of me clear. But pleasingly, my intended seems completely unswayed by Miss Seward’s negativity.

It appears I have already won Lily’s heart. Miss Seward’s struggle against me is utterly in vain.

T
HE
H
OPE AND
A
NCHOR
I
NN
,
W
HITBY
4TH
N
OVEMBER 1916

I have commenced the journey to Castle Dracula with Lily.

I used my connections in the Foreign Office to call John to London. They kept him busy long enough for me to get Lily away from Carfax Hall. As for Lily, she was easy to persuade. I told her I had been summoned back to Romania—that there was no time to lose and that I did not know when I would be back. Her initial distress soon dissolved when I
followed the news with a proposal of marriage—and the request that she accompany me, Antanasia journeying with us for propriety’s sake, of course. . . .

In such a state of giddy euphoria, Lily gratefully accepted my help in composing a letter to John, informing him of developments—and of where we are headed. For he shall, of course, follow us to Castle Dracula—just as the family wants him to. And then, without a backward glance, Lily left all she had known and followed me out of Purfleet.