Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL

Chapter 21: His Cold Corpse Creeps

Just when I think I have endured the penultimate test of my mental and physical fortitude, lived through the darkest times these centuries have visited upon me, survived in spite of it all. I am presented with the dire trial of the dawn. It comes. I hear the rooster crow. I can feel it's harrow dragging over my heart. I must return to my crypt and sleep in the earth of my homeland.

But Will Graham is asleep in my arms. We are in bed together. Last night, we made love and it rivaled the exquisite sweetness of the first time I had Iliya, the very day we received the message from Albescu. Every taste of him — his body, his blood, his scent, his mouth — is deliciously familiar and I fear I will never have enough.

If I saw him every day forever, I would remember this time. If I live another hundred centuries, until this humble planet disintegrates, I would remember this first night we spent together. Remember him as he is now, sleeping in my arms, wrapped in sweet, untroubled serenity, the way his lashes rest against his cheeks. He sleeps with a tiny smile on his face that wasn't there before. Iliya used to do the same thing when he slept in the wake of an orgasm, even if it was only a brief nap before resuming our respective days.

He barely moves. If he dreams, he doesn't stir. It is as if his exhausted body is finally able to really rest, as if my presence is a balm to his mind's wounds. He is unconscious, but he knows I am here. When I realize it, how safe he feels in my embrace, I have to angle my head away and drag my hand over my eyes. I am weeping, my tears stemming from the purest joy. They leave blood-tinged contrails on my arm that I'll have to wash away before I see him again.

It is as I told him. The teacup is coming back together. Tonight mended a large piece, its jagged edges smooth again. It won't be long before it can hold tea once more, a few drops at least. If fate wills it, every shard will be returned to its rightful place.

I can feel the gray fingers of the dawn settling a chill over my skin, even as I am nestled here with Will beneath the blankets. He is so deliciously warm. If he is feverish, I cannot tell – all I am aware of is the incredible gift of this heat that comes from his bare body pressed into mine.

That I should have to leave this bed is a catastrophic injustice. And not just for me; when Will does wake up, I will not be at his side. What will he think? Will he fall back on his assumptions that he is damaged and unlovable, that I fled the bed because I regretted making love to him? That won't do at all.

It is a travesty, but I have to wake him. Otherwise his misgivings and his cruel mind will convince him that he's wrong, or done something wrong. I won't let him labor under that assumption, not even if it is only for a matter of hours.

"Will," I say softly, turning him in my arms, kissing him awake. It takes more than a minute; slumber holds him like quicksand. At last, he groans softly and rubs his face. Seeing me, his sleep-flushed countenance breaks into an unselfconscious smile. I fear I will come apart at the seams as he whispers my name in the pre-dawn gloaming. He sees himself as half-made? He unmakes me by simply saying, "Hannibal."

He tries to get closer, and it feels like amputating a part of myself to hold him back. "I have to leave," I tell him. "But I'll see you again as soon as I can." I lean in and kiss his forehead. "Go back to sleep. Someone will watch over you."

Will takes my suggestion and burrows back into the bed. I retrieve my clothes and put them on as I find them, and fold his neatly, leaving them within reach on a chair. I can hear him breathing the cadence of sleep again, and he is curled up so tightly I can't see his face. I do regret not having a final look, but it means I can open the window and become a bat, making my return to the crypt much easier.

The sun has not breached the horizon yet. I have all the powers of darkness until that very moment. It is unpleasant, to say the least, when one is flying and suddenly becomes a man. I once dropped a good twenty feet and would have broken my neck if I wasn't already dead. Those were the early days of exploration, pushing my limits, learning the boundaries of what I had become.