The Vampire's Bride Book II Gothic Mysteries of Dracule Revised

Chapter XI

Analise

With Giselle gone, Analise felt she could breathe. The girl had brought a fug into the room: a sweet, rotting odor that disgusted her. Exhaling a long held breath, she hastened to one of the tall, velvet-draped windows, and fumbling desperately with the heavy fabric, finally reached the casement, and forced the casement windows open.

Night rushed in and, with it, the fragrance of snow and pine trees. The smell of old marble and the tomb faded in the freshness of the air.

It was freezing. The sky was tinged with dawn.

Analise stood at the edge of the window where it met the floor. There was no balcony here, only a ledge then a sheer drop of several stories to a double fence of iron spikes rising from the frozen water of a moat.

"So, I am a prisoner," she whispered.

She imagined Ilia lying in state here, Dracule mourning over her like a madman. How long did he keep her here? Analise shuddered to think of being locked in with a corpse, or being that corpse herself, rotting, while her husband went mad trying to revive her.

A flash of firelight drew Analise around. There was someone standing in the corridor, just outside the open doorway.

No! It's not supposed to be!

A pale, aquiline face took shape in the dark. His eyes were luminous and large, his mouth so red, it seemed to spill over with blood.

She stifled a scream.

"Who are you? Who are you?"

It couldn't be Dracule. Giselle told her he couldn't get in.

The apparition was silent and still.

Whoever it was, the blood, the ruddy face, and the smell of soil clinging to the creature's clothes, gave her the impression that he'd just returned from a kill. His gaze was intense, piercing her through and through. He did not move into the room, but a smell began to reach her. It was the revolting odor of blood.

A voice floated in the air as if it came from another world. "How lovely you look tonight, my love. I wanted to greet you alone before dawn struck to tell you, in a more formal fashion..." he bowed, "how happy I am that our wedding is at hand."

Analise shuddered into a corner. "What do you mean?"

He smiled, but his eyes remained fixed on her, unblinking, as if he sought to penetrate her very soul. Analise felt the way a mouse must feel when it is cornered by a cat. She walked slowly back toward the open window.

"I am married already," she said, gripping the curtain so as not to fall upon the spikes below.

The face came toward her slowly, brooding as if its owner felt a great sorrow. But once over the threshold, he drew back. Casting his eyes over the walls where the icons burned the shadows like brands, Dracule growled and made a sign with his claw-like fingers as against the Evil Eye.

Analise pulled the curtain, close, and tried to hide amongst its folds.

"That servant girl of mine was very clever putting you in here, Ilia." He pointed around the walls. "These----trinkets----betrayed us."

"Then why are you afraid of them?"

Dracule's eyes were wells of sadness as he glanced around the walls. "They did not redeem you, but cruelly banished your soul to merciless infamy." He looked at Analise, his eyes like deep, but barren, wells. "Have you not been longing for our reunion? The knaves buried me deep underground, beyond the pale of the castle, in a decrepit pit of a grave. Then came the night that girl woke me and gave me back my life. You were still sleeping in death. Then I found you in life. Is this not the hand of destiny at work, my love?"

The Count's demeanor was soft now, the features less severe. He changed slowly until he became the man she'd met when she first arrived at the castle. Charming, sensual, handsome, he was on his knees now, and seemed to pray toward Analise. He glowed with a radiance that did not come from the small struggling fire in the grate or from the magic of the icons on the walls, but from a burning fire within. His garments of rich threads and jewels, the soft gloss of his long hair, his haunted eyes, shimmered in a way that was both fascinating and terrible. His obvious suffering wounded her tender heart. She wished to soothe that anguish. Yet she would not go to him, would not reach out. It was a great relief that there was a barrier he could not cross, and he could come no closer than the door. She thought back to the earlier time when they sat by the fire with the wine, when it seemed he'd ravished her. That had proven to be a mirage. He hadn't really touched her. But now, because of the icons, it seemed, he couldn't play such tricks. She had to choose go to him. This she could refuse. She had hope.

"How did you find me?" she asked, her voice strengthened by the illusion of control.

"Through the mirror, my love. An intruder found it. He stole it. I looked for it and found it in my mind. I looked through it, to find the thief, and I saw you. The mirror led me to you. Is this not the hand of fate, Ilia?"

"I suppose it would be if I were indeed Ilia, and not Analise."

The Count laughed as if this were the most ridiculous joke. "Of course, my darling. You were in the grave for so long that you have forgotten who you really are. You think you are this Analise, manipulated into marriage by a thief. But this is a mere deception, Ilia. You are meant to be Countess Dracula. And you belong to me."

Disturbed by the cold breeze coming in through the open window, Analise moved back into the room. The odor of blood enveloped her again. She covered her nose and grimaced.

"That smell! How do you bear it?"

"It is the perfume of blood, my dear. You shall soon grow accustomed to it, as I have." His voice went deep. "You will crave it."

"I don't want to. I want to go home. I want to be Analise, wife of Stefan. Let me go free. Let me go free!"

The Count's features grew dark, his brows knit, his eyes flashed. He shot to his feet. "You will never leave here. You will remember who you are. I have waited too long for this night, and will accept no refusal."

The Count turned woodenly away, like a man in pain. Analise watched him slowly merge with the darkness until he was gone.

Shivering uncontrollably, she collapsed on the bed.

***

Giselle, had been watching from the corridor. Seeing the Count's face, the love streaming out of his eyes for Analise, eyes that had always been like stones to her, was more than she could bear.

"Ilia! Ilia! My love!" she mocked under her breath. "Is he so blind? She is no more Ilia than Cira is Analise!"

Giselle studied the way Analise lay on the bed as if all the life had been knocked out of her. Analise was weak. Giselle was strong.

It would be easy to get rid of her.