Princes of the Undead

Part 3

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Denying it would have been futile. Standing this close, now the veil of ignorance had been ripped from his eyes, it was impossible to deny what all his senses were telling him...and yet Dracula still couldn't believe the conclusion, that all logic was driving towards. He didn't dare allow himself to hope...not after all this time...

"Agatha."

Her name on his tongue sounded like both a benediction and a curse, and Agatha wasn't sure which she would prefer. Yet there was no hiding his wrecked expression, he looked like she had staked him.

"Agatha."

Dracula couldn't stop himself from repeating her name, his feet taking him forward all of their own accord. Taking in a lungful of air through his nose, Dracula luxuriated in the scent of her...his nectar...his bride...all those glorious inches of her scowling up at him. Oh God he had missed her. As much fun as it had been to torment Dr Helsing, she really was a stuffed shirt, it had been all 'get in the box' and 'give me your blood', none of delicious back and forth he had with Agatha.

"Oh Agatha..."

"Count Dracula, you are leading me to believe, your little stint in the water did some permanent damage, or are you incapable of saying anything other than my name?"

Even her sarcasm had remained, and Dracula didn't even try to contain his burst of laughter. A wide smile now etched into his face, as he placed his hands either side of her on the balustrade; even in those ridiculous shoes of hers, he still had several inches on her. Yet it did place her face in such a delightful proximity...yes, the ridiculous shoes could stay.

Agatha could feel Dracula's gaze pass over every millimetre of her face, his wide grin and looming presence would have been intimidating to most mortals, but Agatha had never been bothered by his tendency to crowd her personal space. Not when she was alive, and now she was dead, it seemed a strange time to start. For a moment, she was even convinced he was going to try and kiss her, yet instead he rested his forehead against hers and rubbed their noses together as he sniffed her.

"I did say I was going to make you last." Dracula teased with another laugh, pulling back to admire the artful construction of curls that framed her face, and the simplistic shading of her make up.

"Lovely my dear, this suits you far better than that drab habit."

Despite absorbing, quite a significant amount of 21th century values, through his recent meals, there were centuries of more conservative viewpoints to overcome. There was a part of Dracula that still equated make up with whores. And while visually he appreciated the artistry, beauty was decidedly skin deep, and Dracula's judgement of worth lay below it...precisely below it in fact.

"You did, and I have lasted...Not without challenge." Agatha conceded, choosing to ignore his flattery on her appearance. Agatha knew she was no beauty, vanity had never been a sin she suffered from. Pride however was more difficult to keep under regulation. "But I survived."

"You more than survived." Dracula crowed in delight. "Look at you Agatha, all strong and healthy, and adapting to death in a whole other century. Oh, the fun we are going to have." His mind already racing with the possibilities.

Dracula had barely been awake in this century for three months, and he already had a better start on his selection of brides, than he had achieved in the last four centuries combined. For a moment Dracula imagined the possibilities, wondering how Lucy and Agatha would take to one another. They had nothing in common, so perhaps his final choice of bride should try to bridge the gap somehow?

"Come we must celebrate!" Dracula insisted, grasping Agatha's wrist, intent on heading towards the dancefloor, only to be brought to a sudden stop when Agatha refused to move. Her strength, if not her stubbornness, surprising him.