Princes of the Undead

Part 11

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It was a form of torture...the most delicious kind; to have your hearts desire literally in your arms and still not be able to satiate your desires. Wiping the trickle of blood from Agatha's slack lips, Dracula resisted the urge lick them clean, settling for sucking the blood from his own thumb instead. It was standard fair, not something he would usually choose himself, but Mycroft had suggested quantity over quality, and Dracula had trusted him in this; it wasn't like he had a vast experience in managing anyone's health but his own.

That Agatha was responsive enough to feed, was the first good news Dracula had had in days. The first twenty-four hours they had remained at headquarters, Dracula hovering over Agatha like a mother hen as different medics came and prodded her. None of them doing any good, and Dracula had one Doctor by the throat, when he dared to pronounce her beyond help. Not willing to leave her recovery in their hands, Dracula had taken her home with him. Mycroft once again showing, just how useful he could be to their clan, by arranging this with a few well-placed words, and a regular supply of blood followed.

Slowly Agatha was improving, every day, every feed, she was less corpse like; even if she hadn't woken up yet.

"Up we go then." Dracula couldn't help but continue to talk to her, for all he knew she could hear him, and was just trapped in her body unable to respond, after whatever ordeal Lucy had put her through.

Lucy Westenra was another problem. She had woken shortly after, Dracula had removed Agatha from the headquarters, and according to Mycroft had been asking repeatedly for her sister...for Agatha...well that Dracula would never permit. Perhaps the girl child was truly penitent, perhaps whatever had happened in Lucy's mind, had bonded the pair in some way? Dracula didn't care. It was thanks to Lucy, Agatha was in this state, and Dracula wasn't going to give her the slightest chance to finish the job.

Lifting Agatha up into his arms, Dracula moved them from the living room chaise where he fed her, back into his own bedroom. The sheets were a thousand thread count, and as much as he loved blood, Dracula didn't want it on his bed linens. Settling them down again, Agatha propped up against his chest; her face tucked into his collarbone, as he rested against the headboard. Dracula reached for the book he had been reading to them.

"Now where were we..."

Only to be cut off by the sensation of nibbling...the prick of delicate fangs, and the sensation of her tongue lapping at the small cuts.

"Agatha you can't still be hungry." Dracula teased, and yet inwardly he was delighted, even if it was a reflexive action, it was the most progress he had seen thus far.

"You are going to ruin my t-shirt." Dracula observed, a broad smile tugging at his lips, as she seemed to grow in strength with every lap; sharp nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

"Alright I don't object to a little dessert in bed, but I happen to like this shirt." Dracula chided, lifting her nuzzling mouth from his chest, earning a small growl of complaint. "Now don't be grumpy." Dracula added, as he brought one of his wrists up to her mouth, and made a small incision in his skin, before bringing that to her lips.

Agatha locked on with surprising strength and vigour, and Dracula did nothing to stifle his groan, nor the wave of pleasure that rolled over him.

"You are going to be the death of me." Dracula reflected, brushing her long hair back from her face. "How am I ever going to deny you anything after this?"

If he hadn't been so fixated on her face, he might have missed it, the brief flicker of eyelashes, and the sign of rapid eye movement beneath her closed lids. Then after a few false starts, her eyelids blinked open...the gaze beneath unfocused, but there was no mistaking those blue eyes.