Princes of the Undead

Part 17

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At first Agatha had thought she had misheard him. Then as Dracula continued to stare down at her, waiting for some sort of answer...well Agatha couldn't help it; she laughed. Perhaps it was the ridiculousness of the whole situation, perhaps it was nerves, whatever the reason, once she had started she couldn't stop. She laughed and laughed until her lungs burnt from the effort.

Agatha's reaction hurt, sharper than any stake could. Dracula would admit his pride was dented, but it was his heart that was screaming out in pain at the rejection. It was ironic really, up until this moment of heartbreak, Dracula hadn't even realised just how deeply, Agatha had wound her way into what he had considered, a vestigial organ at best.

"Tell me you were not serious." Agatha finally managed to gasp, yet judging by the way Dracula's face had closed off to her...well perhaps he had been?

And it hurt that he hurt, that she had hurt him, however unintentionally. Yet with the hurt came guilt, and swiftly on the heels of guilt came anger. Anger at herself for hurting him, anger at him for being the idiot that had put them both into this situation. Honestly what had he been thinking? It wasn't surprising that in this sudden maelstrom of emotions, one would win out...unfortunately for Agatha it was her anger, and her sharp tongue struck out before her brain could catch up.

"We have been on precisely one date Count. One! Why on earth would you think to ask me to marry you...no sorry you didn't exactly even ask me, did you? You just told me to call you husband, you didn't ask me, you told me...I don't know why I even thought it might be different now. You are never going to change."

If Agatha's laughter had stabbed at him, her angry words carved open his chest. Dracula could almost see it, his own life blood bursting forth from his chest like a gushing red fountain. He had never wanted to crawl away and die somewhere quietly in his life, but he did now; the shame of it, a man of his status having the offer of his hand, not just rejected but spat on.

Had he misjudged things so completely? Had he allowed his own wants to cloud his judgement? Clearly what he thought was already between them had been a lie, or at least a farce of his own construction.

"...You knew. I told you I intend to join the scholars and not become any vampire's baby factory, not even yours." Agatha continued on in her rant, seemingly oblivious to the damage she was doing. "Was your promise to help with that just an act as well? Just a means to get me to drop my guard and let you close."

Yet Dracula remained mute, her accusations remained unanswered as he tried to gather the shredded parts of himself together...to just hold it together until she left. Humiliated and heartbroken he might be, but the lingering shreds of his dignity were all he had to cling on to.

"Well answer me...Say something damn you." Agatha spat, her angry tirade almost spent as the energy it had taken had exhausted her.

"I think it might be best if you leave." Dracula replied, his voice clipped and almost icy in its coldness.

"Leave?" Of all the things Agatha had expected him to say, or to do; throwing her out had not even figured. Yell back yes, react with some form of violence, or even react with snide derision and accusing her of misunderstanding the situation; all of the above yes but not push her away, throw her out.

"Unless you have more unpleasant accusations to throw at me?" Dracula bit back, his dark eyes narrowing on her face, allowing his contempt for her cruel deception to flood his face.

He had been a fool to think happiness was something he could have. That Agatha would finally be able to fill that hole inside himself, that had been like a gaping wound for 500 years. That she could care for him at all, the monster that was responsible for her eternal life.

For a moment Agatha wanted to argue back that she wasn't going anywhere until he admitted what a presumptuous arse he had been. Yet that face of his was like a wall, all the defences raised, and suddenly Agatha didn't have the energy for a full-scale assault.

Biting her lip Agatha stormed back up the stairs to the bedroom, dragging off his t-shirt and throwing down on the unmade bed, retrieving her dress from the chair where she had draped it the night before, pulling it on over her head. She didn't bother putting on her shoes. She was a vampire her skin was impenetrable. Grabbing her phone from her clutch on the bedside table, she quickly opened uber and put in a request for a cab. Relieved when one was only two minutes away.

Heading back down the stairs, Agatha wasn't surprised to see Dracula standing by the large window, his gaze locked on the city skyline. He didn't even turn to look at her, didn't even acknowledge she was there, and that hurt far more than being asked to leave had.

"Don't you have anything to say to me?"

"I think you have said more than enough for both of us Madam."

Blinking back tears at that cold dismissal that seemed to confirm all of Agatha's worst fears; he had just been playing her this whole time. And now that Dracula knew he wouldn't be getting what he wanted from her, namely a meek little wife to pop out those heirs he craved so desperately; well it was quite obvious how quickly he had dropped the act.

Slamming the door behind her, didn't give Agatha the satisfaction she had hoped for. Nor did the knowledge that she had had a lucky escape, help stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks, as she rushed down the staircase to the lobby; not waiting for the lift, needing the release that fast movement would give her.

Up in the penthouse, Dracula held everything deeply wound inside, until he felt Agatha's presence fade from his mind. Then it came out, like a howling beast crawling up his throat. Screaming out his rage at his loss, at his pain, at the part of himself that wanted nothing more than to run after her. He was ripping the art from the walls, smashing the sculpture under his hands, shredding the curtains. Turning his outside into a mirror image of his ruined inside.

And as he beat his hands and spread cracks along the long glass table, Dracula stared down at his splintered reflection and vowed there and then, to never ever fall in love again. Agatha thought him a monster...well he would show the world what a real monster looked like.

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