Princes of the Undead

Part 48

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She had won...she had only gone and bloody won.

Dracula felt his dead heart flutter in his chest, or at least a feeling that would normally be ascribed to the heart. His brilliant, beautiful, maddening Agatha had killed Baron de Rais just like she said she could. There were many moments when he had doubted her, when her weakness had looked real rather than feigned and when that bastard had driven that stake into her shoulder...

Dracula had felt rage like nothing he had ever felt before, only his promise to Agatha and Myrcoft's foolish intervention had stopped him before it was too late. And his trust had paid off.

Dracula couldn't help but laugh from the sheer relief, for a moment there he had really thought he was about to lose her, but just as she promised Agatha flipped the situation...and her opponent, showing at last the true power of their clan. This time there was no restraining hand from Mycroft to stop him, his steps taking him to Agatha's side, when the sudden screams ripped apart the hazy world he had slipped into.

Now rushing to Agatha's side, Mycroft at his elbow Dracula dragged her to her feet, trying to be as careful as he could with her injury as he used his superior height to see what was happening, and what was happening was Giles's little thug army had gone rogue. It seemed without their tin pot dictator to control them and give them the veneer of respectability, their base natures exerted themselves and the carefully curated world of the vampire elite was turned on its head...the proletariat was revolting.

"Now might be a good time to beat a hasty retreat." Mycroft suggested, earning him a scornful gaze from both of his companions.

"Why would you think we would go anywhere with you?" Agatha spat, the betrayal of her friend burning deeply in her breast.

"Because we can either spend the time arguing or we can spend that time escaping!" Mycroft pointed out, relying on the logic of his words to sway them, even if he had lost their trust.

Reaching down Mycroft even retrieved Agatha's abandoned sword before it could be lost in the crush of vampires trying to escape the violence. Flipping it round, he offered the hilt to the Count, knowing that it would take the skilled warrior little more than a second to dispatch him with it.

"I know you won't just believe it wasn't me who tipped him off, but how about you extend a little faith?"

"I am not leaving without Isabella." Agatha insisted, causing both of the men to moan a little in solidarity.

"Beloved..."

"I did not fight a damn duel, get staked, and ruin my damn dress to allow any harm to come to her." Agatha hissed, her fingers tightening on Dracula's arm.

Sharing a look of disbelief with Mycroft, Dracula handed his beloved over to the other vampire, swinging the sword with superior skill when one stupid vampire decided to attack them, ducking under the claws Dracula punched the side of his head before following up with a swipe of the sword. Impressed when the razor-sharp blade sliced through his neck like melted butter.

"Oh where were you during my campaigns..."

"Less drooling over your weapon Count and more clearing us a path."

Agatha's chastisement drew Dracula out of his fan boy trance in time to skewer another attacker. This one unfortunately kept going, and it took a few more swipes to dismember him into a pile of blooded limbs.

"Don't get jealous my darling I will always prefer you drooling over my weapon." Dracula quipped, it felt good to finally be able to let go of the veneer of a gentleman for once. The call to battle causing his blood to sing.